The Laws of Loyalty

by T.C. Littles

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Intrigued by danger, attracted to the thrill, and feenin’ for life in the fast lane, Morgan gives up everything she’s ever known to go on the ride of her life with Javon. Drugs, love, heartbreak, and scandal—will they break the good girl turned bad? Or will Morgan and Javon stand the test of time?

Raised in one of the few well-to-do areas left in metro Detroit, Morgan is a spoiled daughter with the most lavish life her parents can afford. They place her on a pedestal. Dreaming that their daughter will become a top-tier businesswoman working in the newly revised Downtown Detroit district, they are shocked when she runs off with Javon “Always Making Paper” Bates, one of the most dangerous thugs in the city.

Release date: November 28, 2023

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Okayyy, M-baby! You did your big one with this sew-in, sis. My hair is laid. Y’all hoes can keep that lace front wig shit, looking like mannequin heads with all that so-called baby hair plastered all over your faces. This right here is crisp.” My client ran her fingers through the thirty inches of Brazilian hair I’d just installed and curled. Her ego was bigger than the room, and that’s just how I needed it to be.

“You know I don’t miss, boo.” I moved around her head, snapping a few pictures of my work.

“Well, you’ve been missing in action since starting school. It was hard as hell getting locked in for this appointment.” She took a break from complimenting me to complain.

“I know, I know. School’s been taking me on a roller coaster. But you know I got you. I appreciate you still rocking with me. Make sure you tag me on your page but for Sassy & Classy.”

“Oh, you know I got you—right after I finish getting cute-cute. You were smart as hell to open a one-stop shop for us ladies. Plus, the hours be banging. I love being able to pull up right before the club and know fa’sho I’ma get put together.”

“Okay, now you’re starting to sound like you wanna do our marketing.” I listened to her spill while unplugging my flat irons and cleaning my station since she was my last client. I’d been doing weaves all day and was more than ready to get off my throbbing feet. My body wasn’t used to this grind anymore. My client wasn’t lying. I’d slowed down big time doing hair since school got added to my schedule, but I was still trying to fit in my day ones. Once upon a time, my clientele was my only source of income. Loyalty breeds loyalty, so I didn’t wanna leave them out here cold.

“Oh, you know I’ll plug you on my page, boo. Say the magic word—and I’ll go live right now. You know I got them followers.” Tae wasn’t lying. She went viral off a video one day and has been slapping on social media ever since. It would be a major bump for my shop to get some promo on her page.

“Please,” I enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity with the magic word. “Make sure you get the boutique, the glam squad, all ’dat! Your outfit is on the house for looking out.” I was always down for bartering.

“Say less, boo.” She pulled out the cash for her hair, then her phone, and sashayed over to the boutique side of Sassy & Classy and started doing a social media commercial.

I was hoping it would gain me a lot of followers. Though my business was doing well, it could always do better. You could never have enough customers.

I slid the cash she’d tipped me into my purse, pulling out my phone at the same time, seeing that my man had been blowing me up.

I knew he would be in his feelings over me not answering, but I was getting to the bag, which was something he knew about very well.

My baby Jayvon “Amp” Banks was one of the biggest hustlers in the dope game in Detroit. He was the reason I owned this beauty bar in the first place. It was first put together as a prop operation he and his homies were running drugs out of, but I flipped that shit and had my homegirls here working. We all specialized in something different, so we didn’t step on one another’s toes. Sassy & Classy was a one-stop shop for women to get a full glam along with a classy or sassy outfit that was unique, sexy, and catered to their curves. I didn’t discriminate with my sizes. I serviced everybody, ensuring no diva left the door without their ego leveling up on a million. From Champagne sipping to massages, makeup, manicures, and pedicures—there wasn’t a shop in the city that could compete with mine. Sassy & Classy was an experience.

Jayvon knew the streets, taught me the game, and now I applied it to the beauty business. I stayed branding and investing back into myself.

