The Score

The Score

by Kiki Swinson


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Identity theft mastermind Lauren Kelly has always had a taste for the finer things. With her lover and accomplice, Matt Connors, by her side, there’s nothing she can’t buy or steal. But she’s not the only one…
When their partner, Yancy, stumbles onto a tycoon’s multi-million dollar bank account, Lauren expects the latest scam will go smoothly—until she discovers Matt and Yancy are planning the ultimate betrayal…
Fortunately, Lauren is one step ahead of Matt. Once she disappears with every last dollar, they’ll have no doubt they chose the wrong woman to deceive. But all three of them chose the wrong target...
“Treachery, betrayal and revenge add to the twists and turns. . . . Loved it!”  
RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars
“Reads like a block-buster movie.”
—AAMBC Reviewer

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781617739682
Publisher: Kensington
Publication date: 01/26/2016
Pages: 368
Product dimensions: 5.70(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.00(d)

About the Author

Kiki Swinson is the nationally bestselling author of over forty novels and short stories. 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 2.4 million copies. She completed her first novel while incarcerated and her second novel, Wifey, went on to become a #1 Essence bestseller and the first installment in one of today’s most popular urban series. A native of Portsmouth, Virginia—and a former hustler’s wife—Swinson resides in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Visit her online at

Read an Excerpt

The Score

By Kiki Swinson


Copyright © 2016 Kiki Swinson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61773-967-5



Present Day

My feet moved at the speed of lightning. I could feel the wind beating on my skin so hard it made snot wet the inside of my nostrils. My entire body was covered with a thick sheen of sweat and I could feel it burning my armpits. My breath escaped my mouth in jagged, raggedy puffs and my chest burned. My heart felt like it would burst through the front of it. Even feeling as terrible as I did, I would not and could not stop moving.


"Get out of my fucking way!"

"Watch out!"


I screamed command after command at the nosy-ass people who were staring and gawking and being in my damn way. My legs were moving like those of a swift and agile cheetah as I swerved and swayed through the throngs of people on Virginia Beach Boulevard. I was met by more than one mouthful of gasps and groans and I could faintly see more than one wide-eyed, mouth-agape stare as people gawked at me like I was a crazy woman. I guess I did look crazy running through the high-end shopping area with no shoes on. I had run straight out of my Louboutins, my expensive embellished Balmain skirt was hitched up around my hips, my vixen weave was blowing in the wind, and my Chanel caviar bag was strapped around my arm like a slave chain. I could feel that my makeup was a cakey, smudged mess all over my face and eyes. But I didn't give a damn. I wasn't going to stop running. No matter what. Looking crazy was the least of my worries.

I had run track in high school and it was still paying off now, but clearly I wasn't in the same athletic shape. Still, I wasn't about to go out like this. I wasn't going to get captured on the street and probably murdered for something that wasn't totally my fault. I had been pushed and provoked to do everything that I did. All of the mistakes. All of the grimy shit I had done over the years. All of it was because I was born at a disadvantage from day fucking one.

I didn't want to die. I had always seen myself growing old with a few kids and grandkids surrounding me when I was ready to be settled. I would've given anything to be old and settled at this moment. But, of course, life threw me a curveball.

I could hear the thunderous footfalls of the three men chasing me. If they weren't so damn gorilla big and slower than me they would have caught me by now.

"Hey! Are you okay?" I heard a man on the street yell at me as I flew past him, nearly knocking him over. Why the hell was he asking me such a dumb question when you could clearly see that I was being chased by three hulking goons dressed in all black with their guns probably showing on their waists or maybe even in their hands. Thank goodness I am always so alert or they would've walked right up on me while I unsuspectingly ate my lunch at the posh restaurant and grabbed me. It was the fact that I had only been back in town for a few hours, the disappearance of my lunch companion, and the suspicious looks that had alerted me in the first place. How could I have been so trusting? So naïve and stupid, too.

I could feel the look of terror contorting my face, so I know damn well passersby could see the fear etched on every inch of it.

Finally, I dipped through a side alley and the first door I tried allowed me inside. Thank God! With my chest heaving up and down I rested my back against another cold metal door inside and slid down to the floor. My legs were still trembling and my muscles were on fire in places on my body I didn't even know existed. I tried to slow down my rapid breathing so I could hear whether the men had noticed me dipping into the alley but the more I tried to calm myself the more reality set in about the grave danger I was in. I was probably about to be murdered or worse, tortured and then murdered right in a dank alleyway in the place I thought I would never return to. If I hadn't gotten that call, it would have been years before I crept back here. I thought about Matt and wondered if he was the one who had sent these men after me. But how would he have known I was back? I knew Matt had a lot of selfish ways about him and although shit had gone south with us, I never thought he would try to do something like this to me. I expected that if he wanted to confront me, he would come himself. Even if it was Yancy who had sent the goons, I would think Matt would have tried to spare me.


