Payback Ain't Enough
Read Payback Ain't Enough Online
Authors: Wahida Clark
The #1 Queen of Street Lit
WAHIDA CLARK
delivers the latest installment in her best-selling series
PAYBACK AIN’T ENOUGH
Filled with the same glamour, sex and danger, we dive back into the hip-hop
drama where old rivalries and new beefs arise in Detroit’s blood-drenched drug turf. Shan is now married to Briggen, the much desired former hustler turned legitimate businessman. With one child and another on the way, Shan’s life is about to get turned upside down. In a day she’ll go from being the envy of the streets to having her life on the line.
Briggen, a man leading a double life, wants to know who killed his
brother, Forever. He wants revenge but it’s only a matter of time before Briggen’s own lies catch up with him. Nick is back in the big ‘D’ and ready to take over the game. The only thing standing in his way is a buried secret from his past that is about to come back to haunt him. It’s only a matter of time before ambitions and secrets collide and revenge goes a step too far. In this game of power and intrigue where the stakes are high and the rewards are dazzling, the losers are gonna discover – there’s always a price to pay.
After nine and a half years in federal prison and ten months in the hole,
New York Times
bestselling author, Wahida Clark, has truly earned her place among the greatest in urban fiction.
Payback Ain’t Enough
Copyright © 2012 by Wahida Clark
Cash Money Content™ and all associated logos are trademarks of Cash Money Content LLC.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
First Trade Paperback Edition: April 2012
Book Layout: Peng Olaguera/ISPN
Cover Design: Nuance Art
For further information log onto
www.CashMoneyContent.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011931198
ISBN: 978-1-936-39911-6 pbk
ISBN: 978-1-936-39912-3 eBook
To all my loyal readers. Love you much!
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All praise is due to the Creator. Wow! Book number eleven. Who would have thought it and where did the time go? I owe it to my readers, no doubt.
A special shout-out goes to all of you who made this book,
Payback Ain’t Enough,
possible: Nuance Art, Al-Nisa, Hasana, Nobel, Maxine Thompson, Intelligent Allah, Keisha Caldwell (whose name was supposed to be in
Justify My Thug
), Molly Derse—thank you for your diligence, Linda Wilson, and Alanna Boutin. Everybody behind the scenes at S&S. Thank you. If I missed anyone, you know who you are.
Much love and thanks to the Cash Money Fam. Watch what I do in 2012!
Peace!
Wahida Clark
Follow me, the Official Queen of Street Literature at:
twitter.com@wahidaclark
facebook.com/wahidaclarkreadersclub
www.wclarkpublishing.com
.
CHAPTER ONE
Fuck what you heard. Scratch all that shit that you was told before. This is the realest, slickest, illest shit right here.
—N
ICK
The only thing worse than being a prisoner in my own skin is the feeling of helplessness as I listen to the bloodcurdling screams echo from the next cell as a man gets another man’s dick rammed up his ass.
Who would’ve thought that I, Forever Thompson, would be serving a life sentence confined to a fuckin’ wheelchair and paralyzed from the waist down? I remembered it as if it was just yesterday, hearing my name followed by those six words, “You are hereby sentenced to LIFE.” All of my dirt flashed across my mind after I heard those words. And to think that all this bad karma surrounding me started over some pussy and dough. A dangerous combination that will suck you in every time!
It all began with me using that bitch Shan to mule my dope into the prison. But no, I couldn’t stop there. I had to fuck her and get her pregnant. Now, here I am again, for the thousandth time thinking about those I left behind: my brother, Briggen, by the same mother, my wife, Nyla, my daughter, Tameerah, and last but not least, my first cousin and partner-in-crime, Zeke.
“Bust cell 49!” I could hear the goon squad yelling into their radios and the sound of their boots hitting the cement steps. I knew shit was getting ready to get real ugly for at least one muthafucka. Forty-Nine was right next to me, and I could hear it in surround sound, the cat in the cell next to me screaming. It was the familiar sound of prison rape.
I sat in my wheelchair knowing what was getting ready to happen next. When the goons rushed past my cell I heard 49’s door pop open. A few minutes later, they were dragging T-Bone, the punk-ass rapist, out. He didn’t even bother to offer up any resistance. I watched as they stood him up and rested him against my cell with his hands cuffed behind him and a billy club to the throat.
The losing opponent was a new guy who had just come in yesterday. He came out wrapped in a sheet and limping slowly. He met eyes with me, and I could see the pain and fear peering through his tear-filled, red eyes. As the guards attempted to walk him past my cell, he lunged forward with a shiny object and stuck it into T-Bone’s side about four or five times before the goons wrestled him to the ground.
Damn.
Old T wasn’t the winner after all.
Bone slid down the bars of my cell and hit the floor. As
the blood trickled out of his mouth all I could say was, “You should have stayed true to the pussy.”
“You ready?” I stood outside of Forever’s cell and asked him for the hundredth time, as it was my courtesy to take him to make his regular Thursday pickups.
“Sheeeit. Nigga, you heard what happened up here earlier?” Forever asked as he maneuvered the remote on his wheelchair.
“I caught a little something,” I told him.
“Yeah, that punk-ass rapist T-Bone finally got his ass handed to him trying to fuck one of them young boys who ended up guttin’ his ass.”
“Get the fuck outta here.” I tried to act surprised. The young dude was Lenny. He was my homey Ray Ray’s cousin, who had just went home. I tried to pull some strings and get him in another cell because I knew what he would be up against. But I couldn’t swing it until next Monday and I’d already be gone. I gave him a shiv and schooled the young nigga. I told him to handle dude as soon as he stepped in the cell or get handled. I guess they both got handled, and I couldn’t have cared less because I had much bigger fish to fry. “It’s just another day in USP, Jonesboro,” I said to Forever.
