by D. A. Young
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
PLAYLIST PAGE
AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
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
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
PERFECTLY IMPERFECT
BY
D. A. YOUNG
Copyright © August 2016 by D. A. Young
Cover Art by Karen Kunz/ Lab Media © June 2016 created for D. A. Young
Editing by Little Pear Editing Services/[email protected] Copyright © August 2016
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book only. EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this e-book is a crime punishable by law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction and intended for mature audiences aged 18+ only. All names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and have been used facetiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
PERFECTLY IMPERFECT PLAYLIST
TAKE ON ME – A-HA
LOST WITHOUT U – ROBIN THICKE
BY YOUR SIDE – SADE
TONIGHT YOU’RE PERFECT – NEW POLITICS
WE BELONG TOGETHER – MARIAH CAREY
ALL AROUND THE WORLD – LISA STANSFIELD
AT YOUR BEST (YOU ARE LOVE) – AALIYAH
SPEAKERS – SAM HUNT
SHOTS – IMAGINE DRAGONS
ANSWERING SERVICE – GERALD LEVERT (HEAVY D REMIX)
MIRRORS – JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE
FAME – SANTIGOLD
IRIS – THE GOO GOO DOLLS
I CHOOSE YOU – SARAH BAREILLES
HOW TO LOVE – LIL WAYNE
I LIVED – ONE REPUBLIC
PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME – PINK
SAY YOU SAY ME – LIONEL RICHIE
SWEATER WEATHER – THE NEIGHBORHOOD
RIDE – TWENTY-ONE PILOTS
THROUGH THE FIRE – CHAKA KHAN
NEVER STOP – SAFETYSUIT
AUTHOR’S NOTES
Thank you very much for taking the time to read my work. I’m a firm believer in God, doing my best, love, good times, family, friends, romance, HAWT (no that’s not a typo) sex, laughter, details and sentence enhancers. All of which I like to share in my writing. If you found that declaration to be offensive, you should probably pass on my books. If you didn’t, then enjoy and happy reading!
I’d love to hear your thoughts and opinions. Please email me at [email protected]
To Patrice Harrison and Karen Kunz (or my Glam Squad as I like to think of you ladies) there are no words to truly express how incredibly thankful I am for all that you do for me. Thank you very much for sharing your wonderful talents, time and patience with me.
To my family and friends, thank you so much for all of your love, support, and encouragement! For always being there for me and supporting my vision. I’m forever indebted and my love for you has no limits.
Sincerely,
D. A. Young
Interested in what I’m doing next? Follow me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/D-A-Young-1695356880704195/
BOOKS by D. A. YOUNG
WHISKEY ROW SERIES
SWEET OBSESSION
NEW BEGINNINGS
THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS
PERFECTLY IMPERFECT
BAYMOOR SERIES
THE FARMER & THE BELLE
Whiskey Row Roster
The Sullivans:
Patrick and Moira Sullivan: Parents of Jack, Darby, and Casey Sullivan. Both deceased by way of murder/suicide
Jackson (Jack) Sullivan: Oldest son of Patrick and Moira
Married to Noelle Kramer
Children: Ruby Aileen and Jackson Conall, Jr.
Darby Sullivan: Middle son of Patrick and Moira
Married to Avery Monroe
Children: DJ (Darby, Jr.) Sullivan (Adopted nephew, son of deceased half-brother Nate Sullivan)
Casey Sullivan: Youngest son of Patrick and Moira
Girlfriend: Sidra Barton
The Romankovs:
Alexei and Vivienne Romankov: Best friends of Moira Sullivan and surrogate parents to the Sullivan brothers
Katerina (Kat) Romankov: Daughter and only child of Alexei and Vivienne
Holton Brammer: Object of Kat’s affection and best friend of the Sullivan brothers
The Supporting Cast:
Ian Rusnik: Best friend of Moira Sullivan and The Romankovs, godfather of Noelle
Guiles (Guy) Keetoowah-Marquez: Best friend of the Sullivan brothers, affectionately known as Pippy to his friends
Jenny Colloway: Maternal aunt of DJ Sullivan
Odell Pitman: Jenny’s On again/off again boyfriend
Dominick Harris: Indie Rockstar, Sidra Barton’s employer
Dr. Laura Klaus: Sullivan family psychiatrist
Cruz Merada: Associate of Holton Brammer and Alexei Romankov
Prologue
Christmas Eve, 1990
Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York
It was Donat “Lucky” Zabrosky’s first day on the job with Elite Fleet car service, and it was going to shit. Last week he’d gotten out of prison after doing a five-year stint for selling marijuana, and Lucky had no intentions of going back. It was the straight and narrow for him now, just like he’d sworn to his Grandma Joasia.
