Graveyard Love

by T. C. Littles

  Graveyard Love

  T. C. Littles

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Voice of a Battered Woman

  1 - Jakia

  2 - Jakia

  3 - Jakia

  4 - Robert

  5 - Jakia

  6 - Jakia

  7 - Iesha—From the Casino

  8 - Iesha

  9 - Rocko

  10 - Jakia

  11 - Jakia

  12 - Rocko

  13 - Spade

  14 - Rocko

  15 - Jakia

  16 - Juan

  17 - Rocko

  18 - Jakia

  19 - Jakia

  20 - Spade

  21 - Jakia

  22 - Juan

  23 - Jakia

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Graveyard Love

  Copyright © 2019 T. C. Littles

  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: 978-1-6016-2234-1

  eISBN 13: 978-1-60162-845-9

  eISBN 10: 1-60162-845-5

  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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  The Voice of a Battered Woman

  I wasn’t born a bitch; I was made into a bitch. And because of the power of his fist, I’ll probably die being a bitch. To the woman who can truly say—“he made me do it,” I believe that shit and rock with you to the end. To the woman who can’t cry, has cried her last tear, or who is crying right now . . . Dry your tears and tell yourself you’re beautiful underneath the scars. Sometimes, all we need is a power-up partner. Sometimes, all we need is real love and a free space to receive and give love. That’s all I needed. Be a warrior for your soul, your peace, and all the women who have been silenced.

  —Jakia

  1

  Jakia

  My eyes popped open to Spade giving me early-morning head. It felt like he was writing his name into my soul with his tongue. Part of me wanted to enjoy the sexual moment because it was taking me to the clouds that laced heaven, but I was scared to get comfortable with him. His Gemini split-personality wasn’t one to fuck with. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed Spade be a cuddly, warmhearted Negro.

  Spencer “Spade” Johnson was a mean son of a bitch with rigid rules and a hard hand to dish out swift and severe consequences if the rules were broken. His temper is worse than any savage I’ve seen or known. I’ve endured more lumps and knots, bites and bruises, and scars of low self-esteem with him than I did growing up with my abusive mother. She’s the one who taught me how to take a beating and keep it moving. The only reason I wasn’t numb to Spade’s ass whoopings was that he was a male. I often wished he’d keep it on his mental that I was his girl.

  I never left the house without rocking huge, framed shades to mask my swollen, red eyes. No matter how hard I tried to warm his iced heart, Spade took advantage of my young and fragile mind and manipulated me into thinking I couldn’t survive without him. He knew how I grew up and how much I relied on my brother, so it was easy for him to slide in and use me for what he needed me for. He knew that my mother was so strung out on drugs and more concerned with chasing a scheme so she could get high that she wouldn’t see me slipping me through the cracks or be strong enough to save me from a savage like him. Some days, it felt like he got off on tormenting my mind, body, and soul. Matter of fact, I’m sure he did. All I could do was pray his cruel behavior wouldn’t last forever.

  “Oh my God, Spade . . . Why can’t you love on me like this all the time?” I moaned and squirmed uncontrollably.

  Although Spade’s been having a problem with keeping me emotionally happy, he’s never had a problem stroking my body into pure pleasure. Spade trained me how to please him sexually as soon as we got together, but it got hella intense when I moved in. He had me watching pornos and imitating his favorite stars, plus maneuvering my young body into positions that had me sore for days. I kind of miss those days because that’s when shit was simple between us.

  “’Cause you don’t be acting right,” he said between licks. “Now shut up and enjoy gettin’ ya pussy ate before I get out of the mood and stop.” Then he dove back between my legs.

  The last thing I wanted to do was piss him off during sex. Spade wasn’t the type of nigga you could withhold your goodies from. I hurried up and arched my back, then grinded my vagina into his mouth like I was riding his dick. If he wanted me to explode in his mouth, I would. I was submissive to everything Spencer Spade Johnson wanted.

  Somebody once told me that if you controlled a bitch’s mind, the body would follow; and they ain’t never lied. Spade had stroked me out both mentally and physically. The more I fell in love with him, the more he gassed me up in preparation for what his ultimate plan was.

  “It’s yours. I’m yours. Oh my God, I’m about to come.” I lost control over my senses and my limbs.

  “Are you feelin’ good, ma?” He came up from between my thighs with a mouth full of come.

  “Hell yeah. I’m better than good.” I cuddled up to my pillow and smiled at him. “That was amazing.” I was drained from the earth-shattering orgasm he’d just brought me to. “That was one helluva way to say good morning.”

  “I know, so get that mouth ready to service your man. I only went first ’cause a nigga felt a li’l bad for last night.” He didn’t give me time to enjoy the apology before he whipped his dick out and dipped into my mouth.

  My throat was sore from his aggression as my saliva mixed with his precome fell from the corners of my mouth. I struggled not to gag from his humongous mushroom as I felt it swelling up.

