Secure the Bag: Part 1, Chapter 1

I am so excited to finally share Secure the Bag: Part 1 with you guys. 
Here is a lil’ taste. Enjoy. 😊

Chapter 1

“After tonight, my world will change forever!” My sister shouts from the sunroof of the stretch Hummer limo. She had to get this bright ass barbie pink color as if a stretch Hummer isn’t big and obnoxious enough.

She's a little intoxicated, maybe a lot, and she feels the need to announce to the entire Vegas strip that this is her last night of singledom.

I'm happy for her. Although, I think she's rushing, at least the man she's marrying has a secure career.

In my opinion, she is too young. She's only twenty-five; her brain just stopped developing like three months ago. She's still learning and developing who she is as a person. But hey, what do I know? I'm not marrying some young, rich, tall basketball star.

I can’t even be mad at her decision to secure the bag. I just fear that she'll lose herself inside of her new husband and their marriage.

As far as I know, she wants to be a lawyer. Or at least she wanted to. Now, she's giving it all up to be one of those wives at the games. Not saying it won’t be fun. I'm sure it's plenty of fun to cheer from the sidelines, but how fulfilling can it be?

I can’t sit in the background and watch my husband live his dreams. Watching him do what he loves would push me even harder. But for my sister, I'm sure being a kept woman is her dream. I'm just glad that her dreams came true.

“Turn that shit up! That is my motherfuckin’ song!” My sister, Riley, shouts from the sunroof. The Pepto limo is thumping the hottest new song, "Jiggle Lil’ Booty" by Lil’ Trappah. I can’t lie, the beat is perfect to twerk too. I can hardly contain myself. I just wish I knew what this Lil’ Trappah person was saying. Only the words from the chorus are clear, and even those are questionable.

“Lil’ booties need love too! I’m talking ‘bout them butt cheeks not the baby shoes!” Everyone in the limo shouts clear as day.

These girls must have supersonic hearing or a lyric translator app. For the life of me, I don’t get how they understand these mushmouth ass lyrics. I guess it doesn't help that I'm a bit older than everyone in the limo.

I'm thirty years old, I'm in Vegas for the first time, and I'm going to make the best of it. I pinch the edge of my white bodycon dress, pulling it down the dress-hiking thighs my mama blessed with me with. I raise my hands through the sunroof, stand on the seat and look around in awe of the strip. There are lights everywhere: flashing, flickering, and glowing.

I know this night belongs to my sister, but she got hers. It's time to get mine, my money that is. I'm going to leave Vegas at least a thousand dollars richer. I don’t need the man to get the bag. I can't wait forever for these fools, and I don’t plan on it. I rather have my own shit anyway.

“Remi! You’re hogging the sunroof!” Riley pushes me to the side.

“Move! We both can’t be up here.” I groan as she continues to squeeze her big busted self through the sunroof.

“There’s enough space!” She lightly pushes me as a smile creeps onto my face.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“Last night was lit! Thank you for planning my bridal shower. I know this has been pretty stressful. I didn’t know weddings were so much work.”

“Girl, you’ve never watched a wedding show?”

“No. I don’t watch those boring things like someone I know.”

“I watch it for aesthetic purposes. I like to see the decorations and the color schemes they pick.” “It’s okay, sis. I know you take mental notes.”

“For what?”

“Your future wedding.”

“Please!" I suck my teeth.

"That’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. My mind is on my money and money is on my mind.” Riley waves her hand.

“Whatever you say.”

“Do you know where we’re going tonight?”

“Nia wants to surprise me.”

“Nia is going to surprise you with an oily stripper at the door.”

“She better not.” I raise my glass. “Well, here’s to another lit night.”

“May all our dreams come true.” Our champagne flutes clink in unison before we empty them. We sink back into the limo with the rest of the girls, anticipating the fun to come.


The limo pulls up in front of one of the hottest clubs in Vegas. The music is right and full of bass. Even the people in line are dancing. I would dance too if I were standing in a line wrapped around the strip. Just the thought of standing in that line with heels irritates me.

The limo driver opens the door and holds out his hand to assist us out of the stretch Pink Panther mobile.

“Hope you ladies have a blast tonight.” The smooth-voiced limo driver smiles. He tips his hat, revealing the ponytailed locs underneath.

“Thank you!” We all say in unison.

“What’s your name again?” I ask.

He removes his driving gloves to shake my hand. “Amir Good.”

