Bitch # 1

  A King Production presents... The Be in,,!,ig . . A Novel

  DMA KING This Book is Dedicated To My,

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, or locales are intended only to give the faction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters, and incidents occurring in the work are either the product of the author's imagination or are used factitiously, as those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons. Any character that happens to share the name o f a person who is an acquaintance of the author past orpresent, is purely coincidental and is in no way intended to be an actual account involving that person.

  ISBN 10: 0984332510 ISBN 13: 9780984332519 Cover concept by Deja King & www.mariondesigns.com Cover model: Deja King Cover layout and graphic design by: www.MarionDesigns.com Typesetting: MarionDesigns Editor: Linda Williams, Dolly Lopez and Suzy McGlown Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data; King, Deja Bitch a novel/by Deja King For complete Library of Congress Copyright info visit; www.joykingonline.com

  A King Production P.O. Box 912, Collierville, TN 38027 A King Production and the above portrayal log are trademarks of A King Production LLC Copyright Cc) 2010 by Deja King. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission from the publisher, except by reviewer who may quote brief passage to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

  Family, Readers and Supporters. I LOVE you guys so much. Please believe that! t

  A Publisher's Nile

  Think of David vs. Goliath and yes the underdog won!! I've been in a vicious legal battle with Triple Crown Publications and Vickie Stringer for almost 2 years now. This fight has been draining on me and my family but I refused to lie down and let the wrong that had been done to me, defeat me! My mother once told me, "You have not because you ask not." I asked for it and it was delivered. I feel as if I stood up and fought for all the little people who are cheated, manipulated and done dirty in a cutthroat business. With faith and determination we shall continue to rise to the top! I feel blessed that the entire Bitch Series is under its rightful home, A King Production. I put my heart and soul into these books for my fans and now I know when I leave this earth my family can reap the rewards of my work. Soon I will upload video blogs to my website and Facebook page detailing my long legal journey and how I came to get the rights back to my books. Many said it couldn't be done but never underestimate one of God's children! ! You know I had to share this because I LOVE my readers so much and I hope that I can prevent many of you from making some of the same mistakes I did. So please keep hope alive. If anybody in your life is doing you wrong, rebel and stand up for your rights. You will prevail! !

  Hugs and Kisses from Your Literary Sweetheart! !

  Joy (Deja Xing

  AckHowledgmeHts

  Special'Fianks'o.. .

  Linda Williams; 'You said it would Happen and you were rigfit! 'You always believed in me and stayed true and loyal'Fiat means everytfiing to me.

  Jonesy; You were tfie first radio personality tfiat embraced my books! 'You set (Bitcfi on fire in mew 'Yorkand I willforever love you for tfiat!! mow you can set it back on fire under A King 2Production!! Kisses to you!

  'racy Taylor; Girl, you stay grindin' for tfie cause and 6e cute doing it!

  Ann .ifopson; I see you girl.. "You're so Pretty. "O

  'azzy; I still adore you because I can always count on you being you!!

  Keith Saunders; You're my dude!! Enough said.. .

  cBookcBullies; I see you making isfi Happen in 2010!!

  Tureko "Virgo" Straughter, Renee Tolson, Jeanni Dixon, Ms KiKi, Andrea Denise, Sunshine716, Ms. (Nichelle) Mona Lisa, Lady Scorpio, Travis Williams, Brittney, Donell Adams, Myra Green, Leona Romich, Sexy Xanyell. To vendors and distributors like African World Books, Teddy Okafor, Black & Nobel, DaBook Joint, The Cartel, LaQuita Adams, DCBookman, Tiah, Vanessa and Glenn Ledbetter, Junior Job, Anjekee Books, Andy Carter, Urban Xclusive DVD & Bookstore, Future Endeavors. Also, to Yvette George, Velva White, Carla Stotts and the rest of Diva's of Memphis, Devin Steel, Big Sue, Thaddeus Mathews, Sherita Nunn, James Davis, Marcus & Wayne Moody, Trista Russell, Don Diva and Dolly Lopez.. .thank you all for your support! !

