Jack Girlz

by Danielle Marcus

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

From the creative mind of the TUBI streaming book-to-film hit Plug Love, Danielle Marcus is back with another gritty tale which explores the American dirt of Detroit, Michigan’s dangerous underbelly.
The perfect victim … The perfect chase …
Best friends Sophie, Diamond, and Angel find themselves with their backs against the wall and owing an extremely dangerous man. Short on funds, limited options, and a severe debt hanging over their heads forces the trio to take "getting to the bag" to a new level.
While dripping mad sex appeal laced with money schemes, these ruthless vixens hatch a bulletproof plan, and before long—Jack Girlz is born. Hitting licks becomes their new sport as the money piles up, but what happens when these femmes fatales rob the wrong man?
With an overzealous cop on their trail, the stakes are raised, and the roles are reversed. One woman's error will be the difference between staying alive … or landing her entire crew in a body bag.

Release date: November 28, 2023

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter One

“Gotdamn, ma. What’chu doing to me?”

Loud grunts and the sound of skin slapping echoed throughout the hotel room as Angel stood in the bathroom’s smudged mirror, applying a fresh coat of lipstick. She admired the short red dress that accentuated her thick curves before pulling the chrome .357 from her purse and clutching it tightly. She closed her eyes for just a second, inhaling deeply, relieving the nervous energy from her being. Tonight, she had to be on her A-game. One false move could cost her life, and just the thought had her adrenaline on a thousand.

“Like that, daddy?” Shanell, her homegirl, purred from the other side of the door as the headboard squeaked. She was giving Domo the business. Two cups past tipsy, shame was long gone.

“Just like that. Where your girl at? Tell her to hurry up.” Domo growled, his breathing growing heavy.

Angel paused for a second, shaking her head. Sex wasn’t in the equation for her. She had never slept with any of her victims and didn’t plan on starting now.

Domo was in for a big surprise. When Shanell gave her the signal, Angel would emerge from the bathroom and relieve him of all his cash and jewels. Then the two of them would be gone like a thief in the night, hitting I-75 on their way back to Detroit, never to be heard from again.

Boom!

As if on cue, a loud thud, followed by a deep and shrewd scream, alerted Angel that playtime was over. She pulled the bathroom door open, brandishing the chrome .357 and pointing it at Domo’s head while Shanell pointed her own metal over him.

“He put all his money and jewelry in the safe, boo,” Shanell called out, pulling her naked, corn-bread-fed frame from the bed. Shanell’s body was sick. She had the type of shape that would have grown women questioning their sexuality.

“What’s the code to the safe?” Angel smiled innocently at the raging bull.

“Mannn, y’all can’t be for real right now. Put that shit away so I can get my nut off.” Domo chuckled in disbelief. He’d been in the game a long time, and his family’s connection to the underworld was even deeper. Their name alone made the toughest nigga think twice about trying him. Certainly, these two females weren’t the exception.

Angel’s heels clinking against the hotel room floor was the only sound heard before her gun crashed into Domo’s head. She cocked it, pressing the metal into his temple.

“What’s the fucking code, nigga?” Angel gritted.

“I ain’t telling y’all shit.”

“OK, I see we gon’ have to do this the hard way,” she smirked, grabbing the pillow from behind Domo and putting it to his head. She pressed the metal into the pillow with her fingers on the trigger.

“Whoa, wait. Wait!” Domo’s eyes grew wide with shock. “The combination is three-five-seven-two. Take all that shit but leave that chain.”

Shanell ran over to the safe, unlocking it instantly as Angel kept her gun trained on Domo. Inside sat about ten thousand in cash and an unknown value in jewelry. Her face lit up in greed as she slid all his belongings into her duffle bag.

“Y’all hoes couldn’t have done y’all research. I promise, this won’t be going down like this,” Domo fumed, nostrils flaring as he helplessly watched his belongings being taken. He attempted to sit up, but Angel cocked her pistol, squeezing tighter on the handle. Pussy had clouded his better judgment, and now, he was cursing himself for not being smarter...something his father always scolded him about.

“I wish you would get up. I guess you trying to have a closed casket funeral, nigga,” Angel threatened.

“I swear, if y’all let me walk away, I’m going to take my last breath finding you,” he threatened, causing a chill to run up Angel’s spine. She held her poker face, but the threat was menacing...loud.

“I think I got everything.” Shanell held up the Gucci duffle bag that she had thrown his belongings in. Her eyes scanned the hotel room for any other valuables before making her way to the door and turning to point her gun at Domo so that Angel could make her exit without being attacked.

“I’m telling y’all, leave that chain.” Domo gave one last plea, eyeing the bag with all his belongings. He thought about rushing them. He thought about his gun in the drawer just a few feet away. However, he had to think about his life and his family. The wrong heat would stir up more confusion than it was worth. They were all the way out in west bubble fuck with rich white folks who would have the laws beating down that hotel room door in seconds.

