Put A Ring On It (35 page)

“Vangie, that’s so impressive.”

The waiter returned. He set their margaritas in front of them and promised to be right back with the appetizers.

“Girl, I was desperate. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go down like that. After I paid Mr. Mansfield a deposit, he called me a week later, asking if I had the balance.”

“Did you have the rest of the money?”

“No, but I borrowed it from my mother. As promised, Mr. Mansfield delivered. He handed me a manila envelope filled with pictures of Shawn inside the barbershop with the clippers in his hand, cutting one head after another. Mr. Mansfield even had pictures of Shawn accepting payment from his customers.”

“This is an incredible story.”

“Yeah, well, I took that incredible story, along with the glaring evidence, right down to Family Court. I didn’t even have a lawyer, but I figured out how to file a motion of newly discovered evidence. Girl, you couldn’t tell me that I wasn’t a powerful attorney. You should have seen me attaching that damning evidence to the paperwork. A month later, I was back in court. Shawn and his pit bull lawyer looked so dumb, trying to act shocked over the pictures, like they couldn’t understand how Shawn had ended up with those clippers in his hands.”

Laughing hard, Harlow almost choked on her drink.

“The judge ruled in my favor! Case muthafuckin’ closed!” Vangie held up her hand and Harlow slapped it.

“So, Shawn is paying you child support now?”

“Uh-huh. I got six thousand toward his arrearages. And more to come. That’s why we’re sitting here celebrating!”

“All right, girl!”

Vangie’s expression changed. “But on a sad note…”

“Oh, God.”

“Nivea had a complete meltdown at her sister’s wedding.”

“What do mean?”

“I wasn’t there, but from what I’ve been told, Nivea projectile vomited all over Courtney’s hand-beaded wedding dress—”

Harlow looked aghast. “Are you kidding?”

Vangie shook her head. “And that’s not the worst of it.”

Harlow covered her mouth and then removed it. “What else?”

“Nivea’s pregnant. And guess who she’s accusing of being the father.”

“I’m scared to ask. She’s been running around screwing everything that moves, like she’s on some kind of sex vendetta. Who’s the father—Eric?”

“According to Nivea, it’s Courtney’s new husband.”

“Aw, that’s cold. Why would Nivea try to ruin that young couple’s happiness? Is she really that mean-spirited and jealous-hearted? Or just plain crazy?”

Vangie shrugged. “It’s possible that she’s certifiably crazy. Her parents had to have her three-o-two’d right after the wedding because she kept harassing Courtney and Knox while they were on their honeymoon.”

“Nivea flipped out like that?”

“Couldn’t you tell something was going on with her when we all had dinner together at The Four Seasons?”

“In retrospect, yeah.” Harlow leaned forward. “Is she really pregnant?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait until we hear Nivea’s side of the story.”

“Can we visit her?”

“No visitors. I hope they don’t have our girl locked up in a padded cell.”

“Poor Nivea.”

“I know, right? Who would have thought that Niv would end up like this? She had the professional parents, went to the best schools…It just goes to show you that things aren’t always the way they appear. To be honest, I think Nivea started slowly losing it after she and Eric broke up.”

Harlow shook her head, feeling more grateful than ever that she was getting help for her problems.

Autumn

S
ome girls grow up dreaming of their wedding day, but for Harlow, every day of her young life had been a struggle for survival. Back then, imagining that a day like today was remotely possible hadn’t entered her mind.

But here she was, holding a cascading bouquet and standing next to Drake at the altar.

It was an intimate evening ceremony at a posh Philadelphia restaurant. The atmosphere was romantic, warm, and inviting. The twenty guests were close friends and family.

Having no blood relatives, Harlow regarded Vangie as family. And today was the opportune time to set her girl up with Drake’s right-hand man, Alphonso. She hoped they’d find in each other the kind of connection that she and Drake had.

Nivea was also in attendance and she seemed like her old self. Five months pregnant, and uncertain of the paternity of her child, Nivea appeared to be coping with the dilemma.

The minister began, “Friends and family, we are gathered together to celebrate the wedding of Harlow and Drake.” Throughout the speech, Harlow tried to pay rapt attention to each word that was spoken. Drake was making it difficult for her to concentrate, showering her with a continuous smile and admiring glances.

He became attentive when the minister addressed him: “Will you take Harlow to be your lawful-wedded wife, love her, honor,
and keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part?”

“I do,” Drake answered.

Harlow was addressed next. And in a voice that trembled with emotion, she said, “I do.”

Concluding the ceremony, the minister asserted, “I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss your bride.”

As Drake kissed Harlow, her teardrops dampened his face. “Why are you crying?”

Smiling through her tears, she whispered, “Because I’m so happy.”

In a booming voice, the minister proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Drake Morgan.”

The reception immediately followed. Drake took Harlow in his arms and glided her across the dance floor. They clung passionately to each as if they’d never let go.

When the music ended, Alphonso approached. Bowing slightly, he extended his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Morgan?”

Harlow giggled and blushed at her new name, but she declined. “All my dances are for Drake. Tonight and forever,” she added. “Ask my girlfriend, Vangie, to dance.” She pointed to Vangie. “She’s been dying to meet you.”

Alphonso gave Vangie an approving glance. Smiling slightly, he said, “I can do that. Your girlfriend’s real cute.”

Harlow signaled Vangie with a thumbs-up.

When Alphonso walked away, Drake put his arm around Harlow’s waist. Drawing her close, he whispered in her ear, “We have a flight to catch, Mrs. Morgan.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually married. In a way, I regret that we planned a honeymoon in Paris.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why do you say that?”

Harlow shrugged. “I hate leaving. I want this perfect moment to last forever.”