A loud noise outside interrupted my thoughts and caused me to jump. I clasped both of my hands over my mouth and forced the scream that had crept up my throat back down. Sweat trickled down my face and burned my eyes. My heart jackhammered against my chest bone so hard it actually hurt. My stomach knotted up so tightly the cramps were almost unbearable. I dropped my head. Suddenly I felt like vomiting.

"I don't see her! She's not down here!" I heard one of the goons outside of the door scream to the others. I swallowed hard and started praying under my breath.

Dear God, I am sorry for all of the things I've done. I don't know how things got so far gone. I never meant anything by any of it. I just wanted to live a better life than I had as a child. I guess with the mother You gave me and the hand You dealt me, I should've just handled it. I should've worked harder and not try to take the easy way out all of the time. I knew stealing is wrong. Since the first time I stole a credit card from my foster mother's purse, I'd known it was wrong. But I got addicted to the feeling that I'd gotten over on someone. I felt powerful. I remember the times I'd hear her talking to my foster father about some of the fraud scams she witnessed by working as a bank manager. It was interesting to hear how bank and credit card frauds were being committed on a daily basis. It all seemed too easy, too intoxicating. I had to test the waters....

So here I am today. I'm literally running for my life. Maybe this is Your way of teaching me a lesson. Trust me, I hear You loud and clear. If You let me get out of this, I swear I will change my life. I don't even know how things got this far ...



"Ooof," I gagged as another fist slammed into my stomach causing all of the wind in my body to involuntarily escape through my mouth. Acidy vomit leapt up into my throat and spewed out of my mouth right after.

"Hit 'em again!" a deep baritone voice commanded. With that, another sledgehammer-sized fist slammed into my left jaw. I felt the blood and spit shoot from between my lips. The salt from the blood stung the open cuts on my split bottom lip.

"Until he tells me where the fuck every dime of my money is I want his ass to suffer," the deep voice growled. "Break every bone in his body if you have to."

"Agh!" I belted out as a heavy-booted foot crashed down on my ribcage. I think hearing the crack and crunch of my own bones disturbed me more than the excruciating pain I felt.

I coughed and wheezed trying to will my lungs to fill back up with air. Each raggedy breath hurt like hell. I knew then that some of my ribs had been shattered. More fury came right after.

"Ugh!" I coughed as a front kick with a pointed, steel-toe boot slammed into my back. I swore I heard my spine crack. My insides felt like they were being shuffled around by the punches and kicks I'd been subjected to since these dudes had snatched me from my hideout in the thick of the night. I had tried to bounce before they could get me, but I was too slow. Thank God Lauren had up and left or else she would've been there when they broke the door down to get me. Although I wanted to kill her myself right now, I could only pray that she was someplace safe ... maybe with the police or back on the run. But if these dudes were after me, I would think they would be after her and Yancy as well.

"Where is my fucking money!" the voice boomed again. This time, I forced my battered eyes open and looked at the sharply dressed man that was standing over me. In dim light I couldn't make out his face. But I could see from the flash of his sparkly diamond pinky ring, solid-gold cufflinks, and a clearly expensive tailor-made suit, this dude hadn't even broken a sweat. He obviously took great satisfaction in commanding his goons to torture me over and over. And like good little soldiers, they did just enough to hurt me, but not kill me.

"I'll ask you one more time, Matthew Connors ... what the fuck did you and your bitch do with my fucking money?" the boss man growled. His money? Me and my bitch? What the ... It finally hit me like a hammer to my head. My entire body went cold like my veins had been injected with ice water. The score that was supposed to put me back in the game and set me and my woman up for life had turned into my worst nightmare.

The man who'd been our mark let out a raucous, maniacal laugh. "You petty fuckin' thief," he spat as he moved closer to me. "Stealing instead of going out there and working for your own shit. I can respect a man that hustles for himself, but a man who steals from another hardworking man is a waste of fucking sperm. Your mother should've just swallowed."

The heat of anger that lit up my chest from his words was probably enough to make me kill him with my bare hands. I bucked my body out of anger but that just made shit worse....



Three Months Earlier

"I'll take two of those classics. The red and the royal blue patent leather." I leaned into the counter and pointed at two bags on the shelf behind it. "I think these are the only two I don't have in my collection," I chimed proudly. I could be a snob when I wanted to be. The saleslady's eyes widened at me as she tried to keep a smile on her face. I could tell she was probably secretly judging me. She more than likely instantly thought I couldn't afford these expensive-ass bags. It was amusing to me to watch her struggling to keep it professional because she also knew just as well as I did that my purchase of these two five-thousand-dollar Chanel bags would be a payload of commission for her.

As the snobby saleslady walked away to retrieve my items, I kept shopping with my eyes. Now, I felt like I had a little point to prove. I smirked to myself and for spite I decided to make her piss her pants with jealousy. See, I had worked retail back in my day so I knew that no matter how stuck up these bitch salesladies acted, they were broke as hell and really silently prayed for the commission fairy to bless them. I bet when I walked in she had immediately looked at my race and pegged me as a window shopper and eye hustler. I was about to show this bitch how Lauren Kelly rolled.

