Gangstress Read online

  Gangstress

  by

  INDIA

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue - The Verdict

  Chapter One - Fourteen Years Ago

  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

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Gangstress Copyright © 2019 INDIA

  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.

  eISBN 13: 978-1-60162-778-0

  eISBN 10:1-60162-778-5

  ISBN: 978-1-6016-2135-1

  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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  Prologue

  The Verdict

  I was nervous as a muthafucka sitting in the courtroom, awaiting the verdict on running a continual criminal enterprise. Shit was going in slow motion, and I couldn’t hear anything because my damn heartbeat was pounding loud as hell through my eardrums. I glanced at the jury, which consisted of twelve of my peers. They were men and women from all walks of life. Some were brown while others were pale. A few of them were big, and some were small. Although they had several differences among them, the one thing they all had in common was that I couldn’t read their expressions.

  Swallowing hard, I redirected my attention toward my lawyer, who was the best attorney money could buy. However, I soon shifted my gaze again because I couldn’t read him either. His Italian ass was sitting here sugar sharp with money I had shelled out for him to get me out of this mess, and his nonchalant demeanor had me up in arms. His expression told me either he had this case in the bag and I would be out of here before lunch, or his ass knew I was going up the creek without a paddle. If that was the case, he would surely attempt to use the $4 million I had given him to get the fuck out of dodge. What he didn’t know was I had already sent someone to get to know his family in the worst way if shit went sideways, if you get my drift.

  By the way, my name is Janelle Renee Doesher, but the world has come to know me as Jane Doe. I’m the boss of America’s first publicly known All Female Mafia, or AFM for short. If you don’t know about me or my pedigree, all you have to do is pick up any current newspaper article or the latest issue of any hood magazine. If that fails, then just ask a muthafucka about me, because my name rings bells for the shit that I’ve orchestrated and executed with perfection. I ain’t one to brag nor boast, but what I will do is recommend you go and do your research, because my reputation speaks for itself. I’m not new to this. I’m true to this. Always have been and always will be. My daddy was gangsta, and from birth, I was destined to follow in his footsteps.

  This wasn’t my first time in a courtroom. Truth be told, this was my third time at the defendant’s table. The first two times I was there as a kid on some juvenile shit like trespassing and running away from my grandmother’s home. Lucky for me I got off easy and had it expunged from my record. I vowed never to fuck up again, and by “fuck up” I mean to get caught. Hell, my ass wouldn’t have ever stepped foot back into a place like this had it not been for some snitch who saw fit to throw my ass in front of the bus because they couldn’t handle the pressure of going upstate to do a bid.

  The more I thought about it, the madder I got. I began to chew on the inside of my jaw until I felt the tissue separate and I tasted blood, which I swallowed. It’s funny how everybody rolls with you when the times are good and your paper is long. They swear to ride or die with you until they find themselves in a predicament that nobody but God could get them out of. Once they find out they’re facing hard time, they’ll start singing like a canary. The killer part is if they ass never would have said anything in the first place, everybody would’ve been home scot-free and back to getting money. But now my ass was facing a minimum of twenty years with a maximum life sentence behind bars because some weak-ass snitch didn’t want to do a measly three years.

  As my thoughts wrapped around my life and the current situation someone had put me in, I unconsciously glanced up at the clock on the wall, knowing that if I were to be found guilty, all hell would break loose. The remaining members of my crew who were still out in the streets would bring death to the doorstep of the person who put me here. It was a harsh reality, but it was what it was at this point.

  “Come on, Jane. It’s show time,” my attorney, Richard Lennigan, whispered. He fastened the middle button on his tailor-made Italian suit then stood, so I followed suit.

  “Men and women of the jury, how do you find the defendant, Ms. Janelle Renee Doesher?” the black middle-aged judge named Joseph B. Hemsly asked the nervous group of jurors. A heavy-set African American lady with full lips and a burgundy Afro, giving off an Angela Davis vibe, offered a sympathetic glance my way. I knew what she was about to say before she even spoke the words from her lips into the atmosphere.

  “We, the jury, find the defendant, Janelle Renee Doesher . . .”

  At this point, I blacked out and heard nothing else as images of my life flashed before my eyes. I saw instant replays of highlights and even a few low points in my life. There were also a few vivid images of my parents, and I began to cry. For it was the very day they left this earth that my life took a turn for
the worse. Overnight I became a woman and a menace to society at the same damn time.

