Married to the Shooter

by Ms. Michel Moore

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Welcome to Kapri James-White’s world. Walk the streets of Detroit with her and learn what it truly means to be Married to the Shooter! 
 
Kapri James wasn’t born into the struggle of the game, but she craves it. Despite pleas from her mother, the upper-middle-class teen is addicted to “slumming” and living the fast life. Everything about the black-hearted mentality of Detroit draws her in with ease. Drug dealing, carjackings, home invasions, snatch and grabs, and mayhem in general have to be on a man’s resume to catch her eye.

Hardcore criminal Nolan White, known citywide as a shooter, fits that description to a tee, and Kapri has to have him. She is a hood Bonnie to his gangster Clyde, and the streets often run red when the couple is involved. Theirs is a union inked in cold blood.     

 

Release date: July 28, 2020

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

It never failed. No matter how much you’d try to be fair and give a person a chance, they’d fuck it up. No matter how many times they promised to make shit right, chances are, they never did. That meant if you were the boss, doing what had to be done. Nolan was known for being all of the above, but when pushed to his limits, he would snap. Not just curse you out or raise-your-voice snap, but all-the-way-out-there-and-back—full-blown snap. It didn’t matter if it was gunplay or a nigga caught them hands, Nolan had time for it. There would be no turning back, and his vicious disposition couldn’t be tamed. No ifs, ands, or buts. He was an animal—a wild one at that. This time was no different.

Joe Brezzy-Bey had fucked up. Once, twice, three times, or more. It was like the fool had a death wish or just didn’t give a shit. He kept testing the water and coming up short. Now, unfortunately for Brezzy-Bey, the worker was in the middle of getting taught a life lesson he’d never forget. Nolan was heated, and “Nigga, you got me fucked up” school was in session. His bright yellow skin was fire engine red, and each moment that passed, he grew angrier.

“Nolan, come on, dawg. Hold up. Wait, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, pleeeas—”

“Shut the fuck up! You can’t say nothing else to me. I warned you over and over again. I tried my best to be reasonable. But, naw, you wouldn’t let that shit be.” Clenched fist, Nolan beat on his chest with his free hand. He was madder than he’d been in weeks, maybe months. “You think I’m a joke, like a clown or some shit? Like I’m soft? Is that what you think?”

“Naw, dawg, wait. Let me explain.” The effort to explain was real but did no good. Joe Brezzy-Bey’s frail frame was lightweight work for Nolan.

“Naw, guy, I’m tired of repeating myself. I said I wasn’t gonna tolerate no more of that ‘short money’ bullshit. Now, here you go for the hundredth time, bringing me a gang of change. I told you shitting on me was gonna be bad for your health. So now, it’s whatever. You asked for this, not me.”

Temporarily, Nolan let go of Brezzy-Bey’s throat. Removing his shirt, the winter-white wife beater Nolan had on underneath was snug fitting, showing off his prison-chiseled body. Cracking his knuckles, he was ready for round two. The pain he’d inflicted on his worker so far was only the warm-up. There would be no more leniency extended.

“I warned you I wasn’t to be fucked with. But you out here shaking my goddamn bag like it’s yours. Making up the damn rules as you see fit.”

“I know but—”

“But what, guy? Besides the damn change, from what I counted so far, it’s maybe four less than the ticket supposed to be.” Nolan then strong-arm yoked his worker up even more. They knocked a card table over where a paper bag sat filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes. The change scattered across the basement floor. Momentarily, Nolan stared at the change on the ground. It gave him a ghastly flashback memory of his childhood. Knowing the past was what it was—the past—he quickly shook off those thoughts. But not before socking Brezzy-Bey a few good times in the stomach. Then he grinned as Brezzy-Bey slumped over in pure agony.

Nolan didn’t usually wake up with murder on his mind. He had a good heart . . . buried deep within. He attempted to keep a smile plastered on his face even when he was ready to pull the trigger. That trait made a soon-to-be victim not sure what or when they’d see death. For the most part, his emotions were tame since his youth. He’d found out early on that if a person thought they could hurt you, they would, be it physically or mentally. So, after learning those things the hard way at the hands of his parents, Nolan shut down. Once he linked up with Kapri, she was the only one he confided in. And that was when he felt she could handle the hellish demons he fought that tormented his soul. The young killer tried to keep those feelings embedded, not bringing them to the surface.

After receiving a text, Nolan was reminded he had other business on the floor across town. There was no more time to waste. Hastily, he got back to the task at hand. He continued where he’d left off, beating the brakes off of his worker. His victim could only count his blessings, knowing at least he hadn’t got a bat against the head like Nolan usually did to random fuckups. This form of torture was slow and deliberate, leaving Brezzy-Bey to think he might have a chance for some small bit of compassion. However, taking several quick hits to the face changed that notion as he grimaced, urinating on himself.

