Loyal to His Lies
T. C. Littles
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
YEAH, I KNOW . . .
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
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - The Ultimate Revenge
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, N.Y.-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Loyal to His Lies Copyright © 2018 T. C. Littles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1-6228-6696-0
ISBN-10: 1-62286-696-7
eISBN-13: 978-1-9458-5517-7
eISBN-10: 1-945855-17-7
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Dedications
If you’ve ever been fucked over by love and wanted revenge, this story is for you.
If you’ve ever been manipulated by a man, caught in his whirlwind of lies and deception, this story is for you.
If you’ve ever been labeled as a “crazy baby momma” when he’s still low-key thirsty, this story is for you.
Loyal to His Lies is dedicated to my ladies who wanna go hard but for one reason or another can’t! No one is worth your peace of mind. With or without his help, raise your child and keep it moving. Trust, karma is a bitch, and fat meat is greasy.
And for my fellas who can relate, enjoy!
Acknowledgments
In life, I’ve learned to deal with trials and tribulations as they come. Many say I know how to make the best out of a crappy situation. Some have said I go through things to help others that will walk it after me. Whatever the case, I’m thankful to have opportunities. I’m blessed to have strength, endurance, and courage. I’m overly grateful to have:
Jayden, my son, I love you. I’m proud of you. You’re amazing. You’re smart. You’re courageous. You face the world with your gorgeous eyes, never letting them see you sweat! To me you are everything, and I want the absolute best for you. Keep doing what you do, son. You’ve got it!
My beautiful daughter, Ella Janaé, beans, the world will be yours. You are beautiful, smart, determined, and the answer to many of my prayers. I want you to be your brother’s keeper as he is yours. I love the both of you with all of my heart.
Rick Morrison, my husband. I love you. I value our bond. I’ve never met a man so loyal, caring, non-judgmental, and accepting. I consider myself lucky to have you in my corner and filling a void Jayden will not know of. Anthony, in time you will grow, mature, and understand. Until then, I will try to fill that void and help you along your journey. You are smart, and you are loved.
Big Ella (my grandma) and Michelle, my tag team duo. I love you as grandmother and mother. You both have made me the strong woman I am today. Because of you two, I can endure. I am able to overcome. I am able to take life’s ass whippings with a grim expression and tricks up my sleeve. I’m blessed to have you guys in my corner and Jayden’s support system.
My Autism community and those suffering with Lupus and other chronic illnesses, keep fighting. You are all warriors!
YEAH, I KNOW . . .
My childhood bio will not bring a tear to your eye. Unlike many of the crack-addicted babies born inside of the general hospital of my city, my pops drove me home in his brand spanking new 1982 Grand Prix to a house full of newborn clothes and every baby toy the department store sold. From day one of my existence, I have been placed on a pedestal and offered the most lavish items Detroit city had to offer. While other mothers saw their children as burdens or an increase in welfare stamps, my mom branded me a representation of her, which is to say, a mini player and a diva. I was spoiled rotten and adored; which is why I feel like the world should kiss my ass.
Growing up in the hood was a cakewalk for me. Unfortunately, not many kids can tell the same tale. I was not raised on government assistance, forced to save or scramble for my friend’s leftover soda pop cans for deposits, nor did the light and gas company dig up our front yard, leaving us in the freezing cold without services because of nonpayment.
Back in the day, my pops was deep into the streets as a hustler. He pushed everything from dope to bootleg videocassettes of movies that were playing in the theaters. There was nothing like bragging to all of my friends that I was going to see every new release and rated R movie on the very first day. They either could not afford to go, or they were not allowed to go. I, however, got to skip school and go first thing in the morning so my dad could get the bootleg copies going early. I’d be right beside him, on the lookout for theater workers, while he taped the entire movie.
While he’d be out slanging copies on the corners and taking my momma to all the hair salons to get them off, I’d be charging those same friends of mine a dollar to watch the movie while I made the bootleg cassettes. My job was to change the blank VHS cassettes when the movie ended and then label it. I only hated doing this when there was a super live game of tag or hide-and-go-seek going on outside.
When life was good for my family, it was good and we shined. But when it was bad and my dad’s hustles fell off, my mom kept her fronts up and held the family up effortlessly. The world never knew and will probably never know how tight shit got for us. “Play the cards you are dealt, Zaria. Fuck letting a nigga see you sweat,” she stayed advising me.
My family was big on personas and having muthafuckas green with envy and jealousy. As long as I was under their reins, I was invincible to the bullshit and dreams Motor City hustlers sold their women.
By the time I turned eighteen, the world was my oyster and the hood was my playground. You could not tell me shit, even if you tried. Not even my mother and father could keep me in check. I was reckless with a capital R. Every shorty in the city wanted to be like me, and every hustler they were fuckin’ with had his eyes on me. I stayed in fresh clothes, fly shoes, and gold jewelry. My head was heavy from rocking a queen’s ego.
