COMING NOV. 22nd!
Christopher “Lance” Dawson isn’t your average black man. In fact, he considers himself a black king. He doesn’t sell drugs, nor is he a thug, but he still ain’t shit.
Christopher is a ladies’ man, to say the least. He refers to women as his specimens and he has them for every day of the week.
He has Maliah, and Maliah believes she and Lance are in a relationship. She’s 25 years old, and Lance has her believing all she needs is him.
Then there’s Candice. Lance looks at Candice as his ride or die. Anything he needs, she’s there.
And lastly, there’s Jade. Jade is Maliah’s best friend, who Lance just realized he’s in love with.
Chapter 1: Lance
Look here, I'ma cut to the chase. My name is Lance, well, that’s what the ladies call me, but my real name is Christopher Maurice Dawson. I’m a thirty-four-year-old Black King that takes no shit. I’m not a common drug dealer or a common thug. Shit, I can’t even say that my childhood was horrible. Everything was peachy-keen. My dad is a hard-working mechanic out in Savannah, Georgia. My beautiful angel, my mother, is an almost retired schoolteacher. I say almost because she claims that she will retire in about two years or so. Once again, that’s what her mouth says because my mom loves teaching kids. They have a beautiful home out in Richmond Hill, GA, sitting on a nice acre of land.
So, the question that’s probably stuck in your mind is, why a non-drug dealer or non-thug like myself needs a book? Well, let’s see here, the men in my family are supposedly cursed, but the fucked-up thing about this is that it skips or picks what damn generation the curse lands on. I think this shit is all hocus pocus because my OG, aka my granny, used to tell us this damn story while we were kids, that her dad, who used to be an all-time pimp back in his younger years, messed with the wrong woman, and supposedly, she placed a voodoo curse on the men in our family. I have been called bullshit when I was old enough to understand life. See, that’s the bullshit on my dad’s side of the family, but on my mom’s side, they are some regular-smegular ass country folks from Savannah, Georgia, while my dad’s family is from South Carolina.
But here we are in April, and I can say a nigga or a king like me is beyond blessed. I work as a lawyer in a prestige law firm in downtown Savannah, making sure my fellow black people get the justice they deserve.
For example, I’m in court now. They are trying to charge a nineteen-year-old boy with a bogus ass drug charge for having a little bit of weed on him. Even though the shit legal almost everywhere else but not in fucking Georgia. I’m trying to persuade the judge to grant him probation, but the damn prosecutor is talking about two years in jail, plus community service. This bitch has to be smoking dick, dope, and dynamite if she thinks that small amount of weed needs jail time.
Let this situation involve a white man, then we all know that would have given him two months of probation, if that. These white folks can get away with murder. White privilege in America kills me, but I know not all white people fall into that stereotype, just like not all black people fall into the criminal stereotype. They just some fall through the cracks of life and get dealt a shitty ass hand.
“Your honor, I think the defendant, Mr. Emmanuel Jones, needs to be charged with having illegal drugs, with a minimum of two years and community service.”
Now this is where I come in. “I object. Your honor, if I can say, this is my client’s first charge, and the prosecutor is throwing out bogus and heinous charges. I think my client can learn his from his mistakes with a year of monitored probation with the possibility of getting off in six months for good behavior.”
“Order! Order in the court. I have heard enough of this. Mr. Emmanuel Jones, please stand. Son, I am going to do what I think is best for you. A minimum of six months in jail and six months on monitored probation. Report to the jailhouse Monday morning. The court is adjourned.”
Even though I don’t agree with the sentencing, it’s better than two years, and at least he doesn’t have to go in today. The little nigga has his whole weekend to prepare. I looked at him. “Mr. Jones, I know you don’t like the ruling, but you bet not run or do nothin’ stupid. It’s only Thursday, so take the whole weekend to get all your things in order, and I will meet you at the jailhouse Monday morning. Alright?”
He looked at me with so much malice and hate, but he softened up his look once he realized we were still in the courtroom, so he couldn’t touch me or do anything stupid, and I did the best I could on his behalf. Plus, the man don’t want these issues here, bruh. “Aight, man.”
Those were the last words he spoke to me as we were leaving the courtroom and heading in our separate direction. I decided to call my office and tell my secretary to cancel the rest of my day and reschedule any meeting that I had. Cases like this drained me to the point of no return. Since it was Thursday and only two in the afternoon, I knew Maliah is at home with her sexy ass. That’s where a nigga was heading.
Maliah is one of the multiple specimens that I encounter during the week. I have specimens for every day of the week. Specimens are what I call my hoes. Instead of being disrespectful and calling them out of their names, I decided that would be a better fit. I do have my main squeeze, you can say. Now, Candace, that’s my ride or die. If I get into some shit, she is there to clean it up at any cost. She bows down to her king in a sense. She will always be there for her king no matter what.