CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Shaunie Maddox
The Miami heat hit me the second I stepped out the rental car. I slid my Chanel shades down my nose and grabbed my Louis bag from the passenger seat, my heels clicking against the stone pathway leading to the beach house.
This wasn't just any beach house. This was the beach house.
The one Jerome kept off the books, the one nobody knew about except me and him.
It was secluded, private, and right on the water with tall gates and security cameras he controlled personally.
It was the kind of place where you could disappear, and nobody would ever find you.
I opened the front door, stepping into the cool air conditioning, and slid my shades up onto my head. The place was gorgeous, all white furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, modern and clean.
"GG!"
My heart swelled. I turned and there he was, my beautiful grandson, running toward me in his little swim trunks, his curls bouncing, his face lit up with that smile that could melt anybody's heart.
"There's my GG baby!" I said, dropping my bag and scooping him up, kissing his cheek over and over. He giggled, wrapping his little arms around my neck.
"GG, I swimming!" he said excitedly, pointing toward the pool.
"I see that, baby," I cooed, holding him close. "You having fun with Papa?"
He nodded, and I carried him through the house toward the back where the pool was.
Jerome was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, a cigar in one hand, a glass of cognac in the other. He looked every bit the powerful man he was. salt and pepper beard perfectly trimmed, linen shirt open showing his chest, designer shades covering his eyes. Even at fifty-eight, he was fine as hell.
"'Bout time you made it," he said, not even looking up.
"Traffic was hell coming from the airport," I said, setting Sontae down. He ran straight to the pool, splashing his feet in the shallow end where his floaties were.
I walked over to Jerome and leaned down, kissing him slow and deep. He tasted like expensive tobacco and cognac. When I pulled back, he finally looked at me.
"Everything go smooth?" he asked.
"Smooth as butter," I said, sitting in the chair next to him. "Sent the package two days ago. By now, they think he's dead."
He nodded, taking a pull from his cigar. "Good. Let 'em think that. Let 'em mourn. By the time they realize the truth, we'll be long gone."
I watched Sontae play in the water, laughing and splashing, completely oblivious to everything that had happened. Completely unaware that his daddy and mama thought he was dead. And I didn't feel bad. Not even a little bit.
Because this was always meant to be mine. This life. This man.
This child.
Six years ago, I met Mr. Jerome Clyde at a fundraiser on the South Side.
I still look good for my age, still turning heads, and he noticed me immediately.
He started talking to me, bought me drinks, and made me laugh.
By the end of the night, we were in his car, and by the end of the week, I was in his bed.
It was supposed to be just sex. Just something to pass the time.
But it became more. At least for me it did.
I fell in love with Jerome Clyde. I fell in love with his power, his money, his presence. The way he carried himself like he owned the world because he damn near did. He had his hands in everything, real estate, businesses, politicians. The man was untouchable.
And I wanted to be Mrs. Clyde. I wanted to be the woman on his arm at every event, the one spending his money, living in his mansion, being taken care of the way I deserved. I was tired of just being a hood bitch, I was ready to be wifed up by a real man.
But Jerome never wifed me up, matter of fact he’s never even hinted at it.
For six years, I was the woman he'd call when he wanted company, when he wanted his dick sucked, when he wanted somebody to travel with him. But never his woman. Never his wife.
I used to wonder why. I used to drive myself crazy trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, what I needed to change to make him see me as more than just a good time.
And then one day I saw what was stopping me from becoming his wife. I was at the Hilton downtown, meeting a friend for lunch, when I saw him. Mr. Clyde was sitting in the restaurant, all dressed up in a suit looking fine as hell but he wasn't alone.
There was a girl with him. She was young, matter of fact too young in my opinion.
She was pretty with long hair, and thick in all the right places.
And the way he was looking at her, the way he was leaning in close, touching her hand, smiling at her like she was the only person in the world.
I knew she was the reason, why he treated me the way he did. He was in love with her young ass.
I watched them for twenty minutes, hiding behind a column like a fool, so he couldn’t see me. I was watching the man I loved, the man I'd given years to, wining and dining this young bitch like she was special.
When they finally left, I followed them to the parking garage. I watched him kiss her. I watched him open her car door. I watched him watch her drive away with this look on his face I never seen before.
