Even More Wifey Status

by Racquel Williams

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Sierra Rogers earned the title of “bottom bitch” in her man’s life by playing her position well and holding the keys to his heart, ignoring the fact that he was married. Things took a turn for the worst when she came face to face with evil and was left for dead. Now she realizes that only the strong will survive in this wicked world. She must become as treacherous as the environment that raised her if she wants to keep her man and stay alive. Shayna Jackson is a scorned woman with deadly intentions. She vows to get the woman who has come between her and her husband’s money. Armed with personal secrets about the other woman, she put her devious plan into motion as she sets out to show her husband that games are for kids. Mrs. Jackson is not to be played with. Alijah Jackson is facing his own demons. While trying to get away from his wife and start a relationship with his bottom bitch, he became oblivious to the fact that being the king of the streets can have deadly consequences. Friends become enemies, and loyalty is a thing of the past. He will have to use his knowledge of the streets and killer mentality if he wants to stay alive and free. Take a journey through the gritty streets of Richmond as the plot thickens and the trio realizes that fairytales don’t happen in the hood.

Release date: January 30, 2018

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 384

Sample

The happiness of being released from jail was short lived. I knew Sierra did not like Shayna and shit. I could dig it, but this was some totally different shit when she came at me telling me that Shayna was the one who snitched on me.

They said seeing was believing, so I had no choice but to believe what the fuck was in front of me in bold print. “Shayna Jackson, Confidential Informant.” See, I was a street nigga, so I’m used to niggas hating and snitching, but that was a whole different part of the game. My mind was racing. I felt like my blood was boiling. My vein felt like it was about to burst through my forehead. I just kept repeating that bitch’s name over and over . . . I jumped off the bed and threw the papers against the wall. But before I could get another thought in, I heard gunshots in my house.

Pop, Pop, Pop!

Next, I heard Sierra screaming my name.

I raced to my closet where I usually kept my guns, but the closet was empty. I didn’t have time to look elsewhere. I had to get my baby girl, even though I didn’t have a gun. Fuck it, I was ready for whatever or whoever. I ran out into the hallway without drawers, dick hanging.

“Sierra! Where the fuck are you?” I yelled with nervousness in my voice.

There was no need for an answer. Sierra lay by the door in a pool of blood. I looked around to make sure no one was in the house. I ran upstairs and grabbed my cell and a blanket and dialed 9-1-1. Then I ran back downstairs and checked her pulse. She was still breathing so I began to put pressure on the area where I saw the blood coming from.

“Hello, 9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance. My girl has been shot. Blood is everywhere. Please hurry.”

I gave the operator the address. I could not explain how I was feeling because I had no feelings at all.

“OK, sir, where is she shot?”

“I think in the chest. I’m not sure.”

“Emergency help is on the way. In the meantime, I need some information from you. What is her name, age, and your name, sir?”

“Yo, bitch. No disrespect, just send the fucking ambulance. ’Cause if she don’t make it, I’m coming for you.”

“Sir, there’s no need for the name-calling. I’m just doing my job. I need to enter this information into the system, and you being ignorant is not helping the situation.”

“Bitch, shut the fuck up! Where is the fucking ambulance? My bitch is on the fucking floor dying, and you think I give a fuck about how I’m actin’?”

Before I could finish my sentence, I heard the ambulance pulling up. I let go of Sierra’s hand and threw on the boxers that I grabbed off the bed. I then ran outside to get their attention. Within seconds, my house was swarmed with emergency workers and five-O. That was not the place I wanted to be, but I had no choice because I wasn’t leaving her side.

Bitches thought I was a joke when I said, “I am the head bitch in charge.” Hell, nah! I meant that shit. I would not be pushed or run over. I run this, and it was that simple.

I knew I was losing Alijah, and I couldn’t risk that. It wasn’t that I wanted that no-good, two-timing-ass nigga, but I want his fucking money. I’m Mrs. Jackson, and I’ll be damned if that ghetto-ass bitch was going to weasel her way into his life. I called up her best friend. I almost choked saying that. Okay, I called up her childhood friend, ace, road dawg—whatever name you want to call it—so I could get the address. I didn’t trust that crackhead bitch, but she was a valuable source to have, especially when I gave her greedy ass a couple of hundred dollars and got classified information. With a friend like that, who needed a fucking enemy?

I was so thankful to Daddy. When I was a little girl, every Saturday morning, he would take me along with him to the shooting range. Being a retired military man, he always warned me about the importance of the right to bear arms. I did not know twenty years later that I would be exercising my right to bear arms against my husband.

