Even More Wifey Status

by Racquel Williams

  Even More Wifey Status:

  Renaissance Collection

  Racquel Williams

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Two - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Three - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Four - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Five - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Six - Shayna Jackson

  Chapter Seven - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Eight - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Nine - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Ten - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Eleven - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Twelve - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Thirteen - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Fourteen - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Fifteen - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Sixteen - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Seventeen - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Eighteen - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Nineteen - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Twenty - Alijah Jackson

  Chapter Twenty-One - Sierra Rogers

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Sierra Rogers

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Even More Wifey Status: Renaissance Collection

  Copyright © 2018 Racquel Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6676-2

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my three sons: Malik, Jehmel, and Zahir. I love you guys with everything in me. Words cannot explain how much I love y’all. So I will let my actions lead the way.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I want to give all praises to Allah. He has brought me through so many obstacles and continues to bless me every day.

  To my mom, Rosa, thanks for being there through everything. I am forever grateful.

  To my husband, Carlo, thank you for supporting me and working your tail off so I can be a full-time writer. I love you.

  To my bestie, Sophia. Words cannot explain the bond we share. I love you, twenty-six years and counting.

  To Papaya, Ebonee, Charmaine, and Stacey: thank you guys for being there for me as I tread on this journey. I love y’all.

  To my big brothers, Author Blacc Topp, Mr. Chronic Black, and Thomas Long. I’m so happy to have you guys in my life. I am grateful that our paths crossed. Keep grinding, the world’s watching.

  Special shout-out to the Literary Divas of Spartanburg Book Club. Thanks for giving a new author a chance. I love you guys.

  Special thanks to my editor, Tyresha; I am forever grateful.

  Special shout-out to Blacc Topp’s Round Table and Faye Wilkes for supporting me and giving me the chance I needed to reach new readers. I am forever grateful.

  Shout-out to Slyce Book Club, DJ Gatsby Book Club, New Author Showcase, and My Urban Book Club for their support.

  To Makey, thank you for being there when I needed an ear, without judgment. I love you!

  To Nola, Beverly, Melloney, Rhea, Trina, Nikki Blue, Nikki Macnificent, Teri, Rosslyn, Mita, Kendra, Lisa, Angela, Natasha, Arlena, Nawlinz, Nikki Williams, Anita, Stephanie, Kathleen, Christina, Deborah, Judy, Evelyn, Phyllis, Sharlene, and Mama Joyce, I want to say thank-you, guys, for being there since I started my journey. If no one supports me, I know I can count on y’all. I am definitely blessed.

  To Toya, big up yourself. Friends for life.

  To my Black Destiny Publications family, I appreciate all the hard work and dedication. We are moving forward to greater things. Stay focused.

  To my family in the U.S., Jamaica, Canada, and England—too many to name, but you know who you are. Thanks for the love and support.

  To Christopher Lee, you already know the love is real. This is your year coming up!

  To all the brothers and sisters on lock, stay down. There is light at the end of the darkness.

  Special shout-out to all my readers and supporters—too many to name. I appreciate all the support. I am forever grateful.

  Shout-out to Gregory Graphics. You did a great job on my cover.

  To everyone that I failed to mention, charge it to my head and not my heart.

  Prologue

  I used to listen to people speak of how close they came to death during a trauma, and how their spirits left their bodies and wandered off. Truth be told, I used to laugh in their faces and call them liars. That was . . . until I experienced it on my own.

  Here I was in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of familiar faces, laughing and hugging me, like I was the prodigal child that finally made it home. My eyes wandered around as I was looking to see my man or even that crackhead bitch of a mother, but they were not there. A feeling of emptiness came over me, and tears trickled down my face. I felt desperate at that moment. Then an old white-haired lady approached me out of nowhere. Her face seemed familiar, but I could not place it. She stepped toward me and gave me the warmest smile. It sent chills through my frail body. I could not help but smile right back at her.

  “Grandbaby, you’re here. How are you feeling?” she asked and stretched her hands out and touched my face.

  It was at that moment that I remembered her face. She was my grandmother who died before I was born. My first encounter with her spirit was a few months back when I was going through hard times dealing with Alijah’s situation.

  “I know you feel scared and must be wondering where you are.”

  “Yes, where am I? How did all these people get here, and why does everybody seem to be all happy and geeking? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

  “Relax, honey. This is the other side. You were in a serious accident, and you crossed over. Everyone’s here to welcome you so your transformation will go smoothly.”

  “Welcome me? What the heck you mean? Am I dead?” I looked at her for some type of response.

  “No, darling, you are not dead yet. Your spirit just traveled off searching for a new home. Your body is still in the hospital. Those doctors are working their tails off trying to keep you alive.”

  “Grandma, I feel so tired. My body hurts, and I just want to lie down for a little bit. I-I can’t think. I just need to rest,” I pleaded.

