Authors: Treasure Hernandez
Choosing Sides (11 page)
“Yours, Nolo. I'm yours, Daddy.”
Got her.
He positioned her in the middle of the bed, spread her legs even farther apart, and put his body on top of hers. His manhood stood at attention, her seventeen-year-old body drawing him to her like a magnet to steel. He couldn't wait to enter her. He groped her blossoming titties and took her dark nipples into his mouth.
He positioned her in the middle of the bed, spread her legs even farther apart, and put his body on top of hers. His manhood stood at attention, her seventeen-year-old body drawing him to her like a magnet to steel. He couldn't wait to enter her. He groped her blossoming titties and took her dark nipples into his mouth.
Halleigh looked down at what she was inviting between her legs, fear gripping her as she thought about how badly it hurt when Riq had entered her walls for the very first time, busting through her like a football team would a banner on homecoming night.
Manolo felt her body tense up, and saw tears resurface on her face. He licked her face, wiping the tears away with his hot tongue like a mother cat cleans her kittens. “What them niggas did to you don't count,” he said, knowing exactly what to say to make her feel better. “Baby girl,
this
is your first time, and I'm going to make it right for you. I'm not going to hurt you.”
this
is your first time, and I'm going to make it right for you. I'm not going to hurt you.”
She didn't say another word, relaxing her legs to allow him to enter her easily. Pain was what hit her first as his thick nine inches eased into her. She felt like her insides were once again being ripped out of her. She arched her back and tried to scoot her body away from him.
“Relax,” he whispered as he began to pump in and out of her in a slow rhythm, as if he was moving to a silent melody.
Halleigh closed her eyes and dug her nails into his back, moving her hips in unison with his, as pain transformed into pleasure.
She didn't know it yet, but by giving her body to Manolo first, she was also giving him her head. She, like most women, equated love with sex. It wasn't going to be hard for Manolo to have his way with her, to create and control her little world.
Afterwards, her body was sore as she lay beside Manolo. She was quiet because she didn't know what to say. She hoped that it was good enough for him to want to keep her around. She knew that this was probably the reason all the other girls got to stay around. She had nowhere else to go, so if this is what it took, so be it. He'd promised to keep her safe, and she believed he would make good on his promise, unlike all the other liars in her life.
“Are you sore?” he asked her as he held her from behind.
“A little bit,” she answered in a low voice. Her mind drifted back to Malek.
Why did he leave me?
she thought.
Why did he leave me?
she thought.
I got to get the kid off her mind
. Manolo asked, “What's on your mind?” already knowing the answer to his question.
. Manolo asked, “What's on your mind?” already knowing the answer to his question.
“Nothing.”
He sat up and pulled her into his lap, and she sat between his legs, her back against his chest and her head resting on his shoulder.
“Look, Halleigh,” he stated firmly, “I know what you been through, and I know you've got feelings for ol' boy. But I got to be honest with you. I can't be involved with no bitchâexcuse me, baby girl. I don't need to refer to you like that, because you are anything but that. But when I think of you having feelings for another dude, I just get . . .” His words trailed off, and then he continued without finishing his original thought. “Point is, if you gon' be here with me, you've got to be loyal. Loyalty is important. If I can't trust you, I don't want you. Now, I'm not trying to do you like everybody else in your life and leave you, but I need to know this now before I get all caught up in you and end up being hurt by you leaving me.”
Quickly, she responded like Tina Turner in the movie
What's Love Got to Do with It
, “I would never leave you.” Halleigh knew what it felt like to be walked out on by her own blood, by people who she thought would be there to take care of her. She wasn't about to do that same thing to someone else and walk out on them.
Never
, she thought.
What's Love Got to Do with It
, “I would never leave you.” Halleigh knew what it felt like to be walked out on by her own blood, by people who she thought would be there to take care of her. She wasn't about to do that same thing to someone else and walk out on them.
Never
, she thought.
“I just need to know who you gon' ride for?” he asked.
“You,” she replied without hesitation.
“Are you sure?” He turned her chin so he could see into her eyes. “Because if I see you or even hear about you messing with another nigga, especially that nigga you
was
fucking with, I'm-a kill 'em, you dig?”
was
fucking with, I'm-a kill 'em, you dig?”
