by Chunichi
A Gangster’s Girl
Chunichi
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1 - The Beginning of the Hustle
Chapter 2 - The Life of Mr. Vegas
Chapter 3 - Girls’ Night Out
Chapter 4 - Mickie’s Hustle Struggle
Chapter 5 - A Sister’s Deceit
Chapter 6 - Tionna Faces Death
Chapter 7 - What Goes on in Cancun, Stays in Cancun
Chapter 8 - Holiday Celebrations
Chapter 9 - Anniversary Perks
Chapter 10 - A Lonely Battle
Chapter 11 - Divas Need Therapy Too
Chapter 12 - Wonderful Closures
Chapter 13 - Reach for the Rasta
Chapter 14 - Thanksgiving with the Addams Family
Chapter 15 - A Lover’s Triangle—Who’s to Blame?
Chapter 16 - What Happened to “I’ll Always Protect You”?
Chapter 17 - Welcome Home
Chapter 18 - Bring Home My Baby
Chapter 19 - A Turn in the Tables
Copyright Page
This book is dedicated to my loving mother,
Angela McZeek, and my father, Gary Cobb.
Thanks for your constant support and understanding.
I love you both!
Acknowledgments
First and foremost I would like to thank God, for my ability to write is not a talent, yet a gift with which He has blessed me. I credit all my success to Him. Without God, none of this would be possible.
Next I would like to thank Carl Weber and the Urban Books family for believing in my work and me. You have given me the opportunity of a lifetime.
To my parents: thank you, thank you, thank you. I could never thank you all enough. No one has supported me as much as you all. Thanks for your patience, your understanding, your unconditional love and never ending support.
To my little brother, Vincent McZeek, aren’t you proud of your big sis?
Special thanks to my girlfriends. I love you all like sisters. Toya Duncan of TMD Design, your wit keeps me bright each day. Thanks for the unique designs. Sara Schaible of SOZO Fashion, thanks for keeping me on top of the fashion game. Meisha Camm, thanks for walking with me each step of the way. Chrissy Smith, thanks for introducing me to the “publication world.” Lakicia Fortenberry, thanks for keeping me focused on what’s important. Tracey Davis, thanks for being my big sister at heart. My li’l sis Tiffany Duncan, follow my lead. LaChele Edmonds, Melanie Camm, and Deetra Foreman, thanks for simply being the ones I exhale with.
Much thanks to all those who support me. Ricardo Burress, thanks for the constant push. When I am tired and frustrated you never let me give up. Deneen Majors of Major Creations Hair Studio, thanks not only for the bomb hairstyles but also for constantly promoting the book. My coworkers, thanks for listening to all my different scenes and answering the infamous “does this sound right?” question. Renee Bobb, thanks for showing me the ropes and for your endless advice.
Finally, a grand thanks to all those who doubted me and hate the fact I made it. You have given me the strength and drive to do it over and over again. This is just the beginning!
Prologue
How are you? My name is Ceazia (that’s c-asia) Devereaux. It’s 12:15 A.M. and I’ve spent the entire day in bed crying. I’m only twenty-five, but I have experienced as much as a forty-year young woman. Still, I am thankful, because those experiences have molded me into the great woman I am today. So sit back and sip an apple martini as I share my story.
At age twenty-one, I was unstoppable. At five foot five-inches tall, 125 pounds, measurements 36-26-40, size six shoes and the caramel skin of a newborn baby, I lived carefree in a three-bedroom condo overlooking Waterside in Downtown Norfolk, Virginia. I felt on top of the world as I drove around town in my Lex coupe, labeled down in the latest Iceberg or Versace prints. Needless to say, I was hated by many and loved by few. But that was my motivation. The more they hated, the more I flaunted. As far as I’m concerned, hate makes the world go ’round.
My girls and I were the hottest chicks in the Tidewater area. Many knew of us, but not many actually knew us. They knew our names and faces, but that was about it. We were all “breeded beach girls”. That’s right, born and raised in Virginia Beach. We had the best of everything and never wanted for anything. When living with our parents we were only expected to do well in school during the week and attend church on Sunday. As long as we followed those rules, the rest was whatever we wanted. However, we were quickly hit with a dose of reality when we decided to move out on our own.
My dad was so furious about my decision to move out that he cut me off completely. He had plans for me to live at home until I got married, but the excitement of independence was just too much to bear. I had to move out on my own. Of course, I had a job and a comfortable savings, but that just wasn’t enough to pay the price of being the shit! We had an image to maintain, and by all means, we were determined to do so. So, we began our female hustle. We decided to start a little side business of our own. With the help of our close associate, Cash, we were on and popping in a matter of days. Who had any idea that one could work only two days a week and bring in two grand?
Chapter 1
The Beginning of the Hustle
It was my first day on the job, and I was nervous as shit. Although I wasn’t sure if I would actually have the guts to go through with the date, I’d prepared very carefully for this day. I chose to wear my hair long and straight in order to accent the creep neckline of my black Versace dress. The dress was cute, yet classy, and my matching black sandals would add just the touch needed to emphasize my long, sexy legs. Of course, you know I had to splash on just enough Hypnotic Poison, my signature fragrance, to tickle the nose of those who passed by. I wasn’t quite sure if I would have to drive, but in the case that I would, I got my car detailed and pulled out my wide selection of CDs instead of the typical reggae selection that usually blasts from the Alpine system. I was planning to make an impression—a big impression.
