printed copy

Heist

De'nesha Diamond, Kiki Swinson

ISBN 9780758251787
Publish Date 11/30/2010
Format Trade Paperback
Categories Dafina, Fiction

The Ultimate Heist
Kiki Swinson

Accustomed to a life of luxury, Shannon Marshall is devastated to lose everything after her husband, Todd, is sent to prison for gun running. So when Todd plans the ultimate stickup from behind bars, Shannon’s ready to put her neck on the line. But she’ll have to pull off the hustle of a lifetime and play one dangerous gangster who always gets what he wants…

Robyn Banks
De’Nesha Diamond

DEA Agent Jordan Hayes has vowed to never walk in her ex-con father’s footsteps. Suspecting her father is planning another robbery, she begins keeping close tabs on him and his crony—sexy gangster Keston Bishop. Jordan soon becomes addicted to the danger that radiates from Keston like street candy as she takes part in a daring theft that could cost her everything...

“Kiki captures the heat of the streets.” —Wahida Clark

“Diamond tells it like it is.” —Publishers Weekly on Heartbreaker

Todd

CRASH! BANG! “What the fuck?!” I was out of bed and on my feet with one big jump when I heard the sounds of crashing glass and wood smashing. I immediately started searching the side of my bed for my ratchet. I felt down around on the floor in the place I usually kept it.

Nothing.

“Fuck,” I cursed as the sounds grew louder and louder. Shannon had moved my shit. I told her not to ever move my shit without telling me. She was always so worried about guns being around Lil Todd.

“What the fuck!” I exclaimed as I heard feet thundering in my direction. My heart pounded through my wife-beater like the shit was going to jump loose of my chest bones. My mind was not foggy with sleep anymore; I was wide awake and on alert.

I didn’t know if it was jealous motherfuckers from the hood or those hating-ass five-o bastards who had a vendetta against me, banging up my fucking minimansion doors. The shit sounded like a fucking earthquake was happening right there in my crib. At first

I didn’t hear them say “POLICE!” but as soon as I was facing down the end of an MP5, I knew what the fuck was up.

“Get on the floor! Get the fuck on the floor!”

Those commands were very familiar. I put my hands up, folded them behind my head, and assumed the position. I was pushed down to the floor roughly, and about five of those bastards dropped knees in my back and legs. My arms were yanked behind my back, and I was cuffed and made to lie facedown on my own fucking floor. Those fucking pigs were swarming my crib like flies around a pile of freshly dropped shit. It seemed like there were a million of them. All of them against just me.

“Punk bitches,” I grumbled under my breath. I recognized one of them—a big-headed white boy who thought he was the shit. A snake motherfucker named Labeckie. He was the sergeant of the Norfolk Police Department’s narcotics and gun unit, and he hated my ass.

“Take out that wall! Tear this fucking place up until we find some shit!” I heard that bastard yell as he looked down at me and smiled.

I closed my eyes when I heard them axing down walls and cabinets. Didn’t they fucking know they could’ve just opened that shit up? My mind was racing, and I immediately hoped that Shannon didn’t walk in on this shit with Lil Todd.

I lay there, facedown, knowing right away that somebody in my camp had snitched. I knew my gun-running shit and five-o radar were airtight. There was no fucking way they could have known about my operation unless somebody told them. It had been three years since I had done my last bid on a drug charge, and when I got home, I had gone into a different line of work. Before I got knocked on the trumped-up drug charges, I was one of the biggest kingpins in the Norfolk area. I had all of Tidewater on lock, and I was bringing in at least fifty thousand a week. Almost all of the trap boys in the area were employed by me. I ran a tight ship, and the narcos found it hard to get my ass. The cops who arrested me the last time weren’t gonna rest until they got my ass. I had beat so many charges because of my high-paid attorney, and those fucking pigs were mad as hell, so when they finally got me on some ol’ caught slipping shit, they was happy as hell.

When I came home, I promised my wife I was leaving the drug game behind me—the money, the bitches, and the fucking five-o too. I knew she was tired of riding with me through all this bullshit, so I told her I was going legit, and that is exactly what I did . . . at first. I opened my own short-distance trucking company. That shit was all good, but it wasn’t enough money for me. Shannon was used to living a certain lifestyle, and I was going to provide it. I got into the gun-running shit by coincidence, and it was all up from there. I was bringing in cake, and my wife and kid were fucking happy. I was sure I was careful, and I surrounded myself with only a few cats who I thought were real. It seems one of those motherfuckers wasn’t a real cat but a fucking snake-ass rat.

These bastard-ass cops had me facedown on the floor for mad long. The circulation in my hands felt like it was completely cut off. All I could hear was them destroying my beautiful home and rummaging through my shit. I bit into my cheek until I drew blood when I heard one of them whistle and say, “Hmm, the missus must be a pretty bitch—look at these pretty-ass panties.” Then the bastard took a long sniff and said, “Ahhhh, pretty pussy smell. Think I could fuck his wife while he does his life sentence?” and then he started laughing. I squirmed around with the handcuffs biting into my skin. He was so lucky I was shackled like an animal or else I would’ve fucked his ass up. Shannon was my world, and I didn’t want a nigga, especially a bitch-ass pig, even looking in her direction.

“Yo, these cuffs is tight!” I called out while they continued going through my shit.

“I don’t give a fuck! You lucky we don’t hog-tie you like the animal you are,” the pig guarding me barked in my ear. His punk ass knew if I could get out of the fucking handcuffs, his wig would be twisted back.

It seemed like they were searching for days when one of them yelled, “Jackpot! I knew we would find something!” I just shut my eyes and thought about Shannon and our little man. I was a three striker, and my ass was going down. I had always made it a practice not to bring my shit where I live, but Jock—one of my boys—had met up with me the night before with a military-grade AK47 left over from his sales meeting. Apparently the cats he met up with had gotten cold feet on that shit and didn’t buy it, leaving Jock to drive around with the shit on his way back to Norfolk. Jock was shook and didn’t know where to take the shit, so being the man I am, I met up with Jock and took that load off of him. My intention had been to get that shit sold today. Either I was a few hours short or I was set the fuck up.

“Yo, I get a phone call, right?” I asked as two cops hauled me up off the floor.

“Don’t ask for shit!” one of them barked.

About De'nesha Diamond:

National bestselling author De’nesha Diamond burst onto the scene as the co-author of the gritty Desperate Hoodwives tales. The Essence magazine recommended series has taken the street-lit game by storm and paved a brand new path for the edgy Memphis native. Understanding that there is a fine line between glorifying thug life and telling it like it is, De’nesha Diamond spins cautionary tales inspired by personal experience and the heartbreaking stories that make our nightly news. In the end, she aims to deliver hope, even if sometimes there are no rides in the golden sunset.

About Kiki Swinson:

Kiki Swinson is the national bestselling author of over 30 novels and short stories. A star of the street lit genre—crime novels in an urban setting—Swinson’s works feature resilient women making tough, and sometimes not quite legal, decisions to survive. Her novels, inspired by her experiences and a five-year stint in federal prison, have sold over 1 million copies. She completed her first novel while incarcerated and her second novel, Wifey, became the first book in one of today’s best-selling street lit series. A native of Portsmouth, Virginia, and a former hustler’s wife, Swinson resides in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Visit her online at KikiSwinson.net.

Photo Credit: Solomon & Solomon Photography


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