  Special, special thanks to Cover 2 Cover Book Club; Christian Davis, Angela Slater, Pamela Rice, Ahmita Blanks, Melony Blanks, Marcia Harvey, Melinda Woodson, Tonnetta Smith, Tiffany Neal, Miisha Fleming, Tamika Rice and Bar. I so enjoyed our book chats for "Hooker to Housewife" and "Superstar". All of you ladies are wonderful! !

  The -Beginning...

  Cdll'I Kock the Nestle

  oming from nothing and having nothing are two different things. Yeah, I came from nothing, but I was determined to have it all. And how couldn't I?

  I exploded into this world when "Hood Rich" wasn't an afterthought, but the only thought. You turn on the television and every nigga is iced out with an exotic whip sitting on 24inch rims, surrounded by a bitch in a g-string, a weave down to her ass, poppin' that booty. So the chicks on the videos were dropping it like it's hot for the rappers and singers while the bitches around my way were dropping it for our own superstars. Dealing with a street nigga on say the Alpo status a legendary drug kingpin was like being Beyonce herself on Jigga Man's arm.

  A bitch like me was thirsty for that. I'd been on some type of hustle since I was in Pampers.

  I grew up in the grimiest Brooklyn projects during the `90s. It was worse than being in prison because you knew there was something better out there; you just didn't know how to get it. You never saw green grass or flowers blooming. Instead of looking up to teachers, lawyers or doctors, you worshipped the local drug dealers who hustled to survive and escape their existence. Even as a little girl, I knew I wanted more out of life. Somehow hustling was in my blood.

  First, I hustled for my moms' attention because she was too busy turning tricks to pay me any mind. I never knew who my daddy was, so while my moms was fucking in her bedroom, I would wait outside the door with my legs crossed, holding my favorite teddy bear in one arm as I sucked my thumb. When the tricks would come out, I would look at them with puppydog eyes and ask, "Are you my daddy?" The question would freak them out so badly they'd toss me a few dollars so I would shut the fuck up.

  One day when I was five, my mother was looking for something in my drawers, she came across a bunch of fives and tens and some twenties. The total was five hundred and some change. Of course, she wanted to know where all the money came from. When I told her that the money came from her business clients (that's what my moms called them), she lit up. She tossed me up in the air and said, "Baby, you my good luck charm. I knew one day you'd make me some money."

  On that rare occasion she showed me mad love. As young as I was, I equated my mother's newfound interest in me with love. From that moment on, I learned how to hustle for my moms' attention - that is, by providing her with money.

  Where I grew up, everyone hated "The Man," so they wouldn't report shit, even child abuse or neglect. When I was really young, my neighbors helped look out for me, when necessary. One neighbor, Mr. Duncan, used to baby-sit me while my mother "Worked." In the projects, we all minded our own business and had the same code of silence that the police have among themselves - we didn't snitch on each other.

  Somehow, my moms' customers never messed with or even fondled me. I think it's because people say I got these funny looking eyes. Even when I was little I had an attitude that said, "Don't fuck wit' me."

  By the time I was fifteen with all the tricks my moms pulled, we were still dead ass broke, living in the Brooklyn projects. She couldn't save a dime because with hooking comes drugging and my moms stayed high. I guess that's all you can do to escape the nightmare of having all types of nasty, greasy fat mo
therfuckers pounding your back out every damn day. The characters that I saw coming in and out of our apartment were enough to make me want to sew up my pussy so nobody could get between my legs.

  One day when I came home from school, I found my moms sprawled out on the couch with a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, as she tried to toke her last pull off a roach in the other hand. Her once long, wavy sandy hair was now thin and straggly. The curves that once made every hood chick roll their eyes in envy were just a bag of bones. You wouldn't even recognize the one time ghetto queen unless you looked into the green eyes she inherited from her mulatto father.

  Without a word, I gave the living room a lick and a promise. I emptied several full ashtrays, picked up the dirty glasses scattered about the floor and wiped off the cocktail table. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my moms sit up and stare at me for a long five minutes. She had the strangest look on her face.

