Part 3 of The Lights Series
G Street Chronicles’ CEO pens another mind blowing novel. Part 3 of The Lights Series is sure to hold your attention and leave you wanting more! Download your copy today: http://amzn.com/B00BCR0VIG
After surviving the brutal attack from B-Low and his prison gang, Real was released back into the prison’s population with only one thing in his eyes—blood. Shonnie, the attractive sergeant, is stuck in an abusive relationship and going to work everyday at the maximum security institution, CSP, was her only solace. She met Real and instantly fell in love with his charm and charisma. Her dream really came true when Real’s lengthy appeal was granted and he walked out of the prison gates a free man.
Just when Shonnie was looking for the nice calm country life with the man of her dreams, she was thrust into the city where dogs eat dogs and the city dwellers were hungry. She adjusted to her new lifestyle but after one of the mobs’ made-men gave Real the position of running the family’s chain of strip clubs, the outlet they used to clean up their dirty money, things got serious.
Real was comfortable in his new position until he was paired up with another of the family’s workers who wanted more than just being a helping hand. Sharing the club duties from city to city brought Real and this mysterious woman closer. After seeing the bigger picture, they devised a plan that would ultimately change lives.
The glitz and glamour of the city life has permanent effects on a person and after having lived that life, you’re never comfortable being normal. The only way to get back to the top…go hard and eliminate anyone in your path.
Real woke up in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed.
The doctor looked down on him, took off his glasses, and placed them in his shirt pocket. “You’re lucky to be alive, son. You lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said as he circled the bed, checking Real’s vitals.
Real lay there speechless, trying to reflect on what had gotten him to that point. All he could remember was B-Low’s face and the sharp, handmade knives penetrating his body one after the other.
“How much longer will you need to keep him here, Doc?” the female prison guard asked. She couldn’t take her eyes off Real. Even in his current condition, she thought he was sexy as hell.
* * *
Sergeant Shonnie Turner and her accompanying officer walked into the dorm with Real, who’d just been released from the hospital.
“Cell 117 is open. Put him in there,” the correctional officer working the hole said.
“You know he can’t have a roommate until the investigation is over, correct?” Shonnie said to the dorm officer with authority in her tone.
He glared at her with a scowl on his face. “I’m aware of that, Sergeant,” he snapped. He was obviously still angry that Shonnie had been promoted to sergeant, while he’d been overlooked for the position.
Shonnie just smiled victoriously and walked off with her accompanying officer to escort Real to his cell.
“I need a mattress and a pillow,” Real demanded as he limped along behind them, still in pain from the attack.
“What do you think this is, the goddamn Holiday Inn? We’ll get you some supplies in a minute,” the escort said as he opened the door and stood to the side for Real to enter.
“I ain’t going in there till I get a mattress and a pillow,” Real said firmly, even though he knew he was in no shape for physical contact.
“Look, Mr. Walker, we said we would get you a mattress and pillow. Please move inside your cell,” Shonnie said, taken in by Real’s good, yet rough looks. The hospital stay had knocked a few pounds off of him, but his chiseled, fit body still had her in awe. His eyes had caught her attention off the top, the same eyes that he was staring at her with now.
“Sergeant, straight up, I need a mattress. You know if you lock me in there without one, I ain’t gettin’ one till tomorrow, and that ain’t gonna work.”
“My word, I got you. Just give me thirty minutes,” Shonnie said as she walked over and looked directly in Real’s eyes.
Real stared her down and stood his ground.
The accompanying officer frowned at Real; he wanted nothing more than to be given permission to rough the prisoner up and nearly salivated at the thought. “Sergeant, he’s holding us up. We have another transfer waiting,” he said, hoping to use force to put Real in the cell.
“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t need you telling me my job, thank you,” Shonnie snapped, keenly aware that the prejudice young white officer was just itching to bring physical harm to the young brother.
“A’ight, Sergeant. I’ll take you at your word,” Real said as he stepped into the room.
In a great deal of pain, Real walked slowly over to the desk and sat down on the hard, cold, metal stool. He looked around the small, musty, cramped cell, where condemned men had scribbled and carved their innermost thoughts and feelings all over the wall. Back in prison again? I can’t believe this shit, he thought. He ran his hands over his wounds and instantly became angry. Every time he touched a bandage, he thought of B-Low and his crew, who’d almost killed him. If it hadn’t been for the third-shift officer passing out call-outs for the next morning, he would have been dead. The officer had opened his room door to give him his call-out for classification and noticed the blood-soaked sheets and called the code. As Real sat there thinking about the events that had led up to the assault, his door popped open, and a mattress was slid in by the inmate who worked in the hole, accompanied by an officer.
“Appreciate you, bro,” Real said as he slowly stood and limped over to the door.
“Are you Real? They said you was paralyzed,” the man said, picking up the pillow and tossing it on top of the mattress.
“Do I know you, bro?” Real asked, looking the man up and down.
“Nah, but I know ‘bout you. Niggas from Atlanta been screaming your name since that shit jumped off. You a legend in the city, bro,” he said, then stepped back so the officer could close the door.
“Yo, what building B-Low in?” Real asked, positioning his mouth in the crack of the door so the inmate could hear him.
“He in H-2. Bro, you need anything, just get at me. They call me Doobie,” he said as he turned and started walking off.
“Say, bro!” Real screamed through the crack.
Doobie stopped in his tracks and came back to the door. “What up?” he asked.
“I need a banger ASAP,” Real said in a serious tone. He’d already vowed to himself that as soon as he got out of the hole, there was going to be bloodshed.
“I got you first thang in the morning, bro,” Doobie said as he turned and walked away.
Neither man knew that Bohog, one of B-Low’s gang members, was next door listening to their exchange. After Doobie walked off, Bohog stood on his bed unscrewed his light and retrieved his cell phone from his stash spot. “B-Low, man, that nigga Real back from the hospital, over here in the hole next to me. The nigga Doobie who works over here is helping him tool up, so you best be on point when he gets out. My battery low, so I’ll get at you when Tag get me a charged one.
Sitting in his cell, smoking weed with three of his gang members, B-Low said into the phone, “That’s what’s up. I’ll holla.” After he clicked off the call, he turned to his crew. “Yo, NoLove, you know that nigga Doobie?”
“You talking ‘bout the nigga who work over in the hole?” NoLove asked, taking a pull from the blunt.
“Sure I know ‘im. What up?” NoLove asked, pulling on the blunt really hard once more before he passed it off to BodyBag, a notorious killer from the Yamacraw projects, one of the roughest, most dangerous projects in Savannah, Georgia.
“He need to be leaking and by last movement tonight,” B-Low told him in a sinister tone.
( The Story Continues… )
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by George Sherman Hudson; Download the Book Today: