Blood, Sweat and Payback Read online

  To all of the Wahida Clark Readers and Supporters around the globe.

  Prologue

  He awoke in darkness, a dark, dank basement, fighting to adjust his swollen eyes. The ropes were so tight, they had cut off the circulation in his hands and feet. He couldn’t feel them at all. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they had cut them off after everything else they had done to him. Being numb was a welcomed blessing because he felt no pain. His face was swollen from the beating, and he slumped in the chair they had tied him to. He knew he would die. They wouldn’t be dumb enough to let him go. But he prided himself on taking it like a G. Knowing that death was near, he was determined not to let his killers think they had won.

  Soon, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs and realized he had lost track of time. How long had he been tied down? Hours? Days? Weeks? It didn’t matter, because he knew it was over. In fact, he welcomed it.

  When he saw the man approach, it all made sense. “You!” he growled, hating to acknowledge he had lost.

  The man chuckled. “Surprised? Not surprised? I gotta admit, I still can’t read you. But I won, and that’s all that matters,” the man gloated.

  “Nigga, suck my dick! Do what you came to do. Get this shit over with because I got some bad bitches in hell waiting for me,” he spat.

  “In due time, my nigga. I wanna savor this moment,” the man answered, walking around him, circling him like predators circle wounded prey. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “You know it’s over, right? The Consortium is a thing of the past. Now I run the show . . . solo.”

  The man stopped in front of him and looked him in the eyes. Despite the beating, he still had that fire in them.

  “You wanna know how I did it, don’t you? How I played all you dumb muhfuckas!” the man laughed. “Don’t you?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Well, I’ma tell you anyway ’cause the shit is just so fuckin’ gangsta, you gonna love it!”

  • • •

  “Bitch, you disgust me,” Sharia spat, her tongue dripping with contempt.

  “You don’t understand, Sharia,” Demetria sobbed. “I love Briggen! I can’t do no shit like that.”

  Sharia looked at the phone like it had shit oozing out of it. She didn’t know which fact made her sicker—that her baby sister had fallen for the same bullshit game she had fallen for, or the visions of Demetria and Briggen fucking. Her stomach turned. She wanted to vomit. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she stood gazing out at the icy Detroit River from the living-room window of her eighteenth-floor apartment. The Lafayette Lofts remained one of Detroit’s prominent waterfront residences. And thanks to her new sponsors, paying the $2,500 monthly lease was not a problem. Sharia then walked over to her kitchen window where she saw remnants of a fire blazing in the city. Stick to the plan, she told herself. Stick to the plan.

  “Look . . . Demetria, I know we’ve had our differences, but despite all that, you’re my sister, and I love you,” she lied.

  “I love you too,” Demetria replied, feeling vulnerable.

  Sharia had to catch herself from checking Demetria. The words of her grandmother resounded in her ears. “Never show another bitch how good your man treats you. She’ll want him for herself.”

  “So true, Grandmother. So true,” Sharia whispered. Ever since I can remember, this bitch always wanted my spot. “Be serious, Demetria. This nigga would not be sittin’ in jail for one minute for you. Especially not on no dope charge.” She let her words sink in. “So, what the fuck is wrong with you? This is your second time. And this time he is going to leave you for dead. Arkansas is not playing with yo’ black ass!” Sharia hoped her words scared Demetria enough to cooperate against Briggen.

  This was the second time Demetria got busted in Arkansas, carrying dope for Briggen. The first time she kept her mouth shut, thanks to Sharia being the captain of Briggen’s street soldiers. But this time, the captain needed her to flip over on Briggen. The line was silent for a moment. Sharia really needed her sister to do this. She needed her to help make Briggen suffer.

  “Demetria!”

  “I-I don’t know. Prob-probably not.”

  “You have thirty seconds,” the automated operator interrupted their mental tug-of-war that Sharia was winning.

  “Demetria, that nigga don’t care about you,” Sharia said, talking fast. “Do what’s best for you, you hear me?”

  “Uh-I—” Demetria mumbled.

  “Demetria!”

