Thug Matrimony

by Wahida Clark

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

Synopsis

In Wahida Clark's phenomenal, gritty new novel, Angel is getting ready to marry the man of her dreams - but his past isn't about to let go.... Angel, Jaz, Tasha, and Kyra are four girlfriends pulling themselves out of the ghetto - and trying to bring their hearts up to higher ground with them. Now Angel has started her own law practice and new life with Kaylin. But when an unwanted guest crashes their wedding, all the rage and bloodlust from the hood comes bustin' out - and Angel's gonna need every prayer in heaven to make it to the altar alive....

Release date: August 19, 2010

Publisher: Recorded Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

All praise is due to the Creator. I thank Him for always coming through for me in time, on time, all the time.

My husband, thank you for holding it down for a sista. We only have a few more months of this madness. To our daughters, Hasana and Wahida, I am very proud of both of you. Wahida, good lookin’ out on the lyrics for Lil’E.

To the rest of the fam: my mom and dad of course. Love you both. Carla and Rob, glad you two are home safe from Iraq. Carla, you always have your family’s back. Thank you for all of your sacrifices. To my bestest Aunt Ann, I love you. Aunt Sis, hang in there a little while longer. Aunt Ginger and Aunt Marva, you two have been writing me; and Aunt Ginger sending me money my entire bid. I love you as well. My cousin Jay Harris. Where are you? I miss you. My baby brother, Melvin, we gonna do this right this time, feel me? Love you and my nephews Tyrece & Damar.

My spiritual brothers and sisters. Can’t wait to be in your midst to assist in doing our Father’s work. Your dedication is inspirational. Gina, you took the torch from Kisha and are now holding it down. Words cannot express my appreciation. To Aisha Nobel Samataha, Hadiyah, Al Nisa, and Omar for driving my girls down to see me. And to the rest of the fam, you are appreciated and you know who you are.

Now for all those who was down with my personal grind: Sylvia Ryan Webster, thanks for always being there. Dee Favors, did we put in work or what? We thought it would never end! I know this has been an experience you’ll never forget. Little Yalanda Carter, Sun Motley-Hill and Lashawn James, y’all are true team players. Watch out for the haters. Kisha Caldwell from the ‘D,’ you get double points: reader and hairdresser. Adriene Harrell, Barbara Hooker, Intelligent Tareef Allah, Angelia Ahladis, Courtney Moran: let’s stick to our game plan and make it happen. Show me the money!! Adiam Berhane, I appreciate all the research. Antoinette Boxley and my bad little protege Armeca Gargani: think before you speak, thank you very much.

Supreme, keep ya head up.

Thanks to my cheerleaders and motivators: Reyna Daniels, Big G. Ganaway, Fish, Carolyn Jackson, Ms. Carter, Hope and Natalie Leath.

To the rest of the Alderson crew, Catherine White, the biggest Tramp and my hair braider Teresa Ramseur, Char Romane, Tanya McNeil, Kim Moffet and the whole Moffet clan out of Charlotte who ran to Wal-mart for my book and brought them out. That was love. And Nick Kiser, whatever! Sheila Waller, Tawanna Clark, Linda Gleaton, Regina Thompson, Vee, Von, Kisha Wade and Renay Coachman.

Angela James and Shontay, thanks for the office space (smile). Another one of my hairdressers, Sprinkles, Patty Dukes Gabriel and Marissa Massey: may your mothers rest in peace and to all prisoners whose loved ones passed away while they were incarcerated.

To my Spanish mamis who helped me with translating the Spanish parts: Ana Castillo, Rosalbo Villegas, Marcelina Machuca, Wanda Rodriques, Señora Cruz and Diana.

The peeps who I forgot to mention in Payback Is a Mutha: my adopted niece Ella ‘Big El’ Camp, big up on graduating, Kim McDowell and Michelle Smith.

To my fellow authors who keep it gully and sent me books and mail: Kwame Teague, K. Elliot, Joe Black, Rob Booker, Paul Johnson, Paula Edwards, Jaeyl Imes, Crystal Perkins-Stell, Brenda L. Thomas, Nikki Turner, Diane and everyone—be on the lookout for Seth ‘Soul’ Man Ferranti. You are always on your grind. Got me that King piece and I’m sure many more to come. I appreciate you and respect your hustle. T. Styles, Hickson, Sha, Jason Poole, C-Murder, Fajr Bint—it’s a pleasure working with you.

