Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (2 page)

“Bullshit, that's what this,” he heard her say just before he exited the beauty store. He couldn't exactly disagree, but the lipstick was paid for. No harm, no foul. He'd done his good deed for the year. He slipped his sunglasses on as the bright summer sun hit him in the face. Out front, Santos was in the squad car, waiting. But he still had unfinished business with Miss Spears.

“Hey!” he called after her. She was already half-way up the block, not bothering to stick around. He couldn't blame her, he supposed. She stopped and turned and he held up her I.D. She rolled her eyes and hurried back to him, her hair flying around in the breeze. He glanced down at the laminated card again, skimming over her information one last time. Then he held it out for her and she took it.

“You want your change?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

“Keep it,” he said, shaking his head. “Buy yourself a milkshake or something.” She laughed then, flashing white teeth.

“I'm on a diet,” she said, then turned and walked away. He headed back to the car, his attention shifting back to his job. But as he opened the passenger door, he couldn't help looking up, his eyes quickly finding her on the crowded street. She was just another girl in Harlem, but he had a feeling he'd be seeing more of her. After he slid into the car and slammed the door shut, Santos took off toward the robbery call.

It was only then that something hit him.

The girl's name was Shaylene Spears.
Spears.

“You've got to be shitting me,” he murmured under his breath. Santos glanced his way.

“What's up?” Santos asked. Tate shook his head, brushing his partner off, lost in his own mind. He'd heard that name before, he realized. Shaylene Spears was the name of the only daughter of the notorious Sam Spears. Shaylene Spears was also 16-years-old, the exact age of Sam Spears' daughter. He'd just been in a room with the daughter of one of the most wanted criminals in New York City and he'd let her go. Shit, he'd given her money and let her go. He wanted to smack himself upside the head, but all he could do was chuckle and chalk  it up to just another crazy day in the city.

But he knew his earlier intuition was right.

He would definitely be seeing more of Miss Spears. Whether it was around the neighborhood or in a police interrogation room, sooner or later, he'd be seeing her alright.

He sure hated to be right sometimes.

Chapter Two

Eight Years Later

S
hay Spears could hardly believe that the day had come. Six long years of waiting. Of wasting away. Of sleepless nights. Of anger. Of hard beds, no privacy, and grey cement block walls.

Six years that she could never get back.

As the guards led her down the hallway for the last time, she was numb. Early morning sunlight, filtered through filthy windows, shone on the waxed yellowed linoleum under her feet in an unearthly way. She wondered if it was a dream, but when she pinched herself, she didn't jolt awake. The handcuffs around her wrists and the chain around her waist were just as uncomfortable as ever. She tried to keep herself as calm as possible because it didn't feel real. It didn't feel real even though the date had been written on her calendar all year. The date when her time was officially served. The date that was now here.

But Shay had learned to not get her hopes up high.

Honestly, she didn't know if she'd ever had high hopes. She'd been a stupid kid, running up and down 125
th
st with her crew like she didn't have anything to lose. She'd been naïve and thought she was a little badass. She'd always assumed she would graduate high school and maybe go to beauty school like her Auntie Gina. She'd had no real aspirations, no real goals, no real plans. When harsh reality hit her in the face like a shotgun blast, she'd had to become strong. There was no one to save her. There was no to take care of her. She was on her own for the first time in her life. No friends, no family, no soft place to land. She'd only had herself.

She followed the guards around the corner to the unknown. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see what she was leaving behind. She didn't care if she forgot exactly what it looked like. The sooner the better, as far as she was concerned. She was trading sickly green, dingy yellow, and pasty grey for flashy bright reds, hot pinks, and fiery oranges. Stale, still air for a motherfucking tornado. When the last cell door closed behind her and the guard turned the key in her handcuffs and untangled her from the chain, she held her breath, waiting for the last shoe to drop. But nothing happened. No lightning struck. No fireworks exploded in the air. A bored sister stared at her from behind thick glass, her hand beckoning Shay to step forward. Shay obediently moved to the desk, her prison-issued knock-off Keds squeaking on the floor.

“Hey girl,” she said cautiously, leaning forward. She doubted they would throw her back in a cell if she said the wrong thing, but she didn't want to take the chance.

“Paperwork,” the woman said, like it was just any other old day under the sun. Shay slid the paper the guard gave her under the glass. The woman took it silently, her eyes running over the information. The time it took her to read seemed like an eternity. Shay drummed her fingers on the ledge of the desk, impatient and nervous at the same time. She was a grown-ass woman acting like a scared child, but she couldn't help it. Freedom, however foreign a concept, was so close she could feel it on her skin like a cool breeze, beckoning from the wild, wide outside.