Leaving their guests behind, partying, Harlow and Drake stepped outside into the cool evening breeze. Stars glittered in the sky as though purposely sharing their sparkle in celebration of the couple’s union.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Drake murmured.

Harlow looked toward the sky and sighed blissfully. “It’s magical.”

He grasped her hand, escorting her toward the limo that was parked at the far end of the block.

Hand in hand, they strolled down Broad Street, taking in the sights of beautiful downtown Philadelphia at night. Seemingly out of nowhere, there was a rush of violent movement, jostling the newlyweds. The surprising collision threw Harlow off balance, but Drake’s quick reflexes kept her steady and on her feet.

“You ain’t shit, just like your no-good mother,” croaked a horribly familiar voice.

Harlow gawked in surprise when she recognized Ronica’s snarling, disfigured face.

“You and you mother owe me for all I did for y’all. Jody’s the reason that my body got all burned up. But that bitch is dead, so you owe me double.”

“Yo!” Drake held up a hand as if his hand alone could halt the offensive barrage. Brazenly, Ronica pushed his arms aside, and stepped in closer. In one hand, she held a tattered Bible, and in the other she brandished a rusted jackknife, fully extended.

“Pay up, Harlow, before I start spreading your business. I know you don’t want that. Hmph! You think you’re all important now
that you grown; well, I know what kind of gutter tramp you really are.”

“Shut your fucking mouth and get that knife away from my wife!” Drake grabbed for the knife, but Ronica was quick, slicing the soft flesh of his palm. Blood spurted.

Harlow gasped, unaware that Drake was now reaching for his gun.

And before Harlow realized that she’d moved, she had rushed forward, forcibly pushing the knife-wielding attacker away from her husband.

Ronica was shoved so hard, she stumbled off the curve and into Broad Street. Her Bible skidded into traffic, and Ronica fell flat on her behind. Possessing uncanny agility, she sprang quickly to her hobbled feet. No longer contemplating blackmail or extortion, her crazed thoughts were now focused on bloodshed. “Both of y’all bitches ’bout to die now.”

Bringing herself to a full stand, Ronica took one menacing step forward. A split-second later, she was airborne.

Harlow covered her mouth. Holding back a scream, she witnessed her ragged tormentor catapult, as if launched into the sky.

The SEPTA bus driver pressed on the brakes, causing them to screech and wail. But it was too late; Ronica had already been hit. The driver ran off the bus. “She came out of nowhere!” he shouted out loud, and then gaped at the broken body that lay splattered on the asphalt.

With his necktie serving as a bandage on his wounded hand, Drake guided Harlow forward. “Come on, baby, keep walking. Don’t even look over there.” His expression was hard and intense. His voice sounded cold, and unnatural.

“B-but, I—”

“What are you worrying about her for? That bitch got hers,”
he said in a voice that was chilling. “Now get in the limo; we’re going to Paris.”

The glint in Drake’s eyes was terrifying; he had a look that Harlow had never seen before. “Drake, I don’t…” Harlow couldn’t stop trembling.

Drake touched her face with his good hand, and spoke in a gentle tone. “It’s over, Harlow. She won’t be coming at you anymore. I love you, Harlow, and I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he said as if explaining something that she didn’t understand. “Get in the limo, baby.”

Harlow got in. Drake slid in beside her.

“We’re going to the airport,” Drake told the driver.

Harlow searched Drake’s face, looking for a hint of the ruthless person she’d seen only seconds before. But the look was gone and she was gazing into her husband’s warm, beautiful eyes. Resting her head on his shoulder, she softly asked, “Don’t you think a doctor should take a look at your hand?”

“Nah, that ain’t nothing. Couple of Band-Aids, and I’ll be all right.”

Drake cracked a sudden smile and kissed the top of Harlow’s head. “I’m good, baby. Tonight is the beginning of the rest of our lives.”

Allison Hobbs burst on the literary scene with the release of her highly successful, debut novel,
Pandora’s Box
in 2003.
Riveting! Graphic! Edgy!
Those are just a few words that describe the responses to Allison Hobbs’ writing style. Allison Hobbs is known for her sexy scenarios and memorable characters. She takes erotica to another level but always interjects humor throughout.

A prolific writer, Allison is the author of fifteen novels and novellas, including
Stealing Candy and Lipstick Hustla.

Allison has been nominated three times for The Annual African American Literary Awards show for Best Erotic Author.

Visit Allison online:
www.allisonhobbs.com
,
www.facebook.com/allisonhobbs
,
www.twitter.com/allisonhobbs

Praise for Allison Hobbs

“The only woman on the planet freakier than me!”

—Z
ANE
,
New York Times
bestselling author and co-executive producer of Cinemax’s
Zane’s Sex Chronicles

“Allison Hobbs delivers a witty, insightful, and sexy treat that grabs your attention from the very first page and keeps it.”

—M
ARY
M
ONROE
, Bestselling Author of
God Don’t Like Ugly

B
E
S
URE TO CHECK OUT
A
LLISON
H
OBBS’ NEXT
RED HOT RELEASE

SCANDALICIOUS

B
Y
A
LLISON
H
OBBS

C
OMING
S
OON FROM
S
TREBOR
B
OOKS

H
e cupped her ass cheeks, tugging her closer, until his dick was embedded to the hilt. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he forced back the load that swelled his shaft.

She squirmed beneath him, urging him. Her moans were almost too much to bear. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice was a low growl. After all these years, his wife’s beauty still astonished him. Drove him mad. He pulled back a little, and then deepened his stroke. Going hard. Disregarding self control.

Getting a grip, he shook his head. He wasn’t ready to disconnect. He wanted to be with her—like this—for as long as he could.