Wrath Read online

  Praise for ENVY

  “[Envy] captures the drama of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills while also bringing this well-developed work of urban fiction to a satisfyingly redemptive conclusion.”

  —Kristina Giovanni, Booklist

  Praise for LUST

  “Murray has penned hot, steamy scenes in which her protagonist’s imagination runs wild, followed by the consequences of her realizing her dangerous dreams. A jarring twist at the end has the reader wondering who the good guys really are.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Murray mixes quite a bit of passion, a touch of treachery, and some good old-fashioned revenge.”

  —Library Journal

  “Keeps you at the edge of your seat until the last page.”

  —Urban Reviews Online

  “A topsy-turvy tale of passion on steroids.”

  —Essence

  Praise for STAND YOUR GROUND

  “Murray has written a tension-packed novel around the hot-buzz national topic of an unarmed black youth shot by a white male, an act then subjected to the Stand Your Ground rule as a legal defense tactic.… Murray’s writing admirably shows the often overlooked human emotions following racial violence.… The pulled-from-the-headlines story line will captivate readers.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “Murray, winner of several African American Literary Awards for fiction, powerfully captures the nuances and tragedies engendered by stand-your-ground laws. A must-read.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Using a vivid, realistic premise, she takes a 360-degree view to bring all sides to the forefront for us to enjoy, learn from, judge, and celebrate. Stand Your Ground has great literary relevance for our time.”

  —USA Today

  Praise for FOREVER AN EX

  “Murray spices up her story line with plenty of juicy scandals.… Readers seeking an inspirational tale with broad themes of trust, betrayal, and forgiveness will do well by choosing Murray’s latest effort.”

  —Library Journal

  Praise for FORTUNE & FAME

  “The scandalous characters unite again in Fortune & Fame, Murray and Billingsley’s third and best collaboration. This time brazen Jasmine and Rachel, who has zero shame, have been cast on First Ladies, a reality TV show that builds one’s brand and threatens to break another’s marriage. Sorry, buttered popcorn is not included.”

  —Essence

  “Priceless trash talk marks this story about betrayal, greed, and stepping on anyone in your way. A great choice for folks who spend Sunday mornings in the front pew.”

  —Library Journal

  Praise for NEVER SAY NEVER

  “Readers, be on the lookout for Victoria Christopher Murray’s Never Say Never. You’ll definitely need to have a buddy-reader in place for the lengthy discussion that is bound to occur.”

  —USA Today

  Praise for THE EX FILES

  “The engrossing transitions the women go through make compelling reading.… Murray’s vivid portrait of how faith can move mountains and heal relationships should inspire.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Reminds you of things that women will do if their hearts are broken… Once you pick this book up, you will not put it down.”

  —Urban Reviews Online

  Praise for DESTINY’S DIVAS

  “With Destiny’s Divas, author Victoria Christopher Murray triumphs again. The depth and storytelling mastery in her latest novel demonstrate why she is the grande dame of urban Christian fiction.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Praise for SINNERS & SAINTS

  “Murray and Billingsley keep things lively and fun.”

  —Juicy magazine

  “Double the fun, with a message of faith, Sinners & Saints will delight readers with two of their favorite characters from two of their favorite authors. It’s a match made in heaven!”

  —Grace Magazine

  Praise for THE DEAL, THE DANCE, AND THE DEVIL

  “Murray’s story has the kind of momentum that prompts you to elbow disbelief aside and flip the pages in horrified enjoyment.”

  —The Washington Post

  Praise for SINS OF THE MOTHER

  “Sins of the Mother shows that when the going gets tough, it’s best to make an effort and rely on God’s strength. It gives the message that there is hope no matter what, and that people must have faith.”

  —Fiction Addict

  “Final word: Christian fiction with a powerful kick.”

  —Afro

  Praise for LADY JASMINE

  “She’s back! Jasmine has wreaked havoc in three VCM novels, including last year’s Too Little, Too Late. In Lady Jasmine, the schemer everyone loves to loathe breaks several commandments by the third chapter.”

  —Essence

  “Jasmine is the kind of character who doesn’t sit comfortably on a page. She’s the kind who jumps inside a reader’s head, runs around, and stirs up trouble—the kind who stays with the reader long after the last page is turned.”

  —The Huntsville Times

  Praise for TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE

  “[In this book] there are so many hidden messages about love, life, faith, and forgiveness. Murray’s vividness of faith is inspirational.”

  —The Clarion-Ledger

  “An excellent entry in the Jasmine Larson Bush Christian lit saga; perhaps the best so far… Fans will appreciate this fine tale.… A well-written intense drama.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Praise for A SIN AND A SHAME

  “Riveting, emotionally charged, and spiritually deep… What is admirable is the author’s ability to hold the reader in suspense until the very last paragraph of the novel! A Sin and a Shame is a must-read.… Truly a story to be enjoyed and pondered upon!”