Everything in my one-stop beauty shop was tailored for advertisement. I had decals on the wall, custom hangers, and tags for all the merchandise, keychains, and tee shirts with my logo and website on them that I gave out randomly. I had access to dope money, so it was easy to break the bank and make everything beautiful and beyond. No corners were cut when it came to the contractors designing my layout, and no expense was spared when ordering my first line of products from wholesalers. I ordered from some of the most exclusive labels and designers because I didn’t have a budget and ordered large quantities. I went big because I could. My name was on the deed, but the money Jayvon made off the streets kept the storefront stocked.

“Hey, bae.” I was quick with it as soon as he answered.

“The fuck yo’ li’l ass been up to?” His voice blared through the speakerphone.

“She up here at the shop working, Amp. Please don’t come up here acting crazy with your guns blasting,” my homegirl shouted out.

“I’ll blow that bitch up, li’l sis. You already know,” he shouted back at her. “I’on know why she playing with a nigga like I’m about to play about her. Matter of fact, see if we can get them old-ass Nextel joints so I can chirp yo’ ass, bae.”

“Hell to the no. We are not about to get no muthafuckin’ walkie-talkie phones. You are not about to be out here coming straight through my line like the nut you are.” I was happy as hell those types of phones had been discontinued. Amp would be going crazy on my line because he was reckless with his mouth on a regular.

“You know if I want it, I’ma get it. Just know it’s in the works.” Amp was cocky.

“Whatever, boy. Quit wasting your breath on that. What’s up?” I took him off speaker.

“Nothing. Trying to see if shit was all good with you.” He always kept tabs on me.

“Yup, it’s smooth. I just got done doing hair. About to flame up and chill for a second before starting on my homework assignments.” I pulled out my stash, already tasting the sweet buds. I didn’t mix business with pleasure, so I didn’t smoke while working. The worst career move a stylist can make is fuckin’ up a hairdo off some high shit. I loved my brand too much for that amateur move.

“You love me?” He flipped from a thug too quickly.

So, of course, I knew some shit was up, and he was trying to butter me up for some bullshit. He wanted me to say yes to something. Amp always tries playing sweet when he wants to get over. “You know I love you, so quit wasting my time asking me setup questions and spit it out. Come on with the bullshit,” I called him out.

He laughed, cold busted. “A’ight, then, do ya man a favor and pick up some money from Frog. She owes me on that package I fronted her, and before you start tripping, I already know I should’ve listened to you in the first place.” He thought that meant he would have the last word but should’ve known I was still about to go off.

I was all for women’s empowerment and letting a woman pick her hustle, even if that meant hustling for my nigga if she wasn’t cut out for a nine-to-five, but I was tired of Amp’s charity cases. Especially her funny-looking ass. Frog was a female from the hood who always had a sob story to tell. And for some reason, Amp stayed fronting her work even though she’d proven to be a fuckup. This wasn’t the first time she’d fumbled the bag. But since I had to jump in the mix, it was definitely gonna be her last. I’d grown weary of hopping in gangstress mode when trying to become Detroit’s glam princess. The only thing I wanted the streets to do was feed my dreams at this point.

“I told you she was gonna drop the bag, Amp. I should leave your hardheaded ass hanging for not listening to me in the first place. Now I’ve gotta put on my sneakers and go stump a bitch into the pavement.” I was beyond aggravated. “You’re rude as hell. It’s always fuck my time.”

“It ain’t fuck ya time, bae. But I’m whooping these niggas down in Madden. If I leave now, I’ma be out of ten bands, and I know you ain’t trying to hear that.”

“Five Gs on a muthafuckin’ football video game tournament?” I shouted at Amp in disbelief, wishing I could go through the phone and knock him upside his thick skull. “Yo’ ass over there jacking off money but want me up like a runner? You’re supposed to be running the trap house, not playing with them li’l niggas.”

“Oh, you best believe I still got these niggas flexing that work. I ain’t missing a beat. The block jumping.”

