Passion of the Streets

by A'zayler

Genres: African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

She's everything he wants....

Nobody ever gave Jamil Rock anything - much less hope. To survive a rough home life and one bad break after another, he became his hood's most successful drug dealer. With loyal friends at his back, Jamil coolly takes care of business and never thinks too far ahead—until Gia Ellis walks into his life. Suddenly, ruling the streets is nothing compared to the instant heat, and alluringly innocent aura, Jamil can't resist....

He's everything she shouldn't....

Even with a wealthy family and a bright future ahead, Gia is tired of being sheltered. Jamil's instincts and protective strength make her feel alive—and his hidden vulnerabilities show her a man struggling to do right the only way he knows how. But the game never lets go without a fight—and their love has only one desperate chance to overcome....

Release date: April 24, 2018

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Six years later

“Didn’t I tell you one time to stop sweeping over my got damn feet?” Jamil’s dad, Owen, yelled at his mom, Zanetta.

Zanetta was in the middle of the living room sweeping up the bag of Doritos that Owen had just wasted, and he had the nerve to yell about it. Jamil sat at the dining room table eating his food and watching his parents prepare for yet another argument. One he wasn’t in the mood for at all, and one he wasn’t even about to watch.

“Owen, you asked me to clean up the chips, and now you want me to stop? Make up your mind, please.”

“What you say to me?” Owen hopped up, and before his feet could even become sturdy beneath his tall frame, he’d slapped Zanetta clear across the living room.

She yelped in pain when she slammed against the television stand. Crumpled into a heap on the floor, Zanetta held her lower back. Jamil could hear her moaning in pain as Owen walked over to her and kicked her in the stomach.

“Get your ass up and get out of here. I need to watch my game, and I don’t want to hear all that damn crying while I’m trying to do it.”

Jamil looked up from his plate of roast beef and potatoes and watched as his mother hobbled from the floor, still clutching her back. On her way out of the living room she picked up the broom and dragged it with her. All Jamil could do was shake his head. Why did she choose to put up with that kind of abuse? He would never know.

Once Jamil was finally done with his food, he took his plate into the kitchen and grabbed a Gatorade from the refrigerator. Without a word to either of his parents, he left the apartment. Jamil took the flight of stairs two at a time until he was at the front entrance of their home. He got hot the moment he stepped out of the door and headed for the gas station across the street.

It was summer and nearly a hundred degrees outside, and just like any other day, he was in the heat. There were only two things on his mind that would have him moving around in the sweltering heat: his money and his parents. Twenty-four years old, Jamil was a young hustler on the grind to get it by any means necessary.

He’d long ago stopped trying to intervene in his parents’ cocaine-induced fights. Anytime they got high they would tear at each other physically, mentally, or emotionally. Before he understood the cause of their fights, Jamil would mediate and try to keep his father off his mom’s ass, but that impulse had died years ago.

They would fight at any time of night or day, not caring who was around, and he would always be tossed in the middle trying to defend Zanetta. It only took one time for the two of them to jump on him together for him to leave that situation alone.

His mother and father had beaten him so badly outside of one of their regular crack houses that he’d needed stitches across his left eyebrow, a splint on one of his fingers, and a cast on his arm. Putting it mildly, they had beaten his ass like they hadn’t birthed him.

From that moment to this one, he hadn’t offered to help his mother again. All of his stitches and casts had come from a quick high and hard shove to the ground. Had he known his mother was okay with being pushed down by his father in front of a crowd of people, he would have left her ass right there.

Just like had he known his “Uncle Money” was really a drug dealer and his father went there every day to buy him and his mother their fix, he would have minded his business, but he hadn’t. Instead, he waited to say something as his parents went inside and got high, came outside, picked a fight, and his mother got knocked to the ground.

The whupping he took that day at the hands of Owen and Zanetta rang through the hood for months, but once it had finally died down and was over, he’d vowed to stay to himself and let his parents be who they were.

“Milli Rock, what’s good, my nigga?” Omar held his hand out for a pound as Jamil passed him.

Milli Rock was the nickname he’d been given by his homeboy Shock, who was also a dealer from the hood. Jamil had been working with him for years, and they were really beginning to make a name for themselves. Though Jamil had always held a tad bit of clout in the streets simply because he was solid and would put in work for the older dudes, he was now coming into his own.

He would soon be a lot bigger if the opportunity he’d been waiting on finally came through. Working the blocks in Georgia was cool, but Miami was the place to be. He was so hungry for that promotion he could feel it at his fingertips, but he had to be patient, continue doing what he was good at, and in due time he’d get what he’d been working for.

Initially it hadn’t been something he was too fond of because he knew Columbus like the back of his hand. He could move around the entire city with his eyes closed if necessary, so the idea of starting over brought about some apprehension, but he forced himself to shake it.

