Relapse: A Novel

by Nikki Turner

  PRAISE FOR NIKKI TURNER

  #1 Essence bestselling author

  “Always surprising, Nikki Turner’s prose moves like a Porsche, switching gears from tender to vicious in an instant.”

  —50 CENT

  “Nikki Turner has once again taken street literature to the next level, further proving that she is indeed ‘The Queen of Hip-Hop Fiction.’”

  —ZANE, author of Dear G-Spot

  “Another vivid slice of street life from Nikki Turner. You can’t go wrong with this page-turner!”

  —T. I. on Ghetto Superstar

  “Few writers working in the field today bring the drama quite as dramatically as Nikki Turner. … [She’s] a master at weaving juicy, ’hood-rich sagas of revenge, regret, and redemption.”

  —Vibe.com on Forever a Hustler’s Wife

  “USDA hood certified.”

  —TERI WOODS, author of the True to the Game trilogy on Riding Dirty on 1-95

  ALSO BY NIKKI TURNER

  NOVELS

  Ghetto Superstar

  Black Widow

  Forever a Hustler’s Wife

  Death Before Dishonor

  (with 50 Cent)

  Riding Dirty on I-95

  The Glamorous Life

  A Project Chick

  A Hustler’s Wife

  EDITOR

  Street Chronicles: Backstage

  Street Chronicles: Christmas in the Hood

  Street Chronicles: Girls in the Game

  Street Chronicles: Tales from da Hood

  (contributing author)

  CONTRIBUTING AUTHOR

  Girls from da Hood

  Girls from da Hood 2

  The Game: Short Stories About the Life

  This book is dedicated to

  Marc and Christina Gerald—

  I wish you many years of love and happiness.

  &

  To everyone who has ever been addicted to love

  and experienced a relapse or two!

  A Special Message from Nikki Turner to Her Readers

  Dear Loyal Readers,

  I’d been trying to pen this letter to you for a while, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why it was so hard, because I love sharing my writing experiences with you. Then it hit me: this letter was my final chance to add my two cents to this novel, and writing it meant I would finally have to let go of something that is so dear to my heart—like a mother who cries on the first day of school when the bus pulls off with her child. I have special connections to all my babies, and this newborn is no different.

  Like with Black Widow, the concept of this story had been in my heart, mind, and spirit for a very long time. I felt that both male and female readers could relate to it, and the overwhelming response I received from family, friends, and readers when I explained the plot was encouraging and such a blessing.

  Ashanti sings in “Baby, Baby, Baby” that “like a drug you relieve my pain.” Everybody, at one time or another, has been a fool for love. Has experienced the highs and lows of a relationship, the fiending to be with that person, the withdrawal after a breakup, and finally the Relapse.

  I knew someone whose life seemed so together; she was a powerful person with lots of money, success, and fame. But one harsh word from the love of her life would just shut her down. I’ve been there too, and so have many of my friends and family, so this idea of having a relationship become an addiction is something I just had to dig into.

  Initially, I wanted to write about a new male character, but I love listening to my fans and you all sent lots of messages asking about Lootchee and wanting more of the inside scoop on him. So I decided to incorporate him into Relapse and show a different side of him than what you saw in my previous novels.

  This book was on a really tight schedule, and once I received my edits, I had the privilege of revisiting my characters with a fresh eye and doing a lot of rewriting and moving things around. The extra work really enhanced the story, but racing against the clock was no joke. After days operating on little to no sleep, the book was finally completed. I had only four hours to shower, pack and get to the airport to go to one of the most mysterious places in the world, Marrakech, Morocco to witness the matrimony of two very special people: my agent, Marc, and his fiancée, Christina. I had the time of my life, learned so much, rode a camel (can you imagine me on a camel?), and yes, brainstormed a new project while I was there.

  Yes, this book has definitely given me great rewards. It’s helped me face some of my craziest addictions, and I hope it does the same for you—if not more.

  So, without further ado, I introduce you to the newest baby, Relapse!!! Fingers crossed that you love her as much as I do!

