Taken. But I Want You

by Krystal Armstead

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

The heart wants what the heart wants. No matter how many times you tell yourself that you’re better off without that person, a part of you will never be able to let go.

Everyone has that one person that they always think about, no matter who he or she is with. No matter how much time has passed. This was the case for David “Blue” Jacobs.

At the age of sixteen, Blue’s adoptive mother moved him from Greenville, North Carolina, to Washington, D.C. in search of a better life. She thought that she was making a better way for Blue, but she only turned him into more of a monster. But after losing a loved one, Blue decided to straighten up his life and leave the streets alone.

When he left Greenville years ago, he left behind his best friend, Chrystal Alison, who had been wholly dependent on him. Misused, abused, and abandoned, Chrystal turned her life over to the hands of those she thought would help her, finding herself trapped in a lifestyle that she doesn’t want to live.

Just when Blue thought it was safe to say that he’d never see Chrystal again, every step he takes seemed to lead him right back to her.

Take a ride with these characters on their journey to recovery, forgiveness, and closure.

Release date: November 25, 2025

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Present Day

“Mr. Jacobs, man, I hope this is gonna be a multiple choice test because your finals be killa, son.” One of my students, Francis, whined to me on the last day of class before we broke for the holidays.

Teaching was something a nigga really didn’t wanna do, but it was it was the only way that I was going to be able to go to college. I got caught up with the wrong crowd, not giving a fuck about anything after Miss Tiffany picked up and moved me to D.C. with her ten years ago. I missed the fuck out of Chrystal. We kept in contact for about six months until she ended up with a nigga who cut her ties with everyone. I called everyone looking for that girl; I even took the bus back home, without Miss Tiffany knowing, a few times, trying to find her. The nigga, whoever he was, made sure no one would be able to keep in touch with her. And I went crazy. I skipped school, sold every type of drug that there was, and broke Miss Tiffany’s heart. She just knew that I’d make her proud. But I was doing anything but that. I ran the streets all day and night. I stopped going to school. I wasn’t in a gang, but most of the niggas I ran with were gang-affiliated. We got into it one night with these niggas who were posted on our block. We started shooting, they started shooting, and the rest was history. The niggas swung by my house on Christmas Day, shooting at the crib. And Miss Tiffany was sitting outside on our porch, with our Rottweiler, Man-Man.

That morning, as soon as I opened my gifts with Miss Tiffany, I was out with my boys, so I wasn’t even home when she died. My neighbor called me on my cell phone to tell me what had happened. I got home to a yard full of paramedics and about fifteen people in the neighborhood who were crying and screaming over Miss Tiffany. She was just 38, bruh. It took Miss Tiffany’s death for me to straighten up my life. She died on my eighteenth birthday. And she didn’t have any life insurance. Miss Tiffany was a smoker with heart problems, and no life insurance company wanted to insure her. Every dime that I made hustlin’ went into paying to have her buried.

I obtained my GED and enrolled in college at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. When I couldn’t afford to pay for school for four years, my counselor told me about the TEACH Grant, a grant that helps you pay for college if you teach in a high-need field in a low-income area. I wasn’t about teaching no badass kids from the hood, yo. My nigga, Kameron’s parents were stacked with paper and major contributors to the University of Maryland. His father spoke with the dean of the math department, and I ended up teaching precalculus at UMBC after graduating from college in 2013.

“Yeah, Mr. Jacobs, I hope you take it easy on us because that midterm was no joke.” Another student of mine named Letta sighed as I handed her about ten tests. She looked up into my face, taking one test and then passing the rest on. That girl was fly as a muthafucka. She was 20, dark skinned, with thick, long hair, and had these juicy lips that looked like she could suck the fuckin’ life out of a dick. It was the dead of winter, and this chick had on a tight-ass low-cut T-shirt, tight-ass ripped jeans, and open-toe stilettos.

As a matter of fact, every chick in Letta’s row was dressed in next to nothing, looking like they were about to hit the club the minute school was out that afternoon. Teaching was no easy job, yo. Those chicks came to school each and every day, on time, bustin’ out of their outfits, wearing outfits that I swear were made just for me. I could admit, a nigga was a handsome muthafucka. And being a handsome muthafucka in a town with women as horny and as the fine as women in Baltimore City wasn’t easy. I was trying to do right by Kylie, but, man, it was challenging. I knew some of my students outside of the classroom. Before Kylie put a stop to my hanging out with the fellas, I rolled with them almost every night. And the fact that most of the females that I taught were dating some of the students that I hung around didn’t stop these females from trying to throw their pussy my way. I had plenty of opportunities to smash whoever, whenever, wherever, and however I wanted to, but I never gave in. I can’t even tell you how many females showed up at my office at night, offering to sleep with me so they could pass. I think I prayed to God every night for the strength to be faithful to Kylie. So far, it worked.