Angel and Shanell ran to their rented Charger and zoomed out of the parking lot. Angel’s heart raced. The adrenaline and power of taking someone’s shit always got her off. Money is what excited her. It never switched up, hurt her, or left her hanging.

“That was too easy, but that nigga was big mad. We bet not ever cross his path again. I believe his fine, big-dick ass will take our heads off,” Shanell chuckled, lighting a fat blunt filled with the weed she had stolen from Domo.

Angel looked over to Shanell. “Where did your cousin say she knew him from again? She bet not had of put us on nobody that’s gon’ come back to bite us. He was talking real saucy back there.”

Shanell frowned over at Angel. “From the way. She said his people doing their thing down here in the A, they got big money, and he a trick.”

“From the way, how, Shanell?”

“She used to mess with his cousin or something like that. I know you not sitting up here having a conscience now.”

“No, I’m not. Something just not sitting right, though.”

“Stop tripping. We good,” Shanell tried assuring her.

“Anyways, on the real, Nell, you got to slow down on the pills. We need to be on our A-game.” Her lips turned into a frown. “You sloppy, and you was really fucking him, moaning and shit.”

Shanell smirked. “Did you see how big that nigga dick was? Besides, I don’t need you schooling me. I taught you the game. I got this.”

“If you say so, girl. Yo’ coochie gon’ fall off.” Angel turned her nose up. She was growing impatient with Shanell’s lack of self-control. They were playing a dangerous game, and being on point was necessary.

“No, my coochie is going to come, and it came harder knowing that after I finished, I’m sitting on a few stacks. We hit a big lick with this one. He had some nice jewels. I can’t wait to get to Pooh ’nem to see how much they hitting for.”

“Well, do you, boo.” Angel turned up the music, taking a hard toke from the blunt and passing it back to Shanell. They were two different types of chicks. Angel was all about the money, and Shanell was...different.



The next day...

Loud music blared through the speakers of Ice nightclub as naked women slid down poles, and horny men watched in amazement. Dollar bills fell from the sky like a snow blizzard in a Michigan winter, and thick clouds of potent weed filled the air. The party was in full swing.

Angel’s eyes slanted toward the VIP section, where the crowd was going nuts. One table in particular, Mello...fine, chocolate, and paid, he was that nigga, and he stood out amongst everyone in his circle; despite his efforts to stay low-key.

“They cutting up tonight, huh?” Shanell slurred as she leaned up against the bar next to Angel. “Passion said the one in the blue done threw five thousand, and they just got here. I’m about to hit his ass where it hurt since he want to show off.”

Angel rolled her eyes. The music was so loud that she felt her chest vibrate. “Go ahead. I ain’t messing with them niggas. What’s up on that lick? Did Pooh get back to you about that money for the jewelry?”

Shanell frowned. “Eww, you killing my little buzz. Why you keep asking about that money? When he give it to me, you know I got you. Have I ever played you?”

“Gir—” Angel’s sentence was cut short as a big, stocky man came stalking toward them.

“Where the fuck my money at?” His voice was cold and calculating. Angel’s heart instantly began to race...until the angry bull walked right past her and snatched up Shanell. “Ol’ pill-poppin’-ass hoe.” He continued as he wrapped his meaty hands around her neck.

“Let me go!” Shanell began to claw at his hands. “Somebody get this big nigga off of me!”

“Uh-uhh. Let her go!” Angel offered, attempting to pull at his arms. The duo had gotten down on so many unsuspecting men that she couldn’t recall if he was one of their victims. Then again, Shanell was always into some shit, and Angel made a mental note to start distancing herself from the girl.

Things escalated fast. The man grabbed Shanell, the bouncers were pulling him off and kicking his ass in the next instance, and the smug look on Shanell’s face after it all unfolded caused Angel to shake her head.

“Dumb-ass nigga,” Shanell spat, rubbing her neck. “Yeah, that’s right. Get his broke ass out of here,” she continued, the slur in her voice giving away just how intoxicated she actually was.

“Chill out before that nigga be waiting outside to stuff yo’ ass in the car. What did you do to him?” Angel frowned.

Shanell adjusted her thong before attempting to smooth her hair down. “You know how I do. Nigga was slipping, and I got him. Now he want to act butt hurt,” she snarled at the angry man as the bouncers began to throw him out of the club. “Weak-ass nigga.”

“Aye, yo, let me holla at y’all right quick.” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand, and Angel was surprised to hear his voice. Mello wasn’t the type that spoke often. He was a man of very few words.

Before either of the ladies could reply, they were whisked off to the back of the club by two strong hands and taken through a set of doors. It was forceful yet gentle, and when they finally settled, Angel’s hand rested on her hip as her brow rose.

