Sleeping With The Enemy

by Wahida Clark, Kiki Swinson

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction; Anthologies

Synopsis

Wahida Clark and Kiki Swinson are two mistresses who have the street lit genre on lock.—The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers Enemy in My Bed Wahida Clark Kreesha can't control her dangerous feelings for Reign—a brother who's married, just out of prison, and one strike away from lockdown–for–life. But when Reign betrays her to the Feds, she'll risk everything to save her empire and give Reign one last seduction—with a bullet . . . Keeping My Enemies Close Kiki Swinson Larissa is fed up with lying, cheating men. Her best friend Tenisha's suggestion: try a guaranteed–to–be–faithful brother in prison. But when hooking up with Sean lands Larissa behind bars, she'll do whatever it takes to make sure Tenisha and Sean get the ultimate paybac k. . . Includes An Excerpt From Kiki's New Novel!

Release date: August 1, 2008

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 304

Sample

Kreesha had just finished fluffing up her king-sized pillows when she heard her doorbell ring. She looked at the clock on her nightstand, which read 8:49 A.M. She peeked out her bedroom window and saw a high-yellow sista wearing a white Nike sweat suit and sneakers. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she looked agitated. With her hand resting loosely on her hip, she rang the bell again.

“Fuck!” Kreesha said out loud. She cracked her bedroom window. “Who is it?”

The young lady looked up to where the voice was coming from. “Are you Kreesha?”

“Yeah,” Kreesha answered with much skepticism. “And you are?” She blazed at her, even though she had an idea who this chick was.

“I’m Sparkle. Reign’s wife?” she said more as a question than a statement. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” She was staring at Kreesha, daring her to say no.

“What do you need to talk to me for? Don’t you think you need to be talking to Reign?”

“Oh, trust and believe I’ve already spoken to Reign. Now I need to talk to you. Can I just have a couple of minutes? We’re both adults here.”

Kreesha paused before slamming the window shut. “Wifey!” she mumbled under her breath. “I knew it was coming but I am not up for this shit today!” She grabbed a robe and went into the bathroom to make herself more presentable. As she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and applied a little makeup, she griped, “This bitch is on my porch, on my time, so she is going to have to wait.” She spoke into the mirror as she played in her hair. “Wifey,” she mumbled again as if she didn’t believe it and headed out of the bathroom. She grabbed the can of mace from her purse and slipped it inside her robe pocket.

When she got to the front door she paused before peering out the window to see if wifey was still out there waiting and to make sure she was alone. She wasn’t about to get jumped inside of her own home. There was a white-on-white Acura Legend parked there, but no one was in it. “I can take this bitch,” she concluded.

Kreesha opened the door and was ready to do battle. “How in the fuck you know where I live?”

“Bitch, please, I said I was wifey, it’s my job to know!” Sparkle was staring at her all crazy.

“Ho, it’s your job to say whatever the fuck it is you gots to say and get the fuck off my property! Bitch!” Kreesha was fingering her can of mace, itching to use it.

Sparkle held her ground, staring at Kreesha as if she couldn’t believe what was before her eyes.

“I know you don’t think I’ma invite you in for cookies and milk! Whatever you gots to say you can go ahead and say it!” Kreesha was trying her best not to pull out the mace.

“Whatever,” Sparkle finally said. Seeing that her competition wasn’t going to make this easy, she decided to get straight to the point. “Reign will be getting out in a few days. And as you know, we are married and have been for the last three years and obviously throughout his whole bid. I told him that you was just an infatuation, something to do to help him pass his time while doin’ his bid. But in a few days whatever business or fun you was having with my husband will be over. Oh, know this boo, once he gets out it’s a wrap!” And she turned to walk away.

Not wasting any time with her comeback, Kreesha yelled, “Bitch, let me enlighten you a little! You can choose to believe that it’s a wrap, but it’s not. Obviously you don’t even believe that shit since you took the chance of bringing yo’ dusty ass over to my house talking some bullshit, half-ass, and inaccurate information. I mean, he may be married, but I can guarantee you that being infatuated is not in the equation.”

“Oh, you don’t think so?” Sparkle asked as she turned back around to face her. “What do you call hooking up with some nigga in prison on some pen-pal shit? And sneaking down to see him when you know that his wife is not going to be there? Face it, girlfriend, it’s all an infatuation. You’re just someone he’s using to pass the time. Thanks for the car, bitch! But like I said, he’s taken. The man is mines. It’s over!” Sparkle turned and headed toward her car.

“Bitch, it ain’t over until I say it’s over! You’ll see!” The next thing, Kreesha was running off of her porch in a rage when halfway down the stairs she stumbled and skidded the rest of the way kissing the ground. Full of embarrassment she peered up at Sparkle, whose gaze was dripping with disgust. When she got to the Legend, Sparkle had already locked the door and was starting the engine. “Nah, bitch, get the fuck out, bitch. You was bold enough to come over, get the fuck out.” Kreesha was ready for war.

