CHAPTER 7 #2
I spun around, my jaw setting instantly, the street-sharp instinct of my East Houston upbringing rising to the surface before I could even think to check it. "What the fuck?" I barked, my voice loud enough to cut through the hum of the freezer units. "You got eyes in your head or what?"
I looked up, ready to lay into whoever had been that sloppy.
The words died in my throat, replaced by a sudden, hot surge of raw adrenaline that made my fingers curl into tight fists around the metal handle of my cart.
Tesha.
She was standing right there on the other side of the metal baskets, her hands resting on her hips, her lips twisted into that same, old familiar expression of fake, high-class surprise that she used to use whenever she got caught telling a lie in high school.
Her hair was slicked back into a tight pony, her makeup done up like she was expecting a camera crew to find her in the middle of Walmart, but her eyes were cold, narrow, and instantly venomous.
"Oh," Tesha spat, her voice dripping with that smug, high-pitched attitude that made my stomach turn. "My bad. I didn't see you down there, Ciara. Though I guess you’re pretty hard to miss these days."
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" I flared, stepping closer to the gap between our carts.
The hood edge in my voice was fully out now—unfiltered, sharp, and entirely devoid of the polite, professional reserve I used to carry.
"You bump into my shit, you don't apologize, and now you’re standing there looking like a whole mistake.
You need to turn this cart around and roll your ass away from me before I forget where we are, Tesha. "
"And what if I don't?" she hissed, her step matching mine, her eyes locking onto my high puff. "Who you calling a mistake, bitch? You think because you’re making those little videos on the internet that you’re some kind of queen now? You’re still the same basic-ass girl from the block who couldn't even keep her man from wandering across the hall. "
The pain of that betrayal—the memory of walking into my own apartment on a Tuesday afternoon and finding her, my supposed best friend, in my bed with my fiancé—flashed through my mind like a physical blow. The heat in my chest turned from anger to a blinding, white-hot fire.
"Who you calling a bitch, hoe?" I shot back, my voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made a middle-aged woman three feet away instantly turn her cart and head toward the pharmacy. "You want to talk about who keeps what? You’re still riding around in that broke-down Civic, living off the scraps of a nigga who doesn't even have his own name on his lease. You’re a thief, Tesha. But the joke’s on you, because you stole trash. "
"Keep talking like that and I might just have to cut you up right here," Tesha hissed, her face contorting with a sudden, wild rage. Her hand slipped down into the open pocket of her designer knock-off handbag, her fingers lingering there like she was gripping something heavy and metallic.
I didn't blink. I didn't take a step back. Instead, my right hand slid smoothly into my own leather purse, my fingers instantly finding the cold, textured polymer grip of my Glock 43. I kept my hand inside the bag, my finger resting light but ready against the trigger guard.
"You think I care if you got a gun in that fake-ass bag, hoe?
" I said, my voice completely steady, completely cold.
"I got my shit too. And unlike you, I actually know how to use mine.
I should've put one in your cheating ass—and that stupid-ass nigga Morgan—the second I caught both of you in my crib. You’re lucky I had respect for my carpet, because neither of you was worth the cleanup. "
Tesha let out a high, ugly chuckle, though her hand stayed firmly inside her purse.
"You still caught up about that? Get over it, Ciara. That’s history.
It ain't my fault I got better coochie and head game than you ever did.
Morgan loves what he loves, and baby, it clearly wasn't what you were serving. "
The air in the produce section felt like it had suddenly turned into hot grease.
My heart was thumping against my ribs, not out of fear, but out of the sheer, electric anticipation of a fight.
I was ready. I was so tired of carrying the quiet weight of their betrayal, of trying to be the bigger person while they went around the neighborhood acting like they’d won some kind of prize.
"What's going on over here?"
A deep, scratchy voice cut through the tension, coming from the direction of the cereal aisle. I didn't even have to turn my head to know who it was. The scent of cheap cologne and weed-smoke arrived a second before he did.
Morgan.
He rounded the corner, his tall, thin frame draped in an oversized t-shirt that didn't quite hide the tattoos running up his neck.
His dreads were pulled back, and he had that lazy, half-lidded expression on his face that used to make me think he was relaxed, but now just made him look entirely stupid.
