by T. N. Baker
The Sheisty Saga:
Triple Crown Collection
T.N. Baker
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - Epiphany
Chapter 2 - KEISHA
Chapter 3 - SHANA
Chapter 4 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 5 - KEISHA
Chapter 6 - SHANA
Chapter 7 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 8 - KEISHA
Chapter 9 - SHANA
Chapter 10 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 11 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 12 - KEISHA
Chapter 13 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 14 - KEISHA
Chapter 15 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 16 - SHANA
Chapter 17 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 18 - KEISHA
Chapter 19 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 20 - SHANA
Chapter 21 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 22 - SHANA
Chapter 23 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 24 - SHANA
Chapter 25 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 26 - KEISHA
Chapter 27 - SHANA
Chapter 28 - KEISHA
Chapter 29 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 30 - C-GOD
Chapter 31 - KEISHA
Chapter 32 - TUCKER
Chapter 33 - SHANA
Chapter 34 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 35 - KEISHA
Chapter 36 - SHANA
Chapter 37 - KEISHA
Chapter 38 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 39 - KEISHA
Chapter 40 - SHANA
Chapter 41 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 42 - SHANA
Chapter 43 - KEISHA
Chapter 44 - C-GOD
Chapter 45 - EPIPHANY
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
The Final Chapter - NEW BEGINNINGS
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
The Sheisty Saga: Triple Crown Collection
Copyright © 2017 T.N. Baker
This title is published by Urban Books, LLC under a licensing agreement with Triple Crown Publications, LLC.
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: 978-1-6228-6475-1
First Trade Paperback Printing April 2017
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.
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Chapter 1
Epiphany
I didn’t know who sang the old school song, but I turned up the radio volume and sang the hook as loud as I could. “Use what you got to get what you want.” Ain’t that the truth.
I was twenty-two years old, pushing a 325 BMW, living in a $700 a month apartment, all being funded by the power of the pussy. Shit, with beauty and a booty, who needed a job? I mean, let’s not get it twisted. I wasn’t no dummy. I did graduate from high school. I even thought about college briefly when Keisha went. Then I remembered how glad I was to finally be finished with high school. Me, with a job? Never! For one, I didn’t like being told what to do. I hated getting up in the morning, and being on time was just something I wasn’t good at.
Now sex—I could do that. And for money, I could do it all day. Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t no street-corner ho or nothing like that. I just preferred to date guys with money that didn’t mind paying to play, because after a good time, the bills still had to get paid.
It’s like my mother always said: “If you want quality, you gotta pay for it,” and Epiphany Janee Wright is top of the line quality.
I was excited about my date that night with Smitty, a potential “sponsor.” Sponsor, buyer, or trick were just some of the little titles me and my girls liked to use to describe these niggas out here tricking, a.k.a. financially taking care of a woman’s needs.
I met him at the club the night before, and from the looks of it, he had a lot of cash. But what impressed me was the bottle of Dom P he sent over to my table, along with his number. Now, that’s class. Most guys will press hard for the digits but won’t come up outta them pockets to buy a drink. Hmm, first impressions are the best impressions.
I glanced at the clock. It was 6:00 p.m. Smitty was picking me up in two hours, and knowing me, it was gonna take every bit of that two hours to get ready.
I hopped in the shower and was dressed, looking and smelling good, at exactly 8:00 p.m. I was so excited about possibly gaining a new sponsor that I forgot to call Malikai, my current trick, with an excuse for why I wouldn’t be seeing him that night. I was surprised that I hadn’t heard from him all day. There was no question about it: his ass was sprung, and I wanted to keep it that way. Whatever it took to keep his cash flowing my way, I’d do. I wasn’t tryin’a mess that up, and the key was just keeping the nigga happy. Any real woman knows how to keep a man happy. You just fuck ’em when they wanna be fucked and tell ’em what they wanna hear.
Smitty showed up an hour late, blowing the horn of his Expedition truck like I was the one that kept him waiting. When I got in the truck, I could tell he was still pleased with my looks by the smile on his face. On the other hand, he didn’t look as good as I thought—which was a slight disappointment—but he appeared to be paid, and that’s what’s up. Money does make a difference. I’ve seen it turn a frog into prince and a beast into a beauty queen on many occasions, especially in the entertainment industry. I won’t name no names. They know who they are.
“So, where we going?” I asked.
“Yo, I gotta make a stop at my crib first and then we’ll go get something to eat,
a’ight?” he said.
I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes at him as I thought, I let him slide for being late, but now he’s pushing it.