“I understand,” she replied. Her thoughts kept finding their way back to Malek, but he had hurt her beyond forgiveness. She knew that Manolo would never hurt her.
“So tell me who Daddy is, my little Sunshine.” He tongue-kissed her sloppily on the lips.
“You are. You're Daddy,” she responded with a grateful smile, happy that for the first time in her life she had a “daddy.”
Chapter Thirteen
J
amaica Joe and his attorney strolled out of the police precinct toward a white Bentley parked right out front. Joe's head henchman, Tariq, was sitting on the hood, waiting for his boss.
amaica Joe and his attorney strolled out of the police precinct toward a white Bentley parked right out front. Joe's head henchman, Tariq, was sitting on the hood, waiting for his boss.
Once Joe reached the bottom of the steps, he said to his attorney, “Thanks for coming so quickly. Those mu'fuckas fuck with me any chance they get.” Joe was still upset about the Flint police and the petty traffic stop they'd made that led to his arrest.
“No problem, Joe.” Wallace flashed a slight grin. “That's what you pay me for.”
Joe looked over at Tariq and nodded his head. Tariq immediately went into his all-black hoody and pulled out a wad of money in a rubber band. He tossed it to Wallace, making it land right in the palm of his hands.
“Have a nice night, gentlemen,” Wallace said. He shook Joe's hand then turned and headed to his own Bentley.
“Let's get the fuck outta here, fam,” Joe said as he slid into the passenger side of his own car.
Tariq jumped into the driver's side and pulled off. He began to put Joe up on the latest. “Yo, you know that nigga Sweets is talking big shit about the Berston Park Battle. I heard he even recruited some NBA players to play on his team this year,” Tariq said, referring to the basketball game that was held every year at Berston Park.
“Oh yeah?” Joe's interest was piqued, although he tried to act indifferent.
It was the only time that Joe and Sweets would be in the same vicinity and not trying to kill each other. It was like an unspoken oath to the cityâno violence at the Berston Park Battle. Berston Park was like a sacred ground to the city, and both sides respected it.
Joe and Sweets had been enemies for years and had a mutual hatred toward each other. Both of them wanted control of the city's drug trade and were standing in each other's way. Joe ran the North Side of Flint, and Sweets ran the South Side. Once a year, they sponsored a basketball team for the Berston game, and their teams battled it out on the court. For the last four years, Sweets had been victorious, enabling him to carry bragging rights over from one year to the next. Plus any money that was put up on the game.
Very few people knew that Jamaica Joe had come from a middle-class Christian family in Fayetteville, North Carolina. His father used to be a principal, and his mother, a school teacher. Every one of his three sisters had graduated from college. Jamaica Joe, the youngest in the family, was an only son. From the time he was born, he was spoiled rotten to the bone. But it wasn't his upbringing that had made him a drug kingpin. It was just something in his blood. He loved the streets from the time he was a teenager.
After doing a one-year stint for armed robbery in a juvenile camp, he was released at the age of eighteen and moved to Flint. He'd heard the drug trade was really jumping off there. He'd now been living there for the past twenty years in relative wealth and wielded some power.
Joe was noticeably bothered by the mention of Sweet's name. “Fuck that faggot-ass mu'fucka,” he said. He searched through his phone to see what messages he'd received while locked up. He continued, “Send word to his crew that I'm willing to put up fifty thousand, winner take all.”
“I'll put the news out in the streets,” Tariq said, maneuvering the luxury car through downtown Flint.
Joe suddenly thought about Malek. The Latino man in the jail cell might not have known who Malek was, but he did. He knew Malek's skills; that he was an NBA prospect.
I need that nigga on my squad. Li'l man got heart.
He remembered how Malek held his own in the bullpen.
I know that young cat got some street-ball skills in him too.
I need that nigga on my squad. Li'l man got heart.
He remembered how Malek held his own in the bullpen.
I know that young cat got some street-ball skills in him too.
Joe was very familiar with Malek's ball game. He frequently gambled on Malek's high school games, and whether Malek knew it or not, he'd made Joe a lot of money through his phenomenal plays. He pulled out his cell and dialed Wallace's number. “Yo, I need a favor,” he said as he laid back in his seat.