A big, big shout-out to my Anthology contributors: What’s Really Hood? Vol. I. Lashonda Teague, Mo Foxx, Shawn ‘Jihad’ Trump, Bonta and Victor Martin.

Thanks to my agents Marc Gerald and Earl Cox. My editors Selena James and Karen Thomas. I’ll see you sistas soon.

Special thanks to all the book clubs, bookstores and vendors who are always on their grind. Can’t forget Don Diva, Street Felon and Essence.

And saving the most important thanks for last: my readers. You are the best. I really do appreciate all of the love, support, fan mail and pictures. This one’s for you.

Peace & Love,

Wahida

[email protected]

P.S. Project Pat, everybody is asking me if you kept your wordand wore a FreeWahidaClark T-shirt on BET … Nope!

It’s my wedding day. I’m Angel Denise Smith but today I will officially become Mrs. Kaylin Santos. I am a corporate and entertainment attorney and I am marrying a retired drug dealer. He’s a young brother who comes from a big family and who legally has a recycling business and a record label. He has a four-year-old son by his ex, named Malik, whom I love to death. You should hear him call me Red, the nickname his daddy calls me. He’s a trip.

This has been a crazy day. For starters, last night I found out that I’m pregnant. My plan was to surprise my husband tonight on our honeymoon. But as fate would have it, I ate some salsa, guacamole, and spicy chips and two hours later my dream wedding gown, a hand-beaded mother-of-pearl, swarvoski-crystal Vera Wang, was being used as a vomit dispenser. I was devastated. Then what really pissed me off was when I sent for my husband to be, and these two uppity, bitch-ass wannabe wedding coordinators, who obviously forgot that I’m the one who signs their checks, had the nerve to tell me the bride is not supposed to see the groom or some ole off-the-wall bullshit like that. I went the fuck off! I told both of them hoes to “get ta stepping!” Shit, my husband to be, my baby, was the only one who could make it right and I needed him. Either that or call off the fucking wedding, because it was going to be my way or the highway. And just as sure as the sun does shine, my baby handled things. He made everything all right, well, actually more than all right. After he found out that I was pregnant, he was ecstatic. Then he told me how much he loved me, how beautiful I am and how I make him complete. Even when I began stressing over the fact that I was ready to practice law at our record label and wasn’t sure about having a baby at this time, he made it all right again. He told me that the label wasn’t going anywhere so I might as well enjoy the pregnancy. He said that we had enough money to do whatever the fuck we wanted. And for me not to sweat the small shit. I was, like, “I know that’s right!”

Sensing that I was still stressing, he then asked me if I wanted him to get rid of all my tension. I purred, “Please do,” and closed my eyes as he began to run his tongue over my pregnant nipples. I didn’t give a damn about all the guests sitting downstairs waiting for our grand entrance. He then undressed me and spread my thighs so that he could look at my pregnant pussy. I could feel the juices trickle down as I watched my baby lick his lips while yanking off the Armani pants he was getting ready to walk down the aisle in. Damn, this nigga is so fine, I thought to myself. He began kissing the inside of my thighs and in four seconds flat, just like Lloyd Banks would say, “I’m on fire!” I grabbed that nigga’s head trying to guide it to the spot, but he wouldn’t allow it because he decided he wanted to tease. I thought I was gonna die! That’s when he eased three fingers inside me and began working my juicy pussy, but as soon as he saw I was about to nut he slid them out and told me to finish myself off. I was in pure ecstasy as he watched me take myself to the stairway to heaven. As soon as my legs started shaking my nigga crawled all the way up inside me. He was fucking me so good that I was screaming. We both busted our nuts at the same time. And believe you me, all of my tension was gone!

After about ten minutes he reminded me that we had a wedding ceremony to perform and pictures to take. So we got up, showered together, and as soon as he got dressed he headed to get the photographer and our parents.

