by Untamed
Never Again, No More
Untamed
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Trinity
Lucinda
Charice
LaMeka
Trinity
Lucinda
Charice
LaMeka
Trinity
LaMeka
Lucinda
Trinity
Charice
Charice
LaMeka
Lucinda
Trinity
Charice
LaMeka
Charice
Trinity
LaMeka
Lucinda
Charice
Trinity
Trinity
Charice
Lucinda
LaMeka
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, N.Y.-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Never Again, No More
Copyright © 2020 Untamed
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: 978-1-6455-6000-5
eISBN 13: 978-1-64556-001-2
eISBN 10: 1-64556-001-5
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
To all the women who struggle daily as single mothers, this book is for you. Your true inner fears and struggles so often either go unnoticed or are misunderstood. This book is your voice, and I am proud to tell your story.
Acknowledgments
My passion for writing comes through my realization that it is a gift. Therefore, I do not take it lightly. I cherish this gift that has been granted to me, and I hope that in all I do, my Father sees that. Every honor, accolade, and accomplishment belongs to Him. I’m simply a vessel.
My angels, Mama, Da’Ja, and Christina, continue your rest, but please continue your watch. You said I could do this, Mama. Years later I understand that you were right. Thank you for planting that seed all those years ago. I promise to continue watering this writing garden.
You’re only as strong as the people around you. Chris, Kiana, Christian, and Kameron, you all give me strength every day. I love you always. FOE.
To be a part of the family of Literary Champagne Suite is everything to me. When you have a team that not only reps your work but also understands you, it’s an unstoppable combination. And y’all know all we do is win! I could never thank you enough.
As always, my thanks and appreciation go to Carl Weber and Urban Books. Thank you for giving my ink a home to flourish.
Readers, thank you for rocking with me on this untamable journey. This series will take you through the ebb and flow of life. So laugh often, cry hard, and learn from the characters’ errors. Instead of simply reading this novel, experience it. Let’s grow with Trinity, Charice, Lucinda, and LaMeka. Ready? Let’s go! #sountamed
Trinity
Will this shit ever end? I thought while listening to Pooch rant and rave again. It seemed that was all he did lately. I swear, this muthasucka really had begun to piss me the hell off. I loved that nigga, though, and he took care of us. I mean, how many men do you know who would let you live up in their house for free, with two kids that ain’t his? Exactly! Slim to damn none. But if this nigga didn’t shut the hell up soon, I was gonna slap the piss out of him!
“Trin! Do you hear me? Tri-ni-ty!” Pooch screamed, interrupting my thoughts.
This dude is killing me. “Yes, Pooch . . . baby, I hear you,” I said with a sigh as I brought him a roll of toilet paper. “The whole damn neighborhood can hear you, with all that damn fussing and screaming you’re doing.”
He swung the bathroom door open and snatched the roll of tissue out of my hand. “Well, if you actually listened and hurried your ass up when I fucking called you, then I wouldn’t be fussing and screaming. Damn!” he yelled, continuing to take a dump, as if I wasn’t standing there. “Hook up with you, bring a bitch in, along with her two snot-faced brats, treat her to the finer fucking things in life, and you treating me like shit? You don’t treat that nigga Terrence like shit. Oh no, not that muthafucka. He gets the royal fucking treatment. I’m your man. I tell you what. Why don’t you let that muthafucka take care of you, those kids, and the one me and you had? That would sure as hell free up my damn pockets!”
I wanted to argue, but the stench coming from the bathroom was making my stomach turn. This nigga’s scent was so loud, you could smell his shit two doors down, it seemed. “Whatever, Pooch,” I mumbled as I turned to walk away.
He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Where the fuck you going? I’m talking to you!”
I held my nose to avoid smelling the odor. “Pooch, it fucking stinks in here!”
“Shit supposed to stink. You think your shit smells like roses? Oh, I bet you didn’t say that when that nigga Terrence took a damn dump!” he yelled.
I rolled my eyes, thinking, Here we go. Terrence this and Terrence that. “Pooch, please! I need to check on the baby.”
“Wait until I get my ass off this toilet. Just wait.” With that, he let my arm go and slammed the bathroom door.
“Pooch, I love you,” I said faintly before I walked away. I checked in on Princess, and then I headed to our bedroom.
It was true. I really did love Pooch more than anything, and I knew that he loved me. Two and a half years ago, it hadn’t been like this between us. The source of our heartache was my first children’s daddy, Terrence. Back in the day, I knew Terrence from around our neighborhood in ATL. He used to play football at Frederick Douglass High School, and from what I’d heard, he was working and attending Atlanta Tech. That was just how it was in the hood. Everybody knew everybody, and everybody knew your business. I officially met Terrence at the teen club six years ago. At the time, I was fifteen and he was nineteen, and that dude captured me at first sight. He was so good looking that every woman wanted Terrence. How could they not? He was a tall glass of sexy butterscotch, with muscles for days. I didn’t know if it was his light brown eyes, his shoulder-length dreadlocks, or that damn goatee, but everything about him was rugged and sexy.