He stopped dead in his tracks the second his eyes landed on me, his mouth dropping open slightly.
"Ciara?" he asked, his tone trying for casual but failing as his eyes drifted down to where my hand was still buried inside my purse. "What you doing here, man? And why you glaring at Tesha like you trying to drill a hole through her head?"
"Tell your bitch to look where she’s pushing her cart," I said, my eyes never leaving Tesha’s face.
"And tell her that if she tries to bump into my shit again, she won't be walking out of this store on her own two feet.
I gave both of you a pass when you were shacked up in that roach-trap down the road, but my patience for you two is entirely gone. "
"Ciara, come on," Morgan said, stepping into the space between our carts, his hands held up in a placating gesture.
"Let's not do this here. We’re in public, man.
I know... look, I know I messed up. I'm sorry for how things went down. I really am. But let’s not cause a scene in the middle of Walmart. "
"Apologizing?" Tesha snapped, her voice rising to a screech as she grabbed Morgan's arm, pulling him back toward her. "Why are you apologizing to her, Morgan? Look at her! She’s standing here threatening me, and you’re acting like you still got feelings for this basic bitch! You’re my man now. Act like it!"
"Shut up, Tesha!" Morgan growled, shaking her hand off his arm, his own temper finally beginning to flare. "I'm trying to keep us from getting kicked out of the store!"
"Fuck you, Tesha," I spat, my grip on the Glock tightening. "And fuck you, Morgan. You’re a lame-ass nigga who couldn't even keep a real job, let alone a real woman. Both of you deserve exactly what you got—each other."
Morgan’s face went dark, the thin veneer of his casual attitude stripping away to reveal the nasty, fragile ego underneath. He took a fast step toward me, his hand rising rapidly as if he were about to slap the smirk right off my face.
Time seemed to slow down to an absolute crawl. I began to pull the barrel of the Glock up through the zipper of my purse, my eyes tracking the movement of his arm, ready to end this entire saga right here on the linoleum floor.
Then, out of nowhere, a massive, pale shadow fell over the aisle.
A hand—huge, thick-wristed, and incredibly fast—shot through the space between us. Before Morgan’s hand could even reach the level of my shoulder, those massive fingers wrapped around his wrist, halting his momentum with a force that sounded like a dry branch snapping.
Morgan gasped, his entire body jerking to a stop as he was frozen mid-air. He tried to yank his arm back, but he couldn't move it even a fraction of an inch.
I looked up.
Joshua.
He was standing there like some kind of ancient god of war who had decided to do his grocery shopping in a casual, blue linen button-down and dark jeans.
His six-foot-eight frame completely filled the aisle, his massive chest pressing against the side of my cart, his blonde ponytail swaying slightly against his back.
His chiseled jaw was set like granite, and those ice-blue eyes of his—usually so calm and analytical—were cold, hard steel as they locked onto Morgan’s face.
"Who the fuck is you?" Morgan growled, his voice cracking with a sudden, sharp pain as Joshua's grip tightened. "Let go of my wrist, man! You're breaking my shit!"
"You need not concern yourself with my name," Joshua said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet rumble that carried an absolute, crushing authority.
The sound of it seemed to vibrate right through the metal carts, making the air in the produce section feel suddenly twice as heavy.
He didn't raise his voice, but the threat in his tone was so immense it made Tesha step back by two full feet.
He squeezed Morgan's wrist just a fraction harder, making the smaller man sink to his knees slightly, his face twisting in agony.
"What you need to do," Joshua continued, his blue eyes narrowing, "is take that cart of yours, take your associate, and leave my woman alone.
If I see you within ten feet of her again, I will personally ensure the authorities charge you with assault.
Do not try me, bud. I can clear scum like you out of my sight with absolute ease. Now go on. Get."
Joshua released his grip. Morgan stumbled back, clutching his reddened wrist against his chest, his face pale and sweating under the store lights. He looked up at Joshua, then at me, the bravado completely drained from his body.
"Fuck y’all," Tesha hissed, her teeth clicking as she grabbed Morgan's good arm, pulling him away. "Let's go, Morgan. They're both crazy."
They turned and hurried down the aisle, their cart squeaking frantically as they disappeared toward the paper goods.