“I could have walked. Don’t be grabbing on me like that,” she sneered at Mello’s security, then over at Mello. “I didn’t have nothing to do with whatever just happened. Ol’ boy walked up on a thousand and snatched her up. I just helped.”

“But what did she do?” Mello’s head tilted toward Shanell. He shook it. “I been peeped the way y’all get down. It’s cool. Get money. But let this be my first and last warning. Don’t bring that shit to my establishment.” He frowned at Shanell. “As a matter of fact, go home. You need to lay off whatever shit you on, and you,” he pointed at Angel, “pick better company.”

Mello didn’t wait for a response. He nodded at his security and smoothly left the room. Angel was pissed. Shanell’s bullshit always found a way to wind her into the mix. She had to figure out how to get money without her.

Chapter Two

An hour later, the night was back to its regular rhythm, and Kenneth “Mello” Davis watched as his guest entered the club. He was escorted through a set of double doors, and Mello’s eyes never left the silver-haired man until he disappeared. That was his cue.

Tapping his right-hand man, Rock, on the shoulder, Mello signaled for him to follow. Every other week, they met at the same spot, made their exchange, and Mello was out of the club without a second thought. Purchasing Ice was solely a business move. Clubbing just wasn’t his thing. Mello had worn himself out in his early twenties. He’d partied so much that many nights went without sleep, he’d fucked too many women to count, and traveled all over the world.

Mello climbed the ranks of poverty and anguish to get to a life of luxury. He sold crack on the corners of Detroit’s ghetto until he was able to sit on the throne as one of Detroit’s most ambitious and calculated...“businessmen.” Many men respected and feared him. He’d lost soldiers and was the cause of many RIP pictures on T-shirts.

Now, at twenty-eight, Mello craved simplicity. He had done the work and was ready to sit on a yacht, smoking a cigar and enjoying the fruits of his labor. Having a wife by his side and a few shorties running around wouldn’t hurt. However, he wasn’t pressed for that either. It was a cold world, and he knew that putting his trust in a woman was a critical mistake. His own mother never gave a damn about him, so he knew a random woman wouldn’t give two shits. They all had motives.

“When we gon’ dead that nigga? I’m tired of having to look at his cocky ass.” Rock grimaced, referring to the man of the hour, Commander Gerome Robinson...a dirty cop with enough connections and clout within the police force to keep Mello’s “businesses” afloat without interference from the law. Mello never responded. He heard that complaint twice a month.

Rock continued. “I mean, for real, my nigga. Dude be in the way, and I’m tired of him squeezing our balls for paper.”

Just as they reached their destination, Mello stopped, facing Rock. “Look, don’t say—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t say nothing and leave my strap on my hip. You tell me that every time, my nigga,” Rock scoffed, pushing the office door open and stepping in.

Rock and Mello had known each other since they were young, broke, and on the come-up in the gritty streets of Detroit’s Westside. Their bond was created by the struggle, but loyalty made them brothers. It didn’t take much for them to climb the food chain and blossom into get-money niggas. They were both hungry and down to grind. Once they came up, they brought their people with them, which made them well respected in the streets. Some called them an underworld mafia with the way the operation had grown. However, Mello didn’t consider them that. They were just a group of niggas getting to a bag, whether it was weed, crack, cocaine, pills, businesses, or selling real estate. Wherever there was a dollar to be made, they would grab it.

A braless exotic dancer was planted on the desk in front of Robinson. She immediately sauntered out of the room when she saw Mello. Everyone knew the drill. Don’t disturb them when they are conducting “business.”

“Damn, you couldn’t wait just ten more minutes? Mess up a wet dream,” Robinson smirked, shaking his head.

Mello’s face remained expressionless. “So, what was so important we had to meet tonight?” He got straight to business.

“Always serious.” Robinson pointed at Mello. “We’re in a club full of beautiful women, and you—”

“Fuck these hoes. Now, what’s up?” Mello cut him off.

“I have a problem that’s potentially your problem if it’s not handled.”

“I’m listening.”

“Santiago. He’s been causing a lot of confusion. He’s stepping on toes and acting recklessly. Raising the attention of people we don’t need in the mix.”

Mello frowned. “Santiago? Dude that run CBF?”

Robinson nodded.

“And you coming to me for what? I don’t deal with them. They do their thing, and I do mine. Don’t I pay you to take care of shit like this?”

“No. You pay me to keep the law off your ass, and I’ve done a damn good job of doing that. This shit right here is personal. Don’t you think I would have handled it if it was a simple fix? The fucker has receipts on me that lead to you, and him trying to bust my balls isn’t good for nobody. I need more muscle to make him go away. He needs to feel us.”

Mello tugged at the hair on his beard. “Us? So, what you saying is, you being a greedy motherfucker got you into some bullshit, and now, you need me and my people to start a war that we don’t need to fix your mess?”