“Ummm,” I cleared my throat, looking down at Letta licking her DSLs. “Maybe you should spend more time studying and less time trying to figure out what to wear to school.” I looked her over a little. “Or should I say, what not to wear?”

“What you mean, Mr. Jacobs?” Letta looked around the room at everyone who was snickering, and then she looked at me. “What, you want me to take off something?”

“No, trick, he wants you to put on something,” I heard Kylie’s voice over my shoulder.

I sighed, shaking my head, watching all the expressions on my female students’ faces change from flirty to “not this bitch again.” I turned around to see my beautiful wife, Kylie, dressed in a red, plaid Burberry coat and matching knee-high boots. Her curly, dirty-blond hair hung over her gray eyes. She was so pretty, but that expression on her face, though. She hated me teaching. Said my class had too many hoes. Said that I had too many hoes after me. She’d pop up just about every day, around 1:30 p.m., to take me to lunch.

Every time my students saw me with Kylie, they rolled their eyes. Kylie was a cute, petite, but shapely, light-skinned, blond bombshell. She was beautiful beyond words, a mix with Black, white, and Japanese. She could sing. She could act (which was probably why she was such a fuckin’ drama queen and could cry at the drop of a dime). She could dance. She could even work the fuckin’ pole (which I found out one night after thinking I was surprising her with a pole that I had installed in the center of our bedroom). She was brilliant. She spoke Spanish, French, Japanese, and German. She was a fashion major when she should have been an engineer or an astrophysicist. Her family was richer than God; she could have attended any school in any country, but she chose to go to Morgan State University.

Yo, let me tell you how I met this girl (since you’re wondering). My heart was in so much pain after I lost Miss Tiffany. It was my fault that she was killed. All I could really focus on was getting my life back on track. I still kept in touch with my niggas on the block in D.C., but I kept my head in those college books and on working a legit job. My boy Kameron—or Kam for short—was steady trying to get me to run the streets with him. His parents owned half of Baltimore. They invested in just about every major business in the city. Why Kam felt the need to run the streets and make that kind of name for himself, I had no idea. When it was time to play, I kicked it with the fellas. But when it was time to work, I hung around my boy, Darius. His cousin was the assistant manager at Olive Garden. I didn’t care what type of job I got; I just knew that I needed something. I was 18 and alone. I had to move in with Darius, into a two-bedroom apartment in Baltimore City. He was going to school at Morgan State. The nigga was smart as fuck, going to school to be a civil engineer. With damn near perfect SAT and ACT scores, not to mention the above-average grades he made in high school, he could have gotten into any Ivy League school of his choice. But he chose to stay in Maryland. He had a sister who was mentally disabled named Life. She was the prettiest little girl, born without limbs. She lived in a group home, founded by Darius’s grandparents, called Tree of Life, in her honor.

“A’ight, kid, my cousin, Kylie, is tough. Her parents own this franchise, so whatever she says goes, a’ight?” Darius nudged me. I had yet to meet his cousin. On the day that I went for my interview, she wasn’t there. I interviewed with the general manager, Reba, who hired me on the spot. She must have asked me only four or five questions before inquiring about when I could start. They needed bussers. Shit, I didn’t care what job she gave me as long as I got at least thirty hours. I would attend school four days a week, from nine to three, and then work at night. I was going to be a tired muthafucka, but shit, I needed the money.

I stood alongside the back entrance to the kitchen, watching the sexy servers walk past me, putting a little swish in their hips because me and my nigga were watching. I looked back at Darius. “Nigga, what you doing here? You don’t even work here. Who you trying to holla at?”

Darius laughed out loud. “Oh, my boys that I’m mentoring from the group home are coming here. These kids have nobody, yo. Parents don’t even come out to see them. Could you imagine that shit?” Darius stopped laughing, shaking his head.

I nodded. “Yeah. Shit is fucked up.” I knew firsthand what it was like to be abandoned by the ones who were supposed to love you the most.