I still remembered when his six-foot, three-inch frame walked up on me while I was dancing to that new joint by 50 Cent, “In Da Club.” While my best friend, Lucinda, and my cousin Charice and I danced, I was damn near ready to rep New York instead of Georgia as my home state. Now I was a GA peach through and through, and I’d never turn my back on Hotlanta, but damn, when that song came on back then, like everyone else from the Dirty South to the Bay, I was pumping that shit.
Clad in my tight, dark denim jeans, yellow tunic top, and wedges, I looked hella good, and you couldn’t tell me I wasn’t one of the flyest chicks in there that night. My long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I flipped it as we danced off of the song. My eyes nearly popped out when I saw Terrence checking me out. Not to mention I had some pretty, big brown eyes, so I was sure I looked like damn Bambi in the headlights. As he bit on his lip in a sexy way, it mad
e my body temperature rise instantly. Before I could alert my crew that he was looking at me, he started to walk toward us. All I could remember thinking was, Thank God I didn’t eat that Philly cheesesteak sub with extra onions before I came here.
“’Sup yo?” he asked, touching me on my shoulder.
I turned slowly, in a nonchalant way, and threw out, “’Sup?” Then I quickly turned back to my girls and continued to dance.
He laughed. “So you just gon’ ignore me like that, huh?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, turning back to face him.
He sucked in air. “Yo, you saw me looking at you.”
“Yeah, I did,” I said slyly.
He smiled softly, shaking his head. “Check it, li’l mama. This act is real cute, but stop flexin’ and holla at yo’ boy. On the real, I have to ask you something.”
Charice nudged me and giggled. “Go get your talk on, girl.”
“Yeah, li’l mami,” Lucinda added with a laugh.
“It’s mama, you non-English-talkin’ heffa.” I laughed, rolling my eyes.
Lucinda shot a bird at me. “I bet you got that in the universal language.”
After fanning her off, I walked away with Terrence so we could talk. “What do you want?” I asked him once we were off the dance floor.
“A’ight, li’l mama—” he began, but I put my finger up, interrupting him.
“My name is Trinity,” I announced.
He followed suit by putting his hands up. “My bad, li’l . . . I mean Trinity. You just so damn little, so I always called you li’l mama.”
“Terrence, we ain’t ever had no one-on-one conversations, so how you got nicknames for me?” I asked, confused.
“We all know each other from around the block. Come on now, you know that. I give everybody nicknames. It’s how I remember people. For instance, to me, you’re li’l mama, ’cause you so tiny. And your girl Lucinda is senorita, ’cause she Spanish, and your cousin Charice, she is superstar, ’cause she mess with that pretty muthafucka Ryan, who thinks he’s a damn super-duper star.”
Even though I hated when people called me tiny or, worse, skinny, I had to laugh. The names were cute, especially the one he had come up with for Charice. That nigga did think he was God’s greatest gift to women. That muthasucka was finer than a muthasucka, though, but I would never admit that shit to him. His ego was so high in the sky that he needed a flashlight to see it.
“Okay then. Well, I guess I can call you Dreads, huh?” I laughed.
He shrugged. “It fits. Don’t bother me none.”
“Okay, Dreads. What you looking at me for? Can’t get a girl your age?”
“You got jokes.” He laughed. “You know I can pull ’em, just like I can pull you,” he joked, giving me a wink.
He wasn’t fucking lying. He sure could pull me. “I ain’t no dumb chick, Dreads. I may be young, but you gotta work to pull this.” I gestured to my body.
“Well, let’s slow down and start by me pulling your art skills first.”
“Huh?” I asked, confused.
“The reason I came over was that I saw that tattoo design you drew for my homeboy, Chico, and that shit was fresh. I didn’t know you were artistic like that. I want you to design one for me,” he explained.
Talk about crushed. I was glad that word about my art skills was getting around the block, especially since I needed the money, but damn! I had thought he was checking for me, not my abilities.
“Oh, and to think I thought you were checking out my ass on the dance floor,” I joked, hoping he wouldn’t catch on the fact that I actually wanted him to want me.
“You think you can hook me up with a tattoo design?” he asked, continuing on without any acknowledgment of what I’d just said.
Although I was crushed that he didn’t want to holla at me, I agreed to do the work. “Yeah. Just stop by tomorrow, around noon, and I’ll hook it up for you,” I said, hiding my disappointment.
“How much you gon’ charge me?”
“Fifty bucks.”
“Damn! I still gotta get the tat, li’l mama.”
“Yeah, but can’t no tattoo place design shit like me. You want the tightest shit? I got it. They don’t. You want to pay cheap prices, then go to the tattoo shop and let them show you one of them premade designs.” I would’ve charged him twenty if he was trying to holla.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t no thang. I’ll be at your crib at noon tomorrow.”
