Mecca's Return

by Anna J.

  Hell’s Diva 2:

  Mecca’s Return

  By Anna J.

  URBAN

  BOOKS

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Anna J.

  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

  Epilogue

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Novel number seven ... Seven years ago, when I penned My Woman His Wife, I honestly didn’t think I had that many stories in me to write. It started out as just something to do because I enjoyed writing and reading. I wasn’t setting out to change the game or anything like that. I never even thought much about writing a book.... It just wasn’t on the agenda. At the time I was working a night job at a medical billing company and was told that a short story I had written didn’t have a market. Around that time Zane had just stepped on the scene, and I’m thinking to myself, If The Sex Chronicles can be on the shelves, with all of that explicit sex, why can’t my book be there? Zane’s books were one of the reasons why I went forward with My Woman His Wife. Why not test the boundaries and leap over limitations? What did I have to lose?

  God has been fabulous in steering my life in the direction that it has gone. Without Him, where would I be? My life wasn’t all fabulous and everything as I was growing up, but I’ve come to realize that even little girls from the projects can make it, too. I’ve even met some wonderful folks along the way, and whether you were here to stay or just for a season, I thank everyone that I’ve come in contact with. Your presence in my life was for a reason, whether it was to help me see myself in a better light or to steer me in a better direction. Through the good and the bad, I’m thankful.

  Tiffany, I can only hope that I’ve been leading by example. There is a ten-year difference between us, and in being your older sister, it’s hard sometimes to keep it all together when I just want to ball up in the corner and cry. Thank you for just being there. At the times when the world gets too hectic and I just need to do me, you’re right there with me. We have a friendship that confuses people, because too often in life siblings hate each other. Did we always get along? Hell no! (LOL.) But with age comes maturity, and with maturity comes understanding. We had to grow up fast, and I wasn’t too sure about a lot of things. You’ve been riding this thing with me since forever, through the good and the bad, and I couldn’t ask for a better sister. Thank you for keeping me sane and allowing me to be me without having to put on airs and act like I’m invincible. Remember that night at the Econo Lodge? (LMAO.) I love you, sis, with all my heart.

  Tisha, you know how we do. J I pray a lot for you because I know you’re having a rough time right now. We’ve all been there. Tynayjah and Nyser are a handful, but they are funny as hell! We’re all getting older, and I see you trying to get over that hump. It’s hard, right? Just keep moving forward; things happen the way they’re supposed to. It looks crazy right now, but you’ll be just fine.

  Janise Bond, my bestie since forever! Thanks for everything, girl. I wish we had more time to hang out, but between school and work, touring and writing, and all that you have going on, I’m glad that I can still pick up the phone at two in the morning and you’ll answer. How many years has it been? J I love you, girl!

  Melissa Postum, aka Mizzles Fashizells, I remember the first day we met. We clicked instantly, right? Thanks for being my sounding board and a shoulder when I’m feeling emotional about some shit (LOL). We have soooo much in common, and I’m glad to have you as a friend. I can honestly say that out of all the friends I’ve ever had, you, Chereme, and Janise have always been a constant. True friendships are few and far between, and I appreciate you being here. We need another shindig... . Let’s get it poppin’!

  Mom, thanks for everything. There have been times with us when we were straight bumping heads and were unwilling to see the finish line. I think we both had to step back and breathe. We have the same personality, and both of us are unwilling to bend. Even though we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, I’m thankful that I have you here. I wouldn’t know what to do without you, and I never tell you that. I worry about you sometimes, and I know it’s vice versa. Just know that no matter how pissed off and mad I get, I love you through all of that.

  To my family—my aunts Karen and Sandy; my uncles Herb (aka U.F.U.—inside joke, LOL) and Bobby; my cousins Gerald, Dynetta, Shardae, Shalysa (aka Msyumyum Thamadame), Rashun, Delita, Daja, Sora-ya, Boobie, Kenny, Malik, Keisha, Michelle, Mequilla (yes, you’re fam!); my great aunt Pat, my grandmom Anna L Forrest; and all the children (too damn many to name)—we don’t all always get along, but we couldn’t pick each other. As dysfunctional as things may get, thanks for being there.

  To Jerel Brooks, Ed, Stan, Troy King, Eugene Riley, and Henry Govan, all of you played a part in my life that made me into the person I am today. Whether it was disappointment or happiness, an eye-opener or a heart-breaker, without those experiences I wouldn’t be and see who I am today. Ed, me and you go way back.... Glad you’re still around. J Jerel, I know you’re happy to have proof that you really do know me (inside joke). Thanks for everything.

  Mark Anthony, thanks for giving a sister a chance. When I met you at my birthday bash, I was just a young girl turning twenty-four, trying to make it. Who knew that being the first lady of Q-Boro would lead to me being a bestselling author and household name years later? I thank you and Sabine for the opportunity and the room to allow me to grow creatively. I didn’t understand a lot of things at the time, and at the end of the day we all have to do what is best for us. I see you still doing your thing. Keep up the good work.