If he wanted to win, he had to stop being so scared to take risks. Especially since serving his own weight and moving his own products was starting to make niggas take notice, which on his part was a good thing. Many watched while others worked, but they all respected him.

Jamil took a sip from his Gatorade. “Shit. Headed to the gas station real quick. What’s the block looking like?”

Omar was one of the only other niggas that Shock had put on Jamil’s team, and he was cool. He worked hard and always had Milli’s money on time, which was all that Jamil really cared about. That was basically as far as it went. Neither Shock nor Jamil was a fan of dealing with a lot of people, so they kept their circle small.

If it wasn’t Shock, Jamil, and Iverson, then it was no one. The only other nigga that knew anything about them was their supplier, and he only dealt with Shock, which was totally fine with Jamil. He wasn’t a big fan of people anyway.

They worked so well together as a team that there was no real reason to add anyone else. Shock distributed everything that they were supplied, while Iverson was over the paperwork side of it and Jamil became the money man. Where one was weak the other was strong, and it made their bond even tighter. Never looking down on the other about anything, just doing what they could to make it work.

In Jamil’s mind, Shock and Iverson were the brothers he never had. For years they’d been grinding together day and night, putting in work, fighting, living, struggling; anything you could think of they’d done together. The love Jamil had for the two of them was priceless.

They were the only two who had always had his back and always kept his secrets, and for that they would forever have his loyalty. Omar wasn’t as close as the other three were, but he was cool too. Jamil fucked with him the long way.

“It’s hot, as always.” Omar referred to the drugs being distributed on the block.

Jamil nodded and held his hand out to dap Omar up again. “Bet. Keep it up.”

After Omar told him that he would, Jamil continued on his way to the store. The BP gas station was right across the street from Jamil’s block and one of the only spots he visited regularly.

The cool air welcomed him when he pulled the door open and stepped inside. He nodded at the cashier before walking to the potato chip aisle to grab a bag of Tom’s salt and vinegar chips. They were his all-time favorite and had been for years. Once he grabbed those, he moved to the other side to grab a Twix and some SweeTarts.

“Oh my goodness, it’s too hot out there.” A female voice came from the front of the store.

Naturally, Jamil looked up. There were two girls standing in line looking to pay for their gas, he was assuming. They were both pretty, but the darker one caught his attention. She was the average female height, with skin that resembled a piece of milk chocolate candy and bright round eyes. Her face was bare minus the light coating of gloss across her lips.

She had a small earring in her nose and a sexy-ass mouth. Her lips weren’t big, neither were they small, but the smile that illuminated from them had Jamil staring longer than necessary. From where he was standing, he could see she had a pretty decent shape under the purple Nike biker shorts and matching sports bra, even though he couldn’t understand why she would have something like that on in the middle of the day.

Thirst trapper.

The large gold hoop earrings dangling from her ears stood out and brought an extra small light to her beautiful skin, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. The long, black dreadlocks with the red and dark purple ends was it. The moment he’d noticed them, his interest was piqued.

He’d always had a thing for dark-skinned women, but the fact that she had locs like him heightened her sex appeal even more. Jamil stood on the aisle watching her for a few moments longer before walking over to join them in line. When he got to where they were standing, both she and her little friend gave him the once-over. Her friend stared a little longer than she had.

Behind her, with only one person separating them, Jamil took in her stance from behind. She had nice toned bowlegs that rose from a pair of lime green running shoes up to a handful of ass and hips. He could tell by the way she was standing that she was an athlete of some sort, which drew him to her even more. That also made him rethink his earlier thoughts about her attire.

He watched as some of her locs swayed against her back when she moved her head. Women were the one thing Jamil took no real part in unless he was horny and needed a quick nut. However, that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to, because he did, he just wanted to do all the right things with the right kind of woman.

All of the women in his hood were scandalous, so he did his best to steer clear of them. Whenever he found one who was different, he’d change his opinion on them. Plus he had too much other stuff on his plate most of the time, but baby girl right there was nice to look at.

“Is it always this hot down here?” She looked at the brown-skinned girl she was with.

“Yes, Gia, damn.” She giggled while the dark-skinned beauty just shook her head. “You act like you ain’t never felt no heat before.”

Gia.

“I don’t know how I’m going to make it all summer. I think I’m already ready to go back home.”

Brown skin smiled and looped her arm through Gia’s as they turned and proceeded to walk away from the gas station. They both looked over at him again before brown skin waved. Jamil didn’t even bother to acknowledge her.

Not a head nod, a wave, nothing. That wasn’t his speed. He’d admired, and that was all there was to it. No need to be friendly because that was something that he wasn’t when it came to strangers.