  Much Love,

  Nikki Turner

  My name is Beijing Lee … And I’m an addict!

  My drug of choice isn’t cocaine, heroin, prescription pills, alcohol … or any other mood-altering drug. The intoxication that I’m hooked on has a stronger hold on me than any of those drugs ever could. Sometimes it brings out the very best in me, and at other times the absolute worst.

  Some of my friends have called my problem an addiction to please, but that’s not it. I’m simply, absolutely addicted to a man. It’s not the sex or his money that has me hooked. It’s so much deeper than that …

  PROLOGUE

  “Bye, Dad.” Beijing planted a kiss on her father’s cheek before jumping down from his tow truck for her monthly visit with her mother, Willabee.

  “If you need anything, be sure to give me a call on my cellular phone.” Sterling hated letting his little girl go. Willabee and her oldest daughter Paris not only lived on the wrong side of the tracks, they were riding the train in the wrong direction as far as he could see. If he had his way, Beijing would never have contact with any of her kinfolks on her mother’s side of the family. But Sterling didn’t have his way. Those were Beijing’s peoples, and he didn’t want to make his only daughter resent him by forbidding her to visit her biological mother and older sister.

  “Yes, Daddy. I will.”

  “If for some reason you can’t get me on my hip, call the office to have the dispatcher radio me.”

  “Daddy, I know the routine.” Beijing smiled. “Stop worrying, Daddy. I’m not a lil girl anymore.”

  “You may be ten years old now.” He squeezed her nose. “But fifty years from now you will still be my little girl.”

  “Daddy, you gotta let me grow up.”

  “In due time, but I don’t want it to happen too fast. Now, one more kiss, on the other cheek this time.” He bent down and Beijing kissed his left cheek before he walked her to the front door of her mother’s place.

  Willabee swung the door open before they reached the porch. “Hello, my little princess cream puff.” She reached out to hug Beijing.

  “Hey, Momma,” Beijing asked while in her mother’s arms. “Is Paris here?”

  “Yup, she’s in her room, baby.”

  Beijing idolized her older sister. Paris was ten years older than her and everything Beijing aspired to be when she grew up.

  Whenever Willabee had one of her mental episodes, it was Paris who looked after her, and Beijing knew that her sister would never steer her wrong. Although lately Paris didn’t keep her hair freshly done the way she used to, or her clothes as crisp, and her once shapely body no longer filled her clothes the same way, but none of that mattered to Beijing, who still adored her big sister Paris.

  “And how you, Sterling? Is that a new truck you got?” Willabee peeped around Beijing’s father to look at the new flatbed truck.

  Sterling considered his baby’s mother, Willabee, a lame excuse for a parent. Every time Sterling thought about the fact that he’d been with this woman his stomach turned. W
hat in the world had he been thinking? Or which head had he been thinking with? No man in his right mind would have taken on Willabee and all her baggage and bullshit. She had a child, a mental condition, a mountain of debt, and no job, but a body and beauty to die for. He blamed it on the marijuana and that’s why to this very day he said no to drugs.

  “I can’t complain,” Sterling answered as he placed Beijing’s overnight bag inside the house. “I will pick her up at three o’clock tomorrow.”

  “Okay bye, Daddy,” Beijing said as she rushed past her mother and straight to Paris’s room.

  “Oh, Sterling, you don’t have to come so early.” Willabee asked for a little extra time with her daughter but Sterling wasn’t having it.

  “Have her ready at three tomorrow,” he said firmly.

  “Oh, don’t worry.” She waved her hand. “I will.”

  Sterling sat in his truck gazing at the house, praying the entire time, as he always did, that God would be his eyes for him and watch over his baby girl. Each and every time, God had answered his prayer. Hopefully, this time wouldn’t be any different.

