Promise Broken, page 1
Also by K’wan
The Promises Series
Promise Broken
The Animal Series
Animal: The Beginning
Ghetto Bastard
Animal
The Omen
Revelations
Last Rites
Animal 4.5
Executioner’s Song
The Hood Rat Series
Hood Rat
Still Hood
Section 8
Welfare Wifeys
Eviction Notice
The First & Fifteenth
No Shade
Outlaws & Disorder
The Diamonds Series
Diamonds and Pearl
The Diamond Empire
The Black Lotus Series
Black Lotus
The Vow
The Fix Series
The Fix
The Fix II
The Fix III
The Purple City Series
Purple Reign
Little Nikki Grind
Copyright © 2022 by K’wan Foye
E-book published in 2022 by Blackstone Publishing
Cover and book design by Luis Alejandro Cruz Castillo
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced
or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental
and not intended by the author.
Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-7999-6137-6
Library e-book ISBN 978-1-7999-6136-9
Fiction / Urban
CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress
Blackstone Publishing
31 Mistletoe Rd.
Ashland, OR 97520
www.BlackstonePublishing.com
Every girl deserves dreams. I can be anything I want to be without fear of persecution or judgment for the desires of the heart. If only for a few hours, the ugliness of the world is hidden. Pain cannot reach me and sorrow isn’t welcome. Although sadness is a steady occupant, fascinating discoveries await. Every girl deserves dreams. Bright and bold violet, yellow, and pink swirling as far out as the eye can see. Beautiful colors touch my cheeks, sending a warm sensation throughout my body. An embrace like a mother’s love—a stranger beyond the faded memories of a woman’s face that looks so much like my own. Is this memory a mere figment of my imagination? No. I know it’s real because even the mangiest dog is afforded a sliver of happiness at least once in its lifetime. Every girl deserves dreams. I am safe. I am beautiful. I will graduate from high school. I will make something of myself. I am worthy to be loved.
Like shattering glass, I am awakened and left with only the reality of what my life has become. Tender fingers trace lines over neck tattoos and I am saddened. When I first got them, I was thrilled because they were supposed to mean that I was special. But in reality, the ink is a grim reminder of what I really am—property, branded and owned like cattle—except there are no green pastures for me to graze in waiting on the end of my life, only broken concrete and empty promises. To live forever in my dreams would be a gift, but instead I spend my waking days in pain and heartache. So, until the sweet day when I close my eyes for the final time and am truly set free, all I can do is pray . . . and dream. Dreams are food for the soul. Every girl deserves dreams.
PROLOGUE
“Bet ten he four or better!”
“That ain’t no money, nigga. Make it twenty and it’s faded!”
There were two spectators at a wicked dice game in the parking lot of the C-Town supermarket, with $200 to $300 in bills of various denominations on the ground between the teenage boy and his opponent. The older, grizzled dude was wearing a thick gold chain around his neck, with a Bentley-emblem medallion hanging from the end of it. A cigarette was pinched between his lips, but those standing close enough to catch a whiff pretended not to smell it. Everybody in the hood knew B-Stone liked to get Butt Naked. And nobody said a thing because B-Stone was that nigga.
There was a scowl etched across B-Stone’s face because the youngster had been digging in his pocket for the last thirty minutes. The dice hadn’t been kind to him.
“You gonna throw them bones, or keep jacking off wit ‘em?”
“Slow down, old head. Don’t be in such a rush to lose your money.” Rich tossed the dice and they came up, one-one-one. “Trips!” Another win.
At the same time Rich was collecting the money he had just won on the last roll, Sarah helped her daughter Tess from the car. They were new to the neighborhood, having just moved to Newark from Roselle two months before. Not being familiar with the area, the realtor had been able to woo her with a huge apartment with low rent. Within the first week, someone got shot on her block, which she discovered was a regular occurrence on this side of town. It was about then that she realized why the apartment had been so cheap. She didn’t have the money to move again, so she had to make the best of it until the lease was up.
“Mom, can we get cookies and milk?” Tess asked, skipping alongside her mother.
“Sure, honey,” Sarah responded, but she had her eyes on the group of men rolling dice.
Holding her little girl’s hand tightly, she timidly approached the entrance. She paused, waiting for the men blocking the door to let her pass, but they seemed oblivious to her. After a few uncomfortable seconds, B-Stone seemed to notice her.
“Y’all hold that for a minute.” B-Stone placed his hand in the center of the group, preventing Rich from rolling.
“C’mon, man. You fuckin’ up my rhythm!” he complained.
“Don’t you see this lady trying to get past? Show some respect!” B-Stone snarled. His sudden change in demeanor tensed the crowd. Those who were familiar knew that he could go from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye—especially when he was off that water. The gamblers parted like the Red Sea to let Sarah and Tess pass.
