by Stacy-Deanne
THE LITTLE GIRL
BY
STACY-DEANNE
Also by Stacy Deanne
Stripped Romantic Suspense Series
Stripped
Captured
Damaged
Haunted
Possessed
Tate Valley Romantic Suspense Series
Now or Never
Chasing Forever
Sinner's Paradise
Last Dance
The Bruised Series
Bruised
Captivated
Disturbed
Entangled
Twisted
The Good Girls and Bad Boys Series
Who's That Girl?
You Know My Name
Hate the Game
Standalone
What Grows in the Garden
The Seventh District
Gonna Make You Mine
Protecting Her Lover
Empty
Love is a Crime
On the Way to Heaven
Under the Surface
Open Your Heart
A Matter of Time
Hero
Outside Woman
The Watchers
Harm a Fly
Cinderella's Prince
An Unexpected Love
You're the One
Worth the Risk
Dead Weight
Seven's Deadly Sins
Hawaii Christmas Baby
Sometimes Money Ain't Enough
The Best Christmas Ever
Murder with a Kiss
Prey
Dutch
The Good Girls and Bad Boys Series
Bruised Complete Series
Tate Valley Complete Series
The Princess and the Thief
The Little Girl (Coming Soon)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also By Stacy Deanne
The Little Girl
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
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Also By Stacy Deanne
Copyright © 2019 Stacy-Deanne
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Readers: Thanks so much for choosing my book! I would be very appreciative if you would leave reviews when you are done. Much love!
Email: [email protected]
Website: Stacy's Website
Facebook: Stacy's Facebook Profile
Twitter: Stacy's Twitter
Other titles by Stacy-Deanne Include:
Bruised Series
Stripped Series
Tate Valley Sexy Suspense Series
Seven’s Deadly Sins
Prey
The Seventh District
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CHAPTER ONE
“It don’t make no sense, Mr. Abraham.” Theo drove Anderson Abraham through the narrow roads of Thompsonville, Mississippi blasting reggae music. “It’s two thousand and nineteen and black folk still dealing with the same old shit. Sometimes I forget the Civil Rights Movement ever happened.”
“Really?” Anderson leaned up in the backseat, scratching his back, which sat in a pool of sweat because of the humidity. “Things aren’t perfect but they’re a lot better.”
Theo scoffed, toothpick hanging from his mouth. “You’ll never understand what my people went through.”
Anderson nodded, sighing. “Just because I’m white doesn’t mean I can’t empathize.”
“You come from Boston. It’s a different world than down here. Shit, you still got white folks down here calling blacks ‘colored’ and some blacks still thinking that’s okay.” Theo turned past a tiny strip mall with a few cars in the parking lot. “How old are you again?”
“Thirty-five.” Anderson cleared his throat.
“Not only is this the South, but this is the Deep South, man. There’s a whole different set of rules down here.”
“I’ve studied every aspect of racism including its effects. Nothing you can’t tell me I don’t know.”
Theo poked out his lips. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a black man in today’s society or any society.”
“Have you ever read any of my articles?”
Theo shrugged a shoulder. “No. Klein just told me you are a big shot in Boston. I asked some of my cousins and they’d heard of you.”
“Since I’ve been working for the Boston Bulletin I’ve written over two hundred stories on race relations in America.”
Theo turned to the side and raised a bushy eyebrow.
“Guess what? That’s twice as many as the black journalists I work with. Many of them shy away from the racial issues because they don’t want people to think they’re using their race to get ahead.”
“So why do you write about those things?” Theo drove through potholes.
“Because I’m interested in it and I want things to get better.” Anderson sat back. “I find the black culture fascinating. That’s how Klein and I met in college. We took African-American studies together and we shared the same dorm.”
Theo chuckled. “You took African-American Studies?”
“Not because I had to but because I wanted to. Don’t be so quick to judge, okay?”
“My bad.” Theo smirked as if Anderson had gotten the best of him. “I like you, Mr. Abraham.”
“Anderson.”
“Anderson.” Theo’s smirked turned into a full-fledged smile. “I hope you know what you’re in for. Klein isn’t too happy that you’re coming down here to cover Presley Mills’ story.”
“Well someone has to cover it.” Anderson admired the antique building of the church. “She deserves justice.”
People shouted in the distance but Anderson couldn’t make out the words.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
“Ah, shit.” Theo snatched the toothpic
k out of his mouth as they got closer to the square. “Jesus.”