  Three hours later Beijing was sitting on a dingy sofa that was riddled with holes, the white cushioning inside trying to escape. Paris had taken her to a house that smelled like a dirty locker room, and the rank odor was seeping into Beijing’s throat. She peered over her shoulder every now and then to look at her sister, who stood in a cramped kitchen with peeling wallpaper. It wasn’t really her sister that Beijing was watching, but the man with whom she was having a conversation. Beijing was trying to figure out what they were talking about and could tell by their expressions and gestures that it was intense. Beijing wanted to turn the volume down on the outdated floor-model television so that she could make out what they were saying, but she didn’t want to appear to be too obvious. Suddenly both her sister and the man she was talking to looked at Beijing and locked eyes with her. Beijing quickly turned back around so Paris wouldn’t yell at her later for being nosey and sticking her nose into grown folks’ business.

  Paris turned her attention away from her little sister and continued her rap with the man she had come to see: Chimp, an old cocaine dealer with bad teeth, bad hair, bad breath, and even worse fetishes.

  “I don’t know about coming off a whole half of zone,” Chimp said. “That’s seven hundred bills.”

  “Don’t try to play me like that, Chimp, we both know that yo’ shit got bake on it,” Paris replied rolling her eyes.

  Chimp cracked a crooked smile because Paris was telling the gospel. He whipped all his coke into crack with baking soda, and he was damn good at his craft. Because of the highly addictive nature of the drug and his skill at cooking it up, his customers always came back. If those same patrons knew that they were actually buying more Arm & Hammer than cocaine, they probably would not have been so loyal.

  “Look, you wasting my time. I got what you want, you in or out?” Paris taunted as she put her hands on her hips.

  Chimp stared Paris up and down, mildly upset because she knew his MO. Once upon a time, Paris had been a breathtaking beauty, and even though she had fallen off a bit, she was still easy on the eyes with her dark skin, full eyes, high cheekbones, and petite frame. But today, Paris wasn’t his preference; he knew she had been tricking with all the boulevard fellas, and he wanted something a little more fresh.

  He peeped over the top of his glasses at the young girl sitting on the soiled sofa.

  Watching him, Paris felt a sickening ache deep down in the pit of her stomach. The feeling was partly out of disgust for his perversions, but also because of her shame for what she knew she was about to do.

  Torn between her love for the coke and her love for her sister, all sorts of questions filled Paris’s brain. What kind of big sister would do a thing like this to her little sister? she wondered. What kind of person would do this to another person period? But especially to her own flesh and blood?

  Before Paris could answer the silent questions in her mind, the feeling in her stomach was quickly replaced by the euphoria of being that close to having fourteen grams of crack in her possession. She pushed any noble thoughts she may have had away. Now it was time to step up her game and close the deal.

  “Look, she’s a ten-year-young virgin and I’m giving you the pleasure of busting her little ripe cherry.” Paris moved in closer. “I ought to be charging you the whole zone for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You know that don’t you?”

  Chimp bit down on his bottom lip so hard that he broke the skin, coating his mouth with the bitter flavor of his own blood. “Okay, aight, we got a deal. One hour with little Miss Marker for the half. Deal?”

  Paris looked at her little sister, who was none the wiser about what was about to happen to her. No one else had to know.

  But someone else did know. Mike had been in the bathroom, sitting on the throne, taking a dump, counting the money he had just collected from Chimp earlier. At seventeen years of age, Mike was a lot more advanced than most kids his age. With the help of his older cousin, Qwon, from Queens, New York, Mike had put a decent portion of Durham, Greensboro, and Raleigh in a choke-hold from the time he was fifteen. After exiting the bathroom, he managed to hear the end of Paris and Chimp’s conversation. He heard enough to know what was about to go down. Mike had heard the rumors of some of Chimp’s sordid affairs in the street, but had never really put much stock into them until now.

  “Paris, I’m hungry. Can we leave now? Stop at McDonald’s or something?” Beijing called out from the living room. Looking from the kitchen, all anyone could see was her big doe eyes peering over the back of the couch. Innocent eyes. If Paris and Chimp had their way, those eyes wouldn’t be so innocent for long. Staring into the eyes of the soon-to-be victim, Mike couldn’t walk away.