So now I have my dream wedding gown back on, vomit-free, and I’m sitting here at the vanity table looking in the mirror. Basically I’m just waiting on the photo session to commence. I have two group photos in front of me. The first one is of all the bridesmaids, and the picture is beautiful. We were having dinner at Kaylin’s mother’s house. Then my gaze goes over to my sho’nuff dawgs. I’m crying now because I’m looking at an eight-by-ten flick of me, and my girls Jaz, Tasha, and Kyra. We went to an Olan Mills studio to do this one, right before we all graduated. I can honestly say that those are my girls for life. We have all been through some shit, good times and some bad. Lots of bad (and if you haven’t read Thugs and the Women Who Love Them, do so and you’ll find out just how bad.) Anyway, I love these chicks.

Kyra is my cousin. Her mom and my mom are sisters. That ho was strung out on heroin, overdosed, the whole nine yards. You talkin’ about a survivor. Her face should be by that word in the dictionary. She is still going to school to become a psychologist. She is enrolled in a graduate program at UCLA. She married Marvin, her nigga from back in the day. He got her strung out, did an eight-year bid upstate, came back for her, and they’ve been thick as thieves ever since. What makes me the happiest is that other than weed they both have been drug-free and have been blessed with a beautiful daughter named Aisha. They left Jersey and moved to Cali.

Then there’s Jaz. That bitch is a whole mess. A fuckin’ genius! Too smart for her own damn good. Can be dumb as hell sometimes too. Like the time she had that NBA nigga, not in her crib but all up in Faheem’s spot. That bitch and the baller almost lost their lives. Come to think of it, that was also around the time when we found out she was working in a meth lab and had been doing so for almost a year. She was stackin’ mad dough but livin' off Faheem’s. They got married and even though Jaz didn’t want any babies, Faheem wasn’t tryna hear that shit. They ended up with a spoiled little girl named Kaeerah. Jaz went to jail over that meth shit and was looking at football numbers. But Faheem, that nigga, did some grimey shit and the next thing you know she beat the case. He’s a real “G,” stuck by her through it all. Now she’s living in the ATL going to the Morehouse School of Medicine, which is the only part of the school that is coed. I hope she don’t get into no shit, ‘cause niggas are everywhere! Na mean!

Last but not least is my girl Tasha, the drama queen. She’s another one who has been drug through the fire. But just like gold, she came out shining. She went from hoeing at the age of nine or thirteen (you gotta read Every Thug Needs a Lady to get all of those juicy details) to selling dope, to her hooking up with one drug dealer only to be snatched up by that same drug dealer’s partna, Trae. That shit was crazy! She lost their first baby during some mad, mad drama that they was going through, but now she has twins and is pregnant with another one. She’s one of them hoes that if you look at her wrong she gets pregnant. Anyway I love her and if she hadn’t been snatched up by Trae I would never have met my Boo. That was weird the way that shit worked out. Trae and Kaylin are partners in crime. It’s like they are brothers from another mother or spiritual twins, some shit like that. However, he is so good to her and for her, she is always happy and has changed and matured so beautifully. I can only thank God for everything He has done for all of us. She and Trae are the only ones outta the crew who didn’t have a big wedding. They snuck off and got married in Jamaica or somewhere. They got money coming outta their asses and they too have moved to Cali. Tasha is a physical therapist and has her own rehab center. She gets to work on all of them big money-gettin’ ballplayers.

That’s right; there is nothing lazy about none of us. We may be hood, but we all know how to turn that shit on and off when needed. Now, that’s what’s up!

Now, me? My shit is so fucked up I don’t even want to talk about it. For example, like I said today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, my wedding day. But somehow it turns into my wedding blues. I can’t even bring myself to talk about it. So I’ll let Wahida fill y’all in. That chick is wicked with the pen. We love you, Wahida! I’m out.

“Fuck the groom! I’m here for the bride, she’s my woman. Can you tell her Snake is here and he needs to talk to her?” As if on cue his boys came inside. There were five of them and every one of them was strapped.

“Snake? You’re Keenan, her ex!” Trina glared in disbelief. He gave her this look that said what the fuck you think? When she got the message she made a mental note of all the niggas he had there for backup. “Aiight, then. Wait right here and I’ll go get her.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he said to Trina’s back as she walked away.

