Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin)

by Lori Jean Grace

  The woman sprang off the bumper, lunging at the man, screaming, going for his face. With a strong leg sweep, Michelle knocked his feet out from under him.

  With Nikky’s shirt still clutched in his fist, he pulled her down, falling on top of her. The woman lurched forward into empty air, while her feet tangled on the man’s body. She went down, and three bodies sprawled in a jumbled pile of arms and legs. The man wound up sandwiched between Nikky on the bottom and the other woman on top.

  With the woman in the way, Michelle couldn’t reach the man soon enough and he exploded out of the tangle, bellowing, “Bitch!” and swung wildly at the two women on the ground.

  Michelle landed a brutal roundhouse kick to his kidney, staggering him sideways, which also brought his full attention to Michelle. Recognition sparkled in his eyes as he registered a third enemy and with a haymaker right fist, he swung at Michelle.

  It was a mistake most men make when fighting a woman. They almost always underestimate her by thinking superior strength will easily win.

  Michelle ducked under his swing, then grabbed his upper arm and dropped her full weight, pushing her hip into his knee. Using his forward momentum, she helped him land a vicious face‑plant into the pavement. His head hadn’t finished its bounce before she was on him, wrenching his arm behind his back and slamming her elbow into his left temple.

  Not caring if it was the face‑plant or the elbow that had dazed him, Michelle felt him relax slightly. With the fight temporarily taken out of him, Michelle jumped up and back, putting herself between the man lying on the street and the two women. She pulled out her baby nine from her ankle holster and pointed it at the man.

  “You guys stay behind me!” she shouted. She held her left arm out to her side to reinforce her command.

  The man started to get up.

  Michelle shot a single bullet into the street close to his head—BLAM! “Don’t fucking move!” she yelled.

  He pushed up onto his hands anyway.

  She shot again into the pavement, this time by his hand—BLAM!

  “The next one is for you.”

  “Fuck that,” he said, and got one knee under himself.

  She shot him in the thigh—BLAM!

  “Ugh!” he grunted and dropped back down onto the pavement, left hand up by his head, right hand hidden under his body.

  “Hands where I can see them.”

  The man didn’t move.

  BLAM!

  A bullet hit the asphalt, barely an inch from his face. He moved both hands out over his head.

  “Better. Don’t fucking move!” Michelle commanded.

  “Gmuh . . .” he groaned, shifting his leg slightly. “Bitch, you shot me. Guuuh . . .”

  “Shut up, asshole. You move at all, I’ll shoot you again.” Eyes glued on him, Michelle said over her shoulder, “Are you guys all right?”

  “Yeah, we’re okay,” Nikky said.

  “Do you know this asshole?” Michelle asked the woman.

  “No. He’s not one of my regulars. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Hey, asshole,” Michelle said to the man, “do you live around here?”

  “Uhhhgg,” he moaned, and then said, “Aaa, no. I’m from Oakland.”

  Everything had taken far less than a minute, when Miss Betty ran up shouting, “I’m here!” She rushed past Nikky to Michelle’s side with her huge silver .45 in one hand and a cell phone in the other. “You guys take her out of here,” she said. “I’ll deal with this.”

  “Show him your cannon before we step off,” Michelle said. “He’s from Oakland.”

  Miss Betty walked around, well out of arm’s reach, to where the man could see her. Pointing the .45 at his face, she said, “I don’t know who these people are, I don’t know who shot you, and I don’t know where the shots came from. All I know is, I saw you beating up on a street girl and I heard some shooting, so I came running over to find you on the ground. That’s what I’ll tell the police when they show up and that’s what everyone else’ll say. Won’t anybody speak up for some Oakland busta they don’t know.”

  “You good to go?” Michelle asked the woman.

  “I’m good,” she replied.

  The three of them briskly walked back toward Betty’s, hopped into Nikky’s car, and took off.

  While Nikky drove, Michelle turned to the woman in the backseat. “What’s your name, hon?”

  “Angel.”

