#BookRelease: In These Streets by Shelly Ellis | @ellisromance @honmagpr
BLURB
Derrick. Ricky. Jamal. One's responsible; one's still a player; one's upwardly-mobile. Sentenced to the Branch Avenue Boys' Youth Institute at twelve, they grabbed the chance for better futures. They stayed tight even when their lives diverged--but the times . . . they are a-changing.New deputy mayor Jamal is anti-corruption, which means severing ties with Ricky, now a "criminally-adjacent" businessman. But political power plays and unrequited love will lead Jamal to a lethal choice . . .
Ricky doesn't mind running a front for DC's biggest drug dealer, but when he pursues a sexy customer at his strip club and discovers she's a cop, any wrong move could end Ricky's good times permanently . . .
Now the Institute's new leader, Derrick is torn between his job and his fiancée, Melissa. But when a cute new instructor who supports him and his mission arrives, he wonders if he should leave Melissa behind, not the Institute. However, this dilemma is nothing compared to a problem brewing right under his nose, and the fallout will strike at the heart of the three friends' bond--and put more than their survival on the line . . .
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EXCERPT
CHAPTER 1
Derrick
Derrick was throwing his satchel
over his shoulder and slamming shut one of his file cabinet drawers when he
heard the thump. He paused and squinted at his office wall where a white board,
family photos, and his framed college degrees hung.
"What the hell," he
murmured.
Thump!
Thump!
This time the picture frames clacked
and rattled against the drywall, like they had received a seismic jolt from the
ground two stories below.
Thump!
Thump! Thump!
Derrick then heard a muffled chorus
of male shouts. They sounded like they were coming from farther down the hall.
"Whup that nigga's ass!"
someone shouted.
"Get 'em Nico! Get 'em!"
another boy yelled.
Derrick closed his eyes.
"Damn," he muttered, finally realizing exactly what he was hearing.
It sounded like a fight had just
erupted at the Branch Avenue Boys' Youth Institute — a big one. And as
the Institute's director it was his job to help break it up, which meant he
wouldn't be heading home yet despite the long ass day he'd had.
"Shit," he murmured as he
yanked his satchel off his shoulder and tossed the leather bag into his rolling
chair.
Derrick had sat through a half dozen
meetings today. One had been with a carpentry instructor who'd announced he
would be leaving the Institute at the end of the month for a better, well-paid
job, leaving Derrick in a lurch to find his replacement. Another meeting had
been with a mother who had begged Derrick to let her sixteen-year-old son,
Cole, into the Institute's rehabilitation program because she was terrified of
what would happen to the teen if the city sent him to the local detention
center for his drug charge. When she started crying and literally dropped to
her knees on the linoleum floor, Derrick finally caved. He'd told her yes; he'd
find a spot for her son — even though the Institute already had a waitlist
twenty deep. He didn't know where he would find space for the boy, but he would
make it work, somehow — like he always did.
But once the clock on his wall
struck five, Derrick had felt his shoulders sink with the weight of exhaustion.
He'd just wanted to go home, have dinner with his fiancée, Melissa, and meet up
with his boys, Ricky and Jamal, for drinks later. It was a monthly ritual
they'd had for nearly a decade and he had never skipped out on them before.
But it looked like he wouldn't be
able to do any of that anytime soon thanks to the brawl in the office hall.
Derrick grabbed his walkie-talkie
and jogged around his desk, grumbling to himself as he whipped opened his
office door.
"Otis! Otis!" he called
into the walkie-talkie. "Otis, we need help on the second floor! Can you
send someone up?" He got only static in response.
Guess I'll
have to do this all by myself then, he thought with exasperation.
Derrick clipped his walkie-talkie
onto his belt and quickly undid the cuffs of his shirt. He rolled his sleeves
up to his forearms, revealing a series of tattoos and a few brands from his
younger days.
He ran into the corridor, and the
muffled shouts became a full roar. It was hard to see exactly who was fighting
because nearly a dozen boys were huddled in a tight circle, not far from the
door leading to the stairwell. They jumped and shoved to get a better view. As
he ran toward them, he noticed the bedraggled-looking counselor standing in one
of the classroom doorways. Her pale, wrinkled face was crumpled like she was
about to burst into tears.
"I tried calling Otis!"
she shouted to Derrick. "I really did, but he's not answering."
"I did too," he said.
Otis was the head security guard on
staff at the Institute. He'd been a burly, intimidating corrections officer
back in the day, but now he was just fat and lazy. Even the boys liked to call
him Officer Twinkie behind his back. Otis was content to hide in the rec room,
stuffing his face full of donuts while he watched talk shows on the staff flat
screen. He would increasingly turn down the volume of his walkie-talkie so the
static wouldn't interfere with his TV watching during the day, which would
explain why he hadn't responded to the emergency call about the fight in the
hallway. But considering that Otis was responsible for supervising all
security, this was unacceptable.