Sparkle cracked her window. “You dumb ass sucka for love! You ain’t worth it. If you hadn’t of bought me this car, I probably would have fucked your ass up. But I wanted to thank you personally for this and just on GP, I ain’t gonna run yo’ fat, stupid ass over!” She gassed the engine and pulled off.

Kreesha went back inside and slammed her front door so hard the iron fell off of the ironing board. She was pissed as she paced back and forth, not wanting to believe that the bitch had come to her house and was bragging on the car. She picked up her phone and pressed the memory button for her cousin Eboni. When the voice mail picked up, Kreesha paged her, then headed to swoop the iron up off the floor. Her phone rang, and she ran into the dining room to get it.

“Eboni?” she spat, completely out of breath.

“Yeah, what’s up? And why you all outta breath? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m on my way to Wal–Mart.”

“Can you stop over here? You’ll never believe what bitch just left!”

“Since I won’t believe it, then why the fuck should I guess. What bitch, Kreesha?” she snapped impatiently.

“Reign’s wife. The bitch’s name is Sparkle. The skank-ass ho had the nerve to come to my house. My fuckin’ house, Eboni! Can you believe that shit?” she yelled into the phone. “That bitch! That motherfuckin’ ugly-ass, high-yella bitch!” Kreesha was so heated she was foaming at the mouth.

Eboni held the phone away from her ear. “Look, Kree, you knew this day was coming. You also know if the shoe was on the other foot, you would have been at that ho’s house your damn self! You fuckin’ with a married man. You know what time it is. Fuck that bitch! I know you gonna keep doin’ you. So why you sweatin’ the dumb shit? As long as she ain’t beat your ass, then who gives a fuck?” Eboni had to laugh at the thought of Kreesha getting her ass whupped.

“Oh, so now you got jokes? You know she ain’t beat my ass. It’s just the principle of the whole thing. The bitch showed up at my front door telling me to leave her man, which is also my man, alone. And bragging about that corny-ass Legend. How the fuck she know where I live? You wait until that nigga calls!”

“Yeah, because that is who you should check. Because he’s supposed to have her in check.” Eboni was hoping to get off the phone without Kreesha again asking her to come over. “He’ll be calling you soon.”

“Whatever. I sure ain’t gonna sit around waiting for that nigga. I am not in the right frame of mind. I might say something I’ll regret later.” Just then the other line clicked. “Be ready tomorrow. It’s BBD day. I might call you tonight.” She clicked Eboni off the line and checked her caller ID. It was Reign.

“Yo, Eboni! It’s time to rock and roll!” I yell into the cell phone at my cousin.

“I’ll be on the porch,” she yelled right back at my ass.

I know she’s lyin’. I grab the keys to my rented Dodge something truck—I don’t know what the fuck it is fo’ real. I just know it’s good enough for me to handle my business. Let me introduce you to the otha side of me, the business me. Oh, Reign? For dude, right about now, fuck him!

See, I’m that bitch when it comes to the weed in Memphis, Tennessee. That’s all I serve, and I’m ballin’ with the best of ’em. I leave the hard stuff to my boys because I like to be number one. The weed allows me to be just that, number one. If I was to get into the dope, then I would have to compete against fifty otha niggas, and I ain’t tryna hear that. Excuse me. I’m pullin’ up in front of Eboni’s and this bitch said she was gonna be on the front porch! Honk! Honk! If I don’t keep hittin’ the horn, this ho will take even longer.

Anyhow, as I was saying, actually the weed business is fun as hell, and it being very profitable is a plus. My connect from Colombia delivers the real big shipments by truck and she ... that’s right, it’s a she. My girl Express Mails pounds to addresses that I tell her to. I got a few suburbia neighborhoods on lock. While citizens Mr. and Mrs. John Doe is off at their corporate offices, unbeknownst to them their front porches are being used as receiving docks for my product. Me and my dawg, Eboni, cruise down the block, jump out the car, grab the boxes off the front porches, and we out. Express Mail has been real good to me. That’s why me and my moms both own some of their stock. After we stuff the truck with all the Express Mail boxes, it’s off to my uncle’s garage where we BBD. That stands for Breakdown, Bag, and prepare for Delivery.

“I thought you said you was ready?” I snap on Eboni as she finally jumps her slow ass in the car. I toss her my cell phone and instruct her to call my uncle Roscoe and let him know we’ll be there in fifteen. I do that to get on her nerves because she hates Roscoe. Why? I have yet to find out. She snatches the phone up and calls him. But not before giving me a look that is so sharp it could trim my eight-hundred-dollar luxurious weave.

When we pull up to my uncle’s block, I can see the niggas waitin’. Why niggas gotta be so hardheaded? Is it because I’ma bitch? I tell them specifically not to come by until after five. Here it ain’t even two-thirty and they’re all posted up, attracting all this unnecessary attention to my uncle’s house. My uncle is a working man. Been working third shift at the hospital for the last fourteen years. He smokes mad weed, though; just like my moms. I guess it runs in the family. One thing for sho’, he makes sure he is up and ready when it’s time to break it up, bag, and deliver.