The woman picked up a rubber stamp and pressed it to the top of the paperwork. Then she held up a finger and stood, signaling Shay to wait. She disappeared into a back room. Shay turned her head to the side, catching the eyes of the guard that stood to her right. He was a big motherfucker, more fat than muscle, and any other day she probably would never have looked at him. But today was a good day and she wanted to share it with someone. Her stomach was in a knot and her palms were sweating. She felt like she was going to burst. His face was blank and stern, as she expected. He couldn't give two craps that it was her big day. Life would go on for him as usual when she walked out of the door and stopped being his problem. Still, she couldn't resist a smile at him. Nothing was going to bring her down. He blinked, but otherwise gave no reaction. She didn't mind and she didn't stop smiling.

When the grumpy sister behind the desk returned with a big slouchy paper envelope, she only smiled more. It was official, Shay knew, as sister girl dumped the envelope out on the cracked Formica top of the desk. An old Blackberry, a pair of cheap, chunky hoop earrings, her mother's modest diamond engagement ring, a tube of fire-engine red lipstick, and a subway Metrocard. All of the possessions she'd had on her person when they arrested her. Looking down at the junk, a wave of nostalgia came over her. She was no longer the girl who'd confidently worn those earrings or rocked that lipstick. She was someone else, someone who had yet to discover herself outside the walls of a prison.

“Anything missing?” the sister asked. Shay shook her head no. The woman nodded, and swept her hand across the table top, ready to dump the contents back into the envelope.

“I only need the ring,” Shay said, after a moment's hesitation.

“If you wish to dispose of your personal items, you may do so once you're off prison property,” the woman stated in a flat voice, like she was reading out of the official Bedford Falls Prison Release Handbook. Shay stifled a laugh with a snort and nodded. She wasn't in the mood to question. In a few short minutes, she would be free.
Free
. What a concept. The woman behind the desk slid the envelope under the glass divider, and for the first time, Shay noticed the sister's nails. A French tip painted gold, with hand-painted, delicate stars cascading down the nail and a silver rhinestone in the center.

“I love your nails,” she said as she took the envelope.

“Oh,” the woman replied, fanning her fingers out in front of her. “Thanks.” Shay nodded, the paper of the envelope crinkling in her hands. It wasn't much, but it was something. Something concrete. She was a person again. Well, a convicted felon, technically, and a black one to boot. In the ol' U.S.of A, that didn't mean much. But she would take it, because she didn't have any other choice. The prison guard jerked his head toward the door and Shay followed. “Good luck,” she could have sworn the sister behind the desk said, but she couldn't be sure.

Then she followed the guard through the door and into her new life.

The late October sun was sharp and white and the breeze was cool and crisp. She could smell the damp leaves and the smoke in the air, as well as the molding decay of the big old stone prison behind her. The sky was deep and blue and cloudless and the rolling mountains in the distance were splotched red, orange, and yellow. For a minute, she stood outside the gate, just reveling in it all. Upstate New York was lovely this time of year, even a born and bred Harlem girl could admit. Of course, it was made all the more beautiful by the circumstances.

She was free, after all.

“Sugar baby! I was wondering when you were going to bring your happy ass out here,” a voice called out. A wonderful voice. “I been waiting here since last night, it feels like.” Shay turned, her smile widening and tears prickling in her eyes. Her Aunt Gina stood in the gravel parking lot beside a huge black truck, her short stature appearing even smaller compared to the height of the truck. Shay hadn't seen her in so long, but at that moment, it didn't matter. Her face was younger and less weary than it had been Christmas prior, but otherwise the 48-year-old looked the same. Shaved head, track suit, white Nikes. She still dressed like it was 1993. Shay was grateful that some things didn't change. Her aunt was her rock, her constant. Shay knew life got in the way and it was hard for Gina to come visit. She knew it was hard for Gina to see her only niece in prison. She didn't blame her aunt.

Her father, however, was a different story. She couldn't help but feel a prick of disappointment in her chest that he wasn't there to greet her. Not that she'd expected him to be.

“You alright, baby?” Gina asked and Shay realized she was staring at her. There was a lot of space between them, a lot of years. She wasn't a rebellious teenager anymore, but she wasn't an autonomous woman, either. It was a strange thought. Her aunt was closer to her than anyone in the world, but she still felt almost like she was a stranger. Her aunt knew the old Shay, but neither woman knew who she was now or what she was going to be. Her future was a big blank page, ready and waiting to be filled. “Well come on, give me a hug,” Gina said, holding out her arms. Shay nodded and did so, throwing her arms around her aunt and hugging her tight. She sucked her tears up because it was a happy day, not a sad day. Besides, she wanted to put the prison in her rearview as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright,” she said, pulling out of her aunt's embrace. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

“You want to drive?” Gina joked with a laugh, swiping at her own wet cheeks. Shay had never had a driver's license in her life, but held out her hand for the keys anyway. Gina slapped it away, eyes glittering with tears and amusement.

