Passion of the Streets Read online

  Also by A’zayler

  No Loyalty (with De’nesha Diamond)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Passion of the Streets

  A’zayler

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by A’zayler

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by A’zayler

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1806-8

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1812-9

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-1812-7

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: May 2018

  I would like to dedicate this book to my readers . . . I love you all.

  Acknowledgments

  To have a dream larger than anything you’ve ever imagined come to life and maximize into wonders that you’ve spent a host of nights praying for is not only an accomplishment but a blessing as well. I can’t count how many times I’ve doubted myself and my capability to succeed in a realm of talent much larger than my own, but because of God and the support team that he’s placed in my corner, I’ve not only become established but dominant as well.

  All praises to the most high for blessing me with a continuous flow of love, passion, and surplus of inscriptive ideas. My mother, my siblings, my husband, and my granny . . . to all of you I’d like to say thank you. Thank you for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself, for pushing me to be better than I’ve ever thought possible, for being my sunshine on the cloudiest days, and lastly, for recognizing the plans that God had for me were much higher than the ones I had for myself.

  Through all of the criticism, lack of support, competition, and any other adversity I’ve faced, you all have been there, and for that, I thank you and I love you.

  —From the hearts of Jamil “Milli” Rock and Gianna “Gee” Ellis

  “I love him from the inside out. He’s the beat to my heart and the man who awakened feelings in me that run deeper than anything I’ve ever felt. Milli is the one person who I cannot—will not—live without. The love he gives me is like my oxygen. It’s received in the deepest part of my soul, and he knows that. He knows the type of control he has over me, and though some days that’s not always a good thing, I’ll never leave.”

  —Gia

  “Gia . . . Gia . . . Gia . . . Gia, what can I say about my Gee other than she’s my muthafucking heart? Not only is she my heart, but she’s my soul and my rib. Being from where I’m from and being the nigga that I am, shit ain’t always been sweet, but she doesn’t care about that. These days it’s hard out here to find a real woman who’s going to make you better, but Gia makes that shit easy. Hell, Gia makes life easy. My backbone, my homie, my lover, my friend, my fucking life, that’s Gia. My baby, and the key to my muthafuckin streets.”

  —Milli Rock

  Prologue

  “Had I known this one moment would change my life forever, I would have just stayed at home.”

  —Milli

  “Why you always being so bad, Jamil?” Lauren licked the orange ice cream that was melting over the side of her Flintstones push pop.

  “I’m not bad. Why you always saying that?”

  Lauren smacked her lips and looked over at him. “Because you are. You always be doing bad stuff.”

  Jamil sucked his teeth. “Like what?”

  “Like how you just stole me this ice cream, and how you beat that boy up yesterday at the park.” Lauren continued to swirl her tongue around the top of her ice cream. “My daddy said I shouldn’t be with you because your parents ain’t raised you right and that you’re always getting into stuff.”

  Jamil turned his nose up at the mention of her parents and the things they’d said about him. “Man, fuck your parents.”

  “See? You be cussing and stuff too.” Lauren shook her head as they turned the corner, headed for the playground.

  It was Saturday, and Jamil and Lauren had just come from the corner store getting ice cream and were about to chill at the park. School had just let out for break, and it was already starting out to be a boring summer. Jamil, not one to stay in the house much, had woken up bright and early and headed to the basketball court. He’d bumped into Lauren along the way.

  Lauren was cool and he liked her a lot. The only problem was that she was one of the privileged girls at his school, so she wasn’t allowed to hang out much, nor was she allowed to hang out with boys from the hood such as himself The only reason she was probably in the hood right then was because she’d spent the night at her best friend Jessica’s house the night before. Jessica had been living right up the street from Jamil since elementary school. She was just as hood as he was, if not worse.

  “If you would stop being so bad all the time,” Lauren said, “you could probably come over my house like everybody else does.”

  “Nah, I don’t really want to come over your house. Your parents already don’t like me.”

  “But they could learn to like you.”

  Jamil was about to say something else when he noticed a large crowd near the basketball court. He could tell by all of the noise and pushing and shoving that it had to be a fight, which wasn’t very surprising. Growing up in downtown Columbus, Georgia, there was always a fight, especially in the Booker T. Washington projects, which were commonly known as BTW.

  “Come on, let’s go see what’s going on.” Lauren took off walking down the hill.

  “Lauren, no. Let’s go. We don’t need to go down there.”

  With a quick smile in his direction, Lauren continued on her way. “I know big bad Jamil isn’t scared to watch a fight.”

  Jamil sucked his teeth and jogged up beside her. “I’m not scared. I just don’t run to fights. It’s not smart.”

  “It’s not like we’re the ones fighting.” Lauren craned her neck so that she could look around the people circling the brawl.

  Jamil was standing to the side watching Lauren stand on her tiptoes when he heard shots ring out.

  Jamil grabbed a screaming Lauren’s hand and pulled her in the opposite direction. The crowd began to disperse rapidly and he wanted to get out of the way as fast as possible. He may have been into a lot of “bad things,” as Lauren had put it, but a bullet wasn’t one. Bullets didn’t have a name, and he didn’t want to be the one to give them one.

  While still holding Lauren’s hand, Jamil ran as fast as he could with Lauren tagging along behind him. The wind was blowing in a
nd out of his ears as he breathed harder and harder. People were everywhere around them, all trying to run to safety, stumbling over one another, some even falling over each other. Screams could be heard at the same time that another few shots were let off.

  “Come on, Lauren, run faster,” Jamil screamed over his shoulder as his arm got heavy.