As I entered the lobby, I straightened my dress and adjusted my cleavage. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves as I pressed the number eight on the elevator panel. I can’t do this. I just can’t, I thought as I contemplated turning around and returning home. There was no other option; either go on the date or be evicted. The more that realization set in, the more I hated my dad for cutting me off. I stepped off the elevator and walked into the very busy law office of Shaw, Glenn and Goldstein with my head high and breasts out. These were the best defense attorneys in town. They were notorious for defending all the big time drug dealers.
“Hello, my name is Ceazia Devereaux. I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Glenn,” I said with a smile as I approached the receptionist’s desk.
She advised me it would be a few moments, so I took a seat and glanced through the latest issue of Vogue. After about five minutes, a nice looking young man came in and sat next to me.
“How ya doin’? I’m Vegas,” he said, extending his hand and speaking in an arrogant, yet sexy, tone.
He was cute but just a little too confident, so I responded by saying, “Is that Vegas as in Las Vegas or Garcia Vegas?”
“What you know about Garcia Vegas?” he asked while laughing.
“More than you, I’m sure,” I replied.
“Is that so?”
Somehow, one word led to another, and we found ourselves still conversing five minutes later when he was called into his lawyer’s office. I watched as he walked away, sporting his Coo
gi jogging set and fresh, wheat-colored Tims. His hair was cut close and had enough waves to make you seasick. He must have felt my eyes upon him, because right before entering the office he turned around.
“Yo, shortie, that phone on the table is for you. We’re going out this evening. I’ll hit cha later with the details.” He winked, then hit me with the most mesmerizing smile. Before I could come to my senses and give him one of my sarcastic responses that I’m known for, the door was closing behind him.
Who in the hell does this nigga think he is? First of all, my name is not shortie, and second, he doesn’t tell me we’re going out, he asks me! And how is he just gonna assign a phone to me? He don’t know me like that.
“Ms. Devereaux. Excuse me, Ms. Devereaux!” the receptionist yelled in an annoyed tone. I was so taken by Vegas that I didn’t even hear her calling my name.
“Yes,” I responded back, just as annoyed.
“Mr. Glenn will see you now.”
I rose from where I had been sitting and advanced toward Mr. Glenn’s office, but not before picking up my link to that fine, but cocky ass, specimen who had sparked my curiosity.
As I placed the phone inside my purse and walked toward his office, my stomach bubbled with fear. I entered the room and stood motionless, watching as he talked on his cell phone. The man before me was quite attractive in his navy Armani suit. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties. His skin was pale, hair was dark, and his eyes were green. He quickly wrapped up his phone call and gestured for me to have a seat. He suggested we stay in his office instead of going out for lunch. I have to admit I was a little disappointed, especially since I hadn’t had anything to eat all day.
Just then, I noticed him closing the blinds, and I became even more nervous.
“Would you like a rum and Coke?” he asked. I let out a thankful sigh. I could definitely use a drink.
“Yes, please,” I answered, nodding in the affirmative.
After two drinks and thirty minutes of idle chitchat, he was ready to get down to business. To be honest with you, so was I. His request was that I role-play as the wife of one of his clients. He wanted me to pretend we were discussing my husband’s case and that he was threatening to quit in the middle of trial because he hadn’t been paid. In what would be a desperate plea for him to stay on the case and clear my husband’s name, I was to knock everything off his desk, climb on top, and start to masturbate, seducing him to the point that he would do what I wanted him to do.
After he finished explaining his fantasy, I stared at him with an incredulous look. I can’t do this, I thought. This is not me. I don’t care how much I need the money. I just can’t do this.
As you may have already realized, I’m an escort, or at least I’m attempting to be an escort. This was my first assignment, and well, to be honest, I thought it would be easier.
Mr. Glenn must have noticed the hesitation on my face. He attempted to ease my fears by bringing up the subject of money.
“Look, why don’t I pay you first? How does a thousand dollars sound?”
“A thousand dollars?” I replied. The agency said I’d only get two hundred fifty and that I was going to have to split that with them. Needless to say, one thousand dollars in cash was a great motivator. With that incentive, I knocked all the shit off his desk and slowly climbed on top of it, spreading my legs and lifting my dress. I moved my hand slowly down my stomach and toward my panties. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, moving my fingers in tune with the slow rotation of my pelvis. The whole time, thoughts of that sexy ass Vegas helped to get me in the mood. All I could picture were his waves and his pretty smile. As I moved my hand across my vagina, I imagined him caressing my body and kissing me softly. After a while, it was as if Mr. Glenn wasn’t even there. I moaned as my hand became moist with my juices. I continued to envision Vegas slowly kissing my thighs as I ran my fingers across the ocean of waves he had for hair. I could feel his moist tongue enter my poonani and him sucking my clit until I moaned with pleasure as a signal of satisfaction.