“This is a big ass truck. Overcompensating for something?” Shay said, walking around to the passenger side, admiring the vehicle's shiny new paint.

“It's a rental. And yes,” Gina said, patting the hood. “But I can pretend it's mine for the day.”

“It's almost bigger than your apartment,” Shay said, opening the door and hiking herself up into the high cab. She was taller than her aunt, but it was still difficult. Gina had to practically rock climb up to the driver's side.

“
Our
apartment,” Gina said, pressing a button on the steering column that started the car. The seat was pulled up so far to accommodate her short legs that her tits almost brushed the steering wheel. “I hope your prison girlfriend taught you how to pick up after yourself.”

“Still not a lesbian, Gina, no matter how hard you try to make me one,” Shay said, staring in wonder at the button. “You don't need a key to start the car?”

“Welcome to the future, Sugar,” Gina said, cranking her music up before peeling out of the gravel lot. Shay squealed as she scrambled to put on her seatbelt, the thumping bass of a rap song she'd never heard invading her ears.

“Who is this?” she called over the music.

“I don't know! One of the kids at the salon gave me this mix,” Gina yelled back. “They keep me young!”

“I bet they do,” Shay replied, a laugh bubbling out of her throat. The further they got from the prison, the lighter she felt. She didn't know the song, but that didn't stop her body from moving with the beat. Before she knew it, she was jamming in her seat, light as a feather. She didn't know the words to the song, but it didn't matter. The road stretched in front of them, and it lead back to New York City, where her heart and soul belonged.

All in all, it was turning out to be a pretty good day.

***

“You'll work with me at the salon until you get something else,” Gina announced as they drove through the Bronx on their way home. “I need someone to help sweep up, answer phones, all that shit.”

“All that shit nobody else wants to do,” Shay said with a smile.

“Exactly,” Gina nodded. “But you'll take your time. Ease back in.”

“Mm-hmm,” Shay murmured.

“You'll love it,” Gina said, her eyes on the road. “You'll get to meet Thalia.”

“Who's Thalia?”

“She's the one I told you about. At Christmas.” Gina gave Shay a sly look and Shay rolled her eyes at her aunt.

“Oh right, Thalia. The teenager?”

“She's not a teenager!” Gina exclaimed, honking at the car in front of her as they jerked to a stop. “She's twenty-three.”

“She's younger than me!” Shay clapped her hands together and laughed. Her aunt had a habit of cradle-robbing and Shay loved to call her on it. “You and these young kids. I don't know how you keep up with them.”

“You see this face?” Gina pinched her own smooth cheek. “How do you think I stay looking so damn fly?”

“I don't know. Enlighten me.”

“Sex,” Gina said matter-of-factly. “Suck up all that youth and vigor like a damn vampire.”

“You're a damn freak, that's what you are,” Shay shook her head.

“Don't worry, girl. I got somebody for you, too,” Gina made a sharp left turn and Shay grabbed the door handle and held on. “So you can work on getting all those worry lines out your face.”

“He better be older than eighteen, 'cause I'm not going back to jail,” Shay quipped, then did a double take. “Worry lines? What worry lines?!”

“I said I got you,” Gina said. “He's the delivery guy at the salon. Super fine. I'd do him, if I was into dick.”

“How reassuring,” Shay giggled, slumping back in her seat. She'd missed this, she realized. She'd had friends inside, but it was different. Inside, there was no relaxing. There were rarely any lighthearted moments. And there hadn't been any sex either. Lots of sex talk, but no action, at least not for Shay. Quite honestly, she didn't even want to think about it right then. Sex might have been number one in her aunt's mind all the time, but Shay didn't have that luxury. She had a million other things to worry about first. The rest of the ride flew by as Gina went on about Thalia and the salon and normal things. Normality was something Shay was going to have to get used to. She half-listened to her aunt's amusing stories trying not to feel too overwhelmed by it all as they made their way back to Harlem.

New York City evolved at a fast pace. Every day, new restaurants opened and closed their doors. Every day, new transplants from all over the world arrived. Every day, neighborhood dynamics shifted. Shay shouldn't have been surprised by the change in her beloved Harlem, but she still was. Where abandoned and decrepit townhouses had once stood, modern steel and glass highrises had been built. Where crack vials had dotted the sidewalks, upper-class couples walked with strollers and dogs. The amount of well-to-do Columbia students, in their skinny jeans and Doc Martens, had multiplied. Little white kids played in playgrounds that once had belonged to the hustlers. It felt bizarre driving through the streets where she'd grown up. Everything was familiar but also strangely foreign.