  Finally she spoke up. "Precious, you sure are growing up to be a pretty girl." Although we were in each other's face on an everyday basis, it was as if this were the first time my mother had seen me in many years. I didn't know how to respond so I kept cleaning up. "Didn't you hear what yo' mama said?"

  "Yes, I heard you."

  "Well you betta say thank you."

  "Thank you, Mama."

  "You welcome, baby."

  As I continued to clean I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the glare my moms was giving me. It was the same look she'd get when she was about to get her hands on some prime dope.

  "Baby, you know that your mother is getting up there in age. I can't put it down like I used to."

  I looked my moms directly in the eye, but I said nothing. I was thinking to myself, What the fuck that got to do wit' me"

  "So, baby, I was thinking maybe you need to start helping me out a little more."

  "Help out more how, I basically give you my whole paycheck?" I didn't understand what the fuck she was talking about. I barely went to school because I had what was supposed to be a part time job at a car detailing shop.

  Damn near every cent I made, I used to pay bills and maintain my appearance. I couldn't afford to rock all the brand name hot shit, but because I had style, I was able to throw a few cheap pieces together to make it look real official. Luckily I inherited my moms' beauty and body so I could just about make a potato sack look sexy.

  "Baby, that little job you got ain't bringing home no money. It's just enough to maintain. I'm talking about getting a real job."

  "Mama, I'm only fifteen. It's only so many jobs I can get and so much money I can make. Boogie not even sup pose to give me all the hours he have me doing at the shop. That's why he pays me under the table."

  "Precious, as pretty as you are you can be making thousands of dollars."

  "Doing what? What job you know is going to pay a fifteen-year-old high school student thousands of dollars?"

  "The oldest profession in the book-sex," my moms said as if she was asking me to do something as innocent as baking cookies for a living.

  "You `un lost your damn mind. What you tryn' to be now - my pimp?"

  "You betta watch yo' mouth, little girl. I'm yo' mama. Don't forget that."

  "Don't you forget it. You must have if you asking me to sell my ass so I can take care of you."

  "Not me - us. Shit, I took care of yo' ass for the last fifteen years. Breaking my back and wearing out my pussy to provide us with a good life."

  "This is what you call a good life?" I said as I looked around the small, broke down, two bedroom apartment. The hardwood floors were cracking, the walls had holes and the windows didn't even lock. It was nothing to catch a few roaches holding court in the kitchen and living room, or a couple of rats making a dash across the floor.

  My moms stood up and started fixing her unruly hair, patting down her multicolored flannel pajamas and twisting her mouth in that `how dare you' position as if she were an upstanding citizen who was being disrespected in her own home.

  "You listen here," she began as she pointed her bony finger with its gnawed down nail. "A lot of these children around here don't even have a place to stay. It might not be much but it's mine."

  That, too, was a lie. My moms didn't even own this raggedy-ass apartment; she rented it. But I didn't feel like reminding her of that because I wanted this going-nowhere conversation to be over.

  "I hear you, Ma, but I don't know what to tell you. I'm not following in your footsteps by selling my pussy to some low down niggas for money."

  "Well then you betta start looking for some place to live, `cause I can't take care of the both of us."

  "You tryna tell me you would put me out on the streets?"

  "You ain't leaving me a choice, Precious. If you can't bring home some extra money, then I'll have to rent out your bedroom to pay the bills."

  "Who is gon' pay you for that piece of shit of a room?"

  "Listen, I ain't `bout to sit up here and argue wit' you. Either you start bringing home some more money or find another place to live. It's up to you. But if you don't give me a thousand dollars by the first of the month, I need you out by the second."

  With that my moms' skeletal body disappeared into her dungeon of a bedroom. She was practically sentencing me to the homeless shelter. There was no way I could give her a thousand dollars a month unless I worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week at the detail shop. But what made this so fucked up was that my moms basically wanted me to pay for her out-of-control drug habit. This wasn't even about the bills because our Section 8 rent and other bills totaled no more than four hundred dollars a month. Because the street life had beaten down my moms, she was beating me over the head with bullshit.