He has long, thick fingers with short, clean nails. His full beard fades at his sideburns connecting to a natural hairline that could pass for a shape up. He looks into my eyes as if he is familiar with them.

“Thank you for getting us here safely, Mr. Good.”

“No, problem—” “Remi, Remi Jones.” I reach for my purse to give him a tip.

He politely pushes my hand away. “Have a great evening, Ms. Jones.”

“Remi, come on!” Nia yells back toward the limo. Nia reserved our tables in advance, allowing us to skip the line altogether. It’s crazy how so many people can give a look of disdain all at once.

“I’ve been standing here for over an hour!” One woman shouts at security. She looks upset, and I know her feet feel even worse in those stilettos.

“I don’t make the rules, ma’am. Please wait in line as the club is almost at full capacity. Next time you should reserve your table like these lovely ladies.” The tall bouncer smiles as he let us in. “Have a good evening, ladies.”

Between the limo driver and the bouncer, I don’t know if going inside is the right choice. It seems like all the fine men are outside the club.

“Remi trying to get chose!” Whitney yells loud enough for the bouncer to hear.

“See, I was going to buy you a drink, but you play too much.”

“I’m just playing!” Whitney hooks her arm into mine, and we all find our way to our table.

More pink, yay! The love affair my sister has with this color is sickening. At least the shade of pink Nia chose is cute; soft powder pink balloons with rose gold accents.

“I love it!” Riley screams. She is going into pink overload. She grabs the bottle of Rose´ out of the ice bucket and puts it in the smoky club air.

“Here is to the rest of my life! May it be on and poppin’!” Riley pops the cork to the champagne, making it glide across the ceiling. We all jump from the loud pop of the cork but not far enough to not grab a champagne flute from the table. Riley fills our glasses, and we make another toast to a fun night. We waste no time downing our drinks and heading toward the dance floor.

“Hold up! All the sexy ladies in the house get on the dance floor right now! All di bad gals dem!” The DJ sounds off the reggae horns.

Before I know it, my body is moving to the beat. My hips roll like waves on the ocean water. I arch my back and rest my hands on my knees. I look back at it, only to see a smiling man towering behind me. His smile lights up the dark dance floor.

He leans into my ear. “Mind if I join you?”

“Looks like you already have.” I wind my hips as he stands behind me, watching and breathing down my neck. “Are you going to dance or just stand there?”

He strokes his goatee. “I think I’ll just watch.”

“Then why ask me to dance?”

“So, I wouldn’t seem like a creep while I stare.”

“That’s not weird. Nope, not all.”

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“Dance with me first.” There's no point in letting my song go to waste. I pull in Mr. Tall and Handsome, making him trail behind me. I rock my hips from side to side with the beat, leaving him no choice but to follow my rhythm.

“What’s your name?”


“Like the rapper?”

“Like the rapper, like the hair, like the drink. I can keep going.”

“I like that. Come on, let’s go back to my table.” He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd on the dance floor. While holding his hand, my eyes land on the pinky ring that dons his finger. A cluster of diamonds sparkle under the flashing lights that make our brown skin look blue. My eyes almost pop out of my head as they travel from his large hand to the Presidential Rolex on his wrist.

This man has to be at least six foot seven, and his pockets seem to be just as long. Jackpot!

There is nothing like a fine man with commas in his bank account. Money can’t buy love, but as my mother always tells me, romance without finance is a nuisance. Mr. Baller takes us to his table which is already full of bottles.

“What would you like to drink?”

“I want to try some of that Ace of Spades.”

He nods his head and pours the champagne into a flute. “Great choice,” he says as our glasses clink. "What’s your name?”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know who I am.”

“Should I know?”

“It depends on what you’re into, I guess.”

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to keep playing this guessing game? I mean, I can be like Nev from Catfish and do an image search.”

He puts his fist over his mouth and lets out a loud chuckle. “You got jokes; I like that.” He sips some champagne before setting his glass on the table. “I’m Trey Drayton.”

“Are you a basketball player?”

“I play for Utah.”

I turn my nose. “Utah? Ugh!”

“I know. As you can see, I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“You come to Vegas often?”

“I’m here for my boy's wedding this weekend.”

“He’s marrying my sister.”

“Wow, it’s a small world. I’ve known Khai since our AAU days. Your sister is in good hands.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Trey's eyes scan over my dress. “I also think you’re beautiful.”

I blush as I flip my locs over my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“So, what are you doing later tonight?”

“I’ll be with the bridal party since the wedding is tomorrow.”