  Carl Weber, I remember when I first met you a few years back at Book Expo America. I think it was in New York that year. I was a little reluctant and hesitant about a few things, but I came to find out you’re not as bad a person as folks made you out to be (LOL). On a business level, thanks for continuing to allow me to do my thing. I have been given an opportunity that most people haven’t, and I do not take it for granted. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go in the industry, and I’m grateful to still have a publishing house to call home. Thanks for everything.

  Candace K, I miss you, girl! Thanks for the hot covers and all of the phone time. You saw my vision, even when I was painting a picture that wasn’t crystal clear. I see you didn’t miss a beat, and I’m happy for you. Congrats on all your accomplishments, and keep striving for greatness. You got this whole cover designing, Web page making, Photoshop thing in the bag!

  Brittani, I see you doing big things over there! Obstacles come on a daily basis, and I see you scaling hurdles with ease. The industry can make or break you and cut you deep. All of this aids in making us better people ... hopefully! (LOL.) Keep doing your thing, and keep doing it big.

  To my industry peeps, M.T. Pope, Dywayne Birch, Allison Hobbs, Cairo, Dawayne Josephs, LaJill Hunt, K’Wan, Treasure E. Blue, Eric S. Gray, Aretha Temple, Keniesha Gayle, Sydney Little, Gayle Jackson Sloan, Marlene Ricketts, Anthony White, Tu-Shonda Whittaker, Ken Devine, Laurinda D. Brown, K. Elliott, Brenda L. Thomas, Victoria Christopher Murray, Angel Mec
helle, Beanz, Anthony White, and __________(insert your name here), I love y’all. I see y’all doing it big! Keep up the good work, and keep those fingers moving across those keys!

  To all the bookstores (Maryland is like my second home), book clubs, and fans, thank you!!! Every time I get an e-mail, in-box, or text about one of my books, whether you are just finding out about me or have been through the ride with me, I appreciate you. An author is nothing without a reader, and even if I write something that is not to your liking, stick around for the next one. I got you! Check out my Web site: www.allthingsannaj.com

  Thanks for the support and keep spreading the word! A sista got bills to pay! (LOL.)

  ~Anna J.

  Also by Anna J.

  Novels

  Hell’s Diva: Mecca’s Mission

  Snow White: A Survival Story

  My Little Secret

  Get Money Chicks

  The Aftermath

  My Woman His Wife

  Anthologies

  Bedroom Chronicles

  The Cat House

  Flexin’ and Sexin’: Sexy Street Tales Volume I

  Fantasy

  Fetish

  Morning, Noon & Night: Can’t Get Enough

  Stories to Excite You: Ménage Quad

  Prologue

  A child represents a world from which we have been forever exiled.

  —Robert Greene, The Art of Seduction

  The playful screams and laughter of the children in the playground surrounded by the towering, dingy brown buildings of the Brownsville, Brooklyn, housing projects harmonized with the sound of mothers yelling various commands to wandering, overly playful children. The sound of a bustling avenue, with its buses, cars, and always present roar of police sirens, served as a backdrop. One particular little girl, cute, with long silky hair done up in pigtails adorned with red ribbons at the ends, looked over to her mother, sitting on a bench with other young mothers, and waved with a huge smile. Though in a conversation filled with neighborhood gossip, her mother was always alert to the whereabouts of her only child.

  “Be careful on those monkey bars,” she yelled across the courtyard at her daughter and just as quickly turned back to the conversation at hand.

  The little girl watched as her favorite relative, her aunt Ruby, entered the playground. She stood in front of the little girl’s mother and talked using a lot of hand gestures. As usual, she saw her aunt remove a wad of cash from her pocket and hand it to her mother.

  Climbing on the monkey bars, where other kids played, the little girl wanted to reach to the top like she saw other brave kids doing. She also wanted to impress her auntie. As she ascended the bars, she looked over to see if her aunt was watching. Disappointed that she didn’t notice her, she called out to her. Just as she called, one of her feet slipped off the bar and caused her to fall down toward the black rubber mats placed under the monkey bars. Her small head and body banged off the bars as she fell. Her crying shrieks alerted her mother and aunt, who were seconds late catch the girl’s body, preventing her from hitting the mat.

  Before the little girl’s mother ran over to her, she felt herself being lifted off the mat. She was dazed, with temporary blurred vision, and it seemed as if the noise of the playground became muffled. When her vision cleared, everything moved in slow motion. That was when she looked into the face of the person who had picked her up off the ground. He was tall and wore a pitch-black trench coat. His Afro was the shiniest and neatest ’fro she ever saw. Even her handsome father’s curly, perfectly round Afro couldn’t compare to that of the man holding her hand. His bright smile reminded her of the keys on the piano in her music class. As she took in the glow of his dark, rich complexion, she realized that the pain in her head from the fall was gone. Then the man spoke, and his voice seemed to hypnotize her.

  “Throughout your life you will fall. What’s important is how you function when you get back up.”

  “Baby, are you okay?” The little girl heard her mother’s voice. She was confused as to why she was now holding her mother’s hand instead of the hand of the man who picked her up. She looked around the playground, once again hearing the familiar sounds of the ghetto, searching for the mysterious man, but he was gone. Her aunt’s cheerful voice grabbed her attention right after that.

