A Damaged Girl

by Travis Hunter

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

A Damaged Girl tells the stories of a woman struggling to overcome a horrible past and take control of her future. With the help of her brother, they settle all past scores—but will her quest for revenge jeopardize her future?

Essence bestselling author Travis Hunter tells the story of a young woman who takes control of her own destiny after lifelong abuse.

Zola Zaire never had a chance to choose her man. Raped at fourteen, her mother threw her out at sixteen, and she was forced to live with a man three times her age. Abuse was all she’d known, and she has gotten comfortable as a bottom dweller—until her son is taken from her. That’s when she decides to become the predator instead of the prey.
 

Release date: June 27, 2023

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Ian DeMarco was sweating from every pore in his body. His mocha brown skin glistened like a crystal in the frigid air of Stone Mountain Park. He could see his destination ahead and was headed for it with everything he had. Huffing and puffing, he refused to stop. He had to run. Running had always cleared his mind, but it wasn’t doing the trick today. He called in to work and took a personal day because he knew he wouldn’t be any good. So here he was running around a big mountain with a bunch of white men carved into its side. He had already done almost five miles, yet he still couldn’t get last night’s crazy episode out of his head.

His heart was threatening to beat its way out of his chest as he gripped the handles of the stroller he was pushing. The pain was kicking in. That was a good thing. Anything was a welcome relief from the images floating around his head. He had settled his mind to focus only on his legs and feet. He was determined to make it to the finish line and force the crazy thoughts from his head.

What was I thinking about? Why didn’t I just call the police?

The police? Are you kidding me? Who do you think you are? Don’t you know who you are?

“Yeah, I know who I am,” he heard himself say.

Ian was coming up on the point where he started running forty-five minutes ago. Five miles were in the books, and his thoughts never really left last night’s drama.

Ian slowed down and walked at a brisk pace to cool down. A few minutes later he stopped altogether and reached into the back of the baby’s stroller. He grabbed a bottle of water, removed the cap, and placed it to his lips. Downing the entire contents of the twelve-ounce bottle in one big gulp, he allowed two more joggers to pass, and then he walked over and tossed the empty plastic bottle into the recycling bin. He turned back and went to the front of the stroller. He leaned down and smiled.

“What’s up, little buddy?”

His smile was met by two sleepy eyes. “Hi, Daddy,” Christian, his 4-year-old son, said. “I wanna get out and walk.”

Ian unbuckled the seat straps and lifted his son out and onto the pavement. He watched as his son’s little legs took off running.

“I’m never gonna leave you, li’l man,” he said quietly. “I will not let that happen. I cannot let that happen.”

“I want to play with my ball, Daddy,” Christian said with a wide-eyed smile. His innocent face made his father’s heart hurt even more. The little boy had no idea what he had already been through and lost.

“Go ahead, but don’t kick it in the lake like you did last week,” Ian said.

“Okay,” Christian said. He ran back to where his dad was standing and reached into the bottom of the stroller and pulled out his basketball. He smiled at his dad, then started dribbling the ball with his left hand. He was pretty good for a 4-year-old.

Ian smiled and rubbed his son’s head. He couldn’t imagine life without him, yet he couldn’t shake the vision of him standing in a crowded courtroom, fitted in a striped prison outfit, two hulking guards on either side of him as the judge handed down his sentence. He could see the image of Christian crying and reaching out for his father while the judge slammed down his gavel and ordered the guards to take him away from his son. He forced the damning thoughts from his head and tried to think of a more pleasant time. He was looking forward to the cruise that he and Christian would be taking in the next two weeks. They would be leaving the cold Georgia winter for the hot sun and sands of Aruba. He could see them out on the water now, but just as quick as he smiled, the vision of him committing a crime that would ship him away came roaring back and sent a bone-chilling fear down his spine and wouldn’t allow him to even have that moment of tranquility.

