Innocent

Leo Sullivan

Sujets

• Urban Books

Informations

• Publié par: Sullivan Group Publishing, LLC
• Date de parution: 31 mai 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781946789525
• Langue: English

Extrait

Innocent


Leo Sullivan
© 2019
for the LiT Reading App


www.litreadingapp.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the author or publisher. This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+ only.
Contents



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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55


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1

A s I drove, the green pastoral scenery and sublime blue sky beckoned me with the promise of a new day and better tomorrows. I drove with the wind in my face and my elbow out the window. I whistled a soft, melodic tune, recalling my grandmother’s verbal incantation. She was an old, black woman with a staunch love and dedication for her grandson. In my mind, I could still envision her beautiful mahogany face, a reflection of strong black women that had come before her.
 My grandmother, whom I often called “Gramma”, raised me and my twin brother TC after our mother was murdered by an ex-lover. She barely made it to her 8 th  birthday. My brother and I witnessed the murder. Even though we were three years old, I can still hear her sorrowful pleas and plaintive cries. “James, please don’t hit me no mo’. Not in front of my babies.”
 Her cries fell upon deaf ears as the man used his fists to shatter every bone in her pretty face. Then he strangled her. By the time the cops finally arrived, the man stood weary and befuddled, saturated in her blood. He appeared to be on the verge of some type of psychotic delirium. He began to cry in a crescendo of sobs that rocked his body. And his feet shuffled in place, as if he were marching to a beat that only he could hear. We were only three years old when it happened. My brother says he can’t remember a thingvbut I can’t forget.
 Everybody called Gramma, “Big Mama”. We moved into her big, rat-infested house. In the winter it was brutally cold and the summers were excruciatingly hot. There were days the electricity and the gas got turned off, but my grandmother always managed to make do. ig Mama was the neighborhood candy lady and she sold boot-leg liquor after hours. She even ran a gambling house on the weekends. Because of her financial endeavors my brother and I lived better than most of the neighborhood kids.
By the time we reached sixteen, our once beanpole bodies had transformed into strong, hard-bodies and we drove the chicks crazy. I had become a gifted athlete and was looking at several scholarships from prestigious universities across the nation. I ended up accepting a scholarship from Georgia State University, but my twin brother took a different route. He fell victim to the call of the streets. It may have had to do with the fact that Big Mama’s half-brother, David, was in a gang called the Black Gangsters. He was an OG, a shot-caller.
 My brother admired the hell out of David and the two were inseparable. As soon as TC was old enough to hold a gun, David initiated him into the gang. TC already had a natural inclination for violence, and he quickly excelled within the ranks of the Black Gangsters with David as his mentor.
 
Two months before I made my decision about which college I would attend, David was murdered as he sat on the front porch drinking beer. TC had run out of the house to discover David’s idle body lying in a puddle of blood. It should have sent a message to my brother that it was time to get out of the gang, but instead, it made TC even more cold and heartless. He and the other Black Gangsters avenged David’s death by killing rival gang members. TC was officially made a shot-caller for the south side of Chicago, replacing David.
 The day I left for college everybody gathered at Big Mama’s to say goodbye. It was a festive occasion for family and old friends.  This is for you, bro.” TC coolly tossed me a bag of dro and the keys to his midnight blue, tricked-out ’73 Chevy Impala with 4-inch rims. The car had a booming sound system and 5-inch speakers that made the trunk rattle like there was a gorilla trapped inside.
 “Thanks, bro.” I grinned and gave TC a one-arm hug. I saw something palpable in his somber brown eyes, something that mirrored my own. Besides the brief stints TC did in Juvenile Hall, we had never been away from each other for a long period of time. Today was different.
I threw my bags in the back and told everyone goodbye. I was ready to leave when I saw Tamara Jenkins, my first love, leaning against my car. Tamara had helped me discover my manhood. She had stolen my virginity. She had a body with crazy curves, and I used to have fun exploring every inch of her.
 I was older than Tamara by almost two years, but she was much more mature than I was. I think that was where the problem started, or should I say ended. We experienced love, hate, and pain far too young. Even though she let me do what I wanted to do with her, I started messing with other shawties on the side and somehow Tamara got lost in the shuffle. It didn’t matter though, because she always came when I wanted her. Big Mama didn’t like Tamara from the beginning, but she held her words. She Innocent knew I was growing up, and she said it was just a phase.
That was until she caught us in bed together one Sunday morning.  I thought Big Mama was at church calling the Lord’s name at the same time I was delivering my sermon to Tamara. She was calling for God herself. I had her bent over my bed, pounding the shit out of her. From that point on, Big Mama referred to Tamara as ‘that fast ass heffa’ and forbade me from bringing her to the house.
 Tamara leaned against my car with her arms folded over her ample breasts. I couldn’t help but admire her sensuous curves. I noticed her pursed lips, and I could sense an attitude.  I turned and looked at my front porch. Big Mama was standing there with a disgruntled look on her face. I turned to Tamara and spoke. “I’m glad you came by.” I leaned forward to kiss her.  Tamara twisted her lips to the side and gave me her infamous hand to my face gesture.   “Why you got to embarrass me in front of my homies and family?” I asked harshly. I could feel my face turning red.
“Nigga, I’m pregnant!” She spat with a hurtful scowl written on her face. “And yo ass burnt me. I know it was you, because you da only one I been wit.” I fought the urge to look over my shoulder to see if Big Mama had heard her. Instantly, my mind flashed back to the morning I went to take a leak and an excruciating pain shot through my dick, almost buckling me to my knees. That shit hurt like a muthafucka! I went to the free clinic on 5th Street. It was a virtual class reunion up in that bitch.
Kanisha Williams was sitting there with her mother. She couldn’t look me in my eyes. She had been one of the many chicks I had been having sex with and the most likely candidate to have burnt me.
Tamara’s words made me feel nauseous, like I had been drinking for days. I wanted to run away, hoping that all this shit would disappear. Thinking of nothing else, I reversed the situation and lied. “Burnt you? Girl please, you betta get outta my face. If you urnin’, it’s probably from that other nigga you fuckin’ wit.”  “What other nigga?” Tamara asked with an attitude. “That nigga you pregnant by.”  Tamara jerked her neck back like she had been slapped. She shuffled her feet. “I ain’t been with nobody and yo ass know it, bitch!” she yelled with her face balled up.
 I knew she wanted to slap the shit outta me. Tamara shuffled her feet again, but this time I heard something. I looked down and noticed a beer bottle by her leg. I wondered whet