“You should chill with me. Let me get to know you outside of the club; somewhere quiet.”

“Somewhere private?”

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?” I knock back the rest of my champagne. It's been a year since I had any physical contact. Just the thought of it has my blood rushing, or maybe it's that third glass of champagne. Either way, my body is ready. Trey places his hand on my thigh, lightly brushing his lips past my ear. I damn near melt from the slightest touch. I can feel him inhaling my perfume, creating heat between my thighs. What are you doing, Remi?

I don’t know what I'm doing or why I'm so comfortable with Trey being so close. Trey's lips are soft, and so are his gigantic hands. I pull away and look into his slanted eyes; filled with the type of lust that fans my fire.

“I don’t even know you.”

“So, get to know me. I’m a basketball player. I’m from D.C., and I love beautiful, brown women like yourself.”

“I’m from Maryland.”

“See! We have that DMV connection.” He flashes his bright smile.

“You seem a bit comfortable,” I say while looking at his hand on my thigh.

"That’s how you make me feel. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thanks for asking.”

“So, do you want to go back to my suite?”

“It’s just that easy for you?”

“You can’t answer a question with a question, love.”

“As much as I would like to, I don’t think I’m about that life.”

“Take my number.” He pulls out his phone just before reciting his number out loud. “Call me.”

I hit the call button, connecting us in an instant. “It’s R-e-m-i.”

“Okay, Remi with an I. I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedd—” A waterfall of ice and liquor pours down Trey’s face. I look up to see a young, tall woman with anger painted all over her face.

“You’ll see her where? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear what you were saying. Now, what did you say, Trey?!” Her voice elevates to a pitch my brain can’t compute.

“Baby, I can explain!”

“Baby?” She has to be at least six foot five, two hundred pounds of defined muscle. She's almost a foot taller than me, and she has a wingspan made for dunking.

“Yes, baby! Is there a problem, bitch?” She spews as her eyes pop out of her head.


“You seemed confused. Let me knock some sense into that empty brain of yours.”

“This is a major misunderstanding.” I stand up from my seat, adjust my dress, and hope and pray she takes her misplaced anger out on her man.

“The only misunderstanding is you throwing your pussy at my man. You’re just the type. Groupie ass bitch! Fucking thots stay plotting,” she yells loud enough to cause a scene.

The last thing I need is my sister flying across the room on the night of her bachelorette party.

“Trey?” I call. He shrugs his shoulders. I look back at her, hoping to calm her down, some way, somehow. “I honestly didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? I’m his wife; Dawn Drayton!” She waves her left hand, showing off her ring. I feel a bit dizzy from the drinks, and the air from her hands creates a light breeze on my face.

My eyes cut to Trey in disbelief. “You ain’t shit.” I tip the ice bucket on the table into his lap before dashing off as fast as possible. Hoping to find Riley and the rest of the bridal party, I run back to the dance floor.

“I am not done with you!” Dawn is right behind me. I'm not trying to fight in a Las Vegas nightclub with what looks like to be Wilt Chamberlain’s daughter. I pull out my phone and call the limo driver while heading toward the entrance.

"Touchdown Limos, Amir speaking."

“Come back to the club, please. Emergency pick-up.”

“On my way.” I end the call and pick up the pace toward the door. I already know that I have no dog in this fight. I'm not a punk, but homegirl’s reach is long enough to punch me through the crowd. Plus, my white dress is too cute to stain with blood.

The closer I get to the door, the closer she seems to get to me. Trey’s mute ass isn’t too far behind. A part of me wants to turn around and throw my shoe at his forehead, but I know that will only get the Mrs. more upset.

“Remi, wait!” I hear Trey shout. Trifling Trey is trying to get me killed. Thankfully, my phone vibrates, notifying me that my limo is out front. The bouncer at the door notices me speed walking and gives me a look of concern.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Can you hold those Amazonian people behind me while I get in the car?”

“No problem.” The security guard tilts his head, relaying a message through his walkie-talkie. I rush out the exit to see the driver standing with the door open. I damn near dive into the back seat.

I look out the window to see security blocking Dawn and Trey from the exit. There are camera lights flashing and bystanders recording everything with their cell phones. The last thing I need is to be on the gossip blogs for being chased out of the club.

“It’s just you?” The driver asks.

I look back to see Dawn’s fist connect with Trey’s jaw. Ouch! “Yes, please go.” I have to get away from all of the camera flashes. Even though the windows are tinted, I duck down in my seat as far as I can. The limo pulls off with no destination in sight.

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