  “Don’t you talk like that, child. You have a lot of unfinished business left to handle,” she said in a fierce tone.

  “I can’t. I feel so weak.”

  “Listen, chile, you are a Rogers, and you’re coming from a strong bloodline of women. You will fight. Dry them darn tears and go on back over. When it’s your time to come back, I will be right here waiting on you with open arms.”

  Before I could respond, she disappeared, and all the other people were gone in a split second. I was left standing alone in complete darkness.

  * * *

  “We have a pulse! Get in here! She’s brea
thing!” I heard a voice shouting.

  There was a lot of noise around me, and a tall white man was standing over me. “Welcome back, little lady. I thought I lost you for a second, but I see you are a fighter.”

  I was too weak to respond, so I nodded my head and closed my eyes. I needed to rest and could not wait a minute longer!

  Chapter One

  Alijah Jackson

  The happiness of being released from jail was short lived. I knew Sierra did not like Shayna and shit. I could dig it, but this was some totally different shit when she came at me telling me that Shayna was the one who snitched on me.

  They said seeing was believing, so I had no choice but to believe what the fuck was in front of me in bold print. “Shayna Jackson, Confidential Informant.” See, I was a street nigga, so I’m used to niggas hating and snitching, but that was a whole different part of the game. My mind was racing. I felt like my blood was boiling. My vein felt like it was about to burst through my forehead. I just kept repeating that bitch’s name over and over . . . I jumped off the bed and threw the papers against the wall. But before I could get another thought in, I heard gunshots in my house.

  Pop, Pop, Pop!

  Next, I heard Sierra screaming my name.

  I raced to my closet where I usually kept my guns, but the closet was empty. I didn’t have time to look elsewhere. I had to get my baby girl, even though I didn’t have a gun. Fuck it, I was ready for whatever or whoever. I ran out into the hallway without drawers, dick hanging.

  “Sierra! Where the fuck are you?” I yelled with nervousness in my voice.

  There was no need for an answer. Sierra lay by the door in a pool of blood. I looked around to make sure no one was in the house. I ran upstairs and grabbed my cell and a blanket and dialed 9-1-1. Then I ran back downstairs and checked her pulse. She was still breathing so I began to put pressure on the area where I saw the blood coming from.

  “Hello, 9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance. My girl has been shot. Blood is everywhere. Please hurry.”

  I gave the operator the address. I could not explain how I was feeling because I had no feelings at all.

  “OK, sir, where is she shot?”

  “I think in the chest. I’m not sure.”

  “Emergency help is on the way. In the meantime, I need some information from you. What is her name, age, and your name, sir?”

  “Yo, bitch. No disrespect, just send the fucking ambulance. ’Cause if she don’t make it, I’m coming for you.”

  “Sir, there’s no need for the name-calling. I’m just doing my job. I need to enter this information into the system, and you being ignorant is not helping the situation.”

  “Bitch, shut the fuck up! Where is the fucking ambulance? My bitch is on the fucking floor dying, and you think I give a fuck about how I’m actin’?”

  Before I could finish my sentence, I heard the ambulance pulling up. I let go of Sierra’s hand and threw on the boxers that I grabbed off the bed. I then ran outside to get their attention. Within seconds, my house was swarmed with emergency workers and five-O. That was not the place I wanted to be, but I had no choice because I wasn’t leaving her side.

  Shayna Jackson

  Bitches thought I was a joke when I said, “I am the head bitch in charge.” Hell, nah! I meant that shit. I would not be pushed or run over. I run this, and it was that simple.

  I knew I was losing Alijah, and I couldn’t risk that. It wasn’t that I wanted that no-good, two-timing-ass nigga, but I want his fucking money. I’m Mrs. Jackson, and I’ll be damned if that ghetto-ass bitch was going to weasel her way into his life. I called up her best friend. I almost choked saying that. Okay, I called up her childhood friend, ace, road dawg—whatever name you want to call it—so I could get the address. I didn’t trust that crackhead bitch, but she was a valuable source to have, especially when I gave her greedy ass a couple of hundred dollars and got classified information. With a friend like that, who needed a fucking enemy?

  I was so thankful to Daddy. When I was a little girl, every Saturday morning, he would take me along with him to the shooting range. Being a retired military man, he always warned me about the importance of the right to bear arms. I did not know twenty years later that I would be exercising my right to bear arms against my husband.

  I really thought that all my problems were over after the cops picked up Alijah and his cronies, so I got a new phone and stayed glued to my television. The local CBS station picked up the news about the fall of one of Richmond’s drug lords. I was beyond pleased at how fast the authorities scooped them all up. I was too caught up in the moment that I did not realize that they did not lock up that bitch. That’s a shame because I knew I would have to handle her personally now. What’s wrong with these fucking cops? They should’ve done their job. Now I had to get my hands dirty. Well, sometimes the boss had to do the dirty work.