"Wow, these are beautiful too. Hmmm, I think I should take every color of these as well," I said, pointing down into the counter at the Chanel cuff bracelets. The saleswoman almost dropped the pocketbooks as she clamored over and grabbed the merchandise I was asking for with the quickness. I could hear the cash register in her head singing CHING-CHING. Jewelry sales always brought more commission than things that sold faster like pocketbooks. I chuckled to myself.

"Is that all?" she asked me.

"I think I've done enough damage for one day." I smiled. Then I slapped the newly cloned MasterCard I had down on the counter. The saleslady squinted at my card, picked it up, and looked it over like it was a piece of shit. I could see disappointment in her face that my card wasn't American Express. I quickly began feeling indignant. How dare this bitch!

"Do you do that to all customers or just the black ones?" I asked through my teeth.

Her eyes popped wide like I had just dashed a cup of cold water in her face.

"I'm sure if I was a member of any other race you would have picked up my card with a smile and ran to the register. Now, do I need to take my business and my commission to another store?" I gritted. It was the worst kind of threat for someone working in sales.

The saleswoman's cheeks flushed deep red and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She parted a halfhearted, embarrassed smile and broke eye contact with me.

"No, ma'am, and I apologize if you feel that way," she replied meekly.

"That's what I thought, now ring me up or this store will be all over the eleven o'clock news when I'm done speaking to the media about the blatant discrimination I experienced here," I snapped. She raced to the small suite in the store where they ring purchases over a certain amount. I could tell I had scared the holy shit out of her, which is what I wanted to do. My forcefulness was going to be a great distraction in case anything went wrong with the card. Those credit cards were always hit or miss, although, up to that point (knock on wood) they had always been complete out-of-the-park home runs whenever I used them.

As I stood there waiting for her to return with my nicely bagged and wrapped items my cell phone buzzed inside of my Hermès Birkin bag. I looked at the screen and sucked my teeth. It was my boyfriend, Matt. I wasn't feeling his ass right at that moment and hadn't been for the past few weeks. As far as I was concerned, he was a sneaky, conniving bastard who had it coming to him in the worst way. The only reason I even still fucked with him was because I had a plan that I needed to see come to fruition.

I had just found out that Matt and our other partner in crime, Yancy, had been fucking behind my back. It was a complete blow to my brain and heart because of all of the people in the world, I had trusted Matt. Yancy, not so much. I had basically saved that bitch from a life of stealing and fucking men for money. Both of them seemed to forget that I was the big breadwinner and Matt was living off of me. I gave Yancy a role in what we were doing and brought her around my man. Big fucking mistake. Yes, I knew Yancy was a pretty young girl who knew the art of seduction, but I thought loyalty would be as important to her as it was to me. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Yancy was one of those video-vixen types who wore a lot of weave, a lot of makeup, and had the fake tits and ass implants. She stood five feet even without heels, had a small waist, wide hips, and a beautiful smooth caramel complexion that I had always yearned for as a kid. I can't say that if I was a man like Matt I would not have been attracted to Yancy too, but I wouldn't be that grimy, either. As long as I live, I will never forget the day I first found out about them. Now, standing right in the Chanel store, I couldn't stop the memory of what happened from crashing in on me....

July 2013

It was a hot-ass, heat wave–type of July day in the Tidewater area and I was flustered from a day of shopping. Sweat had my hair plastered to my head like I had gelled it down purposely. The twenty bags I was lugging had my body drenched in sweat and pain shot up my arms and down my back with each movement I made.

"Where the fuck is Matt when I need his ass?" I had huffed. I had called him like six times before I pulled into our condo parking garage. You would think that he would answer knowing that I had been out all day getting shit for us to resell in the hood. Sometimes he used our illegal enterprise to buy things to sell on the hot market for some quick and easy cash. It was better than keeping every material thing for our own personal use.

After struggling for ten minutes and fishing around in my oversize Gucci bag for another three minutes, I finally got my key out. I set the bags down at my feet and put the key into the bottom lock of the condo I shared with Matt. At first the door wouldn't open. I crinkled my face in confusion and sucked my teeth. Then I realized why the door wasn't opening.

"Why the fuck did he lock the top lock? He knows we never do that," I grumbled. I pulled the key out of the bottom lock and shuffled through my key ring until I found the top lock key. I got the door open after a few minutes.

"Finally," I breathed out as the cool air from the air conditioner inside hit my face. I stepped inside and dragged my bags in after me. I think it was the music blasting and the type of music that hit me first. It was the R&B group 112 singing about making love on a waterbed. That was me and Matt's song when we first started dating. It still made me blush hearing it since he and I had made love for the first time with that song on repeat.

I smirked, immediately thinking that maybe he had planned something sweet like a romantic evening for us since we had been kind of at each other's throats days before.


Excerpted from The Score by Kiki Swinson. Copyright © 2016 Kiki Swinson. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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The Score 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book was a decent read
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Now I'm usually not a fan of street lit, but I wind up enjoying this book. It started out slow and suddenly turned into a page turner. The outcome was not at all what I predicted it would be. All I can say is I'm waiting for book 2.