“Yeah, yeah, yup. Whatever. Your story better add up when I do the books.” Not only was I Amp’s girlfriend, but also his accountant as well. And even though I was tired of doing it, I was cleaning money through the shop. It was only supposed to be for a limited time, but he was still dropping bags of cash off weekly for me to deposit on the bank runs. I was running out of ways to flip the books on some fraud shit, but I was making it happen. What Amp made in the streets was quadruple what the shop made, which is how I kept the boutique flooded with the best wholesale ’fits I could find. That’s the only reason I wasn’t pressing him to find a new pipeline. Besides, we were a team.

“Oh, it’s gonna add up. I’m straight ’bout to jack this fool’s money right now.” He started cheering and clowning his competition for losing their bet.

Then I swore I heard his ass double up or nothing on the low. Amp was reckless as hell when it came to money. And it wasn’t because he did not understand the value of it. He didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth but a baby banger on his hip as a product of the streets. Jay grew up poor and struggling until he was old enough to get on the grind. The value of the almighty dollar is what drove him further and further into the dark side to stay touching an unlimited amount of cash as well.

Sliding off my custom, stoned-out crocs, I replaced them with my pair of work sneakers, a pair of raggedy Air Ones I cleaned the shop in before and after hours. Frog was lucky it was too hot for Tims ’cause I would’ve slid those on. I never understood how people wore those hot-ass boots when it was hot as hell outside. Some sweaty, stankin’-ass feet wasn’t sexy or cute at all.

I was pissed I couldn’t puff a few times but wasn’t trying to be buzzed when I hit the block. I needed to be on point for a pickup. Being in a haze could make me vulnerable to catching a fade. I hated having to collect from chicks ’cause they always came catty when it was about business. They’d be all in Amp’s ear about needing to hustle for diapers, clothes for their kids, and even utility shutoff notices—knowing they were fishing for a sponsor the whole time. As carefree as Amp was with his cash, he wasn’t a trick or about to donate to the cause. He’d let you work off a sac to earn your bill money. Broads be sick as hell when they done let their broke-ass nigga smoke up the work thinking Amp would take some pussy for payback.

On the one hand, I hated he dealt with bitches. But on the other hand, I was happy he made sure they knew who I was. Everyone around the way knew I was wifey, then ready to speak slick when I showed up on the back end. If it was owed to Amp, it was owed to me. We broke bread out of the same bank.

“Where are you about to go? Please tell me it’s to get some food. I’m hungry as hell!” My homegirl Nakeya looked up from the stitchwork she was doing on a dress. She was one of the coldest seamstresses in the city, and even though I sold clothes in the boutique, I’d let her rent a section for her one-of-a-kind designs and do any alterations to the outfits I sold.

“I’ve gotta go handle some hood shit for Amp,” I honestly answered.

“Aw, damn. Well, can you bring a bitch back a Coney dog and fries from the Coney Island over there? I’ll call it in.” Her big, greedy self actually went in her purse for the money like I was about to say yes.

“Only in your imagination will that happen. You better Door Dash or call one of your boos. I’ll be back in a few, and if I’m not, put the money in the safe, and I’ll see you at the party tonight.” I chucked up the deuces and walked out.

Amp had drifted off our conversation and was going back and forth with his homeboy in the background about the game, plus instructing his workers on how to bag up the product after they cooked it up. It’s like he’d completely forgotten we were on the phone, and that sent me drifting into my feelings. Amp stayed irritating me doing shit like that. I told one of my homegirls I’d be right back so she’d know to hold the boutique down from all angles and was in the car by the time Amp realized there was dead silence on my end.

“Morgan? Baby? Hello?” he impatiently barked into the phone, and I knew it was time to stop being petty.

“Yeah, I muted the phone until you were ready to give me your undivided attention. You know I really don’t feel like coming up outta my character, so you could at least cater to a bitch.” I was annoyed.

“Oh, you better believe I’m gonna cater all to that pussy tonight, my baby. As soon as I get to the crib, I’m in the guts and making sure you know just how much I appreciate you.” He started spitting game, but it was putting a li’l heartbeat in my panties.

Our love story was so toxic.

