The Real Trap Wives Of Memphis

BOOK: The Real Trap Wives Of Memphis
4.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub




                                    Monica Parker




























First off   I’d like to give all the credit to God. Without my Almighty King I would not have been able to write such amazing books. Thanks to my family who has have helped me come up with ideas for a great, drama- filled story. To my beautiful 7-year-old daughter, Sharveya, mommy loves you, and because of the promise I made to you when I had you, I hustle my ass off so that one day I will be able to give you the world. I'm going hard with everything that I do for mines.

To my daddy, Gregory Parker, thanks for all the love and support that you have given me throughout my 26 years of living. You love me unconditionally and you are my biggest supporter. I couldn’t have asked for a better father. I love you so much! Thanks for being my rock through all my struggles of life and staying on me so I could make it in this cruel world. To my mom, Pamela Hunt, thanks for pushing me to become a better woman. To my big sister, Victoria Denton, and my baby sister, Briana Parker, thanks for promoting me to the fullest and being my listening ear when my world is falling apart; and giving me so much laughter when I was telling you all my crazy ideas. I love you.

To my big brother, Germaine Parker, thanks for always having my back, wrong or right. I love you. To my best friend/ace boon coon, Kristal Blair, thanks for listening to all my crazy-ass ideas and giving much needed input. To my A-1 since day one, Zabrielle Abraham, thanks for always being here for me with your blunt ass. I love you all so much.

To my pen sister Margaret Flack AKA Miss (Cookie), Thanks for being the greatest friend a girl could have ever asked for. I’m glad that you have been here with me through all my ups and down; being here for me when no one else understood. I love you like a sister.

To my cousin Deandre Turner, thanks for always giving me a helping hand and always being here for me when tears are pouring down my face from having a rough day. I love you. To my big cousin Stephanie Hunt, thanks for being a wonderful publicist and pushing my work, and for all of the great stories you inspired me with.

Thank you to my baby dolls, Whitney Dillard, Shanecia and Lavender Smith for listening to my crazy rants, and making sure that I didn't spazz out on anyone too bad. To my girl Daejarrah, thanks for pushing me to write whenever I started slacking and thanks for being a listening ear. Thank you to my Auntie Dezma Turner, for being my advisor, holding my hand and leading me towards the right direction to success. To my Auntie Angie Copeland, thanks for your helping hand, putting my beautiful website together and the tons of much needed advice that you gave me.

To Cole Hart, thanks again for the dream come true and for all the help and advice you have given me when I’m being a stubborn brat.  Thank you to all my wonderful supporters, Yasmine Benton, Victor, Marcus Wooten, Rachel Moore, Gabrielle Hannah, Mary Cobbs, Kierra Polk, Rikenya Hunter, Libby Blair, Jessica Simms, Alonzo Garrett, Gabrielle Hannah, Regina Abraham, Patrice Balark, Shamika Smith, Lavenda Smith, Shannon Akins, Lamont Michael, Rhonda Edwards, Felicia Reed, Alvonia Nelson, Zyika Haynes, LaTosha Capone, Kandis Banks, Andrea Neverson, and  Casey Smith.

I really appreciate each and every one of my supporters that purchased my books. This couldn’t have happened without any of you. I hope that you all enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Maybe you can feel the characters pain, problems, happiness and struggles.

Lastly, thank you to all my readers for supporting me with book purchases and promoting me to the fullest. Without you all I would not have been in the position I am in right now.



















This book is dedicated to all the women who have stuck by their men through all the trials and tribulations they have endured together. This goes out to all the conniving and strong willed hustling women and men in the world. This book is dedicated to all the women who love their men to the moon and back; to all the women that were there for their man in any way, shape or form.  This is for all those who tried to throw the towel in and say “I quit,” but stayed throughout the bullshit.

This book is also dedicated to the men who hustle hard to make sure that their family has everything that they need. It’s for all the men who stay in these mean streets to assure he has what he needs to make ends meet at the end of the month. This is for the men that never forgot about the women that stood by their side. It’s never easy being the wife of a hustler, but hey, someone has to do it, right? The hustle is an art and either you come out on top or you fail trying.