“The driver is going to bring my three soldiers here. Not to mention, my little sister is coming too. We’re gonna sit down and eat. You wanna meet the kids?” Darius asked.

I shook my head. I saw some of the dudes that he worked with at the group home. I had just lost my mother, man. My heart was already weak. Seeing those disabled kids always put a strain on my heart and my mind. One of the kids that he was mentoring at the home didn’t have any eyes. Why? Because the little homie pulled them out himself.

“Nah, homie, I’m good. But tell the little homies I said what’s up. And kiss your sister for me. I’ll meet them one day, but not today, man. A nigga is already depressed enough as it is.” I shook my head.

“Darius, boy, your momma has been calling me all day, looking for your ass.” I heard the sweetest voice over my shoulder, coming through the kitchen door.

I looked over my shoulder, seeing what looked like an angel coming toward me. I turned around, fully facing her, as she walked up to Darius and me. This girl was wearing a tight, button-down, baby blue long-sleeved shirt, tight gray dress pants, and black high heels. Silver-framed reading glasses sat on her nose, covering her bright gray eyes. Her curly, dirty-blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.

Darius sucked his teeth at her. “Kylie, yo, tell your aunt she needs to get your cousin to go run her errands for her. She knows I gotta eat with my clients tonight.” Darius nudged me. “Yo.” He knocked me out of my trance. “This is my cousin, Kylie. Kylie, this is David. But we call the nigga Blue because—”

“Because of these pretty blue eyes.” Kylie looked in my face. She looked me over a little bit before rolling her eyes. “David, don’t let my cousin get you fired. You need to get to work. Tables 211, 242, and 312 need to be bussed. If you can lean, your ass can clean.” And then she walked away from us.

I watched that big booty of hers bouncing as she strolled away from us, mingling with the guests as she walked through the restaurant.

“Man, don’t even think about it, son,” Darius laughed.

I sucked my teeth. “What? Nigga, I ain’t thinking about her. I got other shit on my mind. Not to mention, shawty looks like she has an attitude. How old is she anyway, dude?”

“Shit, 18. She’s a freshman at Morgan. My aunt’s husband is a fuckin’ millionaire. He invented computer software that helps track storms more quickly. My cousin doesn’t have to work a day in her life if she doesn’t want to, yo. Her place is somewhere in Hollywood, California, bruh, not here, managing a restaurant in Hanover, Maryland. She’s always trying to fit in where she doesn’t. Anyway, get to work before your ass gets fired. And try not to break anything. She hates that shit,” Darius tried to warn me.

Why did the first thing I did right in front of Kylie have to be breaking four fuckin’ wineglasses? All the other bussers, who stood beside me, emptying their dirty dishes, were rolling, laughing at a nigga. I cleaned up the glass, throwing it in the “broken glass” bin.

“Do you have the money to pay for those glasses that you just broke, David?” Kylie watched as I threw the glass away. “You’ve only been here a week, and I heard you’ve broken at least thirty glasses already.”

I looked at her, trying my best not to say anything smart back. I took a deep breath before emptying the other dishes on my tray.

“While you’re in here breaking dishes, there are at least ten tables in Chianti that need to be cleaned. And pull your gotdamn pants up. Don’t nobody wanna see your gray Joe Boxers, dude. Ugh.” Kylie walked past me.

“Yo, why you always sweatin’ a nigga?” I blurted out without even thinking. I was tired of her mouth. Though I’d only been there a week, I heard that she was dogging me out to all the other managers, telling them that she didn’t like the way I walked around, mean muggin’ everyone. She never said shit to my face until the day I broke those glasses in front of her. She thought I was beneath her. She knew I was from the hood. But she still should have given a nigga some credit. At least I was going to college. If I hadn’t of fucked around so much while I was in school, I would have gotten an academic scholarship. A nigga wasn’t stupid. I made damn near straight-A’s while I lived in North Carolina. It wasn’t until I moved to D.C. with Miss Tiffany that a nigga started slackin’.

Kylie folded her arms, shifting her weight to her right leg, standing there in gotdamn heels on a slippery-ass kitchen floor. “Excuse me?”

“Yo, you in here treating everybody like shit, telling us how we fuckin’ up, and your ass standing here on a gotdamn slippery-ass floor, knowing good and gotdamn well your ass should be wearing skid-resistant shoes. You wanna dog me ’cuz my pants hang a little low, and your ass ain’t even dressing up to code? You gotta lead by example, shawty. You gotta give respect to get respect.” I tossed my dishes on the cleaning rack, damn near cracking another bowl. “Stop treating everyone like they’re beneath you. You’re our supervisor, not our muthafuckin’ master, yo.” I walked past her.