  “Angel, aren’t you one of Sugar’s girls?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Normally we’d get you checked out at the clinic and then drop you off at Sugar’s. But because I had to shoot that jerk, we can’t go anywhere official or medical where the police will be informed. He kept trying to stand up. Guy like that, if he made it to his feet, I’d have to kill him to stop him. Some guys are that way; mean is deep in their soul.”

  “You’re right about him,” Angel said. “I deal with a lot of men, and they don’t often scare me. He scared me when we first talked.”

  “Well, you’re with us now, and Miss Betty will take care of him. She’s real good at talking to the cops, so we’re covered on that end. There’s no telling what that asshole might say, so you need to keep off the streets until we can figure this out. Is there someone or someplace you can go to? Somewhere out of town is best.”

  “I can go stay with my cousin. She lives in Bakersfield.” Then Angel started shaking. “If you guys hadn’t shown up, I think he would’ve kilt me. When I said I wouldn’t do some kinky shit he wanted, he went crazy mad and started hitting me with his fists.”

  “Your face is hurt pretty bad; some nasty bruises and a black eye. I don’t think those cuts need stitches, but they should be cleaned and taped. There might be more, so you should get X‑rays of your face. Can you breathe okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take a deep breath,” Michelle said.

  “You’re looking to see if he busted a rib.” Angel said, “he didn’t. I know what broken ribs feel like. I’m skinned up and hurt all over, but I don’t have no broken ribs. I just can’t stop this shaking.”

  “That’s normal. It’s the adrenaline working out of your system.”

  “I’m starting to shake, too,” Nikky said. “Maybe you should drive.”

  “No problem,” Michelle said, “let’s switch. Pull over here.”

  A moment later, back out on the road, Michelle turned to Nikky. “Sweet Jesus, girl,” she said. “What’s up with that? You can’t fight a big man like he’s some woman.”

  “I had to do something when I saw him hitting her.”

  “Yeah, you did the right thing; we can’t stand back and let any woman get the crap beaten out of her. You were a hundred percent right. But, good God, you need some training so you aren’t hurt bad someday.”

  Nikky laughed. “Hella yes! I thought I knew how to scrap, and then this happens. Wham, I’m on my ass. Wham, you took that asshole down before I could do anything. Hell yes, I’m down for learning some of that ninja shit.”

  “Your shift starts in a few hours, right?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah. Why, what are you thinking?”

  “Somebody needs to take Angel to Bakersfield. The drive’s a couple of hours both ways, so you don’t have time to go. No problem; I’ll take her. We also need to deal with your car being seen back at Betty’s.”

  “Oh crap,” Nikky said. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. We swing by and drop you off close to your place. When it’s the regular time for you to leave for work, call the cops and tell them your car was stolen. Say you parked it on the street last night and haven’t been out all day. I’ll leave it at a mall in Bakersfield where it’ll be noticed in a day or two.”

  “Good thinking. Then I can call into work and tell them my car was stolen so I can’t make it. That’s good, because in addition to feeling so shaky, a killer headache is starting to p
ound. Why aren’t you jacked like me? You mixed it up, too.”

  “I didn’t let him hit me, or fall on me,” Michelle said.

  Nikky scoffed. “Like I had a choice. He had a death grip on my blouse and took me down with him.”

  “No your choice was to stay out of arm’s reach so he couldn’t grab you. Don’t worry about it. You did real good back there. We’ll work on teaching you some skills later. Until then, if you need to take on a man, hit him with a chair or throw a brick at him.”

  “Like that’ll work. I throw like a girl.”

  Michelle laughed. “You are a girl.”

  “And proud of it. But in this, I’m a girly girl.”

  Michelle laughed again, and both Nikky and Angel joined in, long and loud, until all three were gasping for air.

  “Well, that proves I don’t have a busted rib,” Angel said. “It didn’t hurt to laugh. But why are we laughing so hard? We just got our asses kicked.”

  “After a fight, I always laugh my fool head off. Or get laid.” Michelle mugged looking around the car. “Nope, no men. Only a girly girl from the hood who can’t throw a brick.” She started laughing again.