Ian was the father of two beautiful children he loved very much. Brianna and Christian were his world, but now only Christian existed in it. His beautiful wife, Tasha, and his lovely daughter, Brianna, were no longer on God’s green earth, and they died because someone felt that they weren’t getting their share of the almighty dollar. Money was necessary, but after losing his family because of it, Ian made a point to use as little of it as possible. His wife’s and daughter’s lives were cut short three years ago, but to him it felt like yesterday. There wasn’t a day that went by that Ian didn’t relive the night that changed him forever.

Christmas was always a special time in the DeMarco household. From as far back as Ian could remember, his father, Colin DeMarco, insisted on everybody being home and together as a family.

It was the day after Christmas, and Ian and Tasha loaded up the kids to meet his family for their annual family bowl-off. Colin was a busy businessman, but Christmastime was always reserved for his family, and he made sure to maximize his time with his kids and grandkids. This was the time of year that recharged him for the rest of the year. And for a man who did so much for everyone, especially his family, it was hard to deny his request to make themselves and their families available for the DeMarco family bowling night. This ritual went on every year, and it was always the day after Christmas.

The bowling alley was crowded with people who were home for the holidays. The DeMarcos had rented six lanes, and all of them were filled with family members or people who worked for the DeMarcos, whom his father always treated like family. It was a festive atmosphere, and Ian was as happy as he’d ever been. His mother, Lidia, the family matriarch, was smiling and enjoying watching her grandkids play. She chuckled when one of the small ones bowled the ball between his legs and made a strike. Ian’s brother, Malcolm, and older sister, Andrea, were arguing about something—a habit that started when they were kids and carried over into their adult years.

“Stop cheating, Malcolm,” Andrea said in her high-pitched voice. “You can’t ever play fair.”

“How do you cheat in bowling, Andrea?” Malcolm responded.

“You’re stepping over the line. That’s scratching,” she said.

“Girl, I ain’t that good. I can walk halfway down the lane and still miss eight out of ten. You just mad because you’re losing. Again.”

“If you followed the rules, I wouldn’t be losing,” Andrea said.

“Daddy, please tell her to shut up,” Malcolm said.

Colin shook his head and rocked his 3-year-old granddaughter Brianna on his lap. “I’m not getting in that one,” Colin said.

Ian was changing Christian’s diaper on the table in front of everybody and frowning at the smell of his son’s boo-boo.

“Man,” Kenny, Andrea’s husband and the family comedian, yelled, “please take that li’l rascal in the bathroom like right now. What you got in that bottle he’s sucking on, a chitterling smoothie?”

Ian laughed and continued changing his son. He looked over at his father, and he seemed like the happiest man in the world. Family had always been the most important thing in the world to him, and there was never anything he wouldn’t do to make sure his people were well taken care of.

Colin DeMarco was one of the oldest black millionaires in Atlanta, Georgia. He owned over twenty-seven Quick Trip gas stations and owned a stake in a Texas oil field. Although his businesses brought in large sums of money yearly, they were all started with funds he obtained in his previous life as an underworld mafia figure. That was a part of his life very few people knew about. The gas stations and oil field were all he focused on these days, but there were people in that previous life who felt cheated. Police officers, hit men, and wicked women were all used at one time or another to try to bring down the great Colin DeMarco, but they all failed, and they all paid a heavy price for coming at him. Because at the end of the day, suits and ties aside, Colin DeMarco was a gangster. And he wasn’t just any gangster. He was the gangster. He took meetings with very important people, mayors, governors, and he even had a picture in his office with former president George Herbert Walker Bush. To most people, Colin DeMarco was a very important man, but to some he was just a lucky nigga who got too big for his britches. Those enemies kept him on edge because he knew there were some people who wouldn’t rest until he was resting in peace. Whenever Colin was out in public, he took all the necessary precautions, which explained the inconspicuous-looking bodyguards peppered throughout the bowling alley.

The night was going great. Balls were hitting pins, people were laughing, beer was being poured by the pitcher, and everyone seemed to be having a great time. Then someone’s loud scream shattered the joyous occasion.

“Guuuuun,” someone screamed.