Everyone was looking at a nigga like I had lost my mind.

Kylie just kind of stood there speechless, watching me walk out of the kitchen and back into the dining area to finish cleaning my section.

One of the bussers, Sean, came running behind me, laughing his ass off. “Yo, dude, you can’t be going off on Kylie like that. You must not need this job.”

I sucked my teeth. “Man, fuck that bitch. Somebody needs to tell her ass that she ain’t shit. She needs to get somewhere, talkin’ all that bullshit for real. She’s always talkin’ down to everyone. I ain’t never been good at kissing ass, and I’m damn sure not about to start doing the shit now.”

I was the last busser to leave that Saturday night. Kylie was closing. And I think there might have only been about two people in the kitchen cleaning their stations so they could go home. I was in the break room, getting my jacket. When I turned around, I almost bumped right into Kylie. She just looked up into my face as I moved past her, not saying a word, mean muggin’ shawty a little.

“You know, that was fuckin’ rude what you said to me earlier,” Kylie spoke to my back as I attempted to walk away from her.

I laughed to myself a little. “Yo,” I turned back around, facing her. “I’m rude?”

She nodded, her gray eyes looking up at me. “Yes. Your little Baby Boy, Boys from the Hood, New Jack City, Fuck the Police attitude ain’t scaring nobody but you.” She looked me over. “You come around here, with your chest all poked out, with that huge chip on your shoulder. All the servers tell me that you have a nasty-ass attitude, and that’s the reason why I stay on you.”

“Them hoes just mad because I don’t fuck with none of ’em.” I watched her rollin’ her eyes at me.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about; why do they have to be hoes?” Kylie folded her arms.

“Man, I asked one of them hoes in the back of the house for a towel so I could clean the table, and do you know what she handed me? A pair of panties. What type of shit do you call that? And why am I explaining anything to you? You’re taking up for the bitches because you’re probably just like them,” I growled.

Kylie shook her head at me. “Oh my goodness, why do you act like this? You look too damn good to be so mean. What’s wrong? Why are you so angry?”

“You don’t know shit about me, Kylie.” I looked her body over a little. Shawty was fly as fuck, but she got on my gotdamn nerves.

“And I don’t want to, either.” Kylie sucked her teeth, rolling her big, pretty eyes. “All I’m saying is, if you wanna keep your little job, leave that gangsta shit at home, Blue.”

“Man, fuck you,” I snarled down at her.

Kylie’s eyes widened. She went to slap me, but I grabbed her hand, slinging her little ass away from me. And shawty started crying. Like real tears, yo. Like, I broke her heart. I didn’t know how to respond to that. The only thing I could think of to do was grab shawty and hold her. As mad as I was at life, I still had a heart. Kylie was a bitch and needed someone to put her in her place, but still, I should have seen straight through her anger to her pain.

Kylie buried her face in my shirt. “Oh my goodness, why do I always fall for assholes?” she muttered in my shirt.

I looked down at her, letting her go. “What?”

She looked up at me. “I just broke up with my boyfriend. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but the shit hurts, you know? I’m just tired of being played by guys like you.”

I shook my head at her. “Guys like me?”

“There’s got to be more to you than all this attitude.” Kylie’s eyes searched my face. “Show me more.”

I just looked at her. “What do you need me to show you?”

“Let’s go,” she whispered to me.

I was still lost. “What?”

“Micha can close the store for me. Do you have plans tonight?” Kylie walked past me.

I watched her hips swaying as she grabbed her coat from the coatrack. “Nah. Just studying.”

“You just said, ‘fuck me,’ right?” Kylie grinned, reminding me so much of the girl that I was missing.

I just looked at Kylie, watching her lick her plump, pink lips. “Yeah, I did say that. I meant that shit too.”

“Well, take me home and fuck me, David,” she whispered, walking up to me, grabbing a nigga by the collar and kissing me like she needed my air to breath.

And fuck we did.

“I’m going to be working late,” Kylie told me over lunch that New Year’s Eve afternoon. We sat across from each other at Chipotle, sharing a bowl of white rice, black beans, chicken, and steak, along with a bit of lettuce, cheese, guacamole, and sour cream. Oh, and I can’t forget the tortilla chips. The best part about Chipotle was that the shit filled you up all muthafuckin’ day, which was good because, according to what shawty had just told me, I was going to be home alone—again—with no dinner on the table.