  “Look, she ain’t even crying. She tough like her auntie.”

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t follow in her aunt’s footsteps,” the girl’s mother retorted flatly, attempting to deflate the air out of her sister’s chest full of pride.

  Suddenly the sound of gunshots erupted in the projects. All the parents ducked, running toward their children, who instinctively ducked down as they listened to their parents’ yelled commands. The little girl clung to her aunt as the shots rang out for a few seconds; then it ended as quickly as it began.

  Mecca jumped out of her sleep. The gunshots in her dream awakened her as her heart beat rapidly. She looked around, realizing she was lying in her hospital bed. After her labored breathing subsided and she could hear the beat of the heart monitor next to her bed, she mumbled to herself, “You were always there, weren’t you, Lou? I remember you now.” She took the time to get herself together and, after a while, realized that she could hear voices outside of her room. She could hear only a few words that were being said because their voices were low.

  Since the fatal shooting at the hands of her ex-boyfriend, Tah, and seeing her entire life with the assistance of Lou, Mecca had to be institutionalized and treated with intensive therapy sessions. She couldn’t get over the feeling of wanting to kill her aunt, and any remaining foes from the past that might still be alive. Since she chose not to talk, the doctors thought it would be best for her to stay, much to Mecca’s dismay, of course.

  “It’s more mental than physical,” a male voice murmured.

  “It’s been so long. When can I see her?” a female voice asked in a sad tone.

  “I don’t think she’s ready yet. She hasn’t even spoken yet.”

  When Mecca looked at the door after a face appeared in the entrance, she recognized the face of her once beloved aunt. Now a face she felt sick to her stomach seeing. Mecca remembered there was a time when seeing her aunt was like a child seeing Santa Claus. Mecca was her aunt’s little angel, and she could do no wrong in her aunt’s eyes. Now her aunt was no longer her personal Santa Claus; instead she was more like Satan in the flesh.

  Seeing the smile on Ruby’s face made Mecca want to jump out of her bed and choke the life out of her, but that was physically impossible at this point in her life. Even more disappointing, when Ruby walked in her hospital room, she walked in with Karmen. Both Ruby and Karmen smiled at Mecca. A song her father used to play when she was a child came to mind; it was The O’Jays’ song about backstabbers. That was exactly how she felt about both of these women.

  “Good morning, Mecca.” Ruby spoke to her with a hesitant smile on her face.

  Instead of responding, Mecca simply turned her face and closed her eyes.

  Ever since Lou showed Mecca her aunt’s betrayal, she couldn’t even stand the sight of her. For Ruby, it was probably a good thing that Mecca couldn’t move, because she probably would have already killed her by now. It hurt Ruby that Mecca wouldn’t respond to her, but she kept coming back to check on her niece’s progress. That was what family was supposed to do.

  Lou had been visiting Mecca in her dreams since she’d been out of her coma. He was sitting behind a huge mahogany desk, in a large, burgundy-leather, cushioned office chair, while Mecca lay on a leather chaise lounge, when Mecca asked, “Why can’t I get up, Lou? Why are you keeping me paralyzed?”

  In a measured tone Lou replied, “Because the revenge you seek is not yours. You’ve done that half of your life, and it has gotten you nowhere. Be on your best behavior, and you will walk again, I promise.”

  Chapter One

  The most eloquent expression of the unconscious is the dream, which is intricately connected to myth....r />
  —Robert Greene, The Art of Seduction

  Joseph of the Bible was known for his ability to interpret dreams. It was that ability that caught the curiosity of the Pharaoh of Egypt, whose own interpreters were useless. Joseph interpreted the Pharaoh’s dreams and became a powerful man in ancient Egypt. As Mecca Sykes attentively gazed into the bright eyes of Lou, she wondered who could she wake up and ask to interpret her dreams and tell her exactly who Lou was.

  “You do not know what vengeance is, because it is not yours to give,” said Lou, dressed in a white overcoat, as he held a stethoscope to Mecca’s chest. Mecca lay still on a stark white linen hospital bed, with a preoccupied expression on her face.

  “You act as if I’m dumb or something. Mind you, Lou, I’m grown. I’m not the child you visit in my dreams,” Mecca replied gruffly. Ever since Lou had snapped Mecca out of her coma and had begun appearing in her dreams, Mecca realized that she had become intrigued by his speeches about her doing the right thing in life and letting go of the feeling of getting some payback on all those who had betrayed her, especially her aunt. Initially, she had found him annoying and somewhat cruel for putting her through the grueling task of viewing her friends and loved ones being betrayed and herself as a victim of the double cross.

  Mecca no longer had anyone in her life that she could talk to about her issues. She used to talk to Ruby about them or Ruby’s lesbian lover, Monique, whom Mecca had confided in more than anyone else. She could rely on Monique to give her motherly advice about men, sex, and feminine issues. After Monique was shot down and killed in the projects Mecca felt like she had no one. She and Ruby had never had that kind of relationship, so she had to learn the hard way about life and trust. As for Lou, he had not only told her that the life she lived was one big lie filled with betrayal, lust, and greed, but he’d shown her how and why.