I really thought that all my problems were over after the cops picked up Alijah and his cronies, so I got a new phone and stayed glued to my television. The local CBS station picked up the news about the fall of one of Richmond’s drug lords. I was beyond pleased at how fast the authorities scooped them all up. I was too caught up in the moment that I did not realize that they did not lock up that bitch. That’s a shame because I knew I would have to handle her personally now. What’s wrong with these fucking cops? They should’ve done their job. Now I had to get my hands dirty. Well, sometimes the boss had to do the dirty work.

“Hello, ma’am, welcome to South Side Guns and Things.”

“Hello, I’m looking for a gun. Something powerful, you know?”

“Well, you’re in the right place. I have a variety of powerful guns that might suit you, pretty little lady.” He smiled at me showing those dirty things in his mouth. I needed to hurry up and get away from this bum.

He showed me a variety of guns. I decided to go along with the Glock 9 mm. Just holding it in my hands gave my pussy a certain sensation. I felt tingly, so I knew the Glock was the one for me. I gave him my fake ID and information; then I walked out with my weapon tucked away in my Michael Kors purse. I took my shades off and started down the street, pulling off my red wig, letting my hair down as I drove off into the brisk air.

I’d been in the hospital over two weeks, and I recovered quickly. I was told that I almost didn’t make it, so I was grateful that God gave me another chance at life. I was shocked when I found out that I was pregnant, but I also was happy. Maybe now I would not feel so all alone in this world. I have someone to love and care for. Sadness also came over me. Alijah was my child’s father, and he was in the streets heavy. I was not sure where we were heading. After all, it was his drama that caused me to end up in the hospital fighting for my life. All different types of thoughts ran through my mind, and I don’t know how it’s going to be played out. I just know everybody’s going to be paid in full, but in due time. There’s no need to rush; first things first. I needed my strength back, and then everything else will fall in place.

Alijah’s been very supportive. He’s barely left the hospital. He kept apologizing to me. He felt guilty that he was not there to protect me, and I knew he would have, but who would’ve ever imagined that I would get shot in a gated community? Oh well, that shows that evil is everywhere, even on my own doorsteps. He was also excited about the baby; even more excited than I appeared to be sometimes. He’s hoping for a boy, but deep down, I was hoping for a “mini-me.” I did not want a son to follow in his father’s footsteps. I would fuck a dope boy, marry a dope boy, but I surely don’t want my son to become a dope boy. It might not make sense, but it is a big difference when it’s your man. I have seen too many mothers on their knees bawling for their seeds. I know I’m a strong person, but that was one pain that I do not—and I repeat—do not want to bear.

Li’l Mo’ was also at the hospital with me daily. She even hooked up my hair, saying I looked a damn mess. I had to laugh at my bestie. She came in my life at a point when I needed someone, and she’s been with me ever since. I thought our relationship would have taken a wrong turn after we slept together, but truthfully, I think it brought us closer. Not because of our secret, but because when times got hard, we always had each other’s back and front. I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I think back on the bond Neisha and I used to share. How did we get to this point . . . What went wrong? I was confused. I remembered our last interaction at my house, and I had to whoop that ass. I didn’t feel good about it. We’d been friends since birth, went through everything together, and this was how it turned out. The sad part about it, from what I heard, she was high on dope. I have no understanding why a brilliant girl with a promising future would make that decision. She saw my mother; she was there with me and knows the effects of drugs. I snapped back into reality and reminded myself that she was no longer the little girl that was my best friend. We’re long past that. I couldn’t let my emotions get involved when dealing with a snake. Snakes comes in all forms and sizes, and from that point on, I decided to keep my grass cut low until I find out who set me up and who gave that bitch my address. When I find out, they will be dealt with as the bottom bitch rises!

I knew that I was a born killer from the time that I was growing up in Tivoli Gardens. I used to feel a rush of excitement overcome me whenever there were turf wars, and niggas were getting killed. I remembered the first time I killed someone. I was overcome with joy inside as I watched the bullets enter the nigga. Some might’ve considered me sick, but in my world, it’s either you are the hunter, or you can fuck around and become the hunted. I decided to become the hunter. I would kill from age five to eighty-five if I felt like you haven’t been loyal. People were born with loyalty; it can’t be learned. The first time that I sensed any type of disloyalty, I’d put my Glock to the head and pull the trigger without even blinking. Yes, I was a born killer.

After Sierra got shot, I felt like my manhood was tested. I’ve been racking my brain as to who would be that fucking bold to enter a man’s house—not just any regular man, but my house, my fucking domain. Sierra wasn’t of any help and couldn’t remember who shot her. At times, I tended to go hard on her trying to help her remember. The doctor explained to me that when people go through such a horrific trauma, sometimes they block out events leading to the tragedy. That’s why she couldn’t remember. I needed to fucking know who did it, however. This was personal. She was carrying my seed, and any crime against her was a crime against my seed. I vowed to find out who it was, and I wouldn’t shoot them—instead, I’d slowly torture them with my hands.