  With my moms giving me no way out, I began my own hustle. I decided to get the money by selling my ass, but I was going to pick and choose who was able to play between my legs. My job at the car detailing shop came in handy. Nothing but topof-the-line hustlers parlayed through, but before, I never gave them the time of day. They were always trying to holla at a sistah, but the shade I gave them was thick.

  Boogie, my boss, appreciated that. He was an older dude who took his illegal drug money and opened up his shop. He was in his forties, donned a baldhead and wore two basketball sized diamond studs in each ear. He wore sweat suits and a new fresh pair of sneakers everyday. He could afford any type of car he wanted, but he remained loyal to Cadillac Devilles. He had three: one in red, white and black.

  "Boogie, who that nigga in the drop-top Beamer?" I asked when some dude I'd never seen before pulled up.

  "Oh that's Azar. He moved here from Philly, why you ask?"

  "I ain't neva seen him `round here before, and I wanted to know who he was."

  "Is that all, Precious?" Boogie asked, knowing it was more than that.

  "Actually, to keep it real wit' you Boogie I'm looking for a man."

  "What?" Boogie stopped dead in his tracks. "Looking for a man? One of the reasons I digged you so much, Precious, was because you wasn't fucking with none of these hustlers that came through here. Why the sudden change?"

  "I'm not gonna get into all that Boogie, but I will tell you I really don't have a choice. I need money and fucking wit' a fo-sho nigga seems to be the only way to get it."

  "Precious, you are much too young to have those types of worries. I could always give you a raise."

  "Boogie, unless that raise is a few thousand dollars then it ain't gonna do me no good." Shit, I figured if I had to give my moms a thousand dollars a month, I might as well make a few for me. If I had to sell my ass, then I might as well get top dollar.

  "I don't know what you need all that money for, Precious, but if you looking to fuck with a baller, then let me school you on a few things. For one, get your fuck game right."

  "What you mean by that?"

  "I mean if you want one of these niggas out here to spend some serious paper on you, you gotta learn to sex them real good. You know you're a beautiful girl, so attracting
a big timer's attention is the easy part. But to have a nigga willing to spend the way you want, your head and pussy game have to be on point. Just giving you something to think about."

  I watched as Boogie went outside to talk to a few guys that just pulled up in G5's. I was still thinking about the advice he gave me. Boogie was right, if I wanted to really land a hustler and keep him, I had to get my fuck game in order. The funny thing was from watching my moms selling her ass all my life, it turned me off from sex. I was probably the last virgin in my hood. I definitely needed a lot of work, and I needed to find someone that I could practice on before I actually went out there and tried to find my baller.

  After work I came home and my moms was lying in her regular spot on the dingy couch. She was so bad off that she would've had to pay a nigga to fuck her. I hated to see my moms so broken down. One thing I promised myself was that no matter what, I would never let myself go out like that. I would play niggas; they would never play me.

  Sex You Op

  ince time wasn't on my side, I only had a week to scope out all the dudes that were coming in and out the detailing shop. I was carefully seeking out my victim. He had to be cute, paid and, hopefully, willing to spend his money freely. In two more weeks it was going to be the first and my moms was still threatening to throw me the fuck out.

  I had narrowed down my search to three dudes. The nigga Azar, was actually my first choice, because not only did he have the drop-top beamer, but he also came through in a Range and a big body Benz. He was a fine ma'fuckah, too. He put me in the mind of Allen Iverson, with the cornrows and all. But Boogie forewarned me that the nigga was gangsta. You couldn't half-ass him. He wasn't just giving his money to any of random bitch. Yo' shit had to be tight.

  Since I still hadn't learned how to fuck, I was a little skeptical about trying my hand with him. The other two dudes were some come up type niggas. They were always trying to kick it with me. They would hit me off with a hundred dollar tip when they paid. I knew them dudes would lace me with some real paper if I gave them some.

  Plus they were only aight' in the looks department. They would pay me just so they could sport a dime piece. They were the easy marks, but I wanted Azar. Something about him made my pussy wet.