Morgan knew I pushed pills, of course. Once upon a time, she was a nigga’s lookout, bag girl, and ride partner on my hustles until I sat her down to clean the cash. But what she didn’t know was that I’d gotten a new pill supplier. That was the one good thing about Morgan and that school shit. She didn’t have time to breathe down my throat or watch my moves. You better believe I was dangling wit’ the free time. And although I felt slightly bad for lying to her about what I was about to get into and why I couldn’t catch up with Frog, this re-up mission I was on was hella important.

Miranda worked at this raggedy-ass nursing home with a large population of people with little to no medical insurance. It was in one of the worst neighborhoods on the East Side of Detroit, and most of the workers resided in that same neighborhood and worked for under-the-table wages. It was unsanitary as hell, and I was shocked the State hadn’t stepped in and shut down the facility.

Anyway, the doctor who was on call and did rounds at the nursing home gave Miranda a gang of pills to pass along to me for a very nice price and the plug to a couple of his pharmacies. I was getting triple the amount of product for 30 percent less than I’d been getting with the original plug. And the blessing just kinda fell into my lap a few months ago. Per Miranda, ol’ boy was hitting licks on the insurance companies by putting in claims and then having the pharmacies his friends and family owned fill the scripts.

As soon as I got near the nursing home, I sat my shooter on my lap just in case I had to blast a young, dumb nigga. This neighborhood was flooded with niggas creeping for a li’l luck up. But most times, luck wasn’t shit but staying ready, and that I did.

“Yo, let’s see what that mouth-work be like now, shorty. I’m in the parking lot. Come outside.” I dodged a few man-sized potholes, then whipped up into one of the many empty parking spaces.

“I can’t. There’s no other CNA on the floor, and there has to be one at all times.”

“Naw, Randa, baby. I ain’t trying to hear that shit after you were just on my line running reckless. You better bring your ass out here with my work, or I’m coming up in that dungeon of death to drag you out.” I was done playing cool and ready to shake shit up a bit.

“I swear I’m not playing,” she yelled in a panic. “I can’t leave the floor without coverage, or I could lose my job for real. I was on lunch when I called you, but now my supervisor is taking hers. She’ll be back in about an hour.”

“You ain’t got an hour.” I tucked my heater into my waistband and hopped out of my ride, scanning the parking lot. Nursing home or not, I wasn’t about to get caught slipping. “What floor are you on?” I started making my way to the entrance. I wasn’t but a few paces from the door since I’d parked in a handicap spot.

“Oh my God! Whoa. Quit tripping and chill out. Please don’t come up in here clowning, Amp. You and I both need for me to keep my job.” Her words were falling on deaf ears. The only words drumming through them were her previous threats.

“Whatever, my baby. Kill that noise. What should I tell this lady at the front desk so she can stop looking at me like she crazy?” The receptionist’s face went flush.

“You are out of your rabbit-ass mind,” Miranda mumbled. “Don’t start no shit with her. Just tell her you’re here for Miranda Curry, then hurry up here to the third floor. The elevator is to your right.” She sounded more worried about the chick behind the desk than me getting off into her ass for talking slick.

After I gave ol’ girl shorty’s government, she slid the sign-in sheet over to me, and I penned in a fake name and kept it moving up the stairwell to the third floor. I didn’t do elevators unless I absolutely had to. I had a fear of getting stuck in one, plus a nigga was claustrophobic. I was about four and hiding in the closet from the boogeyman and ended up locking myself in one night.

Valerie was passed out on the couch in a sleep coma and didn’t hear my crying and banging on the door in panic mode to be let out. I was in that stuffy, too-small space for at least five hours because I remembered going in when Married with Children came on at midnight and getting dragged out and my ass beat when the news was on. I’d fallen asleep by then, but Valerie had woken up, throwing up all over herself and needing my help, but I was nowhere to be found. I didn’t even go to school that day because of all the welts her nutzo ass left on my toddler body.

Miranda was standing in front of the elevators when I bent the corner. As mad as she’d just made me, I got stuck on how phat her booty was looking in the hot-pink scrubs she was wearing. I fucked around and had to adjust my manhood ’cause it was starting to wake up to the thought of breaking her back out real quick. The thin material barely contained the natural meat she was blessed with.

Even with the money she was . . .