Once he’d paid for his things, he exited the store headed back in the direction of his block. The little black BMW truck was parked near the pump with a gas nozzle hanging from it as both of the girls stood near the trunk talking. Jamil found it amusing how their conversation ceased slowly as he walked past.

“Hey, what’s your name?” brown skin asked him.

Jamil looked her up and down and kept walking. He didn’t do pleasantries, and he especially didn’t do overeager females. That was like a stalker waiting to happen.

“Well, excuse me, then,” he heard her say from behind him.

Not missing a step, Jamil walked coolly across the street and back to his building. He took a seat on their stoop and opened his chips. It didn’t matter how full he was, he could always stomach a bag of Tom’s chips. Twenty-four and a middle school dropout, Jamil’s life was pretty boring.

Outside of slanging at night and chilling during the day, he didn’t do much. He’d been living the same life since his seventh-grade year when he’d dropped out of school. With no complaints from his parents, Jamil pretty much did whatever he wanted. He came and went as he pleased and stayed out when he got ready. He had pretty much been living an adult life ever since he was a teenager, so there was no point in changing.

His parents never really had much to say as long as he was serving them on the regular, which had recently come to a stop. He’d thought about it long and hard one night and decided he would no longer contribute to their inability to be good parents. Ever since then, they’d been at his throat even harder.

On most days he ignored them because he didn’t give a fuck, but what irked him the most was that even though he wasn’t giving them drugs and had warned everybody on the block not to either, they still ended up high. That shit was a mystery he couldn’t wait to solve.

Over the years, the streets had turned Jamil into a hard-core loner who only dealt with people when it was necessary. Anything outside of that wasn’t his forte. The only people that he dealt with personally were his best friend Iverson and his OG Shock. Nothing further.

“Hey, Milli Rock.” A bucktoothed little girl rolled past him on her scooter.

“What’s going on, Tia?” Jamil smiled.

She smiled back at him before pushing herself on up the street. He watched her playing and enjoying herself with not one care in the world. It was cute for now that she had no idea her mom was selling all of their food stamps for crack. He almost felt bad thinking that maybe he was taking food from Tia and her younger sister’s mouth but quickly shook that thought.

How her mama chose to feed her kids was none of his concern. All he cared about was that she had his money whenever she showed up at his doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Jamil sat on the stoop for a few minutes longer before going back into his house. Hopefully Owen and Zanetta had gotten their share of drug-induced fighting out of the way and he could get some sleep.

It was going on six o’clock in the evening, and he needed to get some rest before it was time to hit the block.

Jamil looked up once again and dusted the scattered pieces of sand and Sheetrock from his dreads. From the moment he and Iverson had walked into the basement of the club, fragments of the ceiling had been falling into his hair and eyes.

Maybe if they’d cut all that loud-ass music down and put out half of the people they had packed into the club, then the floor wouldn’t be falling apart. He’d seen the line as he and Iverson passed the entrance and knew there were entirely too many people there to begin with, but that had nothing to do with him.

Now all he wished was that they would hurry up and get to the room they were supposed to be meeting in so that he could go. They had been walking for almost ten minutes and still hadn’t made it to the bottom of the club.

One flight of stairs after the next. After the first flight Jamil had already begun to wonder why in the hell they hadn’t installed an elevator in such an expensive club, but once again that wasn’t his business.

“Aye that’s it right there.” Iverson pointed to the last room down the hall.

The black door at the end of the hallway was closed with a red light hanging above it. Jamil’s first thought was to be glad they’d finally gotten there, but now he was wondering why it was so ducked off. If it had been up to him they would have met upstairs at a table, exchanged money, and kept it pushing.

Jamil skeptically looked around the hallway again before turning toward Iverson. “They know we’re here?”

Iverson nodded as he continued down the hallway. “Yeah, I hit that nigga up once we got outside.”

“Bet.” Jamil touched his back to make sure his gun was secure before sticking his hands into his pockets.

When they were in front of the room, Iverson opened the door and walked in with Jamil directly behind him. Stone, the guy they were meeting, was seated at a small table in the center of the room smoking a cigar.

The room was dimly lit by the hanging light fixtures in each corner of the room. There was just enough light to see everyone’s face and hands, which was enough for Jamil. As long as he could watch everything happening around him, he was good.

A broad smile crossed Stone’s face upon seeing the guys. Before rising to his feet, he took a long pull from the Cuban hanging between his lips and set it in his clear ashtray. With his arms outstretched, he walked toward Jamil and Iverson.

“My niggas, what’s good?”

Iverson dapped him up first while Jamil chose to nod his greeting instead. Stone looked at him a little longer than necessary, clearly not liking the way he chose to handle things, but was smart enough to keep it moving.