  —Romance in Color

  “A Sin and a Shame is Victoria Christopher Murray at her best.… A page-turner that I couldn’t put down, as I was too eager to see what scandalous thing Jasmine would do next. And to watch Jasmine’s spiritual growth was a testament to Victoria’s talents. An engrossing tale of how God’s grace covers us all. I absolutely loved this book!”

  —ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Essence bestselling author of I Know I’ve Been Changed

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  1 Chastity Jeffries

  The music was bumpin’, the champagne was flowin’, and the men were barkin’ like they were out to chase the cat. This was the backdrop to the beat that pulsed through the speakers hanging in every corner and crevice of the club.

  Bow-wow-wow-yippie-yo-yippie-yeah

  Bow-wow-yippie-yo-yippie-yeah.

  Men who were at least ten years out of college and wearing suits from the most exclusive stores, hopped up and stomped down on the dance floor, their hands raised, flashing their fraternity sign… as they barked like dogs.

  My eyes scanned Club 40/40, one of the new spots on Fortieth Street, off Fifth Avenue. This place was jammed with the up-and-coming Who’s Who of Black Manhattan—a single woman’s paradise. But I was unmoved, unbothered, and still very much committed to the sanctity of staying single. Because of songs… and men like this.

  All I wanted to do was tiptoe past the barking men and thirsty women clad in expensive sheaths with thousand-dollar
purses slung over their shoulders. I was more than ready to bounce.

  “Can I get you another one?”

  I glanced up at the blond bartender, whose sleeveless shirt showed his hours in the gym. Lifting my glass, I downed the last of my pineapple Ciroc. “Close out my tab,” I shouted to make sure he heard me over the barking and the beat. “I’m out.”

  “You’re leaving?” The accusatory tone mixed with the music and floated over my shoulder.

  First, I nodded to the bartender, my signal for him to continue as I requested. Then I spun toward the voice.

  Melanie stood a few feet away, with her right hand perched on her hip, her stance as indicting as her tone. The mighty munchkin. That had been her nickname all through school because for someone who was as vertically challenged as she was, her five-foot-one presence demanded attention always.

  “You cannot be thinking about going home already, Chas-ti-ty.”

  Uh-oh. She’d used my government name, and she only did that when she was annoyed, and Melanie Meadows never spent too much time without her lips spread into a smile.

  “Did you know frowning uses one hundred more muscles than smiling and that gives you wrinkles?” Melanie had lectured our Girl Scout troop during one of our overnight trips to Fire Island when we were twelve. “So frown if you want, and then, give me a call; I’ll hook you up, ’cause I’m gonna be the baddest plastic surgeon in the city.”

  She said, “You just got here.”

  Her words interrupted my memory of her prophecy, and I nodded. “I’ve been here an hour.”

  “A whole hour,” she said, trading her accusatory tone for a sarcastic one. She rolled her eyes. “All you’ve done for that whole hour is stand in this whole corner, acting like you’re in time-out.”

  “I’ve enjoyed myself,” I said. “I had a couple of drinks, watched men bark, congratulated you, and now I’m ready to go.”

  “Chaz, you can’t leave.”

  My shoulders slumped because from her tone, I knew what would come next. A lecture about how she needed her best friend by her side for this twofold celebration: the opening of her private clinic and her being recognized in Medicine Today as one of the Forty Best Plastic Surgeons under Forty.

  Trying to head her off at the guilt curve, I said, “You know how tired I am.”

  “Everyone here is exhausted. We work hard; we’re making moves.” Her hand swept through the air as she gestured to the mass of gyrating bodies, which had slowed with the sounds of Anita Baker.

  Melanie had told the DJ to go back to the decade of our birth—only music from the ’80s.

  As Anita sang: Sweet love hear me callin’ out your name, I feel no shame; I’m in love… Melanie raised her hand above her head and swiveled her hips like she was balancing a Hula-Hoop. “What you’ve got to do is get out there and bust an old-school move.”

  “Anita ain’t talking to me.”

  She dropped her hands. “You sure know how to ruin a good party.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s been a long week. My apartment looks exactly the way it did when the movers dropped that last box on my floor on Saturday, and all I want to do is crawl into my bed, which is the only thing that has been put together in my place.”

  “Okay, let’s make a deal. You stay and I’ll help you unpack tomorrow.” She paused and tapped her finger on her chin. “Or maybe Sunday or Monday. Or better yet, I’ll pay someone to unpack while we sit and sip wine. Just stay. Please.”

  She pouted like a puppy just as the bartender slid the leather tab closing out my check across the counter.

  With a sigh, I signed my bill, then pointed to my glass. To the bartender, I said, “Bring me two more and put it on her tab. I’m staying, and she’s paying.”

  Melanie nodded at the bartender, then said to me, “Thanks for not bouncing.”

  “Well, how often will I get to celebrate my girl opening up her own practice?” I paused because I wanted my next words to stand alone. “I’m really proud of you.”

  “Awww, thanks, Chaz. I guess we did it, huh? A doctor and a lawyer. Just like we said.”

  “Back in the fifth grade,” I added as the bartender slid our drinks onto the counter.