So now I see that I gots to check these niggas. I put on my game face and jump outta the truck. I see Mace, Doobie, Alex, and that dyke bitch, Obie; she’s family and works my last nerve. Me and Eboni are always strapped, even though we don’t get into nothing. All the niggas in the game around these parts know we got all the big dawgs on our team.

“I told y’all niggas after five, not two-thirty. I ain’t gonna run out,” I say, looking them all up and down.

“C’mon, I got some runs to make. I would have to go all the way across town and back again,” pleads Obie.

See what I mean? The family bitches always have an excuse. “That’s not my problem. Y’all just can’t be sitting out here in front of my uncle’s house like this. It attracts attention. Come back around five.”

Obie keeps talkin’ shit, but I don’t care. I simply tune her dyke ass out.

Eboni jumps in the driver’s side of the truck. I wait until my faithful customers pull off, and I go inside to open the garage door. “What’s up, Roscoe?” My uncle Roscoe reminds me of Fred Sanford. The only thing missing is that walk.

“You,” he says, leading the way to his garage. “Corey is here to put in some work,” he tells me.

“Good. The more, the merrier, and the quicker we can get done.” Corey is his only son, and is the spittin’ image of his father. He’s just taller and darker.

Just that quick here comes another interruption to fuck up my day. Eboni’s baby daddy has pulled up behind my truck, and he’s yelling at her to get out of the truck and bring her ass home. I done told this ho that she can’t be staying out all night, but she don’t listen. Now this nigga Buck is six-foot-three and about two-hundred-sixty pounds. Me, I’m a buck sixty, five-foot-five, slanted eyes, toffee-colored, blemish-free skin. Eboni, she’s five-foot-six and a buck seventy, light chocolate, long real hair, and bedroom eyes. Yeah. Us southern girls, we both got a lotta junk in our trunks. But us two together can’t take his big ass. So I feel around for my piece and go over to the truck.

“What’s up, Buck?” He’s now banging on the window, yelling at her to get out. “Buck, this is a rental, so chill. All that bangin’ ain’t necessary. Eboni, get out!” I yell at her. This dumb bitch is ignoring us and is acting like she’s talking on her cell phone. “Open the door, Eboni. Get out and talk to your man like civilized folks.” I know some stupid shit is about to pop off. Hell, it always does with these two.

She cracks the window and screams, “I’ll be there when I get there!”

I’m like, Oh, hell, it’s about to go down!

“Naw, the fuck you ain’t! You comin’ home right now!” he screams back at her.

Now I gotta play mediator. “Buck, I’ll bring her home in a few hours. We about to break down.”

Now, this is a big nigga like I said before. But he’s pussy whipped. She can’t get rid of him if she wanted to. I told her one day she’s gonna push this crazy-ass nigga too far and he’s gonna kill her. But for now I gots to have her back.

“Buck, you know she was at my house last night. All you had to do was call over there. You know we had to get up early and handle this business.” Why did I tell that fib? The nigga snapped.

“You a motherfuckin’ lie!” He spits in my face. And I mean spit. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “You a motherfuckin’ lie!” he continues as if he forgot what he just said. “I was parked in front of your house until three this morning! You ain’t right, Kreesha! You ain’t right!” He’s pointing his finger in my face. “You can’t cover for her this time.”

At this point, my uncle has closed the garage door and is coming over to where we are. “Buck, you gotta take all this racket elsewhere.” He was attempting to calmly diffuse the situation.

“They ain’t right, Roscoe, and you know it, man!” He turns back to Eboni. “Get the fuck out, Eboni! Now!” He tries to stick his big-ass hand through the crack of the window. Such a big dumb motherfucker! What’s even more off-the-wall is she turns on the ignition and rolls the window up. Now he’s screaming, I guess because his hand is hurting, but this only causes him to hit the window with his free hand, and it goes clear through to the inside. Glass starts to flyin’ .

“Buck!” I holler his name. And now Eboni is screaming like she’s being chased by an axe murderer and is trying to climb to the passenger side so that she can make a run for it.

I’m pissed off now and so is Uncle Roscoe. “Y’all niggas know we illegal as hell out here. If someone calls the police, we all goin’ to jail, and I ain’t goin’ to jail for nobody.” My uncle Roscoe pulls out his piece and puts it to Buck’s head. “Nigga, you heard this ole man. Take this ruckus home where it belongs!”

“Uncle Roscoe, put that fuckin’ gun away. You the one gonna make these folks call the police,” I try to reason with him.

When Eboni gets out of the other side and runs for the house, crazy-ass Buck pays the gun pointed at his skull no mind and goes running after his sweet young thang. Before she can reach the steps Buck has her by the hair, and that bitch starts screaming like the bitch that she is. He’s banging her head against the steps.

Now the neighbors are posted up on porches and in windows and shit, so I have to think fast. I run to Buck’s car and move it out of the way because he had me blocked in. As soon as I jump into the truck, Corey is coming out the house swingin’ a bat like he’s Batman Joe. See, when it comes to family, we aim or strike first, then ask questions. Poor Buck, he knows better th. . .