Guess it's
time to finally replace Otis, too.
It was yet another task he'd have to
add to the growing list for the week.
Derrick nodded at the counselor.
"Don't worry. I've got it! Just stand back, okay?"
She didn't look convinced, but
shrank back into the classroom anyway when another thud ricocheted down the
hall.
Derrick had a better view now. He
could see that only two boys were tussling while the rest were cheering them
on. Their T-shirts were ripped. One had the other in a headlock. The shorter of
the two, who was in the headlock, was punching the other in the gut. Blood
poured from the corner of the taller boy's mouth. They slammed against the
drywall again, knocking down one of the Institute's plaques and sending it
crashing to the floor.
Derrick took a deep breath and
plunged forward like a man diving into an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
He yanked one boy back, a fat one
who was nearly his size. The boy turned with his fist raised and then lowered
it when he realized who was standing beside him.
"Oh, hey, Mr. Derrick!" he
shouted as Derrick shoved another boy aside, then another. Finally, he was in
the center of the circle.
"Stop this shit, right
now!" he shouted, reaching for the two boys.
The shorter one was no longer in a
headlock. His fists were up. He looked prepared to take a swing.
"I mean it! Don't make me have
to —"
Derrick's words were stopped short
by a punch to the face.
* * *
"Hey, baby!" Melissa
called out as Derrick opened the apartment door. "You got home just in
time! Dinner's almost done."
Their Calico cat, Brownie, greeted
him as he closed the door behind him. The chubby cat rubbed its head and body
against Derrick's pant leg and he leaned down to rub her back in return, then
dropped his satchel to the floor. Despite the tissue stuffed up his nose,
Derrick caught a whiff of the stir fry his fiancée was cooking. He could hear
it sizzling in the kitchen too.
"How was your day?" she
shouted to him as he walked down the short hall leading to their eat-in
kitchen.
He passed their hallway mirror and
winced.
Even though some of his
shoulder-length dreads were hanging in his face, he could still see bruises
blooming on his nose and his left cheek just a few shades darker than his
mahogany skin. They would probably be purple by tomorrow. Blood was on his
shirt, near the breast pocket.
"It was a little rough,"
he mumbled to Melissa as he tugged the bloody tissues from his nostrils,
sighing at his reflection. "Just glad it's over."
He then rounded the corner and saw
Melissa standing at their stove, wearing a tank top, yoga pants, and no shoes,
slaving over dinner and looking as beautiful as ever. Her long, elegant neck
and smooth, brown shoulders were on full display thanks to her braids being
piled atop her head in a colorful kente wrap. She hummed absently to Jill Scott
on their stereo as she cooked, tossing a cup of snow peas into the stir fry.
She had been humming when he first
met her almost twenty years ago at the Boys' Institute. That day he'd been
sweeping the foyer — one of his daily chores during the two years he'd served
at the Institute for his assault charge. Melissa had been on her way to visit
her father, the Institute's then director, Theo Stone or Mr. Theo. She had been
humming a tune by Aaliyah and bobbing her head to the music. Her eyes had been
closed. She'd stopped short when she bumped into Derrick.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she'd
said, pulling her headphones from her ears and smiling bashfully up at him.
"I didn't see you there."
But he had seen her. He had been
staring at her as she unknowingly walked straight into him and he hadn't moved
an inch to stop the collision, too amazed by the lovely creature in front of
him.
"I-I'm D-D-Derrick," he'd
blurted out in response, making her smile widen. "You can call m-me Dee,
though. E-e-everyone here c-c-calls me Dee. B-but my name is r-really
Derrick."
"Hey, Dee! I'm Melissa,"
she'd replied — and he had been in love with her ever since.
Today, she was smiling again as he
leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder, making her giggle. She turned away
from the stove to face him and pointed toward the refrigerator with her wooden
spatula. "Can you grab the wine I have chilling in the ..."
Her words drifted off. Her smile
instantly disappeared.
"What the hell happened to
you?" she screeched, dropping the spatula to the granite counter and
turning off the oven burners. She reached up for his face and gently touched
the bruise on his cheek, grimacing. "Who did this, Dee? Did you get
mugged or somethin'?"
He shook his head and exhaled. He
then turned slightly to toss his bloody tissues into the kitchen waste bin.
"No, I broke up a fight between a couple of the boys today. That's
all."
"That's
all? That's all?" She slowly shook
her head. "If you were breaking up the fight then how the hell did you end
up being the one who got stomped?"
"I didn't 'get stomped.'"