I typically stayed at the top of my game, but I see that I wasn’t. I had two snakes on my team, and I kept racking my brain. How I did not sense that Shayna and Markus were fucking with my dough was beyond me. And to think the nigga was also fucking my wife! I didn’t give a fuck if it was only on paper; that ho belonged to me. The nigga thought he could fuck my ho and steal my dough? Hell, nah! That’s why he paid with his life. In my world, it’s death before dishonor. Now on to the ho that was behind it all, I’m still shocked that this ho was a snake all along. I had to admit that she played her cards right, because I did not see this coming. Only difference with me and her, I’m going to make sure she see me coming. I planned to torture that bitch like I never even knew her. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I was out to get blood. Babies, children, mommas and daddies, if anyone get in my way, I’m going to slaughter them. I was the new fucking sheriff in town, and it’s either bow down or get killed!

I drove over to Fairfield to meet up with Saleem. I had some serious business to handle, and he was the man that could help me. Chuck and Dre also met up with us. It was a good feeling to have my homies all together again. God knows my heart still hurts from missing Darryl. I wish I could go back and change the hands of time, but I knew that was not reality. I could only look out for his seed once he’s born and make sure he’s well taken care of. If the shoe was on the other foot, I know he would do the same for me, without a doubt.

“What’s up, fellas?” I greeted them, and we exchanged dap.

“No need to wonder what the emergency is. It’s been two weeks since Sierra got touched and still no leads. Y’all know sey my ’oman dat and a pussy come in my place and hurt her. I don’t need no bloodclaat Babylon pon dis. This is a personal beef, and it need to be dealt wit’ ASAP!”

“I hear you, boss. We ready for whatever and whoever. Just say the word, we riding,” Chuck assured me.

“You know, brotha, this some weird shit. No one in the street talkin’. It’s like a fucking mystery. I am dumbfounded on this one. Trust me, I have connections in these streets and not one lead. This some big shit,” Saleem said while shaking his head in confusion.

“I hear what the fuck y’all saying. But I can’t fucking eat, sleep, or can’t comfortably sit on the toilet and shit until I know who is behind this. Bottom line is when I start feeling uncomfortable, e’erybody goin’ feel the wrath of my gun—no bullshit. Me a di real big man ’round here, and a pussy just try me. I need a fucking name!”

I never cried in front of my niggas, but I was fuming with anger. I wanted to kill everyone in this whole fucking town. Trust me, they had no idea who the fuck they were playing with. Saleem walked beside me and placed his arm on my shoulder.

“Brother man, humble yourself. I would feel the same way you do, but like I always tell you, you cannot act off impulse. You just came home, and these pigs still watching you. They upset that you got off, so they in the cut waiting on you to fuck up. You a warrior. You need to humble yourself and think out your plan, but first you have to find out who the enemy is, and then deal with them accordingly.”

“I hear you, bro, and no disrespect, but I am not understanding right now. I need to know—better yet, get the word out that I’m putting up a million-dollar reward for any info on the shooting. I bet somebody will open their fucking mouth then.”

“Bet. I will put out the word ASAP. My peoples will also keep their ears to the streets.”

“I appreciate it, fellas. I got to get to the hospital; check on my girl and my seed.” I jumped in my truck and sped off. My mind continued to race. All kinds of evil thoughts were circulated in my brain, and I needed a quick fix.

I was released from the hospital and was happy as hell. I was about tired of all the doctors and nurses, claiming they taking blood and checking blood pressure all hours of the night. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated them for saving my life, but I had to go. I had things to deal with. The part that bugged me out is the constant questioning about me getting my memory back of the shooting. I done told their asses a million and one times that I did not see who shot me, and if I did, I couldn’t remember. I tried to convince Alijah, but he asked me the same damn question every day. The other day I had to snap on his ass. Hopefully, he’ll leave it alone now.

Alijah asked me if I wanted a new house because of what happened there. I told him no. This was my house, and just because a bitch wanted to show her ass, I was not going to up and leave my shit. That was not my reason for staying. My reason was I needed to be there so it can be a reminder to me of what happened there—motivate me to get that bitch back one way or another.

It felt so good to be back in my own king-size bed. Boy, I sure missed living like a queen. My wound was healing well, and I was getting all my strength back. I had an appointment with the hospital OB-GYN, and he told me my baby was just fine. Sometimes I had to rub my stomach and make a mental note that I was going to be a mother.

I knew it was rough on Li’l Mo’ running the shop by herself, but she hired another stylist to help out while I was away. I cannot ev. . .