  Giving him on-demand head should’ve been something I was used to. I’ve lost control of being able to say when I want it and how I want it. Spade cupped my chin and jaws tightly with his right hand as he slow-guided his meat in and out of my mouth with his left hand. I was a pro at pleasing him, just as he was at pleasing me, and it only took a few seconds for me to feel him tensing up.

  “Let it go,” I hummed and tickled his shaft with my tongue.

  “Then suck it harder.” Spade plunged himself into my mouth like he was trying to find my tonsils.

  I felt his thighs lock up and his booty cheeks clench together right before his bitter nut hit the insides of my cheeks.

  “Don’t stop until you suck all that nut up outta this monster.” He bit his lip like a girl as his body shook like an earthquake. I almost suffocated from the weight of him being on top of me. This was the only time I could ever get Spade at a disadvantage. After shooting a long stream of warm semen down my throat, he pulled out and sprayed the rest all over my face. “That’s right, you pretty-ass bitch. Let me coat this shit on yo’ face like you do that clown-ass makeup.” He mushed and rubbed the tip of his penis all over my face, then fell back on the bed gasping for air. “You be having a nigga acting sissy soft with your dick-sucking skills, girl,” he half-joked.

  I rolled over and wiped his come from my face as he rolled over to grab his ever-ringin
g phone. I stayed irked by him being in love with the streets, but that was what got me here in the first place, so I played my position with the best of ’em.

  Spade stroked me slow, mind-fucked me hard, and manipulated me into believing I couldn’t survive without him. But in reality, he’d groomed me into being his number one moneymaker.

  It was easy because he was my only lifeline. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to or nowhere else to go. We were in a relationship, but it felt like I was the only one against the world.

  He had me strung out on having the finer things in life, not the ragamuffin hand-me-downs I had all while growing up. I was hella grateful that he’d upgraded me from having nothing but scraps. My closet was filled with designer labels, my house was decked out with plush furniture and flat-screen smart televisions, and I wore diamonds because they were my only best friends. Spade didn’t allow me to have friends.

  “Hey, babe, you might wanna rest up for a minute while I hop in the shower and make a few calls.” Spade climbed out of bed, then slid on his boxers. “I gotta see whose money is up for the taking.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You’re probably going in there to cake with that trick, Tiff,” I scowled, bringing up his ex-girlfriend. Ever since I stepped in and took her position, she’d been doing double backs with Spade as a payback to me for stealing him.

  “Don’t start on no bullshit, Jakia. I’m about to holla at these streets. Ain’t nobody thinking about ole girl but you. You’re acting way too pressed.”

  I knew he was lying by the smirk on his face. “Whatever, Spade. I might let you play me like I’m dumb, but I ain’t no damn fool. I know you still mess around with Tiff.”

  “I’m gonna bring her into this muthafuckin’ bedroom if you keep bringing her up,” he threatened me with a devilish smirk on his face, then slammed the bathroom door.

  A second later, I heard the shower turn on and Spade’s voice mumbling. Knowing his trifling ass, he was taking a dump and talking to Tiff. I dare not say another word because I wasn’t down to have a threesome with his ex. If he’d spoken it out loud, then he’d already thought about doing it. Tiff could have him back if it came down to me having to get down with her.

  “You’ve gotta find a way to uncross your heart, Jakia,” I told myself, then dozed off.

  Eighteen Months Ago . . .

  “Whatchu doing, baby sis?”

  “Nothing much. Bored. Momma didn’t pay the cable bill with the money you gave her, so I’ve been forced to watch these old sitcoms that have been out of syndication since you were born.” I rolled my eyes, wishing I had some fresh clothes to go outside in. I was tired of getting talked about. Even though I wasn’t having sex, many of the girls my age were and getting broke off by the dope boys who loved young twat. They always came at me sideways because I wasn’t rocking fly clothes and kicks that cost a grip.

  “Well, I’ll give you the money tomorrow to go pay the bill. Me and the crew are about to go out and hit up a few stash houses.” My brother Juan was a stick-up kid.

  I was happy that he was going to get some money to pay the bill but didn’t want him risking his life. “I hope your crew ain’t Spencer and Rashad. Ma said them niggas are always in trouble and that you’re gonna end up in trouble too if you keep runnin’ up behind them.” I didn’t always listen to our mother, but I had a weird feeling in my stomach that she was right this time.

  “Fuck what Momma talking about. She was probably high when she told you that. I ain’t never been caught slipping, and I sho’ ain’t about to start getting caught up now that I’m getting put on to some real money. Spencer and Rashad be getting inside info on muthafuckas that be having that bread, sis,” my brother spoke confidently about the two street thugs I had no trust in.

  “I know Momma be off them rocks, bro; but that might be even more reason why you might want to listen to her. She be hittin’ up the same stash houses you be creepin’ into, which doesn’t necessarily sound like the smartest plan.”

  “Says the same person who always has their hand out for some money,” he snapped. “Keep ya nose up outta my business and don’t wait up.” He walked out of the house.

  Neither of us knew that was the last time we’d stand in our mother’s house together, or that we’d have a word-for-word disagreement between us without a thick piece of security glass separating us. Juan ended up getting caught up in a case that sat him down for a few years.