  “I hear you,” she confirmed.

  Sharia started to say something else, but the phone cut off. She went back into her bedroom. “Shit!” she cursed, tossing her phone on the bed.

  “So what you think?” he asked, as he kicked back naked on the bed.

  “She will,” she replied, crawling up on the bed, and straddling him Sharia eased down onto his dick as if her pussy could do all of the convincing. “She better.”

  • • •

  Detroit. The city that is now bankrupt. With crime at an all-time high and the lack of consistent police presence, The Consortium felt this was the perfect place to take the game to the next level. The Motor City was in need of a modern-day Robin Hood crew. A crew that would take their ill-gotten gains and pump the monies back into the lifeless city. Dark was especially excited. He wanted to get his Nino Brown on, and Detroit was up for grabs.

  Benny Thrillz. Dark was right back at the place where he got his start. And being one of the youngest and newest members of The Consortium, he arranged a meeting, anxious to get things poppin’. As he and a few members of The Consortium sat in the back of the restaurant, he could smell the spaghetti sauce from across the room. The waiter brought over stuffed flounder for Born, spaghetti and meatballs for Six-Nine, and Cornish game hen and a salad for Crystal.

  The waiter made sure everyone had their entrées. Dark held his glass above his seafood and pasta dish and proposed a toast. Just as the waiter filled their crystal champagne flutes and they clinked, Dark’s cell phone vibrated. Since it was that 757 area code he answered it.

  “I heard you were doing real well for yourself, so I wanted to send you a gift.”

  Fuck. He loved and hated the sexy, chilling, overconfident voice. “Bitch, don’t call my fuckin’ ph—” Dark started to say, but his words were cut off by screams. The restaurant erupted into chaos.

  Suddenly, three masked gunmen burst through the door and let loose with semiautomatic weapons, emptying their clips in the direction of Dark’s table. Stunned and slow to react, Dark’s eyes fell on Born and Six-Nine, who were still grinning over the proposed toast.

  And then . . . Six-Nine died stuck with his last expression, a grin. One shot blew through the back of his head, and true to the nature of a dum-dum bullet, ripped open the side of his face. Born moved as if he had a sixth sense, diving to the floor an instant before Dark. They looked at each other as they lay flat on the tiled floor, their eyes both asking, What the fuck?

  Dark looked up at Crystal who sat frozen in place with terror. Blank face and eyes void she obviously wasn’t ready for this part of the game. If it hadn’t been for the fact that someone behind her tried to duck away, but instead ducked into the bullet, it would’ve blown her wig back.

  “Yo!” he yelled out, shocked to see her not taking cover. He reached up and snatched her under the table as a barrage of shots exploded exactly where she just was.

  “Go! Go!” one of the gunmen barked, and then they all ran out the door.

  And just like that . . . It was over.

  Dark and Born remained still for several moments after the gunshots stopped to be sure they were clear. Then they slowly got up. Dark snatched Crystal up and surveyed the scene. S
everal innocent bystanders had been hit, including a small boy. What most likely were the screams of his mother could be heard as she kneeled down, cradling her son. Dark was ready to move. His gaze fell on Six-Nine laid out on his back, faceless. Born’s eyes fell on him too, then they looked at each other.

  “So this is how niggas wanna play?” Born seethed, ready to blaze the entire city. He especially wanted to go to war with whoever was responsible for this.

  “This wasn’t a nigga,” Dark replied, thinking of the call that came seconds before the hit.

  Born started to ask what he was talking about, but sirens wailed in the distance.

  “We gotta go,” Dark spoke up first out of reflex he grabbed Crystal with his cast-clad arm, and then winced in pain. She was still in a daze. This bitch ain’t nothing like her sister Janay, Dark thought as they all made their getaway.

  He remembered when he first met Janay. Right here in Benny Thrillz, his first Consortium meeting. She had recognized Melky, who sat in a wheelchair, as one of the lames who had come to her house and tried to kidnap and rob her and Crystal. She grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose and smashed the nigga across the head. Then she stabbed him in the throat twice. No one could stop the blood from gushing out of his neck. Yeah. Janay had heart. She was made for the game. And from that moment he was very impressed with her gangsta. Crystal, on the other hand . . . well, he would have to see.