Trap God Trapped


I woke up to the sound of the earsplittingly loud TV. It was 7:30 in the morning and my wife Legacy was watching an old marathon of Maury. My cell phone rang loudly, which caused me to sit up abruptly in my bed, wipe the crust from out of my eyes, and answer the phone on the fifth or sixth ring. “Talk to me.”

It was one of my home boys named Breland and I already knew what it was he wanted. He called me every morning like clockwork. I cut my eyes over to Legacy to see if she was still watching TV, but thankfully she had fallen asleep. She couldn’t stand my nigga and I never understood why. I turned my attention back to my phone.

“What was you sayin’, bruh?” I asked swinging my feet to the side of the bed.

“You already know what I’m calling you for, bruh. I need my daily dose of medicine so that I can start my day off right.”

“Aright, I got you. Let me go ahead and get my ass up and I’ll swing by your spot,” I replied, yawning.

“Okay cool. How long will it take you to make it to me?”

“About ten minutes tops.”

              “Cool, I’ll be waiting on you,” Breland responded. I hopped out of the bed to get myself together. Legacy was still knocked out and I wanted to leave her that way. I knelt down kissing her lips before jumping in the shower, washing my face, and brushing my teeth. I threw on my black muscle T-shirt with a pair of Robin jeans without those gay ass rhinestones added on the back, and my black and yellow flight Jordan’s. I always made sure I looked A-1 before I walked out of my house, so today was no different.

As I drove down the street I listened to the song,
Trap Niggas,
bobbing my head and rapping along with Future. Twenty minutes later I was pulling up to Breland’s house. As soon as I pulled my red Charger in behind his broke-down-ass Monte Carlo, he stepped outside on the porch. I killed the engine before hopping out. I was about to walk in the house, but he closed the door behind him.

“Damn nigga it took you long enough. You know my mouth was watering for this shit.” He quipped, dapping me up.

“Mane, I got here as quick as I could. You know how that early morning traffic be.” I looked around nervously as we stood on his porch.

“Let’s get this over with. I would invite you in, but you know how my girl trips sometimes.” He didn’t have to explain it to me because I knew all too well how rude that bitch Cakey was. On more than one occasion she almost made me cuss her out about her slick-ass mouth. I was so in tuned with the sell about to go down between me and him that for the first time in a long time, I let my guard down.

As soon as we made the exchange, the police rolled up on us jumping out from their squad cars before they even came to a complete stop; it had to be at least 15 of them. Some were dressed in regular MPD uniform, while a few others were in their narcotic team gear. Blue Crush is what the Memphis Police Department called their most lethal string of police officers fighting against drugs in the city.

“SHIT” was the only word that came from my mouth. I pushed pass my home boy and we both struck out running in opposite directions. We sprinted from the police like wild tigers trying their best to avoid being captured by humans that threatened to bring an end to their freedom. My palms were moistened and my forehead was already dripping sweat as my heart pounded in my chest. My mind was on overdrive with the thoughts of what would happen if I was caught. Worry consumed me. It was then that I realized that I was outnumbered and knew that I was going to have to knock an officer’s ass down to get pass them all. Taking a chance at putting up a struggle was my only option, because I’d much rather go to jail for hitting a police officer than having seven keys of coke, two pockets full of rubber banded money, and some weed on me.

Balling both of my fists up, I hit the first police office that tried to grab me dead in his face. I could hear the snap of his nose breaking like a twig. He instantly fell over in pain while I ran into the woods like I was some kin to Tarzan; jumping over tree branches and dodging sink holes in the mud. The sound of my rapidly beating heart and footsteps invaded my ear drums. Thirty feet behind me I could hear the sound of police K-9’s barking because they could smell my scent and knew they were on my trail. By this time I could see helicopter lights high in the sky looking for my ass like Cleo in
Set It Off

My entire life flashed before my eyes as I envisioned my girl crying, struggling to accept the fact that she would not see me for a while and I wasn’t ready to be away from her either. The police would seize all of our belongings including our bank accounts. I had never been caught before and I had been doing this shit for 14 years. I needed an escape route because I was surrounded and if I ever made it out of the woods, I’d be more than grateful. Now was the perfect time to pray to God.  So out of the blue I took my chances. It sounds crazy, but yes I stopped and put my hands together and started praying.