Well, unfortunately, there are two sides to every coin, and all good things eventually come to an end. In my case, they came to a screeching halt. Even with all the knowledge my moms made sure I was privileged with, I managed to break the cardinal rule and her chief motto, which was to not become a part of the common-folk crowd. She did not want me hanging around anyone that was foolish, basic, or uncouth. I was her polished daughter that she’d placed on a pedestal, and because of that, no one was good enough to run around with me. The females were too fast-tail and hot in the ass,
and the dudes weren’t much but corner boy hustlers.
It’s funny when I think back on it because right out of the gate, Nardo was not about shit. But he was tearing my pussy out the frame, knocking the wires in my brain loose. All the wisdom I had been schooled with was flushed down the toilet with our first used condom, and I’d become more than common. Not only was I no longer a made bitch, but I’d disgraced my bloodline in the process. No one adores the fool, and unfortunately, knowledge costs. And boy, was I paying the ultimate price.
Well, where do I start? Every unwed mother has a woe-is-me story to tell, and there is nothing special about mine. Being a let-down to my parents, I went against the grain, popping a hood nigga’s baby out. I was living the role of a typical baby momma.
My child’s father made me hate his trifling, controlling ass. Yeah, I will admit I was angry, bitter, and resentful, but Renard tried his best to break me down first. This dude did some foul shit. Let me go down the degrading list: I was manipulated, humiliated, dissed and talked about, abandoned, and worst of all combined, stripped of my self-esteem and self-worth. Now, with that being said, please believe every bitch has their breaking point, and not all cards can be played. I’d gone from the convenient, common baby momma to the most ruthless. I went straight new jack on Renard and the pawns in my path. Fuck taking sympathy; I was out to ruin his life, ’cause never once did he really give a fuck about mine.
You can call a bitch crazy. You can say it was temporary insanity and that I lost my mind. Whatever the case, I snapped and set the shit off. Yeah, I’m sure you’ll pass your judgments, but I don’t give a fuck. I was tired of being taken advantage of and treated like a little piece of shit by him and his popcorn groupies. For me to be the mother of his child, I should’ve carried some weight and gotten more loyalty. As far as I’m concerned, they all had it coming, and I ain’t never saying sorry. The bastard can rot in hell for all I care!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that for every action comes a reaction, but I’ll deal with my bridge when it’s time to cross. Till then, I’ll be pleading not guilty to this judge on every single charge. I cannot wait to get up out this filthy orange County jumpsuit, because please believe I’d do every single thing I did out of rage all over again. Love fucked me, and I ran it the hell over.
Now, close yo’ mouth, pump yo’ brakes, and slow yo’ roll before you end up in the same position I just put Nardo in. Don’t judge me, because nine out of ten times, you would have done the same fuckin’ thing if it happened to you. So, pay attention and listen up. This is how it began.
CHAPTER ONE
Zaria
As soon as Nardo texted back that he was on his way, it felt like there were butterflies swarming around in my stomach. As angry as I was at him, I couldn’t help but to love and lust for him. I leaped up from the couch and started getting my house in order. Me and my li’l momma had been cooped up in the living room, having multiple Netflix-and-chill binges for the last few days, and it was obvious. There were dirty bottles, soiled diapers, onesies that Cidney had spit up on, empty snack wrappers scattered everywhere, and dirty dishes stacked on the table. Nardo would read me for filth if he saw how trifling I was living, instead of blaming himself for helping me sink so low. The more freedom he took, the less secure about our future I felt. He and I might not have had the best relationship before I got pregnant, but he at least came around. Since our daughter’s birth, though, he hadn’t played the role as a family man but a couple of times, and that had been just to drop off some formula, diapers, and a few dollars. Not only was I feenin’ for some fresh air and a break from motherly duties, but for some attention that only a man could give a woman. Renard and his stroke were all I knew. We’d been off-and-on for more than eight years.
Me and Nardo hooked up as teenagers, and it was unconventional. I met him through my ex-best friend Melanie while they were still dating, then took him from her effortlessly. Call it being fake or phony; it is what it is. I took her man because she couldn’t keep her mouth closed from being braggadocious. She told me how long Nardo’s pipe was and how he stroked her pussy, how much money he spent on her weekly for her hair and nails, and how they would go shopping on Sundays to run through the dope money he made all week on the corner. Her stories not only kept my attention, but they fascinated me to the point of wanting to know what it would be like to walk in her shoes through the mall on a Sunday morning. So, I cut into Nardo, and I haven’t looked back since.
The entire process was like taking candy from a baby, since I knew how freaky he liked to get, even down to the details of what Melanie wouldn’t do. I made sure he was sexually pleased every day and several times throughout it. Women are thirsty creatures, always checking for the next chick’s man, her goods, and comparing it to what they have on deck. I was no different, and the term “best friend” was just a label. It was better that I taught Melanie that lesson at an early age before she got her heart broken as a bitter old bitch. I’d publicly embarrassed and betrayed Melanie for love, money, and sex—and I’d do it again. I don’t care how much turmoil me and Nardo have been through over the last eight years.