  My Dearest Nyla,

  Baby, if you are reading this note then things are going exactly as I predicted they would. I need you to do this for me; go into the basement. You know that old sofa you kept trying to get me to throw out? Give it to my baby girl and tell her daddy loves her. And then that picture frame of that $2 bill on the wall in the bedroom, open it. That’s a gift from me to you.

  Nyla was confused. Forever was dead. Who had sent the note? What’s going on? She made her way into the basement and approached the worn-out old sofa. She had promised herself she’d throw it out a thousand times.

  Give it to my baby girl.

  Why on earth would he want our daughter to have a sofa? It . . . made no sense. She looked at the couch. Still, it made no sense. Raggedy as it was, it needed to get thrown into a dumpster. Out of anger and confusion, she grabbed one of the cushions and unthinkingly ripping it. She now knew why it was so heavy.

  It was filled with money!

  Nyla frantically ripped away the rest of the cushion, revealing the neatly stacked and plastic-wrapped money. She could hardly catch her breath, not believing her eyes.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” she gasped, tears of joy clouding her eyes. “Thank you, baby.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Hearing the familiar voice froze her to the bone.

  It can’t be! Can it? She spun around and came face-to-face with Forever. He was standing, smiling unwittingly.

  Nyla backed away.

  “It . . . It can’t be,” she gasped. “I-I-I must be dreaming!”

  “No, bitch, I’m your nightmare!”

  Nyla spun back around and came face-to-face with Shan holding a pistol aimed at her face.

  “I win, bitch,” Shan hissed, and then pulled the trigger.

  Nyla woke up in a cold sweat. It was the third time she had had that dream. She couldn’t get Shan out of her head. Her obsession with payback was so ingrained in her mind, even her subconscious was getting in on the game.

  Nyla had to have hers. She couldn’t stand the thought of Shan being somewhere happy, while she continued to struggle with the loss of her soulmate. Yes, Forever brought this fate on himself, but she still loved him. Therefore, she was the only one suffering. But she vowed it wouldn’t be that way for long. Whatever she had to do, wherever she had to go, she vowed to Forever and to herself that she would put in the sweat, she would draw first blood, and she would get her payback.

  Part I

  THE BEGINNING AND THE END

  Chapter One

  FIVE MONTHS EARLIER

  Push!”

  “I . . . am!”

  “Come on, baby. You can do it,” Nick urged Shan as he stood by the hospital bed, dabbing her forehead with a wet, cool cloth.

  “Uuugh, Nick . . . Nick, please,” Shan panted, “I can’t . . . take this.”

  “We’re almost there, baby. You can do it,” he hoped to encourage her.

  Weak to the point of exhaustion, Shan found strength in Nick’s presence and assurance in the sound of his voice. Since leaving Briggen, Nick had been her rock. He had moved her to New York and bought her one of Harlem’s newly renovated brownstones in a section called Sugar Hill. He also bought her a brand-new navy blue Audi A-5, even though driving in New York was a headache, she appreciated all of his kind gestures. And he did everything with no strings attached, because she had told him as soon as they got to New York, “Listen, Nick, I truly, truly appreciate what you’re doing for me and my kids. But I’m not ready for anything serious. I’ve always had a man to take care of me, but I need to get myself together before getting into anything serious. Plus, you are like family. So I’d understand if you want to . . . fall back.”

  Nick smiled knowingly. He then gave her a tender but passionate kiss, and replied, “I understand, Shan. Believe me, I do. And I’ma ignore that like family comment. But I did promise Peanut and now myself that I would be there for you, and I’m a man of my word. But don’t worry. No strings attached. No expectations. Wherever destiny leads, I’ll follow.”

  With one final push, the baby slid out. And at 4:43 a.m. January 19th, she announced herself to the world with a strong wail.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Thompson, it’s a big baby girl,” the doctor announced.