  Here’s my story from the beginning.

  Chapter One

  Fourteen Years Ago

  “Happy birthday, baby girl!” my daddy said upon entering the kitchen. “Today is your day, and you can have whatever you like.” He planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “I can have anything, Daddy?” I smiled, and he nodded. My mother, Monica, tried to conceal her smile while shaking her head in a disapproving manner.

  “Julius, if Janie gets one more thing, we will need to buy a bigger house,” my mother added.

  “Then I guess we just need to call the real estate agent right now, because there ain’t nothing in this world that my daughter can’t have.” He playfully slapped my mom’s big, round butt, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. I loved to watch the two of them interact with each other. They had been together for eighteen years, yet they still treated each other like they’d just met.

  “That girl is spoiled.”

  “Well, that makes two of us,” I added from my seat at the kitchen table, and everyone laughed. My father was the best provider a girl could ask for. We lived in the lap of luxury and were spoiled with everything afforded to rich people. The way we lived our lives most normal people could only dream about.

  “So how old are you, eleven?” he teased.

  “Daddy, you know I’m sixteen.” I smacked my lips.

  “Sixteen!” He grabbed his chest and pretended to have a heart attack. “Where did the time go?” he asked my mother while glancing at his Cartier wristwatch.

  “I know, our little girl is growing up.” She smiled.

  “In my mind, you will always be my little girl.” My daddy planted another kiss on my cheek.

  “In a minute she’ll be dating, then marriage and kids.” My mother wiped a tear.

  “Fuck that! Ain’t no nigga good enough for my daughter.” My father shook his head as the doorbell rang.

  “Daddy.” I laughed while scurrying into the foyer to see which of my party guests had arrived. When I reached the oversized door, I could see Ace, my godbrother, through the glass panes. He was standing there in a Black Label long-sleeved shirt with the matching jeans, carrying a card and a teddy bear and holding a balloon that read “Happy Birthday.”

  “What’s up, fam?” He hugged me, and I tried not to shudder. The scent of his Issey Miyake cologne had me dizzy.

  “Hey, Ace. Thank you for the card.” I snatched it and headed back into the kitchen with him on my tail.

  “What’s up, pops.” He bumped knuckles with my dad and kissed my mother on the cheek. Next, he went into the fridge and searched for something to eat. Ace was practically family, so no one paid him any attention.

  “I’m for real, Janie.” My father picked the conversation back up where he had left off. “If a nigga can’t love you, respect you, and take care of you the way I love, respect, and take care of you, then fuck him!” My father was as serious as a heart attack, and I felt one of his speeches coming on.

  Ace peered at me while smashing a piece of cold chicken, and I looked away. Over the years we’d played this game of cat and mouse, but we both knew it wouldn’t lead to anything serious out of respect for my father.

  “Janelle, pay attention,” my father continued. “These little girls get with these knucklehead boys and lose their minds. Half of these niggas are selling wooden nickels anyway. They don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, but somehow they manage to talk these girls out of their panties and common sense.”

  “Julius!” my mother interjected, and Ace and I burst out laughing. Although my father was in his thirties, he had the soul of an old nigga and would drop lines straight from the seventies. What in the hell was he talking about wooden nickels for anyway?

  “What, Monica? I’m speaking the truth.” My father kept it one hundred all the time whether you liked it or not. He never sugarcoated anything, and I admired that about him.

  “Janie ain’t trying to hear no lectures on her birthday. Save that conversation for another day.”

  “I just want her to know that she don’t have to fall for the first nigga who shows interest in her.” He turned his attention back to me. “All these dudes want is some pussy, and you’re more than a piece of ass! The world is yours, baby, and you’re worth waiting for, believe that!” he said while gazing at me with loving eyes.

  “I know, Daddy.” I smiled.

  “Anyway, I ain’t gon’ ruin your birthday with one of my rants, so I’ll zip it for now.” He pretended to lock his lips up and throw away the imaginary key.

  “Open the card, girl,” Ace instructed me.

  “I was going to wait until the party, but since you’re rushing me, I guess I have no choice.” I slid my acrylic fingernail across the pink envelope and pulled out the card. Before I could even read the words, two $100 bills caught my attention.