“No, we eliminate a problem, you gain more territory, and we all make more money. A win for everybody.” Robinson shrugged nonchalantly.

“Here you go with yo’ bullshit.”

“There’s an event this weekend. It will be a big trade-off, and I’ve convinced Santiago to have a sit-down with us. A friend of mine is catering, and we’re looking for a few beautiful women to work the crowd, pass out a few drinks, or whatever.” Robinson emphasized the word whatever. “And I do mean whatever else we need. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You tripping. You know that, right?” Mello scoffed. He wasn’t the one for bullshit, and Robinson was on some straight bullshit.

Robinson shrugged, grabbing his hat and placing it back on his head. “It’s all a part of the game. If it was supposed to be easy, everybody would be pushing dope. I’ll contact you again soon.”



Mello found himself stretched out on the satin sheets of a California king-sized bed in the comfort of his home, smoking a blunt with trap music lightly blasting in his background. Sleep never really seemed to find him in the wee hours of the morning. He used that time to meditate, think, and plan. In his world, he didn’t get quiet time, so he took advantage of those treasured moments.

The conversation with Robinson was heavy on his mind. He wondered what kind of trouble the man was trying to weave him into. There was never any real beef in the streets.

Mello and Robinson crossed paths five years before on a traffic stop gone wrong. Mello was pulled over with a hundred thousand dollars in money and drugs. Instead of taking him in, the arresting officer called his commander. To Mello’s surprise, jail never came. Instead, he gained a “business partner” that was proving to be beneficial...until recently.

This some straight bullshit, Mello thought as he looked over to the side and watched his company for the night’s light snore. Tiffany wasn’t his girl, but she wasn’t a stranger either—the daughter of the infamous Graham Parker, one of the retired founders of CBF.

The City Boyz Family was a well-known gang notorious around Detroit for guns, drugs, and violence. They had been around a long time and gained the city’s respect. Mello had his own relationship with certain members of the crew, and beefing with them wasn’t something he was too fond of doing.

That’s where the plot got intricate. Mello and CBF had ties that no one knew about. Graham was like a second father to Mello. He respected the man. He couldn’t beef with Santiago without beefing with Graham.

Mello blew out another thick cloud of smoke, tossing his head back. Life had been good to him. He jumped into the game feetfirst when he was fifteen years old. He and Rock were foot soldiers. After working his way up from being a corner boy, he was now the owner of nightclubs and weed dispensaries, and he still had his hands in the streets heavy. Mello had men that moved on his command. One word, and he could have whoever he wanted touched. That kind of power was addictive...yet, tiring. The cost of staying on top wasn’t worth the risk at times. He was tired of constantly having to be three steps ahead because he never knew when the jack boys were ready to get at him or the Feds were coming to bust down his door.

“Dang, that weed loud.” Tiffany’s groggy voice interrupted his thoughts. “I must ain’t do my job right. Why are you still up?” Her petite, thick frame curled beside him as her hand slid across his chest. “I like waking up with you next to me,” she added with a smile.

“Oh yeah?” That was all that Mello offered. He wanted to tell her not to get used to it. After he got what he needed out of her, he’d be sending her on her way and getting his day started. He didn’t have room in his life for a girlfriend...well, at least not for Tiffany. Outside of good sex and occasional company, they had nothing in common. He would never be able to offer her what she truly wanted...all of him. Mello was married to the streets, and they would always come first.

“Yeah. Don’t it feel good to you too?” Tiffany cooed.

His onyx gaze traveled over to her and landed on the hand on his chest. “Watching my businesses grow feels good to me. Getting that call that the bag is ready feels good to me.”

Tiffany’s hand instantly stopped caressing his chest. Her lips formed a pout. “Why is it always about money, Mello? When are you going to get serious? I’m over thirty, I don’t have any kids, and I want to get married one day. You know I’m not going to play this game forever,” she told him matter-of-factly.

“I never stopped you from going out and getting your happily ever after. You’re a beautiful girl. You deserve all that.” Mello shrugged, taking another puff from his blunt.

“Asshole.” Tiffany blew out a breath of air, rolling her eyes. She pulled the covers from around her waist, exposing the dips and curves of her chocolate frame. Mello would never deny that she was blessed with a body carved straight from the heavens above. She just wasn’t his heaven to indulge in beyond occasional late-night bouts in the sheets.

“I’m going home. I can’t deal with you today,” she continued to rant. It bruised her pride that Mello just sat there. She wanted him to tell her to stay or that he was joking. She wanted him just to show some type of damned emotion.

He didn’t, and he wouldn’t. Things worked out perfectly. He no longer had to ask her to leave.

Chapter Three

Sophie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she watched the salesclerk swipe her card for the fourth time with a sympathetic expression plastered on her lemon-tinted face. De. . .