  We clicked our glasses together, and then after a sip, Melanie said, “I’m sorry I haven’t spent time with you since you’ve been back.”

  “You’re forgiven, Dr. Meadows. It’s not like you haven’t been busy being great, and what would I look like, being upset with my new landlord?”

  She grinned. “Believe me, you’re helping me and Kelvin out. Not to have to worry about collecting that rent, whew! So everything’s good at the condo?”

  I nodded. “I’m living my best life there.”

  “And your job?”

  “I’m living my rich life there.” We laughed. “It’s been cool. You know how it is; always exhausting getting up to speed at a new place, but the best thing—I’m back in New York.”

  “There’s no place like home and nothing like landing as a partner at the Divorce Concierge. I fully expect to see you on the front page of some tabloid soon, just like all of their other star attorneys.” She shook her head. “Who would have thought this would’ve been your specialty. Divorce?”

  I took a small sip of my Ciroc to stop my words, but Melanie knew when my fascination with divorce had started. After a couple of moments, I shrugged. “People on the other side of love need good lawyers, too.”

  “And since you don’t believe in love, you’re on the right side.”

  Leaning away from her, I said, “Who told you that lie?”

  She raised her eyebrows and mimicked my lean. “Maybe I got that impression because your name is not a proper noun, it’s a verb.”

  This woman was about to owe me some free Botox because of how deeply she made me frown. “Do you have to be so crass?”

  “Crass is my middle name.” When I didn’t smile, she added, “Come on, I’m telling the truth. You’ve been so closed off to men for so long that it’s unnatural.”

  “I get my needs met, and I’m happy. That’s all that matters.”

  She shook her head. “You’re such a dude.”

  “Which is it, Dr. Meadows? Am I a chaste female or such a dude?”

  “You’re my best friend who’s home, and I’m hoping this will be a new start with a new man.”

  “Not going to happen. Work calls.”

  “That’s been your excuse for the last decade.”

  “I rest my case.” I opened my arms as if I were presenting myself to an audience. “The prodigal friend has made a triumphant return as a partner in one of the nation’s top law firms. Imagine if I’d spent all of that time dating seriously?” I winked, then laughed as she rolled her eyes again. “Don’t act like you didn’t get something out of this, too. I can afford your Central Park West condo. You needed me to be chaste—at least emotionally.”

  “Well, even if you are the love Scrooge”—she grabbed my arm and leaned her head on my shoulder—“I’m glad to have my best friend home.”

  Since Melanie was the yin to my yang in all ways, but especially our height, I had to lean over to rest my head on top of hers and return her hug. “Thanks.”

  She stepped back. “Now all we have to do is change your mind about a man…” When I plugged my fingers into my ears, she added, “I just want you to have the kind of life Kelvin and I have.”

  That made me smile. Because Melanie and Kelvin were the poster kids of true love. From undergrad at NYU, through medical school and beyond, they’d stayed strong together, navigating through long residencies, and then they’d doubled down as they studied their specialties: plastic surgery and emergency room surgery. Through all of that, they dated, became engaged and married, and were now making their medical names. Theirs was a great love; they made me believe in what I’d never seen.

  In the middle of that nostalgia, Melanie groaned. “Oh, lawd.”

  My eyes followed my friend’s glance. To a man approachin
g. My brows edged upward. He was impressive. But it was beyond the high thread count of his navy suit and his white shirt, which remained crisp even after the long hours of this day. And it was more than his features—his light brown eyes, his square jaw, and just a shadow of a beard. All of that was imposing, but was not what stood out the most. What was most impressive… was his swag. He strutted like he was slow-walking with a crew, and I pegged him as a music executive. Or maybe he was an entertainer I didn’t recognize. One thing I knew: he was a New Yorker with all of that sway. He’d been born, bred, and built in this city.

  Melanie interrupted my inspection with, “This guy has been following me.”

  “Hello again, pretty lady,” he said in a deep voice that matched his aura.

  Then I watched Melanie do something she’d never done before. My overly polite, always respectful friend, turned her back on the man.

  My glance darted between the two.

  The guy said, “All I want to do is talk, get to know you better.”

  Melanie did a slow spin toward him. “My husband has this thing about the two of us remaining faithful.”

  “You really are married?”

  Melanie pushed her ring in his face, though with her attitude, she could have been raising another finger. “My husband, who will be here any minute, will not appreciate you stalking me.”

  He raised his hands as if he were surrendering to the police. “My bad. You should’ve mentioned your husband before.”

  “You should have respected this ring.” A kaleidoscope of colors bounced off her diamond from the lights above.

  “A woman wearing a ring in a club?” He chuckled. “That’s the oldest trick.”

  The slow smile that spread across Melanie’s face was a confession because she (we) had used that trick (though our rings had come from a corner store) back in the day. “Okay,” she said. “No foul, no worries.” Then, after a pause, she grabbed my hand and spun me in front of her. “But this is my best friend; she doesn’t have a ring. Talk to her.”