Dear God, if you’re listening to me right now please help me out. I know a nigga is in the wrong right now, but hustling is all I know. My girl is all that I have in this world. Leaving her in these streets would stress her all the way out and I love her too much to watch her life, along with her future, be destroyed and dragged through the mud on my behalf. If you help me out this one time, I promise to start doing better and try to become legit in the next two years whether I have enough money or not. Amen

I planned on running until my feet gave out on me. A brick wall soon came into sight and I jumped over it damn near twisting my ankle as I fell over the other side. As I struggled to get up, I heard a police officer as he spoke into his walkie-talkie, “The suspect is presumed to be going south.” So being the smart hood nigga that I was, I ran my ass north to throw him off.

By this time, my chest was burning and my ankle was swelling. Just as I was about to stop running and give up, God answered my prayer in the most bizarre way. My ass fell feet first into a deep, muddy creek filled with turtles and possibly even snakes and rats. Everything from my top to my bottom was covered with the most foul, disgusting contents that I had ever came in contact with. Trying not to panic and drown myself, I stood on my tip toes with mud covering my face.

The cops were everywhere. I could hear them talking although I could barely hear what they were saying due to the mud in my ear. All I knew was that I had to get the hell out of there fast. I started swimming my way through the filth that surrounded me. It was the hardest thing that I ever had to do because my entire body was heavy as hell. Swimming through the shit was a difficult task at hand, but I was not about to let them boys put my ass up under the jail. I was relieved that no one saw my ass in all that mud.

The police dogs couldn’t seem to smell my scent any longer. I waited patiently to see what would happen before making my next move. After what seemed like forever, I heard the command for the cops to move in a different direction. Finally arriving to some dry land, I quickly got out of the muddy-ass creek and began running my ass off. Looking like a mud monster didn’t stop me from running through people’s backyard. My home boy Black lived close by so I kept running until I reached his door. After catching my breath I knocked on the door until I saw the curtains being pulled aside. The door popped open as I stood there doubled-over trying to catch my breath.

“What the hell?” Black commented, looking down at me. “Who is that,” he asked with his .380 tucked behind him.

“It’s me!” I managed to utter.

“Me who?”

  “Mane it’s me, Jacori!” I looked around nervously, hoping nobody heard.

“What happened to you nigga?” Black said as he laughed and stepped outside.

“Look, I don’t have time to explain, but I need you to help me out.”

“Okay anything for you. You know you my homie.”

“I need you to get the water hose and spray a brotha down. My ass can’t walk around with all this mud on me. It was a struggle just making it here.” Black shook his head as he retrieved the water hose. It would have made more sense to step in for a shower and wash my clothes, but I wasn’t about to take my clothes off in front of no nigga. After enough of the mud was washed off for me to walk home without too much attention, I thanked Black and headed home wet and heavy. I felt like all eyes were on me even though I made sure to stay on side streets and alleys.

I was embarrassed, but even more than that, I was upset with myself. I went against my better judgment. I knew better than to be selling dope outside of the house. My stupid decision had me swimming with the snakes and turtles in that damn creek.

I walked home the long way just to make sure that no one was following me. You could never be too careful in my line of work. Going to my car wasn’t an option at this point because I had a feeling it was being watched. Once I made it to my house I knew that my brother Javon was there but I was heated when I saw my wife’s car too.
This is about to be some shit.
I peered through the kitchen door where he was digging into my refrigerator as usual. He was the only person other than me and Legacy that had a key to my spot.

Knocking on the door lightly, I got his attention and he opened it smiling with that dumb ass grin I hated. “Don’t ask me shit just bring me a towel and hurry the fuck up.” I ordered. He ran down the hall into the guest bathroom coming back with a hand towel. I started to punch his dumb ass but there was not time for that. I stepped inside the house a funky, wet, mess and quickly tossed my clothes in the trash. As I showered, my mind was on what my next move would be and how I would be able to keep this shit from my wife who always seemed to find out about everything with her nosey ass.



BOOK: The Real Trap Wives Of Memphis
4.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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