  “Aw, thanks, Ace!” I wanted to hug him again but didn’t want to make my parents suspicious.

  “No problem, fam. Don’t spend it all in one place.” He tossed the naked chicken bone into the trash.

  “That’s so sweet,” my mother gushed.

  “Good looking out for your sister. That’s what big brothers are supposed to do.” My father patted Ace on the shoulder. “If anything ever happens to me, you better protect my two ladies like your life depends on it.”

  “Julius, stop talking that nonsense. You ain’t going nowhere.” My mother hated to speak about death, but my father knew it was always lurking around the shadows. In the dope game, he was the man. Therefore, he had more enemies than friends and never knew when someone would try to come for the king.

  “Pop, you know I got you, but like Monica said, you ain’t going nowhere.” His cell phone buzzed.

  “Yeah, I know you got me, young’un, because I trained you well.” My father was proud of his protégé, as if he were his own son.

  “I hate to break up this family moment, but that was money calling.” Ace placed the phone into his pocket.

  “Go get that money, son. I’ll get with you later.” My father once again bumped knuckles with Ace and walked him to the door.

  “I think a certain someone has a crush on another certain someone.” My mother smiled, exposing both of her deep dimples.

  “I do not have a crush on Ace.” I rolled my eyes, trying my best not to tell on myself.

  “I wasn’t even referring to you. I was gonna say it’s the other way around.” She giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” My father reentered the kitchen.

  “Nothing. Janie and I were talking about something we saw at the mall yesterday.” My mother winked at me.

  Just then there was another knock at the door. I jumped up because I knew it was either my best friend, Alicia, from down the street or another friend here for my big party.

  Swinging the front door wide open, I frowned at the sight of the short, chubby woman standing before me with a matted Afro. It was Pauletta, my grandmother. “Well, hello to you too,” she said to my back as I turned and headed back to the kitchen table.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandmother because I had to, but I didn’t like her very much. Whenever she came to visit us, she would almost always manage to make my mother cry or piss my father off. Pauletta frowned and turned her nose up at the way we were living, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. My father was her son, and I thought she should be proud of the lifestyle he provided for his family. We lived in a prominent upscale community north of Detroit. Our home was immaculate, to say the least. It measured 4,000 square feet and sat on a large plot of land in a fairly new neighborhood. We had two living rooms, a dining room, five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a media room, a playroom, a barber/beauty shop, and a country-style kitchen with marble flooring and granite countertops.

  “What brings you by, Mama?” my daddy asked after giving her a brief hug.

  She removed her old,
worn trench coat and held up a gift bag. “I came for the birthday girl.” She shook the present like it contained a million dollars, and I smiled, although I knew better. My grandmother was very frugal. Last year she got me a sweater from the Goodwill, and the year before that she purchased me a $5 gift card to Walmart. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I smiled and removed the pink and purple gift bag from her hand. After I pulled out the metallic tissue paper, my gift was revealed. It was a Lisa Frank diary accompanied by a pack of colored pens.

  “All young girls like diaries, right?” she asked.

  I nodded to play along, and then I gave her a hug. “Thank you, Gran,” I said with more excitement than I actually felt. For one thing, I was sixteen, and Lisa Frank was so four years ago. I also didn’t know what to do with it because my father had often warned me never to write important things down on paper. I didn’t exactly know what he meant by that, but I always followed his instructions.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s all we hardworking, nine-to-five folks can afford.” My grandmother placed her black purse down on the cherry wood table and took a seat. Her comment was meant as a jab, and it struck a chord with my mother. I watched as she rolled her eyes and excused herself from the room. She quickly retreated down to the basement where the party was to be held. Her excuse was to finish decorating, but we all knew what the deal was.

  “Mama, why are you always starting some shit?” I knew my dad was furious by the way the vein bulged from his dark forehead. Staring in his direction, I noted that he was a handsome man even when he was angry. His ebony skin was flawless, which accented the whites in his eyes and his pearly white teeth. His hair was black and wavy. His eyelashes were long, and the goatee around his mouth gave the dimple in his chin definition. My daddy wasn’t very tall, probably five feet nine inches at best, but he spent a lot of time in the gym. What he lacked in height he made up for in muscles.

  “Julius, you better watch how you speak to me,” Gran warned with the wag of her finger.