Birthright, p.1
Birthright, page 1
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, N.Y.-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Birthright Copyright © 2025 Zari
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
ISBN 13: 978-1-64556-731-8
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-64556-735-6
First Trade Paperback Printing October 2025
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter One
“I’m not gonna ask you again,” J.R. Marx shouted as he slammed D’marco Heard’s head into the bar. “Where the fuck is my fuckin’ money?”
“I ain’t got it!” D’marco finally shouted.
Nikki Marx walked up to D’marco and put her gun to his head. “Fuck you mean you ain’t got it?”
“I can get it!” D’marco shouted. “I just need a couple of days, Nikki, I swear.”
Nikki moved her gun away from D’marco’s head, and J.R. allowed his body to slump to the floor. His face was a bloody and twisted mess. Nikki stood over him as he tried to get up. She put her foot on his chest when he got to one knee.
“Nobody told you to get up,” she said, kicking him back to the floor.
J.R. looked around the packed spot. The name of the spot was Club XL, one of the nightclubs owned by Pete Barlowe for D’marco and his partner, Rashard Raymone. Rashard had seen Nikki and J.R. when they got out of their car. Once they armed themselves and went inside, Rashard knew he wanted no part of them or whatever they wanted, so he hid in the office.
“Where’s snitchin’-ass, Rashard?” J.R. kicked D’marco in the face.
D’marco spit blood. “I ain’t seen him,” he lied quickly.
He knew Rashard was hiding in the office but feared it wouldn’t go well for him if he told them that.
Nikki laughed. “Probably somewhere hiding from me.” She walked over to the table where Andra Perry, Rashard’s girlfriend, sat.
“Shit,” Andra mumbled when she saw Nikki coming her way. “Hey, Nikki,” she said when Nikki sat down at the table.
“Hey, Andra. Where’s your nigga?”
“I swear I don’t know where he is, Nikki,” she lied. She’d seen Rashard when he hurried to the office to hide.
Nikki nodded. “I don’t believe you.” She stood up. “But it’s cool. You tell him it’s gonna be worse for him if I don’t see him by the weekend.”
Nikki walked away from the table and put her gun away. “Everybody in here needs to understand everything going on in those streets out there …” Nikki pointed toward the door. “It all belongs to me!”
When Nikki and J.R. left Club XL, everybody breathed a sigh of relief.
“That is one fine-ass nigga,” Shekira Albertson said when J.R. left with Nikki. She was at Club XL with her best friend, Rasheda Saint James, who everybody called Rah-Rah.
“He is.” Rah-Rah laughed. “Shame he doesn’t know you exist.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna change that soon. Mark my words. That is gonna be my man.”
“In your dreams. What you gonna do with Sharonda Braelin?”
“That skinny, flat-chested bitch? Bitch, please. Once he gets hold of all these titties and this ass, he’ll forget her name.”
Rah-Rah laughed so hard she didn’t notice that Tion Perkins had sat down at the table with them.
“What’s up, Rah-Rah?”
“Wondering if you gonna buy me a drink or what?”
Tion chuckled and signaled for a server. He was a roadie for music video producer Levine Thatcher, and that was the only reason that Rah-Rah spoke to him. She was a dancer, or at least she wanted to be. She took ballet, tap, and African jazz from an early age and was a cheer-leader in high school. In the years since then, Rah-Rah had been the lead dancer on several dance crews and had taken more dance classes to perfect her craft. When she and Shekira hit the clubs, Rah-Rah dominated the dance floor. She had even tried to make a break for herself when she danced at a strip club called the Platinum Club, where she heard that Thatcher had recruited a couple of girls who danced there to be in some of his videos. She didn’t make it through the night because dancing was one thing; dancing naked for a bunch of men was more than she could handle.
When a server came to the table, Tion dropped a hundred-dollar bill on her tray. “Bring her whatever she wants.”
Shekira folded her arms across her chest and frowned indigently. “She the only one you see sitting here?” she asked.
Tion looked at Shekira. “I didn’t see you sitting there.” He turned to the server. “Bring her what she’s drinking too.”
“What can I get you ladies?” the server asked.
“Henessy and Coke,” Shekira said.
“Tequila Sunrise,” Rah-Rah ordered. “Jose Cuervo gold, not the cheap shit,” she said, and the server glanced at Tion. He nodded, and the server left to get the drinks.
Tion glanced at Rah-Rah. She is so fuckin’ sexy, he thought as he looked deeply at the V-neck Xirena Axl twisted back tank that highlighted her abundant cleavage. He all but licked his lips.
“When you gonna let me take you out, Rah-Rah?” Tion asked, and she leaned closer to him.
“When you gonna get me in one of Levine Thatcher’s music videos?”
“I told you. You need to come to one of Thatcher’s auditions.”
“Why I gotta do that? You’ve seen me dance a bunch of times. Right? You know how good I am.”
“And she got that video dancer body,” Shekira added. In addition to her abundant cleavage, Rah-Rah had the type of ass that made men want to follow her.
“I know, but that’s the way it is. I could recommend you, but that would only get you in the audition,” Tion said instead of admitting that he had no power, pull, or influence with Thatcher. His job was to set up and tear down the equipment. He doubted that his recommendation would carry any weight with Thatcher.
“I heard about them so-called auditions,” Shekira said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, me, too,” Rah-Rah co-signed.
“All you gotta do is get naked and fuck everybody, Rah-Rah, and you in there.” Shekira laughed.
“Not gonna happen,” Rah-Rah said to her best friend, but she wondered, if that’s what it took, would she get naked and open her legs? “That’s because my boy here is gonna hook me up,” she said, caressing Tion’s face gently.
When the server returned with the drinks, Tion got his change and stood up. He tossed a business card on the table in front of Rah-Rah.
