Ride Or Die Chick

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"It's always dummies like you. If you don't want your shit to get taken, stop advertising it." —Money

September 3rd, 2007

I sat in my matte black Chevrolet Impala that was parked at the very end of the curb. The engine was off as I eyed the apartment complex across the street from me. I was ready to kill this clown and take everything he had. They say it wasn't right to take what wasn't yours, but in my book, flaunting something meant you didn't need it. It was an invitation for the public to take because it meant you could afford to lose it.

In the passenger seat was my wife of four years, Angel Carter. She sat looking out of the window on her side of the car. It had been drizzling earlier so the windows were covered in tiny raindrops. The earth slightly damp as the colors on everything looked slightly darker.

"You want to calm down before you chew a hole through your face?" I comment, noticing her gnawing the insides of her cheeks. She'd been doing it since we left the house.

She looked at me and rolled her eyes, "Don't start Money, you know I don't mean too. It's just a habit when I'm nervous I guess." She mumbled.

"Nervous? What are you nervous about?" I asked, scrounging up my face.

She gave me some kinda face as if this question I was asking was suppose to have common sense sprinkled on it. As if my question should've gave me my own answer. But it didn't and it wasn't common sense for me, because I truly couldn't understand where her fears were coming from.

"We're about to hit someone up." She suggested in a tone that said she couldn't believe I had to even ask.

I looked at her, hoping she wasn't getting cold feet. I would never force her to do anything she didn't want too. If she didn't want to do this then the mission was dead, for both of us. Before I could even ask how she felt about the task we were about to do, she beat me too it.

"I said I was nervous, not terrified." She smiled. She must've picked up on my concern for her.

I smirked at her and unlocked the car doors. My wife and I get out the Chevrolet, heading to the apartment building. We held hands and walked at a regular pace to look as normal as possible. It was easy to remember people who didn't blend in.

Angel was sixteen and I was eighteen when we had gotten married. People always rose their eyebrows in shock when they found out. We've been married for a solid four years but it felt like forty with her. Four years ago I got an acquaintance I came up in foster care with, to get me connected to someone he knew that was able to forge some documents and change up a couple things on Angel and I's papers. Thanks to him Angel and I got married at a local chapel. Both her and I grew up in the foster care system without any family, so when we got hitched, it was just me, her and the man that pronounced us man and wife.

There were a few guys outside of the building playing craps. I recognized a few of them from around the way and we exchanged head nods as Angel and I kept it pushing toward the building. Once inside, we went straight for the elevator. The smell of cigarettes, weed, urine and garbage that littered majority of the floor greets us.

Once the doors to the elevator open, we get on. When they reopen on the designated floor, I immediately get into stick up mode. My eyes sweep all around, taking in everything about my surroundings. Every little intricate detail down to the chip of paint that laid on the floor next to fire extinguisher in the hall. In foreign territory I always had to be ten times more vigilant.

The hallways were so quiet a droplet of water could be heard falling onto paper towel. It seemed as if no one was here, as if everyone in the building got the memo of what was about to happen and was making sure they weren't going to be around to witness it.