  “Laugh all you want,” Nikky said, “it’s still true. I can’t throw for shit. No power and worse aim.”

  “No problem,” Michelle said. “That only means we start your training right away on how to kick butt.”

  “Why are you guys doing this?” Angel asked from the backseat. “You don’t even know me. All you know is I’m some street woman who was beat up. I mean, you can see what I am, so why are you helping me?”

  “We know, hon,” Michelle said. “What you do makes no difference. You’re one of the girls in our hood. We couldn’t let him beat you like a dog in the street.”

  “Well, whatever your reason, I’m damned happy you jumped in.”

  “We’re in it now. It’s better for us not to be messing with the police, and I guess the same goes for you.”

  “You got that shit right,” Angel said. “They bust my ass one more time and I’m fucked. That bitch, Judge Parker, promised me a year in county if I come to her court again. I can’t afford that.”

  “I’ll take you to your cousin’s,” Michelle said. “You need to stay there until we find out if the police are looking for us. It should only be a few days. After that, what happens is between you and Sugar.”

  “Sugar’s gonna be pissed I’m not at work tonight, is all.”

  At this, Michelle and Nikky exchanged a surprised look.

  Eighteen: Players

  BRANDON WAS GAY. Nobody cared. Trevon trusted Brandon with his business and his life. He’d been Trevon’s closest friend and number two in their street hustle since they were kids.

  Four years ago, Brandon wanted to own an uptown club. Trevon didn’t. So they compromised and bought Billie’s Bar and changed the name to BAT’s Cave. Billie’s was a small, not quite rundown neighborhood gay bar in North Long Beach. Now, though still a gay bar, everyone knew BAT’s Cave doubled as Trevon and Brandon’s headquarters.

  After returning from a meeting with a couple of players, Trevon joined Brandon in a back corner booth of BAT’s Cave.

  “You knew that shit wouldn’t work no matter how you brought the deal, so why do it?” Brandon asked.

  “I didn’t expect the offer to fly; that wasn’t the reason for setting up the meet. I needed to see who D’andre would choose for neutral ground. When the location was set for Poco’s, I wanted to see how he and Poco did things.”

  “Why? You think they’re working together?”

  “I thought maybe,” Trevon said. “Now I know they are. Both Poco’s and D’andre’s guys were too relaxed, not even a little nervous. None of them were jumpy, while our men were on edge like they should be. It’s clear they’re in this together.”

  “Yeah, D’andre lost some good men in that fracas a couple weeks ago, so his crew’s thin. And he can’t trust BamBam’s old crew. Any one of them might try to take him out. He’ll need some outside shooters, so I can understand why he’d go to Poco. I don’t see what Poco gets. D’andre won’t give him any of the corners and roll like that. He can’t be stupid enough to think Poco would stop at a few corners.”

  Trevon shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. More likely Poco went to D’andre. And Poco’s deal isn’t about selling retail. Poco’s been in the life for a long time; he’s solid with the streets in his own set. He’ll be looking to supply D’andre. In the past couple of years, he’s been tight with the Mexicans. They’ll break off a piece for him, if he can bring in all of Anglewatts.”

  Brandon nodded, wiped the condensation off his glass of iced tea, and took a drink.

  “On our end,” Trevon went on, “there’s bad blood between Poco and Slim. That’s why we never tried to set up in Compton. Still won’t. I agree with Slim about Anglewatts. We both want it, but I don’t want to supply D’andre. I want the whole show; I want the corners and the supply. This’ll put you and me on top where we belong.”

  “All right, we’ll make a run on D’andre. That means we deal with some of Poco’s guys. What do you think? How many?”

  “Two or three, but nobody real strong. He knows to keep his own house solid, so he’ll hold his best men back; keep them close to home. He’ll send some baby‑g’s looking for stripes. They’ll be fresh; never been in deep shit before. Baby‑g’s get scared or excited and blow their wad too wild and quick. Our boys can take care of them, no problem. But it’s not just Poco’s guys. The real concern will be if the Mexicans want to put some of their guys in with him for a while. They won’t be wangsters with heat; they’ll be serious shooters.”