  “Hello, ma’am, welcome to South Side Guns and Things.”

  “Hello, I’m looking for a gun. Something powerful, you know?”

  “Well, you’re in the right place. I have a variety of powerful guns that might suit you, pretty little lady.” He smiled at me showing those dirty things in his mouth. I needed to hurry up and get away from this bum.

  He showed me a variety of guns. I decided to go along with the Glock 9 mm. Just holding it in my hands gave my pussy a certain sensation. I felt tingly, so I knew the Glock was the one for me. I gave him my fake ID and information; then I walked out with my weapon tucked away in my Michael Kors purse. I took my shades off and started down the street, pulling off my red wig, letting my hair down as I drove off into the brisk air.

  Chapter Two

  Sierra Rogers

  I’d been in the hospital over two weeks, and I recovered quickly. I was told that I almost didn’t make it, so I was grateful that God gave me another chance at life. I was shocked when I found out that I was pregnant, but I also was happy. Maybe now I would not feel so all alone in this world. I have someone to love and care for. Sadness also came over me. Alijah was my child’s father, and he was in the streets heavy. I was not sure where we were heading. After all, it was his drama that caused me to end up in the hospital fighting for my life. All different types of thoughts ran through my mind, and I don’t know how it’s going to be played out. I just know everybody’s going to be paid in full, but in due time. There’s no need to rush; first things first. I needed my strength back, and then everything else will fall in place.

  Alijah’s been very supportive. He’s barely left the hospital. He kept apologizing to me. He felt guilty that he was not there to protect me, and I knew he would have, but who would’ve ever imagined that I would get shot in a gated community? Oh well, that shows that evil is everywhere, even on my own doorsteps. He was also excited about the baby; even more excited than I appeared to be sometimes. He’s hoping for a boy, but deep down, I was hoping for a “mini-me.” I did not want a son to follow in his father’s footsteps. I would fuck a dope boy, marry a dope boy, but I surely don’t want my son to become a dope boy. It might not make sense, but it is a big difference when it’s your man. I have seen too many mothers on their knees bawling for their seeds. I know I’m a strong person, but that was one pain that I do not—and I repeat—do not want to bear.

  Li’l Mo’ was also at the hospital with me daily. She even hooked up my hair, saying I looked a damn mess. I had to laugh at my bestie. She came in my life at a point when I needed someone, and she’s been with me ever since. I thought our relationship would have taken a wrong turn after we slept together, but truthfully, I think it brought us closer. Not because of our secret, but because when times got hard, we always had each other’s back and front. I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.

  Tears welled up in my eyes as I think back on the bond Neisha and I used to share. How did we get to this point . . . What went wrong? I was confused. I remembered our last interaction at my house, and I had to whoop t
hat ass. I didn’t feel good about it. We’d been friends since birth, went through everything together, and this was how it turned out. The sad part about it, from what I heard, she was high on dope. I have no understanding why a brilliant girl with a promising future would make that decision. She saw my mother; she was there with me and knows the effects of drugs. I snapped back into reality and reminded myself that she was no longer the little girl that was my best friend. We’re long past that. I couldn’t let my emotions get involved when dealing with a snake. Snakes comes in all forms and sizes, and from that point on, I decided to keep my grass cut low until I find out who set me up and who gave that bitch my address. When I find out, they will be dealt with as the bottom bitch rises!

  Alijah Jackson

  I knew that I was a born killer from the time that I was growing up in Tivoli Gardens. I used to feel a rush of excitement overcome me whenever there were turf wars, and niggas were getting killed. I remembered the first time I killed someone. I was overcome with joy inside as I watched the bullets enter the nigga. Some might’ve considered me sick, but in my world, it’s either you are the hunter, or you can fuck around and become the hunted. I decided to become the hunter. I would kill from age five to eighty-five if I felt like you haven’t been loyal. People were born with loyalty; it can’t be learned. The first time that I sensed any type of disloyalty, I’d put my Glock to the head and pull the trigger without even blinking. Yes, I was a born killer.

  After Sierra got shot, I felt like my manhood was tested. I’ve been racking my brain as to who would be that fucking bold to enter a man’s house—not just any regular man, but my house, my fucking domain. Sierra wasn’t of any help and couldn’t remember who shot her. At times, I tended to go hard on her trying to help her remember. The doctor explained to me that when people go through such a horrific trauma, sometimes they block out events leading to the tragedy. That’s why she couldn’t remember. I needed to fucking know who did it, however. This was personal. She was carrying my seed, and any crime against her was a crime against my seed. I vowed to find out who it was, and I wouldn’t shoot them—instead, I’d slowly torture them with my hands.