“Sorry,” he offered. Sarah nodded in thanks and went inside.
“A’ight, now let’s get back to it. What’s in the bank again?”
“All your money,” Rich taunted him.
“Stop bumping your gums and shoot the dice before something bad happens to you, shorty,” B-Stone warned. Everyone picked up on the threat except for Rich.
The young fella waved his hand like he was about to perform a magic trick and tossed the dice. Four was his point. “Looks like luck is finally gonna swing back your way.”
B-Stone ignored him and picked up the dice. He gave them a little shake before tossing them underhand. “Up, bitches!” he commanded with a finger snap. His point was a three.
“I guess maybe it ain’t swinging back your way after all,” Rich snickered and took up the dice.
“Why don’t you chill out,” Charlie whispered to Rich. He felt responsible for him because he was the one who had brought him around. The loudmouth didn’t know who was who in the hood—and if he did, he’d realize that he was poking the bear.
* * *
Sarah casually strolled through the aisles of the supermarket, placing only necessary items into the cart. Tess’s pencil legs dangled through the two small slots in the cart. She was small for her age, but still slightly too long for the backseat, so her legs swung awkwardly through the holes. Tess was doing her little happy dance, swaying the container back and forth as she went on and on about everything she had learned about milk in school. She’d even convinced her mother to get some chocolate powder to go with it. The drink mix hadn’t been in Sarah’s budget, but she hated denying her baby girl anything.
They made a swift turn down the bread aisle. Sarah was making burgers and fries for dinner and needed buns. Tess was still in the cart, going on and on about the benefits of milk, while her mother scanned through the different brands of burger buns to see which ones fit into her budget. She heard a popping sound, but its source didn’t register right away. Crack! Pop! Crack! Then she heard it again, followed by the sounds of broken glass. Sarah’s brain finally registered what she was hearing . . . gunshots!
“Tess!” Sarah spun to grab her beloved only child and something splashed across her face.
* * *
“Man, you sure you don’t wanna quit? My arms are getting tired from picking up your money,” Rich picked up the dice and shook them. He had rolled head-crack once and trips twice since beating B-Stone with the four. The game had gotten heated, and the steadily mounting tensions had caused a few spectators to leave.
B-Stone glared at the loudmouth, fuming. It wasn’t the money he was losing that had him tight—he’d make that back in a night—it was Rich’s constant babbling. Between the dust he’d smoked and his already mounting anger, Rich’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He would surely go mad if he couldn’t get him to shut up.
“One last role, hot shot. Whatever you got in your pockets versus what’s in mine.”
“Nah, I gotta run to the Chinese joint for my mom right quick,” Charles interjected. He smelled the bullshit and didn’t want to step in it.
“Nigga, your mama’s order of pork fried rice can wait. After I finish getting in ol’ boy’s pockets, we can buy her a steak!” Rich boasted. B-Stone could
“Okay, big man. It’s a bet,” Rich shook the dice and tossed them before his opponent could change his mind. Four-five-six . . . cee-lo. “Looks like it ain’t your day.”
“Fuck,” B-Stone cursed. He shoved his hand into his pocket, while the Rich watched him greedily. Instead of cash, he pulled out a .380.
“Looks like I ain’t the only one having a bad day,” he said, laughing before opening fire.
* * *
Sarah felt the vibration of her vocal cords, her chest pushing out air, and yet she still heard nothing. As the initial shock wore off, she willed herself forward to grab Tess.
“Thank you, Jesus . . . Thank you Jesus,” Sarah shouted as she held her daughter, who was also soaked. From her hand dangled what was left of the shattered milk carton that the bullet pierced instead of her skull.
A woman who was familiar with Sarah from seeing her and her daughter around the block waited before approaching her. The woman placed a calming hand on Sarah’s back, as she continued to sob over Tess.
“Welcome to the Bricks, suga. Welcome to the damn neighborhood.”
PART I
UNPRETTY
CHAPTER 1
Promise wasn’t sure which smelled worse—the tiny room they were in or Mouse. She reeked of cheap perfume and moldy sweat. The smell was so powerful that Promise could taste it on the back of her tongue. The office, on the other hand, just stank. Stank may have been a strong word, but it was the one that best described assault being committed against the nostrils of young Promise Mohammed. The stench put her in the mind of the time her cousin had accidentally left a mesh laundry sack of damp clothes out in the sun. Several hours had passed before anyone realized it and by the time they did, the sack had become brittle and the clothes inside ripe.
To call the room that she was sitting in an office might’ve been too generous. It was smaller than the living room in the project apartment she once occupied, with barely enough space for the desk and two chairs in it, let alone the boxes of old files that seemed to be packed into every corner. One of the walls was made up of a two-way mirror that gave her a view of the narrow hall directly outside.