Apparently, she’d been convinced of his good intentions because she persuaded his Uncle Martyn to find something for him to do at his place of business. Lucky was now a working stiff like everyone else contributing to society. The pay was fucked, and he had to wear a suit that covered all his tattoos. His supervisor Antonio, or ‘The Douche’ as Lucky had christened him, hated his guts and was adamant about not wanting to hire an ex-con. In the end, it came down to Martyn reminding ‘The Douche’ who signed his paychecks.
For his first pickup, he’d been given an address and was told to arrive by noon. Lucky was also told that no matter how long it took the client to come out, he was to haul ass to the airport and make sure the man didn’t miss his one-thirty flight. If the man missed it, ‘The Douche’ threatened that Lucky would be out of a job. He’d been standing on the s
idewalk, waiting anxiously next to the sleek black town car, outside of a brownstone, for the last fifteen minutes.
With a large population of blacks, Africans, and Latinos, this area was a far cry from his colorless neighborhood in New Jersey. Tall and pasty white, he stuck out like a sore thumb but tried to appear unconcerned as the locals surveyed him with amusement. Clearly, he was failing miserably from the way they laughed and joked about the discomfort he couldn’t hide. So he gave up and instead focused on the brownstone as Christmas rap and Latin music blared from mom and pop shops around the neighborhood.
From outside, he could hear an argument escalating to epic proportions between a man and woman inside of the brownstone.
Woman: You always have to go! Why can’t you realize we’re just as important too?!
Man: I don’t need this shit! I come here to fucking get away from it! If I wanted to hear it, I would have stayed at my house!
Alarmed at the amount of noise they were making, Lucky contemplated calling the police. Judging from the way passersby just shook their heads as they walked past the home, he decided that perhaps this was the norm and tried to relax. The sound of shattering glass from inside along with a woman screaming, “She’s your child too!”, had him on high alert again. That was followed by, “You bastard! We won’t wait for you forever!” He glanced at his watch. Twelve thirty. Okay, still some time.
Lucky jumped when the door was flung open by a tall, beautiful black woman dressed to the nines in a silk dress, fur stole, and lots of sparkling jewelry. Next to her stood a small, well-dressed black girl whom she led to the top step and gently pushed her shoulders down, indicating that she should sit down. Fluffing up her big curly afro, the woman sternly said, “Don’t move from this spot or that’ll be your ass, little girl.”
Then she went back into the house, and World War III resumed with the woman screaming about the lack of time the man spent at the house and threatening to see other men. The man tried reasoning and pleading with her, but she remained adamant. Lucky glanced down at his watch again and bit his lip nervously. Twelve forty-five. Shit! He really needed this job to work out. He should go get the guy and remind him that he had a flight to catch. That he could fight with this angry broad some other day. With the way she was carrying on, he figured he’d be doing the schmuck a favor. Yup, that’s what he would do, Lucky decided as he squared his shoulders and took a step towards the brownstone.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a small voice advised pleasantly.
Wait. What? Lucky looked down and was surprised that he’d been so engrossed with the bullshit going on inside; he’d forgotten the crazy lady had put a child out on her step as if she was a package waiting to be picked up. “Sorry, kid. You say something?”
“I said I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the girl repeated slowly, her face expressionless. Lucky took a moment to observe her. She was pretty with her smooth chocolate skin and large almond-shaped eyes framed by long curling lashes. Her features were in perfect proportion to the size of her head, and her black curls were pulled back from her face with a red velvet headband that matched her coat, dress, and shoes. She looked like a perfect little doll, but the look in her eyes said she was wise beyond her years and that he should listen because she could save his ass.
“Okay, kid. If you were me, what would you do?” he challenged with a cocky grin, stepping back to lean against the large sedan. He glanced down at his watch again.12:50 p.m. Damn.
Lucky glanced back up to see her assessing him shrewdly. “Kid? I ain’t got all day.”
Finally, she spoke. “You’re new, so you probably don’t know that when you arrived, you should have fixed a dirty vodka martini with two olives to have waiting for him. Your speakers should be bumping nothing but old school stuff like Al Green. The engine should be kept running because when he’s ready…he’s ready. As soon as this door opens,” she jerked her thumb back towards her front door, “his car door should be opened. Your greeting should be apologetic, something like, “Hello, sir. Sorry for keeping you waiting,” will do.”
Lucky gaped at her before scrambling for the back car door. Throwing it open, he jumped inside and saw two small cabinets. The first one he opened was a little fridge and freezer combo. It was filled with cocktail glasses, a shaker, water, and cracked ice. The second cabinet housed different bottles of liquor and condiments, but he didn’t know the first thing about making a goddamn drink! Helplessly, he looked back at the tiny beauty. She was shaking her head at his panicked state. With a long-suffering sigh, she spoke.