  After the baby was handed to her mother, Nick looked on happily as Shan held her daughter for the first time. Even though deep down he wished the baby was his, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think of Briggen, his enemy. He couldn’t help but notice how much the baby looked like her father.

  Am I really gonna play daddy to this nigga’s kids? he thought, then his mind started fucking with him. When he looked at the baby again she looked just like his ex-love Brianna. Nick ran his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his head. Briggen and Brianna? I’m trippin’. He pushed the crazy thoughts out of his mind and asked, “What are you gonna name her?”

  Almost without hesitation, she answered, “Brianna.” Brianna was her best friend, her confidante, her sister from another mother. She was her everything. But the streets ate her up and spat her out. She blew her own brains out.

  Nick’s eyes widened. He had to get up outta there for a few minutes. “I’ma go by the house and pick up Li’l Nut.” He kissed her gently on the forehead and left abruptly.

  A few hours later, Nick entered the hospital room with Li’l Peanut and a fistful of flowers and balloons. It saddened Shan to see Nick walk in. She secretly wished it was Briggen coming through the door instead.

  “Mommyyyyy!” Li’l Peanut squealed. “Can I see the baby?” he asked dashing over to her bed and clumsily scaling the side until he was safe in her arms. He had been hanging out with Nick, and when he wasn’t with Nick, he was stuck in the house with Ms. Josie, the nanny.

  Nick laughed. “Damn, Li’l Nut, you must be part monkey!”

  Shan giggled. “No, my baby ain’t no monkey. He misses his mommy. Don’t you, baby?”

  Li’l Nut nodded vigorously. “Say hello to your little sister, Brianna. Brianna, meet your big brother, Peanut.” Shan kissed him on the cheek.

  “Can I take the baby’s hat off?” Li’l Peanut asked.

  “No, baby. You don’t want her to catch a cold, do you?”

  He shook his head no.

  Nick handed her the flowers and balloons with a smile.

  “Thank you, Nick, but why the big smile? What are you up to? Why the flowers?” she teased.

  “What? I can’t get my favorite lady some flowers? And I’m smiling because you are glowing.” He winked. “So how you feeli
n’? And stop being all skeptical and shit.”

  “I’m feeling as tired as you look.” She snickered, letting out a sigh that she hoped he didn’t catch. Again she felt guilty seeing him walk in holding Li’l Peanut’s hand. Deep down inside, she knew it should have been Briggen walking into her hospital room holding her son’s hand and bringing her flowers. But Shan had made her choice. The choice to leave him high, dry, and alone.

  “I almost missed the birth. They had to de-ice the wings on the plane and some other shit.”

  “Yeah, well, the red-eye from Detroit’ll do that to you,” she tried to joke. “You almost missed it but you better be glad you didn’t.”

  She could tell Nick was worried. He still had that pending case. Since moving to New York, he had spent a fortune flying back and forth every few days, and he flew back and forth between New York and Detroit almost weekly. He was facing some serious charges that held a lot of time, dinosaur numbers. Not to mention the streets that he still had to run without a right hand man, or someone to be out front in his stead. All the while trying to play house with Shan. It was taking a toll on him.

  “How’s it looking?” she questioned with genuine concern.

  He shrugged. “Shit, ma, I ain’t gonna stunt. Shit lookin’ fucked up. Bottom line is, I’m working on some things, and the show must go on, and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “What?”

  “Not now. When you get home. Just know it’ll put you in a position where you can eat for life,” he promised.

  “Nick, you don’t mean—”

  “Not now, but just do me and you a favor. Keep an open mind. I gotta go.” He gave her another kiss, pried Li’l Peanut away from her, then left her with the nagging feeling that shit was about to get hectic.

  • • •

  The man watched Nick putting Peanut in his car seat and then walk around to the driver’s side of his platinum Range Rover. It would’ve been easy to have put a bullet in Nick’s head; he was that close. But that wasn’t the assignment. He had instructions to simply watch so that’s what he did. Still, surveillance was boring. Killing is what got his blood going. He told himself . . . Soon.