Smitty had this cockiness about him. I wasn’t feeling his personality at all, and my attitude was starting to show it. To top it off, he lived with his mother in the projects. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have nothing against a nigga from the projects getting paper, but if you could splurge out thirty G’s or more for a truck, your next move should be to come up outta the PJs.
“Yo, come on ’cause I’ma be a minute, and I ain’t trying to leave your fine-ass out here around these niggas,” Smitty said.
I wasn’t sure if he meant they would be trying to push up on me or rob me, so I went with him into the three-story building. Upstairs, the apartment was a mess. His mother looked like she was his number one customer, assuming he had to be a drug dealer. I followed him to the back of the three-bedroom apartment, to a steel door with four locks on it.
When Smitty opened the door to his room, to my surprise, it didn’t even look like a part of the dingy apartment. He had a nice bedroom set, stereo equipment, a DVD player, and all the CDs and DVD movies you could possibly think of. His shit was laced. Nevertheless, I wasn’t impressed. It was still just a room at his mom’s in the projects.
He locked the door, turned on his stereo, blasting Black Rob’s “Like Whoa,” and put a movie on also and muted the sound. Then he opened up a safe down by the side of the bed. It was filled with drugs, money, two guns, and some jewelry. He lifted his pant leg, pulled a stack of money tied in a rubber band out of his sock, counted it, and placed it in the safe.
As he shut the door to the safe, he quickly glanced over at me to see if I was looking. I pretended to be glued to the television.
Smitty came over to me and started to caress my leg, talking loudly over the music about how good I looked and how badly he wanted to fuck me. I laughed, because I found this nigga hilarious. Here it is, he hadn’t even spend any real money yet and already he was pushing up on the pussy.
“Nigga, please. Look, you got shit twisted, Smitty. I don’t know what you are used to, but this ass right here ain’t free.” I got straight to the point, since I already knew I wasn’t gon’ fuck with his ugly frontin’-like-he-stacking, still-livin’-with-his-momma ass.
The look on his face turned cold. What was I thinking? As a matter of fact, I wasn’t thinking. I was locked in a room with this thug-ass nigga, and no one knew where I was or who I was with. No sooner than that thought crossed my mind, Smitty grabbed me by my throat and forcefully got on top off me.
“Bitch, do you know who the fuck I am? I ain’t never had to pay fo’ no pussy, and I ain’t ’bout to start.”
I felt helpless and almost breathless from the tight grip he had on my neck. Tears streamed down the sides of my face as he pulled my panties to the side with his free hand and rammed his dick inside me. It seemed like forever, although it was only a few strokes long. I couldn’t believe that I was being violated like this, and all I could think about was what he might do next.
Suddenly, he pulled his dick out, bust his nut all over me and arrogantly said, “I took the pussy, you trick-ass bitch. Now what? Just fix your shit and get the fuck out!”
Chapter 2
KEISHA
Tucker was really starting to get on my nerves. It had to be my hormones tripping me out, because I loved the ground he walked on, but sometimes his excitement of having his first-born drove me nuts.
These last few months had been moving so slowly. I barely saw my friends anymore. Once in a while, Shana would call or stop by with gifts for the baby and small talk, but Epiphany had become so distant. I’d called and left several messages on her machine. I even asked Malikai to tell her to call me. To be honest, I didn’t know what was up with her. She acted like pregnancy was contagious. Tucker and I had been engaged for over a month and I hadn’t even been able to share the news with her. It hurt to feel like I was losing not only my best friend, but more like my sister.
Shit, I felt closer to her and her family than I did my own blood. Epiphany and I grew up together. I always admired the fact that she was raised in such a loving household by her mother and her father. Me, on the other hand, I was just the opposite. I don’t even remember my father, and my mother being an alcoholic was all I seemed to remember.
I spent a lot of nights over Epiphany’s house to get away from my mother. E’s parents always treated me like family. Sometimes that girl didn’t realize how lucky she was to have concerned parents that gave her the world.
Besides Epiphany, Tucker was the only other person I considered to be family. I had two younger sisters that lived in Atlanta with our grandmother, who always had her hand out for something. She thought since Tucker was high-rolling, it was our responsibility to help her support my sisters. And speaking of support, I hadn’t heard from my so-called mother, Loretta, since I moved in with Tucker five years ago.
My childhood had made me a little bitter, but at the same time, I learned from it. I always felt as if I was ahead of my class. So, to get out faster, I dropped out of high school in the eleventh grade, got my G.E.D., and completed four years of college a year ahead of time. I was going back for my master’s after my baby was born.