  *

  D’andre stormed into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He thunked his chrome 9mm down onto the kitchen table. “Get me some tea, Sugar. It’s hot as hell outside today.”

  Sugar poured and handed him the tea. “What happened?”

  “Who the fuck does that asswipe Trevon, think he is? He’s messing with the wrong man. Fuck him, telling me he wants me to roll over like some pussy!”

  “Did he say he wanted to move up to Anglewatts?”

  “No. He fucking better not even think that shit. He said he wanted to supply us, acted like he thought I should be grateful he’d let me buy from him. Fuck him. I’m not scared of no fancy‑ass college punk.”

  D’andre stripped off his shirt and threw it onto the back of the couch, where he leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

  “D, honey, you’re right. You don’t need to be scared. Not of them or of anybody.” Sugar shook the wrinkles out of D’andre’s shirt, then hung it over the back of a chair in the dining area. “Taking them seriously isn’t being scared. It’s smart. That Long Beach crew is solid like a brick. He may be a faggot, but Brandon done some wild‑ass crazy shit coming up. And they’re thick with a bunch of them brothas, too.”

  “I knew Trevon and Brandon when we was kids. They’re all soft pussies.” D’andre grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and started skimming through the channels. “Plus, Poco over in Compton is sending me some more men.”

  “Why’re you messing around with Poco?” Sugar asked, raising her voice over the noise of the TV. “He only wants to move in on your turf.”

  “No, he doesn’t have the people to handle the streets here. He’s looking to help me so he can hook up the supply.”

  “You know he’s a backstabbing snake. You heard what he did to those people’s families a couple years back. I don’t trust him for nothing. As soon as he sets up the supply, he’ll start testing to see where you’re weak. He’ll squeeze any weak spot on your crew.”

  “Let me worry about him. I can take care of Poco if I need to.” D’andre hit the remote to turn off the TV, then threw it onto the coffee table. It skidded off the far edge onto the floor. Leaving it there, he picked up a second remote and cut on the sound system.

  “What ab
out Ascia?” Sugar asked. “He’ll be pissed if you decide to run with Poco.”

  “Fuck him, too. He might be OG in Houston, but he’s got no juice here. He needs me. I don’t need him.”

  “I’m behind you all the way, D, you know that. But I’m worried you’re playing with fire, pissing off those Houston guys. You told them they was in and they’re not going away just because you change your mind.”

  “You’re just pissed about losing them Russian hos. I don’t give a shit about selling no Russian pussy.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I am excited about getting those Russians,” Sugar said. “We can make a grip of money off them.”

  “Won’t nobody be making shit, if we don’t take care of Trevon. Call Jerome. Get that punk over here. I know a way to fix this thing.”

  *

  The hot, bright, late‑summer sun baked the bleached‑out courtyard. Only the well‑tended, well‑watered potted plants sitting by one of the doors remained in good condition after the long summer of mostly ninety degree days.

  Jerome pimp‑walked to the same table outside of Sugar’s apartment where he’d met D’andre earlier. “What up, dog? Hey, Sugar.”

  Sugar looked up, nodded, “Hey,” then focused back on her phone, tapping out a text.

  Slouched in his chair, with chest tattoos showing around the straps of his wifebeater T‑shirt, D’andre smiled. “Pour some tea, and sit down in the shade out of that hot sun. You and your crew are coming up with an important job.”

  At the mention of his crew, Jerome swelled with obvious pride. “Sure, I’m down for whatever you need.” He filled a glass with ice from the cooler and poured it full of tea.

  “What do you know about the Pussy Squad?” D’andre asked.

  Jerome pressed the glass of iced tea against the side of his sweaty face. “I know lots about pussy, but I never heard of no Pussy Squad. Are you talking about Sugar’s girls?”

  D’andre smiled again. “Naw, man. Good guess, though. No, this ain’t about none of Sugar’s girls. This shit’s all about you.” He clinked glasses with Jerome, and winked.