“A’ight,” I said, then turned to walk back to my crew.
“Li’l mama!” he called out after I had taken half a dozen steps.
I stopped in my tracks and turned back. “Yeah?”
“Yo’ ass did look cute grinding out there on the dance floor. Keep doing that shit. That’s your money shot.” He winked at me.
I giggled and then walked back to my crew, happy to know that Terrence Marsh, aka Dreads, was checking for me. You know I ended up charging that nigga only twenty dollars.
Terrence and I started dating not long after that, and seeing each other came as a breeze. My mom worked all the time. Since I was the oldest and was left to look after my ten-year-old sister and six-year-old brother, we had plenty of free time to do a bunch of shit we weren’t supposed to be doing. Therefore, not only did he become my first love, but he also became my first lover.
Having an older boyfriend who could take me to school and pick me up was so damn cool to me. I was the envy of all the neighborhood heifers who tried to be with Terrence. I had to give it to him, though. He was a one-woman man, and that made me love him even more. I loved him so much that after only two months of dating, I got knocked up. I gave birth to our oldest son, Terry, when I was a sophomore in high school.
Since Terrence never knew his dad, he vowed to be better at fathering, and he was a great dad, and he loved the hell out of me. My mom was pissed with me after I got pregnant, but the fact that Terrence was a good man and a good father pacified her. He could barely take care of himself, but he made sure that Terry and I didn’t hurt for anything. We stayed together and were happy as could be. After I got pregnant with Brittany my senior year, my mom had had enough, and she kicked me, Terry, and my unborn baby the hell out. She told me she loved me, but she had two other children to raise, and she couldn’t afford to keep us around, since we created more bills for her to pay. Even though I was so pissed, I knew she was right. I had set a horrible example for my little sister, and my mom had struggled with the three of us, so she was hardly in a position to care for five.
After my mom kicked Terry and me out, Terrence did what he had to do and got us a two-bedroom apartment. That move probably helped me finish high school, because I knew that I didn’t have my mom to fall back on. There was only Terrence and me to provide for us. But I admit it was rough as shit. Terrence and I began to argue more, because instead of working more hours at the auto shop, like he had promised, Terrence was slinging more dope. I told him to cool it since I was pregnant and wanted to go to art school, and I needed him to be around for the kids and me. He told me to let him be the damn man, and to worry instead about delivering a healthy baby girl and taking care of Terry. I gave up complaining and did what I was told. Surprisingly, everything continued to be smooth on his end, and I delivered a healthy baby girl and enrolled in college.
One month after Brittany’s birth, the inevitable happened. Terrence was locked up on drug charges, and my world was flipped upside down. Those damn narc agents not only locked his ass up but also seized all our shit. They froze our accounts, took both of our cars, and evicted me and my kids. The only money I had was what Terrence kept in a safe, and that was only twelve grand. After giving a grand to his attorney as a retainer, I still had to pay an additional fifteen hundred dollars for his attorney to try the case, which he lost. That literally tore me up on the inside.
To further break my damn heart, at his sentencing hearing, Terrence told me some crap about living my life and not waiting for him, t
hen broke up with me. He did, however, make me promise to let him see and care for his kids when he returned home from prison. I would never keep Terrence’s kids from him, because I knew he loved them, but damn, didn’t he love me too? I guessed that nigga didn’t, so I said, “Fuck him too.” I wouldn’t beg any nigga to stay with me, not even Terrence.
My mom let us stay with her from the day of the raid until the trial was over. After that, the ultimate reality set in: I was back on my own, but now I was alone and had to fend for myself and two kids. I took the ninety-five hundred dollars that was left and got another two-bedroom apartment. After paying the first and last month’s rent, I paid cash for an older-model Honda Civic. With only two grand left and no job, I dropped out of school, got on the welfare system, and started working part-time at a men’s clothing store. That was where Pooch entered the picture.
Pooch was one of the most well-connected and well-known drug dealers in the city. All his relatives were known hustlers, so he was in the family business, so to speak. Although I knew Pooch from school, he had dropped out. Honestly, the only thing he had tried to learn was how to stay on top of his hustle. Pooch had had a crush on me since elementary school, but I had never given him the time of day, because I knew he and his people were nothing but trouble. Don’t get me wrong. Pooch was cool as hell and cute, but everybody thought twice when dealing with him, because once you were affiliated with that circle, you were in the circle.
I soon noticed that Pooch was coming into the clothing store at least twice a week and always wanted me to help him. I figured he was pushing up to holla at me, and after six months, he made his move.
“What’s good, Trinity?” Pooch asked as he walked over to me.
“Ain’t nothing, Pooch.”
“Yo, any word on that nigga Terrence getting out yet?”
“Nah, unless you gon’ help him.”