I confronted him that night when I showed up at his condo, and I demanded to know who she was.
"Her name is Yah-Yah," he said calmly, like it was no big deal. "And it's none of your business, Shaunie."
"None of my business?" I snapped. "I've been fucking you for years, Jerome! Years and you never looked at me the way you looked at her today!"
"Because you're not her," he said coldly. "You're fun, Shaunie. You're good company. But you're not the one."
Those words broke something in me and it shattered me completely.
"And she is?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"She could be," he said. "If I play my cards right."
I left that night humiliated, heartbroken, and furious. And when I found out later that this Yah-Yah bitch was seeing my son, I almost lost my fucking mind.
She had Jerome's heart. And now she had my son's heart too. And I hated her for it. I hated her with everything in me.
When Yah-Yah got pregnant, I knew it was my chance. I called Jerome, invited him over, poured him a drink, and planted the seed.
"You know Sosa and Yah-Yah are having a baby," I said casually.
"I heard," he said, not sounding particularly interested.
"You ever think about the timing?" I asked, swirling my wine, He looked at me.
"What are you getting at, Shaunie?"
"I'm saying... what if that baby isn't Sosa's? What if it's yours?"
"What?"
"Think about it, Jerome. You were seeing her around that same time, weren't you? Taking her out, spending time with her. Y’all were fucking right?"
I could see his mind working and him doing the math.
"She told Sosa he's the father," he said slowly.
"Of course she did," I said. "What was she gonna say? That she was sleeping with an older man when they were broken up? That she didn't know who the daddy was? She picked the safe choice. The young choice. But that don't make it true."
I watched the idea take root in his mind like poison. I watched him start to believe it.
"How would I even know?" he asked.
"You get a DNA test after the baby's born," I said. "But if you want my opinion? That baby's yours, Jerome. I can feel it. my son aint never got a girl pregnant before. I use to think Sosa couldn’t have any kids."
“I’m thinking, the timing is a little close.” He said and I smirked. And just like that, I had him.
When Sontae was born, I made sure Jerome saw pictures. I made sure he saw how light-skinned the baby was, how his features looked nothing like Sosa's and I made sure he started wondering, started questioning, started wanting.
And then I made my move.
"You ever think about legacy?" I asked him one night in bed after we had just finished fucking. "About what you're leaving behind when you're gone?"
"Sometimes," he admitted.
"You don't have any kids, Jerome. No one to carry your name. No one to leave your empire to."
"I know," he said quietly.
"But what if you did?" I said. "What if that little boy is yours? What if you have a son and you're just... letting Sosa raise him?"
I saw it click in his eyes. I saw the want, the need, the hunger.
"I need my boy, Shaunie," he finally said. "If he's mine, I need him."
"Then let me get him for you," I said.
"How?"
"Leave that to me," I said, kissing his neck. "Just tell me what he's worth to you."
He looked at me long and hard. "Two million," he finally said. "You get me my son, and I'll give you two million dollars."
Two million dollars.
And more importantly, the satisfaction of taking everything away from Yah-Yah the way she'd taken everything from me.
Setting it up was easier than I thought. I knew niggas from another crew who hated Sosa, who'd been looking for a reason to move on him. I gave them the layout of the house, told them when the cookout would be, and told them exactly how to make it look real.
"Make it violent," I said. "Make it look like a real kidnapping.
Shoot somebody if you have to. Just get the baby.
" And they did exactly what I asked, After they grabbed Sontae, I waited until the next day, then I met those niggas at the meet-up spot, I paid them their cut, I grabbed my grandson and drove him straight to a safe house where we stayed until it was time to move him to Miami.
The finger was my idea. I knew Sosa wouldn't pay, my child was too prideful, too cocky, too stubborn, and too convinced he could negotiate his way out of anything. So, I needed to make it real. I needed to make them believe Sontae was gone.
I bought a toddler size prosthetic finger online, wrapped his Spider-Man Band-Aid around it, and sent it in a box. I wanted Yah-Yah to fall apart.
And it worked, now Sontae was where he belonged with his real father Jerome. And I finally got my dream man, and there was nobody in this world who was gonna come between what I had going on. It was my time to be happy, my time to have real love. It was finally my fucking time!!!
“To Be Continued…”