  “Oh yeah, Lil Mama, you gon get a Happy Meal all right.” Chimp rubbed his manhood and licked his chapped lips. “And I’m going to see to it myself, you pretty little thing you.”

  Repulsed by the comment, Mike’s stomach turned, and he walked up to Paris and spoke in a low and deliberate tone. “Take your sister and get the fuck out of this house before I break your fucking neck.”

  Beijing appeared to be oblivious to what was taking place. “Take this and go buy your sister something to eat.” He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Paris. Then he grabbed her by the arm, and he said, “And that’s for the kid, not for yo’ fucking habit, and I mean that shit.”

  Fear settled in Paris’s eyes as she slowly took the money and Mike released her arm.

  “Hold on, Mike,” Chimp blurted out. “I respect you and all, but you need to tend to your own bizness and leave mine alone, lil bro. I can fuck who I want, when I want, how I want, and I’m fittin’ to do something real good and nasty to that young tenderoni there. I’m about to make it official.”

  No one noticed that Beijing was suddenly all ears as to what was going down in the kitchen. They were all consumed in their own role in the vile scene that was taking shape.

  The intense scowl etched into Mike’s normally handsome face should have been enough to let Paris know that he wasn’t bullshitting, but her craving for the drug overrode her common sense. Mike’s twenty-dollar bill for a damn Happy Meal didn’t stand a chance against what Chimp was offering. Chimp was old-school and had a reputation in the game, and at the end of the day, if Mike wanted to keep his pockets lined, he needed Chimp. Feeling the odds were in her favor, Paris stayed put.

  “Chimp is right, Mike,” Paris said. “Maybe you should just stay out of this.”

  “Yeah, you’ve handled your bizness up in this joint, lil bro,” Chimp added. “Now let me handle mine; my bizness, not yours.”

  “Too late, maggot, I’m making it my business, and don’t ever call me lil bro again. It’s disrespectful to both me and my mother.”

  “Whatever, man.” Chimp waved his hands at Mike. “I’m going to fuck that sweet lil thing and you can put up three grams to watch if you want
to. Fuck what ya talking ’bout, sheeid—”

  Not Beijing, not Paris, and even more so, not Chimp, ever saw where the seven and a half inches of finely sharpened steel had come from before it plunged into Chimp’s stomach. Chimp went from arrogance to agony in record-breaking time, and before he could react, Mike jerked the blade upward with a force so brutal that it ripped cleanly through Chimp’s skin. He gave the knife a twist for good measure. Blood flew from Chimp’s body, splattering all over the refrigerator, the stove, and the cabinets of the small kitchen before Chimp collapsed to the floor.

  When Mike turned his eyes to Paris, she stood with a blank expression on her face. Then the lights seemed to switch back on in her eyes, and she grabbed the crack cocaine off the counter and galloped past Mike out the back door, leaving her little sister in an apartment with the body of a man who had just been murdered and his executioner.

  Mike and the ten-year-old girl stared at each other for what felt like forever. Finally, Mike walked over to her and asked calmly, as if he wasn’t covered head-to-toe in blood, “What’s your name?”

  She stammered, “B-B-B-Beijing.”

  “That’s a pretty name.” He remained cool. “Are you okay, Beijing?”

  “Y-yes.” She nodded her head.

  “That’s good.” Then he asked, “Do you know what happened here?”

  “Uh-huh,” she spoke timidly. “You kilt the man in the kitchen with your knife.”

  “Do you know why I did that?”

  Beijing paused and thought for a moment before speaking. “My sister was going to let him do something really bad to me?” she said, gazing into his eyes.

  “That’s right,” Mike said. “He was a bad person and was going to hurt you.”

  “Are you going to get in trouble for what you did to him?”

  The irony didn’t go unnoticed. He had probably saved this young girl’s life. Now if she described Mike to the police she could end his.

  The scowl was long gone from Mike’s face and was replaced by his boyish smile. “Not if you don’t tell anyone.”