He tugged her hand from his face. "The boys were swinging and accidentally
hit me a few times. It happens. Neither of them meant to do it. They apologized
when they settled down."
"Oh, they apologized! Well, I
guess that makes it okay then!" she exclaimed sarcastically before
crossing her arms over her chest.
"Look, I took care of it.
That's all that matters." He grabbed one of the ceramic plates on the
counter and peered down into the wok on the stove. "You didn't put too
much sriracha in here, did you? You know I don't like it too hot, baby."
He raised his gaze when she stomped
her bare foot.
"Derrick Miller, are you really
asking me about some damn chili pepper sauce when you walked through the front
door with a bloody nose, a ripped shirt" — she said, fingering his torn
shirt collar — "and a busted face like you just stumbled out of a boxing
ring? This is not cool! It's not right! You shouldn't have to —"
"And what exactly do you want
me to do about it? Huh?" he asked, not having the energy or patience to
mask his irritation.
"It's part of the damn job. You of all people should
know that!"
She fell silent and pursed her lips.
He hadn't meant to lash out at her,
but he didn't come home to start an argument. He just wanted to eat dinner and
spend some coveted alone time with his girl. Was that too much to ask? Besides,
Melissa had grown up knowing how the Boys' Institute operated. Her father had
been at the helm of the place for more than thirty years before he retired four
years ago, and Derrick had taken over as director. She'd had a front row seat
to the horror stories that came with running a place like the Institute, but
she also knew the highs and the joys you experienced seeing children that
society had basically thrown away get a second chance.
"Look, baby, it was a bad
day." He sat down his plate, reached out, and wrapped his arms around her.
"But I handled it." He forced a smile. "Trust me, the bruises
look worse than they feel."
But his soothing words weren't
working their magic. She still stubbornly shook her head. "Enough is
enough, Dee. I'm a teacher who loves my kids too, but there is no way — no
way I'd put up with half the shit that you do. They accidentally hit
you today. What if they accidentally stab you or shoot you
tomorrow?"
He sucked his teeth in exasperation.
"I mean some of those boys are
hard-core criminals. Some of them —"
"— are just like who I was
twenty years ago," he finished for her, dropping his arms from around her
waist. "Come on, Lissa. You want me to be a hypocrite?"
"They are nothing like
how you were. Don't give me that shit! You guys were in there for petty crimes
— getting into school fights and shoplifting from corner stores. Some of these
boys are facing first-degree-assault and drug smuggling charges, Dee. The city
is making that place the dumping ground for kids everyone else is too terrified
keep in their classrooms!"
"Which is exactly why I want
them with me. I know who they are. I've been where they are. I won't give up on
them the way everyone else has. Theo wouldn't have given up on them
either!"
She stiffened. He watched as she
narrowed her dark eyes. "Are you really going to bring him up?"
"Why shouldn't I? What I said
about your dad is true. You know he loved those kids. He still does."
"Oh, yeah, he loved them. He
loved them so much that he was willing to sacrifice his marriage, his family,
and his life for them. He made it clear to me, Mama, and everyone else that the
boys at the Institute were the most important things in the world to him — even
more important than us. And then, when he was ready to retire and we
thought we finally had him all to ourselves, he went gay and ran off with some
dude!"
Derrick winced. Maybe he shouldn't
have brought up her father after all.
She looked Derrick up and down.
"So is that what you're trying to tell me? You really want to be just
like my daddy? Because if it is, I can give you this ring back right
now." She held up her hand and pointed to the solitaire diamond on her
finger.
At that, his shoulders slumped. All
his rising anger dissipated.
"Baby, you know that's ... that's not what I
meant. I love you. I do! It's just ... I love my job too, and the boys need me
... and ... and ..."
He couldn't find the right words so
he let the sentence drift off into silence and raked his fingers through his
dreads in frustration instead.
"Enjoy your dinner. I didn't
put any sriracha in it this time, so you should like it," she muttered,
wiping her hands on a dish towel, tossing it aside, and stepping around him.
"Come on, baby, don't be that
way." He reached out for her and tried to draw her close again, but she
pulled out of his grasp.
"Tell Ricky and Jamal I said
'Hey,' when you see them tonight, okay?" she called over her shoulder as
she walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom. She then bent
down and scooped their cat into her arms. "Come on, Brownie. Let's go
grade some papers."
Derrick heard their bedroom door
slam shut seconds later.
"Shit," he said before
roughly scrubbing his hand over his face.
"Oww, shit!" he said again,
wincing reflexively at the pain in his cheek.
Enter to Win
About Shelly Ellis
She is married and lives in Prince George's County, Maryland with her husband and their daughter. Visit her at her web site www.shellyellisbooks.com.
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