Chapter Fourteen
A
ttorney Wallace stood next to Malek before Judge William Kennedy. “Your Honor,” he said, “we move to have the case dismissed due to lack of evidence.”
ttorney Wallace stood next to Malek before Judge William Kennedy. “Your Honor,” he said, “we move to have the case dismissed due to lack of evidence.”
It was Monday morning, and the first case on Judge Kennedy's docket. The courtroom was filled to capacity with press, cameras, news reporters, and spectators, and the judge had to call the court to order more than once.
Loyal fans just couldn't bring themselves to believe that someone with such a bright future ahead of them would throw it all away like that. They kept chanting, “Free Malek, free Malek, free Malek,” only stopping their chants when the judge threatened to close the courtroom and put everybody out.
Wallace continued, “Your Honor, I submit that Malek Johnson has been the victim of the most heinous form of racism. This young man has no priors, is a model student, and is the number one national prospect for the NBA. For the life of me, I don't understand how Mr. Chiu could slander my client like this. This has to be a miscarriage of justice.”
Malek's mother sat on the front row, her lip trembling, tears glazing her eyes, and his stepfather sat next to her. Mrs. Johnson had kept her promise to her son by not calling her husband to inform him about Malek's arrest. She'd hoped and prayed that her son would be free from jail and at home before his father found out. That way things wouldn't have seemed so bad. But after seeing footage of his son on ESPN, Mr. Johnson made a beeline home.
Malek couldn't believe how Anderson Wallace shredded the prosecution to pieces, making it seem like he'd done no wrong. Wallace even produced an eyewitness who claimed to have seen the whole ordeal. The witness, a retired cop to boot, testified that he was taking his regular jog, when the streets were quiet and clear, and saw with his very own eyes Malek get racially profiled and discriminated against by the Asian storeowner. He testified how Malek had just been walking by when, out of nowhere, the storeowner came running from the store and pointed him out as the man who'd just robbed his store.
“Any black man walking by would have been accused of the robbery that night,” the witness said in an ever so convincing tone. “Hell, it could have been me.” He claimed that the overzealous storeowner jumped the gun.
Anderson Wallace flipped the script and made Malek look like the victim, rather than the criminal. That's why Wallace was the best.
Malek didn't understand how this attorney had come to his parents and volunteered to defend him for free. It had only been two days since the botched robbery, and already he was on the verge of having his image being restored.
The DA's office was too worried about Anderson Wallace filing a civil suit against them and just wanted to end the case as soon as possible. The prosecuting attorney, Jack Byrne, stood up and cleared his throat. He said, “Uhh, Your Honor, uhh, we too request that the case be dismissed.”
Wallace looked over at the prosecution and smiled as he relished in another victory. Fifty-two wins and no losses, to be exact.
The judge looked at Byrne skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir, we're quite sure,” the prosecutor affirmed.
The judge bellowed in a stentorian voice, “Case dismissed!” and banged his gavel resolutely.
Malek smiled and looked back at his mother and his father with relief and joy. His father held his fist up and shook it in victory, as if to say, “The truth will always prevail. I knew my boy wasn't capable of making such a stupid decision.” Malek then looked at his mother, who knew the truth, but had kept her word in not telling his father what had really gone down, that he really did hold up the convenient store. It was their secret.
Malek noticed too that his agent/adviser was sitting in the courtroom. He had a look on his face as if, all of a sudden, a Good Samaritan had just returned the suitcase with a million dollars that someone had stolen. He was cheering louder for Malek than he ever had at one of his basketball games.
As Wallace guided Malek and his parents out of the courtroom, Malek then turned back to Wallace and gratefully shook his hand. As soon as they opened the double doors, cameras flashed away. ESPN reporters were frantically trying to get a comment from the newly acquitted NBA prospect.
Malek's agent acted as security, helping his client through the massive crowd. “No comment, no comment.”
Once they reached the front steps of the courthouse Malek looked at Wallace. “I don't know who you are, but thank you.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes, thank you,” Mr. Johnson said, shaking Wallace's hand nonstop. “Thank you for getting the truth out about my boy.” He turned to his wife and son. “You two, wait here. I'm going to go ahead and pull the car around.”
“Thank you, honey.” Mrs. Johnson watched her husband walk off to go retrieve their car. She then turned to Wallace. “Like my husband, I can't thank you enough for what you did for our son. But I do make one heck of a pineapple upside down cake.” She smiled.