“Ooooohhh, shit! Ooooohhh, shit!” Trina kept mumbling as she wove around and in between the many hotel guests as she was trying to rush to the elevator. “Ooooohhh, shit! That nigga is alive and kicking!” She kept banging on the UP button as if that would make the elevator move quicker. She looked up to see what floor they were on, but only one of the elevators was moving. The other one appeared to be stuck on the eighteenth floor. She kept pressing the UP button. When it finally opened she pushed her way on without even giving the guests an opportunity to get off.

“Excuse you!” a young sister shouted at Trina as she meanmugged her.

“Bitch, this is New York and you’re excused!” Trina shot back.

“Trina, why you always gotta start some shit?” Jaz teased. “And what’s up, who got your G-string all in a bunch?” Jaz was all hugged up on Faheem. They were the last two to step off the elevator.

Trina grabbed Jaz’s arm. “Aw, shit. Come here, y’all. Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit! Guess who’s here?” Jaz and Faheem just stared at her, both of them obviously not up for any guessing games. Sensing that, Trina yelled out, “Muthafuckin’ Snake! That nigga is in the building!”

“Snake!” Jaz and Faheem said simultaneously. “Who the fuck is that!” Faheem needed to confirm. “Not Snake. You mean the pimp? I thought he was dead.” Faheem had a puzzled look on his face.

“You and everybody else! It is on now!” Trina said, ready for some drama.

“You sure it’s him?” Jaz was skeptical. “How do you know it’s him?” she pressed. None of them noticed that they were just riding the elevators as if they had no destination. Surprisingly no one got on.

“It looks like him. He said it was him and he said for me to go get his girl.”

“That’s impossible.” Jaz was shaking her head no. “What you been smokin’? You up here imagining things and shit.”

“Imagining? I didn’t imagine that he had five niggas with him and I know they’re carrying some heat!”

“What?” That got Faheem on full alert. “Aw, hell no!” Faheem was looking at Trina to see if she was for real. Jaz could see Faheem’s killer qualities kicking in.

“Faheem?” Jaz said as she squeezed his arm.

“Where’s Kay?” he asked Trina, referring to Kaylin.

“I think in Angel’s room.”

“I need to go holla at him.” He hit the button to the suite level. “Trina, go get Kyra. I’ma go tell Angel.”

“Naw, you go get Kyra. I’ma go tell Angel. I’m not missing this!” Trina stood next to Faheem. “Later for Kyra. If I was you I’d go with the rest of us.”

“Kyra is her cousin. She needs to be there.” Jaz was getting agitated with Trina.

When the elevator doors opened they followed behind Faheem to Angel’s suite. They heard laughter from behind the door. Faheem knocked as if he was the po-po.

Kyra opened the door. She had tears in her eyes. Everyone looked behind her and immediately knew why she had tears of joy cascading down her cheeks. Angel looked simply stunning. She was glowing as the photographer snapped pictures of her and Kaylin, then the bride by herself, then the bride and groom with all of the parents.

“Yo, Kay! I need to holla at you, man.” Faheem didn’t care about interrupting as he stepped inside the suite.

“Hold up.” Kaylin kissed his moms on the cheek and walked her to the door.

When Kaylin came back to the bar area Faheem said, “Get your wife.”

“Get me for what?” Angel was already right behind Faheem and immediately detected the tension in his voice.

“We got a problem.”

“Damn. What now? We gonna start in exactly fifteen minutes,” Kaylin said. “Whatever it is will have to wait until my day is over.”

“Y’all got some unwanted guests and niggas is packin’ that heat. I don’t think that can wait. I suggest you get your squad ready,” Faheem warned Kay.

“Them niggas stay ready. But I need to know who the fuck is tryna throw salt on my wedding and why I gotta get my squad in place.”

“Me too,” Angel chimed in.

“That nigga Snake.”

“Snake?” Angel and Kaylin both said, confused.

In the meantime on the eighteenth floor …

Tasha was riding with one of her twin sons, Shaheem, on her hip, while glad to be spending some time with her little brother, Kevin. “I miss you, you little punk,” she teased.