Like every new relationship, he and I experienced the honeymoon period where everything was solid and all good. I was young, dumb, and living on a cloud like our love was more important than life itself. We went out to eat and to the movies all the time. I got gifts even when I didn’t ask for them, and he never talked out of line to me in front his boys. I was his wifey, and everybody in the hood respected it, which was bonus because my parents kept their ear to the streets.
My mom quickly approved of Nardo once my hand flew out of her purse and into his pocket. She even taught me the rules of the game to pass down to him, so he’d level up from the small-time hustler he was. Shit was sweet until he and his boy hit a lick. Renard went from getting little-boy money to grown-man money, and then came the hoes. The more options he got, the more he took, and the more I fought. I was determined not to lose the man I’d made.
Once the house was in order and smelling fresh, I jumped in the shower and started my glow-up process. I’d been lounging in my favorite pair of sweat pants and an oversized, holey T-shirt all day, plus I’d worked up a funky sweat from cleaning up. The massaging flow of hot water felt good crashing against my skin. The steam was low key putting me to sleep. Had Nardo not been on his way, I would’ve run a piping hot Jacuzzi bath to soak and relax my nerves. Cidney had cried all morning and had me about to drop her off at the police precinct. I’d be a deadbeat mom if it wasn’t for Netflix having each season of PBS’s Sid the Science Kid loaded. My baby can’t even crawl and she’s addicted to the shit. I don’t know what that li’l dude and his gang did to her psyche, but she was settled and into a nap by the second episode.
After a few more minutes of standing under the shower head, I douched then thoroughly washed my cootie cat with a plain white bar of antibacterial Dial soap. I don’t play when it comes to catching yeast infections, so I saved the melon daiquiri scented body wash for my skin and the lotion and body spray for the finishing touches. Nardo hadn’t seen my naked body since it bounced back, and I wanted it to be one-hundred percent right. I was looking crazy the last time he stopped by to drop Cidney off some Tylenol to help break her shot-induced fever, and I hadn’t even cared about putting Vaseline on my crusty lips. I was planning on using sex as my secret weapon and my pussy as the take-down ammunition tonight, though. My baby daddy had never been able to turn me down when a nut was involved, and I hoped tonight was no different. I was aching for his stroke.
The house was still quiet when I finished in the bathroom, so I tiptoed to my room and closed the door. I didn’t want to wake Cidney while I listened to music and got cute for her daddy’s visit. The first thing I did was take my head scarf so my hair wouldn’t sweat out, then took the flexi rods out so my curls could start falling. I knew they’d be perfectly cascading down my back by the time Nardo arrived, which was exactly what I wanted. I was initially
upset about having to pay over two hundred dollars for a bundle of weave, but I was happy that I’d sprung for the grade-A human hair. To say it was worth every dime is an understatement. I’d gotten it sewn in a month before my due date, and it was still silky without me having to add any sheen. All I had to do was slick down a few loose edges with some olive oil edge control, and then the entire style was on point.
Instead of getting fully dressed, I kept it simple with a cute, two-piece lavender pajama set that I hadn’t worn since before I got pregnant. Except for my breasts that were fuller and filling out the top, and my juicy booty cheeks that were spilling out of the shorts, the leftover ten pounds of pregnancy weight I was still carrying had the cotton material clinging to my skin like a glove. I’d always had a thick frame, but I was now thicker than a Snicker and loving it. I couldn’t wait to see Nardo’s reaction.
Damn, where is this nigga at anyway? I looked at the text message’s time and added up how long it had been. I was tempted to send a message asking for his whereabouts or at least his estimated time of arrival, but I didn’t want to jinx a good thing before it got to happen. I’d been trying my hardest to get Renard and me back to the honeymoon stage of our relationship. I grew up with my father, and it would be nice if my daughter could grow up with hers. I was tired of hearing my momma talk shit about me not being able to keep my family together like she kept hers. Oh, well, trust the process. I tried not getting in my feelings over my mom’s opinion, or anyone else’s for that matter. Me and Nardo might not have the best dynamic, but it was ours.
Once I was fully put together, I stood in the full-length mirror and took a bunch of selfies and a gang more pictures that showed how stacked my body was looking. I then posted them to my favorite social media site so any lurker that I had could see I wasn’t over here looking like a dried-up old maid. After the Melanie situation, I didn’t bond with many females, but I had made more than my share of enemies. It had been eight years, and girls from around the way still wanted me to fall off. After I posted the pictures, I then made a status that it was about to be family time around my crib and to look forward to a family photo within a few hours. I didn’t care how petty it may have seemed; I was letting the world know that I still fucked with Nardo heavy. With me and him being so off-and-on and him being all of a sudden so distant, I knew chicks were gunning for my position even more. Hoes lived by the “out of sight, out of mind” logic more than niggas did. My man wasn’t for everybody, though.
Loyal to His Lies Page 1