“Wow, I know you ain’t piss on ya damn self. Stop being a little pussy. You earned this ass kicking, period.” Unhinged, Nolan’s fury continued. Every move the penitentiary-raised beast made was cold and calculated. His mind-set was on violence and doing great bodily harm. So he did just that. Using one hand, he roughly pressed his thumb inward on the center of the man’s throat.

“But wait, please, hold up, fam.” Brezzy-Bey’s eyes bucked as he struggled to speak. Fumbling over his words, he felt as if his windpipe were being crushed. He tried to explain himself. He wished an aggravated Nolan would just see things from his perspective. The worker knew had it not been for his cousin’s homeboy, he’d be out in the alleys collecting discarded bottles or old scrap metal. But Joe Brezzy-Bey accepted he was dead wrong as he tried his luck with his boss just the same.

“Listen up and hear me good, you piece of garbage motherfucker. I ain’t ya fam. We ain’t cool. We ain’t hanging out nowhere or nothing like that. You understand me?” Having gone to the gym earlier in the day, this had become a second full workout for Nolan as his biceps bulged in size.

The untrustworthy worker attempted to nod, showing that he understood what was being said, but it was hard doing so. His entire body was under attack and suffering from the countless blows. It could barely tolerate any more. The basement walls seemed to be closing in on him. Brezzy-Bey wanted to try to get away but knew that was impossible. Taking the ass whipping was the only thing he could do, or risk possibly taking a bullet in the spine if he made a run for the stairs. In those moments, he regretted that he’d come over to the stash house in the first place with the remaining short-ticket money. Nolan was right. He had been warned repeatedly, but the monkey on his back had other plans that won out.

“See, boy, you’s a bitch-made worker, and I’ma boss. You get headaches, I give the motherfuckers. You think ’cause ole girl cool with me from way back when ya crack-smoking life matters? You got shit twisted.” Sweat was starting to soak through the rear portion of Nolan’s wife beater. And the fuck boy he was beating’s blood from a busted nose decorated the front. But none of that slowed him down. He was and always had been trained to go. “It’s like I said, you think I’m some ho or something. And I know damn well you old enough to know better. You just like these young niggas,” Nolan agitatedly snarled.

“No, but—” Defeated, he still was trying to take a cop. Yet, his sorrowful pleas fell upon deaf ears. There was no answer to his desperate prayers. He’d have to ride this wave out the best he possibly could. This was one of those dreaded consequences in the game if caught stealing.

Nolan was nearing the end of his rope. Hiring the generic, off-brand nigga was a favor for a childhood friend from the West Side. She once did a solid for him, so, in return, Nolan gave her cousin a job when he came home from doing a bid for breaking and entering. That charge alone should have been a red flag to putting Brezzy-Bey on a bag, but Nolan tried to give people a chance and let them hang themselves. But back in the day, friend loyalty or not, something had to give to ensure the ticket would be correct moving forward. The favor he’d done was quickly costing him money on the regular. And besides his wife, there was nothing the smooth street menace loved more than money.

Seeing that ole boy was gagging, about to black out, Nolan eased up some on the pressure he was applying. His muscular frame could easily do some serious damage if he allowed things to get all the way out of control. So he fell back. However, his wrath was far from over. He wanted to teach Brezzy-Bey a lesson about stealing from him, not kill the bum. A dead worker would bring no revenue at all. But sending one to a receiving hospital to prove a point would.

Wrapping both hands around Joe Brezzy-Bey’s neck, Nolan lifted him off his feet. Fed up with all of his excuses, Nolan continued the punishment. Nolan then slammed him against the wall several times. Amused at his strength, Nolan watched a few pieces of peeling paint fall from the ceiling and onto the floor. The utter fear in his victim’s eyes motivated Nolan in what he was about to do next. In a series of full-drawn back punches to the jaw, which caused more blood to leak from Brezzy-Bey’s mouth, then a few midsection kidney blows, Nolan topped those off with punching his worker dead in the Adam’s apple.

Releasing the near-death grip, he allowed his wounded prey’s body to slide down the wall onto the pieces of fallen paint chips. Once he was on the ground, Nolan raised his gym shoe, smashing it down on Joe Brezzy-Bey’s forehead. A huge unicorn lump immediately formed, then split wide open. Small spackles of blood adorned the toe portion of Nolan’s shoes. Seeing that, his enthusiasm to draw more increased. Nolan not only wanted to, but he also craved to see more. He’d become totally zoned out and bloodthirsty on getting satisfaction. If you stole from Nolan White, there was a bigger price to pay in the long run. And Joe Brezzy-Bey was now finding that out firsthand.