There were two men dressed in security uniforms engaged in conversation. One was a short, dark-skinned man with a close-cut, tangled afro. He was resolute about getting his point across. The second was an older Hispanic man who sported a handlebar mustache. As the dark man was talking, his coworker would occasionally sigh, or roll his eyes like he would’ve rather been anywhere but there.
“What you think they talkin’ about, Promise?” Mouse asked, in the whispery voice that had earned her the nickname.
She was sitting in a hard, plastic chair identical to Promise’s. Mouse was a dark-skinned girl who probably weighed ninety pounds on a good day. Her thick natural hair was pulled back into an off-centered puff.
“Does it even matter at this point?” Promise inquired.
Mouse was her best friend and she hated to be short with her, but the whole mess had been her fault. The one rule of their little hustle was to never panic, and Mouse had broken it. And now, here they were.
“I’m sorry, Promise . . . about getting nervous and all. It’s just that when I saw the guy watching me I—”
“Mouse, please be quiet before you make this situation worse than it already is. For all you know, they could be listening to our conversation right now.” Promise said, recalling a tactic she had seen used on Law & Order. It was an outlandish statement considering they were in the back room of a department store and not some government facility. It was highly unlikely that the security guards had the inclination or the budget to bug the small room, but suggesting it made Promise sound like a veteran criminal who knew the lay of the land as opposed to a scared kid having her first brush with the authorities.
She was trying to be tough for Mouse, but in reality, Promise was shook. She could barely keep her knees from knocking together. This was new to her and she wasn’t sure what to expect. Every time someone passed by the two-way mirror, she tensed, fearing it was someone about to come into the room and cart the girls off to whatever fate awaited them. The waiting part of it was worse on her nerves than whatever the potential outcome would be.
“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” Mouse was talking again. “My cousins Keisha and Candice been to juvenile a few times and they said it’s like camp.”
“Those broads are career criminals. They spend more time in somebody’s jail or youth home than they do on the streets,” Promise said, wishing that Mouse would shut the hell up.
Keisha and Candice were Mouse’s twin cousins from New York. They were the definition of “about that life.” They were some of the rowdiest, most larcenous broads that Promise had ever met in her life. She remembered that one summer they had come to spend a few weeks with Mouse. Those chicks were into everything—from boosting to setting dudes up to get robbed. In fact, one of the reasons they had to cut their little vacation short is because they had robbed this dude who was getting money on Springfield Avenue, not far from Newark Cinema. He would’ve killed them had they not disappeared back to New York before he could catch up with them. The incident had happened months ago but Promise and Mouse still avoided the theater for fear of running into him.
The two security officers finally wrapped up their conversation. The man with the mustache headed back out to the sales floor, while the man with the afro briskly walked toward the direction of the office. He was clearly irritated and had probably been denied whatever he was campaigning for. This made Promise smile a bit because he hadn’t been a nice man. Promise’s smile would be wiped away when she heard the news that he came bearing.
“Miss Smith,” he addressed Promise. She remained silent. “Juliette Smith,” he repeated. Still, she said nothing. “Oh, so now Miss Smarty-pants doesn’t know her own name?”
“Yes, I know my name. It’s not Juliette Smith. I’m Promise Mohammed,” she corrected him.
The security guard did a double take. He examined the girl with the amber eyes and pale skin. “Mohammed? That’s Arabic or African, right? I thought you were—”
“White?” Promise completed his sentence. She was used to people mistaking her for something that she wasn’t. Understandably so. She was the product of a short-lived interracial relationship. She had very fair skin, with a hint of color—like she had gone tanning and hadn’t stayed under the lights quite long enough for the color to take. Her hair was sandy brown and naturally curly. It used to come down to her back until she had been forced to cut it, but it was starting to grow back. With high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips, Promise looked like a younger version of Angelina Jolie, except thicker. Promise was a bit on the meaty side, corn-fed as they would say down South. Her racial identity and weight were the two things she felt most self-conscious about and the two things that she was given the most grief over, that and her parents. She was born into the world with her white father’s looks and her Black mother’s hardships.
“Anyhow,” the security guard continued, “since you wanted to be all tight-lipped I had to do some investigating. I called the school listed on the bus passes we plucked off you and they put me in contact with your family. Mrs. Adelle Mohammed will be here to collect you shortly.”
“Y’all called my Aunt Dell?” Promise asked in a panicked tone. “I’d have rather gone to jail!”
“If I had it my way, both of your thieving assess would be on your way to jail, but my supervisor didn’t want to bother with the paperwork,” the guard said with an attitude. He really had been looking to ship the girls off. Busting shoplifters and getting them arrested was the best part of his job. It made him feel powerful. He’d rather they had gone to jail but seeing the fear in the girls’ eyes at the mention of Promise’s aunt made him hopeful that whatever punishment that awaited them would be a harsh one.
“Shit, you’re in for it now,” Mouse murmured in a low tone.