  Unsure of what it was that had him dragging a little more now, he turned to look over his shoulder. Lauren was running slowly while clutching her chest. Bright red blood oozed between her fingers and down her wrist. Her eyes were watering and she looked like she was only moments from falling.

  Jamil rushed to her immediately and tried to catch her before she could hit the ground. Lauren’s body fell limp into his arms, causing him to stumble.

  “Lauren!” he yelled.

  “Call—” She coughed loudly. “Call my paren—” She began coughing again.

  “I don’t know their number. Where’s your phone?” Jamil was frantic as he tried to figure out what to do next.

  He was dragging her and trying to run for cover all at the same time, being that shots were still being fired. Afraid and not sure what else to do, Jamil pulled Lauren to the side of the building they had just come around a few seconds ago and crouched over her. She was making gurgling noises as he covered both of their heads with his arms.

  He stayed hovered over her for a few more minutes, waiting for the gunshots to stop. When they did, he hurriedly searched her pockets for her phone.

  “Hold on, Lauren, I’ma call 911.” Jamil finally located her phone and dialed the police. “Hurry up my friend just got shot! We’re in BTW. Hurry up and get here.” Jamil stayed on the phone with the operator trying to tell her what was going on, but he made sure to keep an eye on Lauren.

  Her eyes looked glassy and she wasn’t making any more noises. Jamil rubbed her head softly as he held her cell phone to his ear. Her caramel-colored body and black hair lay across his lap as warm blood soaked through her light pink shirt. People had begun to gather around them saying things that he could barely make out due to the shock of what was happening.

  “I think she dead,” was the only thing Jamil heard, and probably only because it was true.

  Lauren’s once vibrant and lively body was now still and lifeless. Her eyes were cast onto him and unmoving. Jamil stared down at her as she stared back at him. In his heart he knew she was gone; she had been for a few minutes, he just didn’t want to believe it. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since they’d been laughing and talking, and now she was gone.

  Jamil held her close as he waited for an ambulance to come. With his back against the wall and her body cradled in his arms, he sat as still as he could until he heard sirens. Even then, he barely moved. He turned his head to the side to see where they were coming from, and that was it. He watched the paramedics as they ran over to him and attempted to pull Lauren’s body from his grasp.

  So many lights, so many people, so much commotion, but all he could hear was Lauren’s voice from when they’d talked on the sidewalk moments prior. He was lost in a world of his own until he heard a male voice.

  “Get her away from him. Get that hoodlum away from my daughter.”

  Jamil looked up to see a man who looked a lot like Lauren marching toward him. He was pointing his finger and frowning deeply at Jamil. He probably would have gone right up to Jamil had the police not stopped him. Jamil sat lost and shattered forever as the paramedics finally pulled Lauren away.

  A loud scream from a lady serenaded throughout the area as she dropped to her knees in front of where Lauren had been placed on the ground. Though Jamil had never seen them before, he knew they were Lauren’s parents. Someone must have recognized Lauren and called them. The man was the spitting image of her while the lady had the same hair and a darker skin tone than Lauren.

  The two of them leaned over their child sobbing and saying a lot of things before the man jumped up and lunged toward Jamil. Quickly, Jamil tried to scramble to his feet but didn’t move fast enough and got punched in the face. He grabbed his nose and held his head down as blood leaked into his hands.

  “You little bastard. I know it was you. I know you had something to do with this.” He tried to break free from the police officers that had just grabbed him. “She would have never gotten into any shit like this if it weren’t for you.” He was yelling and hollering all types of stuff as Jamil turned and walked away.

  On any normal day Jamil would have fought back, forgetting the fact that the man was twice his size and old enough to be his father, because that’s just the type of person he was, but not today. Today he would give the man a pass. Today he would allow Lauren’s father to take his frustrations out on him because he knew he needed to. He was hurt about something he couldn’t change and needed to place the blame somewhere.

  No amount of yelling, screaming, or hitting, for that matter, would bring Lauren back, and until her father accepted that, Jamil would take the blame. Jamil could hear all of the loud talking as well as whispers as he walked from his spot against the wall to the squad car in the middle of the street.

  “Son, can I talk to you for a moment?” a black lady in a brown business suit and badge asked him.

  Jamil nodded and followed her to the backseat of a blue Explorer. Once he and she were both comfortable inside, she began asking questions such as his first name and address. She then, of course, asked him to tell her his version of the shooting. Jamil answered everything to the best of his ability, telling nothing but the truth. Once she’d jotted down everything she needed to know, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly to her chest.

  “It’s going to be okay, sweetie. Don’t let him or anyone else make this your fault.” She squeezed him a little tighter before letting him go. “Tell me your full name, sweetheart.”

  “Jamil Rock.”

  “Well, Jamil Rock, I’m Detective Keating. I’m good with names, so that means I’m going to remember you. You stay out of trouble, you hear me?”

  Jamil nodded.

  “Okay, baby, head on home. I’ll stop by later to check on you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jamil opened the door and got out.

  The crowd around Lauren and the other dead body that he would learn about the next day had grown larger. Jamil could still hear people talking and crying as he made his way back down the sidewalk. As much as he hated to go home right then, he needed a bath and his mama. It wasn’t even twelve o’clock in the afternoon, and he was more than ready for the day to be over.

  Chapter One

  “It’s funny how the first time I ever saw Gia I had no idea how important she would be to me. Not for one second had I given my chocolate baby a second thought. Had a nigga known then what I know now, I would have stepped to her a lot sooner.”

  —Milli

  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 be
ef 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.