What was taking place in the basement was starting to get way out of control. Nolan had gone beyond proving his point. Thankfully, before any more harm could be inflicted, he was interrupted by his wife. Kapri was the only one besides himself who had keys to the stash house. So when he heard the side door open and close, Nolan knew it was she. He also quickly recognized Kapri’s routine hearing her footsteps above. She’d no doubt put her purse and keys on the kitchen counter, then went to the rear bedroom to see if the floor safe in the back of the closet was good. Nolan knew his spouse like the back of his hand. Like him, she never played around when their money was concerned. Listening to the sounds of her heels click down the stairs, Nolan smirked. No matter the circumstances, he loved to see his reason for living coming. Kapri was his peace, even in the midst of chaos.

“Hey, bae, what you doing down there? I got some shit to tell you that your ass ain’t gonna believe.” Stepping foot in the basement, Kapri raised one eyebrow. Usually, she was upbeat. However, there was no smile on her face. She was perplexed, immediately noticing something was weirdly wrong and off. Her man’s wife beater was drenched and bloodied. She rushed over toward him, then stopped, wondering if she should run back upstairs and grab her gun. Locking eyes with her husband, she saw the death gaze expression he proudly wore. Kapri knew that look. Her husband was on one, but what?

Then Kapri saw the obvious and went ballistic. “Ain’t this some shit? How fucking ironic. Just the slithering snake I wanted to see—Brezzy-Bey’s foul rotten ass. You ho-made motherfucker! You ain’t shit! I should fuck you up, bitch nigga!” Kapri shouted, calling him every name in the book. With grave intentions and contempt, she viciously lunged in his direction. She didn’t care that Joe Brezzy-Bey was already fucked the fuck up. She wanted nothing more than to lay hands on him herself. Knowing what she’d just discovered about him had her vexed.

Nolan was thrown off by her initial reaction to see Brezzy-Bey. He knew she despised him. The entire crew did. But right now, Kapri was being extra as hell. In one quick movement, Nolan caught his girl up by the waist, slowing her intended attack down. Although his wife didn’t know the latest antics by the worker she never trusted, the fool had certainly done enough since being on the team to cause her to clown. But she was going too far with it.

“Whoa, whoa, baby. Slow ya roll, bae. I got this. Ya already know he back on that same bullshit, fucking up the bag. But you can see I’m handling it. So—”

“Naw, love, let me go. This time, he on a whole other level with it.” Kapri’s hatred for Brezzy-Bey grew with every passing moment she looked at him. She fought to get her husband’s hands off of her. Her body twisted, then turned, then twisted some more. But Nolan’s strength was too much to break free from, so she chilled.

“Say what now? What you mean ‘another level’?” Shifting his full attention to his wife, Nolan took a brief break from the beating. He let her go, seeing his better half had slightly calmed down. “Okay, bae, you good now or what?”

Kapri had to take a few deep breaths to get all the way steady. Her pressure was sky-high. She started pacing in a circle, shaking her head, trying to find the words to describe how angry she truly was. She was now also annoyed that her expensive cream-colored linen suit had a mixture of blood and sweat soaked into the blazer. Today just wasn’t her day, and in her view, it was one person’s fault.

“Damn, I swear to God it’s like this is Karma or some shit that this slimeball-ass buster is down here,” she nodded toward the corner of the basement where Joe Brezzy-Bey was trying to catch his breath and regain his composure. “Oh my God, this bitch-ass nigga! Fuck! I’m pissed!”

Nolan took a few steps in his wife’s direction, still keeping a watchful eye on Joe Brezzy-Bey. Kapri was acting as if someone had run over her dog on purpose or something. And that enraged disposition had him dumbfounded. “Hey, baby, what up, doe, with all this? What’s good with you? Why you bugging? And what you mean, ‘another level and Karma’?”

“Niggaaaa,” she dragged the word out while taking off her blazer, throwing it on the step near her purse. “You just don’t under-damn-stand! I swear shit is crazy!” Kapri covered her face with both hands and screamed into her palms. It was if she were having a nervous breakdown or one of her episodes. Kapri had psychological issues like her husband, but neither was on meds. They just lived life and took it how it came.

Nolan had to find out what the problem was. He’d been dealing with Joe Brezzy-Bey and his mess and was mentally drained, and it showed on his face. “Damn, girl, slow your ass down! You got me confused as hell right about now.”