A group of forty or fifty black people stood in the parking lot in front of City Hall chanting and waving fists. “Hell no! We won’t go!”
A heavy-set black woman around five-nine with wide hips and a jumpsuit on, paced in front of the audience. “Louder! Hell no! We won’t go!” she shouted into a megaphone. “Hell no! We won’t go!”
Theo turned into the parking lot then stopped with the car running. “You want me to take you back to your hotel instead?”
“No.” Anderson swallowed, chest tightening. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Theo lowered the music. “These niggas out for blood and you ripe for the picking.”
“I have a right to be here just like they do.” He swallowed again, but the lump remained in his throat. “Besides, I’ve had to cover protests many times in my career. I’ll talk to them and everything will be okay.”
“They won’t listen. Since Presley’s accident, the town’s dividing. Some are pissed because of what Nate Lancaster did and others because they think the blacks are using this as some racial issue.”
“There’s an eleven-year-old girl in a coma. Black or white, the man who put her there shouldn’t be getting off free.” Anderson released his seatbelt and opened the door. “I’ll see you.”
“Let me call Klein so he can bring his black ass out here.” Theo grabbed his cell from the passenger’s seat.
“I don’t need a bodyguard.” Anderson got out the car, gesturing to the animated crowd. “I understand their anger and their point, but they’re going about it the wrong way. You can’t fight chaos with chaos.”
Theo got out the car, pointing to the heavyset woman. “That’s Khadija Moore.”
“I know.” Anderson squinted, the sun frying his forehead. “The activist from Detroit. What’s she doing down here?”
“The same reason you are she claims.” Theo crossed his arms, head rocking. “Wants to get Presley justice.”
“Yeah right. All she wants to do is stir up trouble. Everywhere there’s a high profile case she’s there with her face in the cameras. I’m surprised there're no cameras.”
“There’s one.” Theo pointed to a man kneeling in front of the crowd with a video camera.
“That’s right, my people.” Khadija stomped back and forth with her fist in the air. “Say it and say it loud. We’re here ladies and gentlemen and the mayor can hide his ass in there all he wants but we won’t go!”
“We ain’t going nowhere,” a man shouted from the audience.
“You see how they hide.” Khadija pointed at City Hall. “Don’t even have the respect to come out here and talk to us. To them we’re nothing but animals.”
A woman threw up a fist. “To hell with all of them.”
Anderson mumbled, shaking his head.
“It’s a damn shame that in this day and age we’re dealing with this shit.” Khadija rubbed the side of her head, her hair in a braided Mohawk with corn rolls on the sides and a bouffant. “Everyone wanna say Thompsonville is backwards.” Her gold tooth glimmered when she grinned. “Well, not anymore. I’m here now and Thompsonville won’t be backwards ever again.”
The audience cheered.
“Damn it’s hot.” Khadija wiped sweat from her forehead. “Better be glad my hair is natural, or I’d sweat out my damn perm out here.”
They laughed.
“Some of you thought racism was dead, but no. No it’s always been there bubbling underneath the surface.”
“Gotta admit she has a way with words though,” Theo whispered.
“She does.” Anderson rolled his eyes. “It’s how she hooks people into following her agenda.”
Theo tilted his head. “She kinda fine too.”
Anderson looked at him.
“What?” Theo shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a sista with some meat on her bones. This the South here. We like our women thick.”
“I don’t mean that. Her attitude is distracting from what she’s trying to do.”
“Least she’s got the folks making noise. Otherwise they’d be sitting here taking it like they always did.”
“We gotta let these crackers know once and for all,” Khadija hollered. “How many more of our people got to suffer at the hands of white injustice? How many beatings, rapes and murders of our people at the hands of whites do we have to take?”
“No more,” A gray-haired black man with a beard shouted. “It’s over today.”
“That’s right,” another man screamed. “We get justice for Presley or Thompsonville won’t see another day of peace!”
“That’s right.” Khadija pointed to the man. “You guys seen me marching and protesting in Ferguson, Boston, New York, Florida, everywhere to fight for those done wrong. But you know what?” Her jumpsuit wrinkled over her belly. “I’m tired of marching and protesting and things not changing. We need action now.”
A woman jumped in place. “Damn straight.”
“You see there’s a saying, ‘If you want to talk about something being done, get a man. If you want something done, get a woman.’ Well, I’m that motherfucking woman!”
“Hell yeah!” A young, black man with sagging pants and corn rolls waved his sign. “Let’s show these crackers once and for all! That drunk ass honkey can’t run over our children and get off scot free!”