So you see, I did have a plan. I was not about to let life pass me by while I sat around feeling sorry for myself, just like my mother had. I would give my child the life I never had, no matter what it took.
I’d been with Tucker since I was sixteen. He was the only man I’d ever been with sexually. I loved him dearly. If something were to happen to him, I didn’t think that I would make it. That was why I wished he would leave the drug game alone.
Tucker made a lot of money selling dope. Business for him was always good, so the money was definitely consistent, and you know what that means: more money, more problems. I knew he loved me, so I didn’t worry about losing him to another woman . . . but the streets. Now, that was a different story.
Chapter 3
SHANA
It was Friday, and all I could think about was hitting the club that night. Since K.C., my abusive-ass man, got locked up two days before, I didn’t have to worry about him running up on me in the clubs no more, trying to smack a bitch up ’cause I was out doing the same shit he was doing. K.C. was my nigga, no doubt, and he had some good dick, but he thought just because he spent his money on me, he owned my ass.
I remember one time, me and Epiphany was hanging out at Cheetah’s on a Friday night, having the time of our lives, when here this nigga comes up from out of nowhere, making a scene, talking ’bout, “Go home.”
I’m like, “What! Go home?” Yo, the way that nigga was acting threw me way off, ’cause I just started fucking around with him.
Right then and there I should’ve seen the “beat a bitch” signs written all over his ass, but you know how that goes. Instead, I just thought the nigga was really feeling me like that, ’cause I’m thinking, Why else would he lose it and wanna beat the shit out of me if he ain’t care?
Most of the time it was my fault anyway. I was just the type of chick that was gonna do what the fuck I wanted to do and deal with the consequences later. Needless to say, getting my ass kicked was always the consequence for fucking with his ass. We stayed on some war of the roses type of shit, ’cause he wasn’t gon’ just be fucking me up without getting a few bumps and bruises too. I’ll go hard for mines. But that was still my boo, and shit, y’all know what they say: Love is blinder than a muthafucka.
Epiphany couldn’t stand K.C. One time she went as far as to say he tried to holla at her. Now, don’t get me wrong; that was my homegirl. I’d known her for years, but most of the time I just wasn’t feeling her whole attitude. She thought every nigga wanted to get with her.
When she told me that, I couldn’t say the thought of it maybe being true didn’t bother me, but he denied it, and I believed him. Shit, this nigga was taking care of me, and I loved how he took
care of me. On top of that, did I mention the sex was the bomb?
I wasn’t letting shit come in between us for nobody—until this nigga went and did some dumb shit and got locked the fuck up for a third felony charge. Three strikes and you’re out, so there wasn’t no need in trying to hold on, ’cause K.C. was finished, finito, outta here. He was locked up for the rest of his life. Shit, I wasn’t that stand-by-your-man type of bitch—not if the nigga was doing a lifelong bid. I’ll tell you this much though: that was a waste of some good dick, and I would damn sure miss his ass.
My skills weren’t as tight as Epiphany’s when it came to pulling a nigga that would spend his dough on me, so when I pulled K.C., I tried to hold onto his ass.
Epiphany had it good, ’cause she grew up in a house. It didn’t matter what the neighborhood was like, as long as it was a house. With niggas, that played a big part in the amount of respect they gave you. On top of that, she was a pretty girl, plus all-the-way high maintenance. So, a nigga knew if he came at her, he had to come correct.
Me, I was a cutie, but I was from the PJs, so with that fact alone, it didn’t matter what I looked like. Right off the bat, niggas didn’t respect me. They stereotyped me hard, assuming I was a ho or I had three or four kids by different daddies.
One thing that did make me better than Epiphany, though, was that I could rock with a dude for his cash, but I also knew how to get out there and get my own paper. I was a hustler, any way it came—boosting, credit card scams, cell phone hookups, or transporting shit out of town for the cats around my way. You named it, along with the right price, and I was down. Natural born hustler was in my blood, so with or without a trick-ass nigga, I was gonna get mine regardless, ’cause I loved the dough.
I had just started dancing at this strip club called Honey’s. Yo! I made $500 in three short hours just off pussy-popping to some R&B and hip hop. Now, that’s what’s up. Shit, for some people, that’s a month’s rent and some food in the fridge, with a little pocket change left over for the club.
I was thinking about putting Epiphany on, ’cause she’d make a killing, and for that kind of easy cash, her money-hungry ass just might be down to do it. But knowing her, she’d only steal the spotlight and fuck up my shine, so on second thought, I’d keep my shit on the low.
