Free The Plug's Wife by Chynna Page A

he would take care of her and shortly after gave her access to a few of his accounts.  Summer both spent money and stashed money aside for her family.  Jesse never seemed to notice or care. 
    Summer’s chest heaved as she pictured herself being evicted from the first home she ever called her own.  And what about her family?  They were her first priority.  “Lourdes, you’ve been naughty and you haven’t kept your end of the bargain.  I guess your sister Carrerra will have to take your place.  Someone will have to pay the price.”  She could hear the gruff, phlegm-filled voice taunting her in her mind.
    Summer screamed, swiping her arms across the granite countertops in frustration.  She sent the beautiful glass canisters on the counter crashing to the marble tiled floors.  The hand painted glasses shattered into fine, misshapen shards.  Summer stared down at the jagged pieces and thought that her life looked similar.  She exhaled and realized that in life, sometimes a very small decision can permanently alter a person’s entire state of being. 
     
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    The Bridge was a nightclub located in DUMBO, Brooklyn. The club was housed in a non-descript, pale brick building that resembled an old factory.  Only elite club goers knew about the Bridge and even fewer were allowed inside. 
    Marco technically owned the Bridge although, on paper, it was one of the legitimate businesses Jesse held majority ownership in.  Summer went with Jesse to celebrate a friend’s birthday once, but she didn’t remember much about that night, especially after drinking her sixth flute of Ace of Spades . 
    Summer’s journey today hadn’t been easy.  She had tossed and turned the previous night, pacing her entire house worrying about her finances.  Suddenly, Summer remembered something Jesse had said.  Three, three, nineteen eighty three.  Hah! That sounds like a good safe combination baby girl.    
    After several starts and stops, she cracked Jesse’s wall safe.  Inside the safe Summer found thirty thousand dollars in cash, another twenty thousand in treasury bills, two Glock handguns, and deeds for several properties.  Hardly enough to pay off her debts, let alone provide an income for her to live comfortably. 
     
    Summer sat behind the wheel of Jesse’s burgundy Porsche Cayenne, her eyes covered in dark shades and her head tied up with a Chanel scarf Jackie-O style.  She watched at least twelve dudes, of all types; some in business suits and others in jeans and hoodies file into the Bridge. Some came in groups and others solo, but they all seemed well acquainted with one another.  Summer waited for Mitch, Billy, Scrap, Doon and Marco to go inside before she followed them in. 
    Be strong.  Be careful.  Mean what you say.  Say what you mean.   She needed to give herself a mental pep talk.  She wasn't sure what she would encounter inside, but she did know she wasn’t going to be weak.  Summer checked her makeup one last time in the car’s visor mirror.  It was almost flawless, and she needed all the confidence she could get.
    Summer stepped out of the car, her legs shaky like a bowl of jell-o.  She smoothed the material of her black crepe Michael Kors jumpsuit and folded her red Chanel bag under her arm.  As she walked confidently, her heels sounded off on the uneven cobblestones.  The way she was dressed sent the message she wanted to convey—she was about her business.  The clear, plexi-glass door handles opened effortlessly. 
    Inside, a slender man came rushing towards her. 
    “The club is closed ma’am.  This is a private event,” he rambled, ready to shoo her back out the door.  Summer swiped the scarf back from her head and pulled her glasses down so the man could see her face fully.  Her nerves were on a hairpin trigger but she managed to suppress her anxiety well. 
    His eyes went wide, like he’d seen a ghost.  
    “Oh, my God! Mrs. Banks, I’m so