Kapri stood barely just over five feet. Yet, using all her strength, she yanked her husband over to the side near an old washing machine. They were now standing face-to-face, and Nolan saw tears form in his wife’s eyes. Then a few dropped. Her lower lip started to quiver, causing Nolan to realize something else was going on with his woman besides the ticket money being short again—something more serious. Before he knew what was happening next, Kapri bolted back to the stairs only to return quickly with her purse. Opening the designer handbag, she took out an envelope. Setting her purse on the step again, she then opened the envelope. Removing some papers, she could only shake her head in disgust and roll her tear-filled eyes at Joe Brezzy-Bey.

“Boy, I don’t know why you don’t be listening to me when I tell you shit. I knew that throwback broad you insist on being halfway cool with was nothing but trouble. But, naw, you always gotta be with that loyal bullshit. You just as much to blame as that nothing-ass bitch and his punk ass!”

“Baby, what you talking about now? What she do? I told you it ain’t nothing between her and me like that and never was. So what’s all the shade for? You tripping up in here.” Nolan could easily see his wife was pissed but couldn’t understand why. Whenever wifey brought up ole girl, an attitude always lurked behind it. Nolan couldn’t win for losing, always trying to be stand up. Like Brezzy-Bey, he too looked at the stairs wishing he could just walk the hell away.

“Shade? Tripping? For real? Oh, Negro, please. You funny as hell.” Kapri grabbed a handful of her shoulder-length, blond-streaked hair, pulling it all to the back. Poking her lips out, she firmly placed her hands on her hips, bossing up on her husband. “Trust and believe, ain’t no insecurities this damn way. What kinda weed ya ass done smoked, or is you getting high with that bum over there?”

“Bae, I was just saying. Damn, now, you really bugging.” Nolan knew once his wife started going, she went hard, even on him if called for. And whatever the deal was, she was taking no prisoners.

“Look now, ain’t no trick out here can go toe-to-toe with me. So, boy, bye. You can straight go on with all that set tripping.” Kapri bucked her eyes. There were no more tears, only anger. She waved her hand, dismissing her husband’s immediate assumptions of her being jealous.

“Well, umm . . .” Nolan folded his arms up to his chest, giving her the eye.

“Well, umm, nothing! I wish that was all it was where her dumb ass was concerned. But that thirsty whore the one that brought that snitch over there into our lives. And even when I told you he was gonna be a problem, you put the rat on a bag anyway. A damn snitch! So, yeah, like I said, check your damn self behind this uncalled for bullshit. And while you at it, take off that damn bloody-ass shirt. You the one bugging!”

Nolan took off the once-clean wife beater, tossing it off to the side. Bare chest, he then paused, taking in the moment. He wanted to make sure he heard correctly. Kapri was high-strung and used to going from zero to a hundred in no time flat. The devoted husband had to make sure this wasn’t one of those occasions. But this was far from an ordinary once-a-month, “I’m on my cycle” type of outburst. Regardless, Nolan had her back either way, but he at least wanted to understand the reason. “Whoa, slow it down, baby girl. What you mean a rat and a snitch? What you talking about? Him? That motherfucker over there? I’m confused as hell.”

Joe Brezzy-Bey was attempting to regain his composure. He was just starting to breathe normally again when he heard his boss’s wife say the words “rat,” followed by “snitch,” pointing directly at him. Once again, he started to spaz out, this time without Nolan’s hands even being wrapped around his throat. By the sound of things, Brezzy-Bey feared what may have been coming next. He thought his heart was going to jump out of his body. He started to tremble in fear, and the lump on his head began to ache even more. Now he had to deal with two of them, so the stairs as a means of escape, even risking that bullet in the spine, was definitely out of the equation. Joe Brezzy-Bey was trapped, and he would soon be exposed.

Kapri cut her dagger eyes back at the man held captive. Annoyed, she handed her husband the stapled, folded, three-page document she’d gotten from their lawyer. The information was supposed to be confidential. But thankfully, their attorney had inside connects that he’d pay for information if need be. This go-around, clear-cut, was money well spent. “Yeah, bae, check this out. This what that beloved lame over there really think about your yellow ass. I promise he got down on you. Truth be told, all our asses!”

“What’s this?” Nolan took the papers from his wife. Quickly he unfolded them. He glanced over at Brezzy-Bey before he started to read what exactly had Kapri so gone. It had to be major, so he braced himself.

“Yeah, I told you when you caught his ass selling burn bags, he was gonna be a problem. But, naw, getting rid of him was a no-go for you. When his dusty ass kept snorting that shit, you still kept him down. I swear, I should’ve just got somebody to kill this weak link a long time ago. So now we fucked in the game ’cause you was showing favoritism to that basic bitch cousin of his.” Kapri’s Red Bottom heels scraped across the basement concrete floor. She marched from one side to the other mean-m. . .