Just then, something jarred me from my private interlude with Vegas and back into reality. It was the sound of Mr. Glenn moaning along with me. My eyes opened wide with surprise. I have to admit I was shocked beyond belief at the sight of him tugging and pulling on his little ass penis until his load shot out and dripped on my stomach, signaling the end of our date. I left in a hurry, feeling disgusted.
Once home, I adjusted the shower setting to steaming hot and then proceeded to scrub my body profusely, as if I could wash all the defilement I felt down the drain. When I finished, I lay in my bed and cried myself to sleep. I’d never felt so dirty in my entire life. The shower may have cleansed my body, but it sure as hell hadn’t cleansed my soul.
Chapter 2
The Life of Mr. Vegas
I was dreaming. Dreaming about that fine ass Vegas I’d met earlier in the day. He was wining and dining me, taking away all the pain from the gruesome encounter with the lawyer.
Unfortunately, just when my dream was getting good, I was awakened by the shrill sound of my phone. I picked up, but only a dial tone greeted me. Then I heard it again, only the phone couldn’t be ringing, because I was already holding it up to my ear. Now I was baffled.
What in the hell is going on? Am I still dreaming? I scratched my head, and then I realized what it was. It was the cell phone Vegas had given me at the lawyer’s office. I scrambled over to my pocketbook and desperately emptied out my purse until I was holding the ringing phone.
“Hello, hello!” Damn! No answer.
However, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Although Vegas was cute and I desperately wanted to see him again, I didn’t wanna seem pressed. And after looking at the mess on my bed, I realized that I had been a little too anxious to answer his call. Now, that would have been a big mistake because he would have heard the desperation in my voice. He’d call back, of that I was sure. Guys never gave up on me that easily. Besides, this would just go to show him that I wasn’t sitting around anticipating his call. Self-confident guys like him liked the thrill of a little chase and challenge.
Since I was awake, I decided to call my girl, Meikell, and tell her about my first day at the service. I didn’t really wanna relive what happened, but she was probably gonna call me soon anyway.
“Hello,” Meikell’s tired voice said.
“What’s up, Mickie?”
“Nothin’. Just chillin’. How’d everything go?” Meikell asked eagerly.
“Horrible, but lucrative.” I told her every detail of my encounter, from the thousand-dollar decision I had to make to the degrading joint masturbation experience with the attorney. Just the thought of his sperm flying in the air made my stomach turn.
Of course, Meikell, who I sometimes thought was crazy, responded by saying, “Damn girl, so now you officially a high-class ho.”
“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” I said flatly, disappointed in the reality of the situation. Just as I began to express to her how I was really feeling, Vegas’ cell phone rang again. This time I was determined to answer, so I ended my conversation with Meikell without as much as a good-bye. I’d just have to explain to her later.
“Hellllooo,” I sang into the phone.
“Yo, C!” yelled a masculine voice.
This time I was on point with the sarcasm and responded with, “This is Ceazia. There’s no C here. Who is this anyway?”
“Come on, now. You know who this is. That’s why you sounding all sexy and shit, ma.”
I don’t know what it was about this nigga, but just the sound of his voice made me quiver. Give me a thug over a square any day.
“Look, I’m at the barbershop right now, but I’ll be done ’bout seven o’clock. Why don’t you pick me up at Granby and Twenty-seventh around then?”
“You’re joking, right?” I said.
“What, you ain’t got no car?”
“I was just about to ask you the same damn thing,” I retorted.
“This ain’t about what I got. This is about if you gonna pick me up or not. So, what up, ma? You gonna pick me up or what?”
“Okay,” I said without resistance, and he hung up.
I thought to myself, Okay? Okay? You couldn’t have thought of a better response than okay? You could have at least played a little hard to get. Any other nigga would have been shot down at the snap of a finger. But this wasn’t just any ol’ nigga. He was so damn thugged out it was turning me on!
Sticking to my belief that first impressions make lasting impressions, I walked to my closet and pulled out the best. This time, I chose the newest Iceberg Snoopy print pants that were tight to perfection, and a matching fitted T-shirt. Like always, I wore matching boots with a Coach belt and bag. It was a little breezy, so I grabbed a jean jacket to complete the ensemble. As I walked to the garage, I patted myself on the back for having gotten the car detailed earlier.
It was about quarter after seven when I arrived at Granby and Twenty-seventh, located in one of the roughest neighborhoods of Norfolk. I parked directly in front of the barbershop, which was one of the six storefront shops of the mini shopping complex. Like every shopping center in the hood, it consisted of a corner store, Chinese restaurant, barbershop, pager store, nail shop, and beauty supply store. Of course, fifty percent of the shops were owned by Asians.
There was much activity going on in the small shopping strip. Cars were playing loud music, an audience circled guys who were battling above the beats, and some guys just looked like they were up to no good, pacing and looking nervously back and forth. I noticed an obviously young girl who looked terrible for her age, asking a number of people for a dollar. After about five minutes of begging, I saw her approach one of the nervous guys, make an exchange, and scurry off like a little mouse. Call me naive, but it took a moment before it finally registered in my mind. The nervous men were drug dealers and the young girl was a fiend.