“So what can I do for you boys?” Stone took his seat back at the table while Iverson took the one across from him. Jamil chose to stand.

Jamil looked at him as he puffed heavily on the cigar some more. “Shock told us that he already called you with the specifics.”

Stone nodded. “Yes, yes, he did. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Jamil tried his hardest not to frown at Stone. He was so fake, and that was the main reason Jamil hated him and didn’t care to deal with him. It never failed, every time they did business with him, he would act as if it was their first time meeting. Pretending not to know what was supposed to be handled.

It irritated the crap out of Jamil, but he had to ignore it for business purposes. The most he could do was be the bigger person and disregard that nigga’s immature antics.

“Two shipments for one month, and I’d like to double that amount next month.” Stone fixed his suit jacket as he spoke.

“We’ll give you that this month to see how you handle it. If it works, then you can do the same next month. But as of now, no guarantees.” Jamil didn’t bother sugarcoating anything. This was business.

It was clear by the way Stone was staring at Jamil that he wasn’t too fond of what he’d just said, but Stone had no other choice but to respect it, so he nodded.

“You have the money and paperwork?” Iverson asked Stone.

Stone nodded at the same time he pulled the black briefcase from the floor and sat it on the table. He removed a brown envelope and turned the briefcase around so that it was facing both men.

After seeing Iverson and Jamil both nod, Stone pushed the envelope and money toward Jamil.

“You two can look this over and let me know if it’s what you asked for.”

Jamil took the briefcase full of money and pushed the envelope toward Iverson. “You can look over those. I got this.”

Iverson pulled the paper from the envelope and read it over while Jamil thumbed through a few of the bills. When he was satisfied, he closed the briefcase and tapped Iverson lightly on the back.

“What’s it looking like?” Jamil asked, referring to the contracts.

“It’s straight,” Iverson replied.

“Cool. Let’s bounce.”

Jamil stepped back and allowed Iverson room to stand up from the chair. After saying their goodbyes, they left the room and headed back into the club. Jamil was headed for the exit until he noticed Iverson was walking in the direction of the crowd.

“Aye, Iverson, what you doing, man?” Jamil asked.

“I was about to chill for a minute. See what some of these hoes talking about.”

“Nigga, don’t you think we need to drop this stuff off first?”

Iverson looked at Jamil with a sly smirk on his face. “Man, we can chill for a minute.”

Jamil wasn’t feeling that one bit, so he shook his head. He was too well known to be walking around with a briefcase full of money on him. Furthermore, he would be purposely making himself a target walking through a club with a briefcase. There was no place for it, and he was not about to risk losing his money or his life about it.

“Nah, you can stay. I’m about to dip.”

Iverson looked like he wanted to reject but changed his mind. “Bet. Just take these with you, then.” He handed Jamil the envelope, and Jamil turned away.

Jamil was happy he’d decided to drive that night because had he ridden with Iverson, he would have been past angry. If Iverson wanted to be left alone to party, then so be it. That was his business. Jamil just wasn’t about to do it. That was stupid as hell.

Once Jamil was in his car and headed back home, he called Shock to let him know about Iverson’s behavior. He’d thought that was very sloppy, but Iverson was grown. Once inside his house, he hid the money and contracts before hopping in the shower.

When Jamil finally made it to his bed, his eyes closed immediately. Hopefully Iverson had enough sense not to get himself into anything he would need help getting out of.

Lying beside the pool with her shades covering half of her face, Gia scrolled through her Snapchat looking at all of her friends from back home. It was only her second day in Georgia, and she was already ready to go back to Hawaii. For some reason or another, Oni and her mother had thought it would be a good idea for her to fly to Georgia for the summer and visit.

Although she loved Oni like a sister, her house was boring. All they did every day was wake up, swim, and go to the mall, which wasn’t much fun because all Oni ever wanted to do was look for men, and that was only when she wasn’t laid up with her sugar daddy, Isaac.

Men were cool, and looking for them even proved to be a good time, but Oni just went overboard sometimes. Not that Gia didn’t happily indulge occasionally; it was just never anything serious for her. She never saw any dudes worthy of her time. Some were cute, and some were just all right, while others were downright ugly.

Gia had a certain type of man that she was interested in, and not one of the dudes she’d seen since landing at Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta the day before had caught her attention. Well, almost none of them. The light-skinned dreadhead from the gas station was cute enough to be bae, but there was something about him she didn’t like.

On top of him being one of the rudest people in America, he looked bad. Not bad as in something was wrong with him, but bad as in bad as hell. Bad like he’d steal your grandma’s purse and try to sell it back to you for half the price. He was handsome as ever with his tall ass, and those burnt orange dreads and facial hair. Then that one arm full of tattoos, and pig. . .