“Hell no! We won’t go!” Khadija waved her fist as the audience chanted with her.
“I can’t just stand here and listen to this nonsense.” Anderson headed to the crowd.
Theo grabbed at him as he passed. “Anderson!”
CHAPTER TWO
“Hey!” Anderson approached the crowd. “Excuse me.”
“Oh, Lord.” Theo put his hand over his eyes.
“Look at this motherfucker.” A protestor pointed to Anderson.
“Yeah uh...” Anderson made his way through the crowd who watched him with their mouths open. He stopped beside a stunned-looking Khadija. “May I speak please?”
“No,” a man shouted.
“Get outta here, whitie.” A woman threw a cup at him.
“Hold on.” Khadija motioned to the audience. “Hey, let’s hear what the man got to say. We’re open to equal opportunity, right?”
People shouted profanities at Anderson.
“Let the man speak.” Khadija clutched her wide hip, chuckling. “What’s your name?”
“Yeah, what’s yo’ name, fool?” the black guy with the corn rolls demanded.
“I’m Anderson Abraham.” He faked a smile.
“Anderson Abraham,” the crowd mocked.
“Hey, I know you.” Khadija snapped her fingers. “You’re that journalist from Boston. I heard about you when I led that protest.”
“May I?” He reached for the megaphone.
She grimaced, handed it to him and stepped back.
Anderson spoke into the megaphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your anger and—”
“Go back to Boston,” a man said.
“You know why the mayor won’t come out here?” Anderson spoke over the ranting crowd. “Because he doesn’t take you seriously. That’s why.”
“Say what?” Khadija wiggled her neck. “No, he won’t come out here because he’s a damn coward. We ain’t going anywhere until he gets out here.”
“That’s right,” a woman said. “We want justice for Presley Mills!”
“I want that too,” Anderson said. “I’m doing a story on the accident to bring awareness and change. You’re going about it the wrong way. You won’t ever get anything to change if you stomp around like animals.”
“Wait, a damn minute.” Khadija yanked the megaphone back. “Who are you calling animals?” She stuck her finger in his face with her gold tooth beaming in the sun. “We’re protesting the racist ways of this town and if the mayor won’t listen to our demands, then he’ll have hell to pay.”
“Yeah,” a man screamed. “We’re tired of being
stepped on and abused.”
“I understand what you mean,” Anderson said. “No one wants justice for Presley more than me.”
“Ah, yeah right,” someone said.
“Believe me I care or I wouldn’t be down here.” Anderson pointed to City Hall. “But we’ve got to do it in an organized, civilized fashion.”
“Fuck being civilized,” the man with the corn rolls said. “The mayor won’t even give us courtesy of speaking to us. Khadija is right. We got to take action now. All this talking ain’t doing shit.”
The audience hooted and hollered.
Corn Rolls stomped in place. “I say burn down this motherfucker and I bet his ass will come out.”
“And what would that prove?” Anderson asked. “You’d just be destroying your own community. This is what I’m talking about, destruction doesn’t get us anywhere.”
“‘Us’?” Corn Rolls grimaced. “What the hell you talking about?”
“He’s right,” Khadija said. “We can’t get confused with why we’re here. But one thing’s for sure, we won’t be ignored. We won’t lie down and we are not leaving until the mayor gets his ass out here!” She jumped. “Hell no! We won’t go!”
The audience took over the chants as Anderson pulled Khadija to the side.
“This isn’t helping these people,” he said. “The mayor’s never gonna come out here if you scare him to death.”
“He deserves to be scared.” She stuck her nose in the air. “Maybe then he’ll see how Presley feels. That little girl didn’t hurt nobody. She was walking to school and because Nate Lancaster drove drunk and ends up hitting her, she’s lying in a coma. How can you defend that?”
“I’m not defending what happened or what Nate Lancaster did. I’m saying that this is not the way. Stomping around has helped nothing. Look at Ferguson and Florida where did the anarchy get everyone there?”
“So people shouldn’t protest?”
“I’m not saying that.” He sighed. “I’m saying that you’ve got to protest with a message other than intimidating the other side. Look at Martin Luther King. When he protested—”
“Please. My daddy marched with Dr. King when he was in high school.” She flashed her palm in his face. “Ain’t nothing you can tell me concerning Dr. King.”
“Listen—”
“You say we’re stirring things up? Well, we’d love to be more peaceful, but that’s gotten us nowhere.”