“I miss you too, you big punk.” He looked at his sister in admiration.

“I worry about you all the time, Kevin.”

“Don’t do that, ‘cause what’s gonna happen is gonna happen.” As soon as Kevin pressed the UP button the elevator doors opened and their eyes went to Trae lying on the floor bleeding.

Kevin mumbled, “What the fuck?”

“Oh my God! Trae!” She shoved Shaheem into Kevin’s arms, who was just standing there. “Get my baby outta here. He can’t see this!” she screamed. “Give me your cell phone. Oh my God!” She kept her eyes on Trae as she dialed 911. “Trae baby.” She knelt down beside him as she felt his weak pulse. “Trae baby, don’t do this to me. Don’t you do this to me! I need an ambulance to the Hyatt Regency.” She spoke firmly into the cell. “We’re on the eighteenth floor in the elevator. My husband is bleeding, his pulse rate is probably about thirty-eight, his breathing is very shallow, and …” As she put her ear to his chest, she said, “I can’t tell if there is bubbling in his lungs. I think I’m losing him!” she screamed into the phone. “He was shot in the chest and leg and I think the shoulder or arm, I can’t tell, there’s so much blood.” She noticed that his gun was lying next to him. She ran her finger over the barrel and it was still warm. “Please hurry!” She ended the call while tearing a strip off the bottom of her dress. She tied it as tight as she could around his arm, went under the armpit up to the shoulder. Then she tore another piece off and tied it tight around his leg. “Trae, if you can hear me, I love you, baby, and you’re a fighter. I need you to fight. Fight for me, baby. Fight for me and our boys. We need you, baby. I can’t do this without you. Don’t make me do this without you. Do you hear me, Trae?”

I hear you, baby. Trae was talking to her, but no sound or words were coming out of his mouth. He felt as if he were floating out in orbit.

“Stay with me, baby.”

I’m with you.

Just then hotel security came off the elevator. “Holy shit!” He pressed the TALK button on his walkie-talkie and said, “They’re here on the eighteenth floor in the B elevator. Blood is everywhere.”

The shooter obviously had pressed the emergency STOP button. So hotel security got on with them, hitting the same button. “We’re coming down to basement level now,” he said as he hit the B2 button. “The ambulance is waiting, ma’am,” he said to a crying Tasha, who had Trae’s head resting in her lap. He had never seen a live and up-close gunshot victim before.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “Please, baby, don’t die on me,” she whispered.

When the elevator doors opened, the paramedics rushed inside. “Ma’am, we need you to step outside please.” The older paramedic helped her up. “Is this your husband?” She nodded yes. “We need to get him stabilized. You said he was shot?” He noticed the tourniquets that she had made and was impressed.

“I think three times.” She watched as they ripped his clothes off and set up an IV line, all with tremendous speed. She heard them say “One … two … three …” and he was on the gurney being loaded into the back of the ambulance. When Tasha tried to climb up onto the back with them the older paramedic shook his head no.

“What are you shaking your head no for? That is my husband and you best believe that I will be riding with him.” Tasha was about to lose it.

“This is a high-trauma case, ma’am. We need to be alone with the victim,” the older paramedic told her.

The two other paramedics were working on Trae as the female paramedic tried to calm Tasha down. But she was holding on tight to the back of the ambulance door.

“You’re wasting precious time, ma’am.”

“Fuck you! That is my husband and I’m not leaving him!”

“Ma, what the hell happened?” Omar, Trae’s cousin, apparently had been running. So was Kevin and two other guests, because they were right behind him.

“They shot him, Omar, and these muthafuckers are tryna tell me I can’t ride with him. They got me fucked up! I’m riding!” She climbed up onto the back of the ambulance. She screamed, “Don’t you touch me! Don’t fuckin’ touch me! I am going with my husband!” She was spookin’ the older paramedic who was trying to grab her arm.

That’s right, baby, Trae was saying.

“Kevin, I need my purse. Meet us at the hospital.”

“Which one?” Omar looked at the older paramedic.

“Right down the street.” And he closed the ambulance doors.

Omar took off to get his car. Kevin went to get Tasha’s purse.

“Oh, God, plea. . .