“You are all quite welcome,” Wallace said, “but I'm not the one you should be thanking.” He motioned his head to a tinted Bentley parked across the street. Malek was confused. He was relieved to be out of jail and having his case dismissed completely, but he still was confounded as to how he got off. He wanted to see who was responsible for his miraculous exoneration. “I'll be right back.” He kissed his mother and shook his agent's hand before jogging across the street to the car, where a young man with an iced-out chain and long braids was sitting on the hood.
Once he reached the car, Tariq acknowledged him, slowly throwing his head up. “What up?”
Malek nodded his head in response.
Before Tariq could say anything else, the back window of the car slowly rolled down, and Jamaica Joe's face emerged. “Get in,” he said as he hit the unlock button.
Malek turned and looked at his mother, who was standing on the steps and chatting with his agent as she waited for his father. “Ma,” he shouted. When he got her attention, he said, “You and Dad go ahead home. I'll catch up with you in a minute.”
Mrs. Johnson wanted to disagree, fearing he might be going to try to see that hoodrat girlfriend of his. He hadn't even noticed yet that she wasn't there to support him. But Malek had already climbed into Joe's car before she could say anything.
Tariq also got in the car and looked at Joe through the rearview.
“Wanna take a ride?” Joe asked Malek.
“Cool.”
As the reporters circled the car, trying to take pictures through the tinted glass, Joe nodded his head, and Tariq pulled away from the chaos.
Malek had heard a lot about Jamaica Joe, most of which was bad. He couldn't understand why Joe had helped him out. The first thing on his mind was extortion.
This nigga must gon' try to ask for ten times more when I get drafted.
Malek looked around at the soft leather interior and then at Joe's presidential Rolex.
The way things look, I know he ain't hurting for cash.
“Thanks for having your lawyer on my case. He saved me, for real.”
This nigga must gon' try to ask for ten times more when I get drafted.
Malek looked around at the soft leather interior and then at Joe's presidential Rolex.
The way things look, I know he ain't hurting for cash.
“Thanks for having your lawyer on my case. He saved me, for real.”
“No doubt,” Joe replied. “You're young, black, and talented. Them white folks would love to keep you down.” He lit a blunt and let the smoke curl out the corner of his mouth.
“What's the catch?” Malek asked, trying to get straight to the point.
“See, that's what's wrong with our people. We don't believe in helping our own out without expecting something in return. How do you know I'm not just lending a helping hand?”
“Because ain't shit in this world free.”
“You a smart man. That's why I like you.” Joe took another puff of his blunt. “Li'l nigga smart.” He tossed the comment at Tariq as though Malek wasn't present. “This weekend my team is playing in the annual Berston charity game. I would appreciate if you would play on my squad.”
Malek remained silent for a second. He knew about the tournament. It was the biggest event of the year, and he always went to watch it. He wanted to play in it, but after his popularity soared, his agent advised him not to play in non-school athletics to avoid getting injured.
“I don't know. My agentâ”
“You a man, right?” Joe said calmly.
“No doubt.” Malek lifted his chin and puffed out his chest.
“Stand on ya own two. Take your balls out your socks. It's just a one-day tournament. You gon' let some agent punk you?”
Malek pondered his situation for a moment. First, he took into consideration Joe's act of kindness. He knew that if it wasn't for Joe, he would be in jail facing robbery charges. After all, what was one game?
“I'll play,” he said, evenly, and without flinching.
Other books
Flat-Out Sexy by Erin McCarthy
Prisoner of Love by Jean S. Macleod
Destined to Feel by Indigo Bloome
Fear the Abyss: 22 Terrifying Tales of Cosmic Horror by Post Mortem Press, Harlan Ellison, Jack Ketchum, Gary Braunbeck, Tim Waggoner, Michael Arnzen, Lawrence Connolly, Jeyn Roberts
Druids Sword by Sara Douglass
The Prize by Julie Garwood
Unmasking the Spy by Janet Kent
The Ship Who Won by Anne McCaffrey, Jody Lynn Nye
[Anita Blake 17] - Skin Trade by Laurell K. Hamilton
Appassionata by Eva Hoffman