  I still remember how my heart crumbled into a million pieces when I first heard his voice on the collect call.

  “What, Juan? You ain’t killed nobody, so why are you facing so many years? It doesn’t make any sense,” I helplessly cried into the phone because there was nothing else I could do.

  “I know it, sis. But they are trying to make an example out of me. I might gotta take one for the team. Holla at my manz Spade, though. He’ll look out for you while I do this bid. I made him promise me that you wouldn’t want for nothing.”

  “Ain’t nobody thinking about his creep-foul behind. He’s the one who got you in this mess.” I copped an attitude at Juan for even suggesting I link up with the one responsible for his demise. “What about a lawyer? Maybe they can get you out since this is your first offense.” I tried coming up with solutions.

  “Naw, baby sis. Don’t waste your time with a fantasy. We barely had money to eat daily, so you know there ain’t no money for an attorney,” he killed my faith. “There’s a stash in my room, though. Go cop that; then sell everything else in there. You should at least be able to get a few grand off all the Jordans and shit. Don’t let nobody get off on you with no lowball prices either.”

  “Okay,” was all I could say because my voice was caught in my throat. I couldn’t believe I was making plans on how to survive without my big brother.

  “Make sure your stubborn ass goes to holla at Spade for whatever you need, sis. I’ll call again when I can. Hold yo’ head up and don’t get caught up in Mom’s bullshit,” Juan blurted out across the jail’s hotline before the line went dead.

  Tears were streaming down my face like a faucet. I couldn’t believe he was willing to take a case for some dumb-ass hot boys that barely made him an afterthought. Juan hadn’t been down twenty-four hours before ole Phoebe was on to something more than little white rocks.

  “Ma, where are you? Juan’s been locked up,” I erratically screamed throughout our tiny run-down house. When she didn’t answer, I pulled the spare key I had for Juan’s dead bolt, unlocked the door, and went in. I had to follow through on my brother’s orders so I could be prepared when he called back.

  “Wow, wow, wow,” was all I could mutter as I hung my head low. “This right here is truly the low point of today.”

  Juan’s room was trashed and emptied. His fifty-inch plasma television was no longer mounted on the wall, the dresser drawers were bare and tossed across the room, all of his gold jewelry was gone, and, of course—every sneaker box was empty. Phoebe’s petty ass even took the sheets off his bed.

  I knew it was a waste of time searching for his stash because that was probably the first thing she pocketed, so I scrapped his room as valueless and came out more deflated than I was when I went in it. Come to find out, ole Phoebe caught wind of the news through the hood grapevine during late-night hours while she ran in the back alleys. And with the help of her crackhead comrades, they came through Juan’s window so they wouldn’t wake me and cleaned him out completely.

  When it was all said and done, my brother ended up getting stuck with a whack-ass public defender and only a few dollars from Spade and Rocko for a suit. His chances started as slim but ended up being severely bleak.

  With just my moms and me in the house, there was no filter to the bullshit. For one month straight, which seemed like an eternity of hell, I watched Phoebe run guys through our front door like it was a legal-running brothel. She didn’t bother taking them to her bedroom as she sucked, slobbed, and took it in the ass in the kitchen, living room, or even the front
porch if our house was too hot for rocks. Phoebe got down raw. I was lucky she didn’t try tricking me out.

  When it was time for Juan’s trial, I sat in the tiny, cold courtroom staring at the blue and gold State of Michigan seal positioned behind the judge’s bench and prayed that my brother would walk out a free man. The butterflies in my stomach tripled with the sight of his deteriorated appearance and had me fearing the absolute worst.

  All I heard was the judge saying was, “Blah, blah, blah.”

  I was in a zombie-subdued trance, and the hum of the fluorescent lighting made it worse. I kept watching the slow-moving hands of the wall clock and the facial expressions of my brother as he sat shivering angrily and stone-faced, unwilling to blink or give the judge and everyone else the satisfaction of knowing he was sick to his stomach and terrified of his future.

  My fam was gonna keep it gangsta all the way to the end and not snitch, no matter how hard they tried to cut him a deal if he gave the names of Rocko and Spade. Juan denied the leniency and road with loyalty.

  I twitched and fidgeted on the hard, wooden bench, wishing he would change his mind. I’d take a snitch for a brother over a caged one anytime.

  Surprised that she could even see straight after stealing and selling everything in my brother’s room and getting high for days, Phoebe stumbled into the courtroom clothed in the poorest Salvation Army dingy red dress she could find, her hair slicked back in a dirty, greasy ponytail, and reeking of alcohol. The odor poured into the room as she did and got worse as the door swung closed and shifted the air.

  “Excuse me,” she pushed past a few people that were sitting down the bench from me. She didn’t even notice them twisting their faces up, or them covering their noses to block her smell. I was completely nauseated and disgusted by her decrepit-looking presence. Not only did it look like her face had sunk in more, but it also looked like she’d lost more weight, which wasn’t a good thing since she was probably only a hundred pounds with winter clothes on.