“Yo,” I shook my head at her, stopping midbite. I put my fork down in the bowl. “Again?”

Kylie sighed. “You know we’re getting ready for this big fashion showcase for New Year’s. I gotta host auditions for models tonight, boo.” She watched the aggravated expression on my face. “C’mon, boo. We can’t keep living off a teacher’s salary forever.”

I just looked at her. “Yo, if you stop buying a new pair of shoes every other gotdamn day, we’ll be a’ight.”

“Not gonna happen, David.” Kylie refused to believe she had a problem. “And I refuse to ask my parents for any more money. They’ve done enough. Making a name for myself in the fashion industry is really gonna help us. Soon, everyone will be wearing Styles by Kylie Luckett.” Kylie dug into the rice bowl.

“You mean Kylie Jacobs.” I watched her roll her eyes.

“No, I mean Kylie Luckett. Luckett is my daddy’s name. Using my daddy’s name will get us far. No, I don’t want to live in his shadow, but I do want the recognition. I hyphenated my name, boo. It’s not like I didn’t take your name. You’re still trippin’ over ‘Kylie Luckett-Jacobs’?” Kylie shook her head at me, watching me lean back in my chair, irritated like a muthafucka.

New Year’s Day marked our third wedding anniversary. Well, we never actually had a wedding. We got married in front of the magistrate. Her parents never liked me, which made Kylie want a nigga even more. They thought I was beneath her, and I knew she felt the same thing. At one point, I worked three jobs to support her.

The only thing Miss Tiffany left me when she died was a two-story house in D.C. Kylie refused to live in it, even suggesting that I sell the house. I wouldn’t, so we just rented it out. Kylie wanted to live the way she did before we were married, when her parents were taking care of her. She rocked nothing but the most expensive clothing. She had her hair done every other week. She went to the spa and had her nails done every week. She had a nigga paying for her to push a Lexus and a BMW, while I rode around in a Toyota Camry. She had me paying a $2,800 mortgage on a house that was too big for just the two of us.

She was going to graduate school at the University of Maryland, so she wasn’t working. She spent most of her time with her friends from college, who were also fashion majors. She directed major fashion shows; I’ll give her that. And she kept getting modeling gigs. I knew her ambition would pay off soon, but it wasn’t helping me put food on the table at the time.

Living beyond our means was starting to get to me. I was a college professor, earning around $55,000 a year, which was hardly enough to support that girl. My pockets stayed on E just to make sure that girl had everything she wanted. And she always wanted more.

“Yo,” I changed the subject, “I’ve been thinking of hookin’ up with Kam.”

Kylie looked at me with this, “Nigga, what?” look on her face. “If you’re thinking about what I think you’re thinking about, then you better switch those thoughts up real quick. Kam is nothing but trouble. I can’t believe you still associate with that dude. You’d think by now you’d have a new set of friends. You’re a respected college professor. As much as I hate the hoes who are always all up in your grill every time I swing by your class, I am glad that you’re staying out of trouble.”

“Kylie, how many times have you told me to find another job where I can make more money? The lifestyle I used to live makes it hard for me to get a job around here without that nigga’s help. I told you I wanna leave Maryland, but you’re so determined to stay here. As long as I’m here, I might as well do something worthwhile. Kam’s got the hookup, and I want it. I’m not your typical college professor, and you know it.” I looked at her, watching her run her fingers anxiously through her hair.

“David, the kind of weight Kam pushes would put you under the jail if you were ever caught. I thought you said that you promised yourself after your mother died that you’d never go back to that life. We need the money, but we don’t need it that badly. Big things are going to happen real soon, I promise, boo.” Kylie put the strap of her Michael Kors purse over her shoulder.

“Where you going?” I asked her as she stood from the table, looking down at the display on her cell phone.

“I gotta meet my girls. They’re coming around the corner now to get me.” Kylie came around the table to give me a peck on the lips. “Lata, David.”

I sighed, watching her walk away. I looked up to see Letta seated in a booth with some friends. She looked up at me when she saw that I was looking at her. And she winked her eye at me. I looked away, taking a deep breath. Yo, Kylie was lucky as fuck because every time I saw Letta, my dick stood at attention. It took everything in me not. . .