Two black teenagers stood behind where the DeMarcos were sitting, and they opened fire with automatic weapons. Ian covered his son and hit the floor. He crawled, with Christian under one arm, toward his daughter. He was forced to stop when a bullet hit him in his leg, burning his flesh as it pierced his calf muscle. Everything happened in less than ten seconds, but it seemed as if it took forever for the shots to stop flying. Once they did, his family would never be the same.

Colin, who was still holding little Brianna, was covered in blood. He was barely hanging on to his life, but he was the least of Ian’s worries. He couldn’t take his eyes off of his wife, Tasha, who was lying on her stomach with her head resting on the dirty floor, faceup, eyes still open yet motionless.

The men who worked for Colin returned fire, and the two attackers were on the floor, bleeding from the many bullet holes that riddled their young bodies. Ian crawled over to his wife, but she was gone. He looked up at his father and noticed that his daughter wasn’t crying. She wasn’t moving either. He left the crying Christian on the floor beside his now-deceased mother and jumped up and ran to his daughter. He grabbed his little girl from his father’s arms and held her close to his heart. He was rocking her back and forth but couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“Brianna,” he screamed, finally finding his voice. “Brianna baby, it’s Daddy. Talk to me, baby. God,” Ian screamed as he stared up at the ceiling. “Don’t you do this to me! Briannnnnnnnaa. Brianna baby.” His words were cut short by his tears. He heard his son crying, and he turned and ran to him. He sat down on the floor and held Brianna in one hand and checked his son’s body for blood with the other.

Andrea ran over and picked up Christian. “I got him,” she said as she cried. “Check on Brianna.”

Ian turned his attention back to his daughter. He felt her neck to see if he could find a pulse, but she was already gone. It was the worst feeling in the world. He wished he could trade places with his daughter as he held her lifeless body in his arms. He felt helpless knowing that there was nothing he could do the save the love of his life. He sat on the floor beside his wife, holding his dead daughter, and couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Call an ambulance,” somebody yelled. “Somebody, please call an ambulance.”

Ian reached up and closed his wife’s eyes while his filled with tears. He turned his head toward one of the teenagers who had caused all the carnage and noticed that he was still alive. The boy was breathing hard and fighting to stay alive.

Ian sat his daughter down on a chair and jumped up. He walked over and grabbed the gun by the teenager’s right foot. The boy looked up with pleading eyes as he opened his mouth, gasping for air. The young thug shook his head as if begging Ian not to finish him off. Ian wasn’t the least bit swayed as he fired the final five rounds of the gun into the boy’s skinny body, leaving him dead.

Once the gun was empty, he reared back and threw it at the other teen, who was lying upside down, already dead. The .40-caliber weapon hit the boy in his face. Ian ran over to him and started beating the boy’s dead body. He punched and punched and punched, but there was no amount of punishment that was going to give him back what he lost.

Once the smoke cleared, seven people had been killed, nine shot. Ian lost his wife, his daughter, his mother, and the will to carry on. If it weren’t for his son, he would’ve taken his own life.

Now after last night’s brainless moment, he was teetering on losing his son, too.

Zola opened her eyes and stared up at the water-stained ceiling. Confused, she took a deep breath as she tried to gather herself. Was she where she thought she was? This couldn’t be. She had to be dreaming. She pinched herself and felt the sting. She shot up in the bed like a jack-in-the-box. Her ribs were killing her as she instinctively reached for them. They hurt even more when she touched them.

“What in the world is going on?” she said, looking around at the familiar surroundings. Was this really real? She was hoping this was some horrible nightmare, but it wasn’t.

Why was she here?

What happened?

How did she get here?

And of all the places in the world, why here?

Zola looked around the raggedy and run-down room and felt her heart start to race. She felt as if she was about to have a panic attack. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself by taking slow and deliberate breaths. And her head! My God. It was aching something awful. She used both hands to massage her temples, hoping that would ease the pain, but lifting her arms up only hurt her ribs more.

Yet she couldn’t even think about the pain because her mind was on this space she was in. There was something about where she was that caused her a great deal of discomfort. She tried to stop the pain betwe. . .