“If I wasn’t here, you would be so screwed! Get the cocktail shaker and fill it halfway with the cracked ice. You’ll need three ounces of vodka, one ounce of dry vermouth, and a half ounce of olive brine.” She waited for him to gather the bottles before speaking again. “Pour all the ingredients into the shaker and shake well. Strain into one of the chilled cocktail glasses, garnish with two olives, and serve.”
Frantically, he did as she instructed, cursing as some of the liquor spilled onto his sleeve. He looked at his watch again. 1:05 p.m. Jesus Freaking Christ! If he lost this job because of some selfish bastard… He would find the motherfucker later and go ape shit on his inconsiderate ass. Finally, the drink was made. He carefully set it on the extended tray, cleaned up his mess, and backed slowly out of the car. Next, he ran to the driver’s side and reached in to turn the car on. Quickly, he found a station playing Roberta Flack. He looked up at her, and she gave him her thumbs up approval. Grinning with relief, he looked back up at her and wiped his sweaty brow. “Kid, you’re a lifesaver.”
She grinned and flashed that pretty smile again, saying slyly, “I’m looking for a little more than a compliment, mister.”
Of course she was, he thought with amusement and reached into his pocket before pulling out the ten-dollar bill his grandmother had given him for lunch that morning. He quickly walked up the steps and put it in her outstretched hand. Up close, she was even cuter than he originally thought. “What’s your name?”
She pocketed the money before looking him up and down slowly. “Depends…What’d you do time for?”
Lucky blinked in surprise. “How the hell did you know I did time?”
She pointed at his arm. “You look really uncomfortable in your getup. Your jacket is way too small, and you’re arms are too long. When you hauled ass to get in the car, your sleeves raised, and I could see your tattoo on your left wrist. It’s the same one and on the same wrist as a couple of guys in the neighborhood have. If you’re gonna be in this business, you’ll need to be able to know your clients’ needs before they do and schmooze them up big time. Doing something like that will earn you tips good enough to eventually buy a nicer suit. Plus, you keep your back against the car and watch everything around you. Being on the inside makes a man paranoid I hear.” Ignoring his surprised look, she continued. “Soooo… what’d you get popped for?”
Impressed by her knowledge, Lucky answered, “Selling weed.”
She snorted derisively. “Selling weed? I could do that in my sleep. Was it your first time or something?”
Offended, Lucky retorted defensively, “Hell nah! Pigs changed the game and sent in a woman. Shit threw me off my game.”
The stare she gave him was a knowing one. “Mister, you got thrown off your game because you wanted to do her. By the time she got to you, she’d already slept with your weak-ass lookout game. That’s how she was able to infiltrate your squad.”
Tell him something he didn’t know, Lucky mused, thinking with irritation about the two goons who’d rolled on him. Not knowing how to respond, he said, “Hey, you should really watch your mouth. Little lady like you shouldn’t be speaking about shit-er- stuff like that. It’s inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?! To who? What, because I look all innocent, I’m not supposed to have some smarts? Please, its survival of the fittest in these streets,” she snapped at him. Little Ms. Smarty-pants made a big show of looking aro
und her before discreetly pointing to an older black gentleman sitting on a stoop across the street. Lucky turned to look at the grandfatherly figure, who looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, hunched over reading a newspaper. “That man over there is a pimp, and those two young girls dressed in the school girl attire, grabbing chicken wings, are his tricks. He’s got about ten more like them in that house. Underneath that Mr. Rodgers-looking cardigan is a 9mm that he won’t hesitate to use should someone try to run up on him and his.”
Lucky could see the slight bulge if he looked hard enough. His teacher continued to school him. “Look over there, at that house three doors down. See those two little boys looking like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths? They’re runners for their Titi, the neighborhood Cake and Pie Lady. She, along with her two brothers, also happen to run the biggest cockfighting ring in the five boroughs. One works for the mayor’s office and the other is a school principal. That family’s been doing that shit for years and has never gotten popped because of the images they portray. It’s all about perception, my friend. You only see what people want you to see. Got it?”
Lucky pulled his eyes away from the angelic-looking boys playing checkers on the porch to the sweet-looking older lady next to them, boxing up cakes next to them, and then back to the little girl speaking to him. “I would never have guessed it. Damn, kiddo, I wish I’d had someone like you on my team when I was in the life.”
The little girl laughed prettily. “Puuuhlease. If I was in that life, you woulda been working for me. Just not as my lookout!”
Lucky scowled but finally gave a smile. She was probably right. He glanced down at his watch. 1:20 p.m. He was so fucking fired! Glancing at the house, he noticed that the couple were no longer yelling at each other. Had they killed each other? He glanced down at her to ask, but she was already looking at him. Her look said for him to wait for it. Right on cue, he heard bedsprings bouncing and then the guy groaning loudly as the woman yelled “Yesss! Yesss! Ooooh, so good!”