“Call me when you get serious about wanting to dance, and we’ll talk about that audition.”
When he walked away from the table in search of new prey, Rah-Rah gave him the finger. “Fuck that nigga.”
“At least he’s good for drinks,” Shekira said, but her mind was still on J.R. Marx and how she was going to get him to notice her.
As J.R. drove them away from Club XL, Nikki relaxed and made herself comfortable.
“What you wanna do now?” J.R. asked.
“Go by Marquee,” Nikki said, and her younger brother headed for another club owned by Pete Barlowe.
“What you wanna go to Marquee for?” J.R. asked.
“W esley owes me five grand, and he’s been ducking me for weeks,” Nikki said.
Nikki and J.R. Marx worked for Barlowe as his enforcers. The two had grown up in the game. Their father, Eddie Marx, started out with Barlowe. They built the formidable organization from an ounce of powder and, over the years, turned it into a very profitable drug, gambling, and prostitution operation.
Fifteen years ago, when Nikki was twelve and J.R. was only nine years old, their father was murdered. Nikki and J.R. were too young to know or understand what was happening at the time. At the funeral, Barlowe promised their mother, Naomi Marx, that he would take care of her and the children as if they were his own. Barlowe kept his word, and growing up, Nikki and J.R. wanted for nothing, and neither did their mother. They had the very best of everything.
“It’s your legacy,” Barlowe often told them growing up. “Your birthright.” He taught them the game and how to survive in it.
As Nikki and J.R. matured into adulthood, they became more involved in the business and became Barlowe’s enforcers. It was a job they gladly did because, as Barlowe himself often said, it was their legacy. And they were good at it. Barlowe’s people feared the pair and especially thought that Nikki was ruthless. She didn’t mind proving it. When you saw Nikki coming, you apologized and got in line, or she introduced you to the consequences.
Now they were no longer anxious teenagers. Nikki was twenty-four, and J.R. had just celebrated his twenty-first birthday. She was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with Barlowe and the way he treated them. It had gotten to the point where Nikki sometimes thought about killing Barlowe and taking what she felt was their birthright.
However, J.R. was entirely loyal to Barlowe and couldn’t understand why, after all these years, his sister wasn’t. To Nikki, the only good thing about their current position was that Barlowe paid them well, and he had taught them well. Nikki and J.R. were brutal, and they knew how to make money.
When they arrived at Marquee, Wesley Nelson, who sold heroin for Barlowe, was alerted that Nikki was in the place and was on her way to the office. He went to the safe in the office and got six thousand dollars before he closed it. The money was stacked neatly on the desk when Nikki and J.R. entered the office.
Nikki nodded when she saw the money on the desk. “That me?”
“It is. You’re welcome to count it if you like.”
Nikki picked up the money. “No need. You know better than to short me on my money,” she said, took out her gun, and shot Wesley in the foot.
He screamed in pain. “What you do that for?”
“Fuck you think?” J.R. said, barely able to contain his laughter as Wesley hopped on one foot.
“Next time, don’t make me have to wait for my money and have to come looking for you,” Nikki said to Wesley, and J.R. followed her to the door.
“Stop screaming, nigga. You gonna live,” J.R. said.
Nikki pointed her gun at his head. “Next time, you’ll die for it,” she said, leaving the office.
As J.R. drove them away from Marquee, Nikki looked at her brother and thought about telling him the truth. She had gotten tired of waiting for Barlowe to give her what she thought she was entitled to and had begun taking it. Without her brother or Barlowe’s knowledge, Nikki had been taxing drug dealers and runners she knew were skimming, and she was thinking about doing the same thing with his gambling spots. What Nikki didn’t know was that if she wasn’t careful, things were about to come to a head and explode. She had more than her share of enemies who would like nothing more than to bring Nikki down.
Chapter Two
The nineties were booming. It was an excellent opportunity for two enterprising young men who were ready and willing to do what needed to be done to make money and were willing to get their hands dirty. Fast Eddie Marx and Pistol Pete Barlowe were two construction workers by day and small-time drug dealers by night. Both presented them with growth opportunities. As their drug business grew, they took some money and started a construction company. That got them a lot of work as subcontractors during the boom, and they made a lot of money.
The same was true for their drug business. Cocaine, marijuana, and heroin sales led them into gambling, prostitution, and other illegal activities, and by the turn of the century, the pair was both wealthy and powerful. Fast Eddie was a family man, happily married to Naomi, with two children, Nishelle and Eddie Junior. Pistol Pete was married as well, but it didn’t make him any less of a ladies’ man with a wandering eye. Over the years, he cheated on his wife, Caroline, relentlessly.
All of their lives changed the night that Fast Eddie was gunned down in the driveway of their house. At his funeral, Pete promised Naomi that not only would he avenge her husband’s murder “At the hands of cowards,” but he would take care of her and Eddie’s children. His wife, Caroline, couldn’t have any children of her own. Therefore, she treated young Nikki and J.R. as if they were her own children until the day she died from complications of ovarian cancer.
Following her father’s murder, Nikki was angry, and her mother found her hard to reach. Pete saw that same angry young girl and decided to channel that anger, drive, and determination into business. He turned Nikki into a weapon. Where Eddie wanted his children not to be involved in his business, Pete taught Nikki and her impressionable younger brother the game. Naturally, they excelled, and now, they were his best enforcers, the ones he counted on when he needed something done and there was a point to be made.
That afternoon, in a seven-bedroom, ten-bath cul-de-sac home built on a full acre of land, Arya Cornelius walked into the foyer featuring a magnificent double staircase and Italian porcelain slabs. There was French oak wide-plank flooring throughout the house. She had spent the morning shopping at The Shops at Columbus Circle and had lunch at Mastro’s Steakhouse. Once again, she had overspent the sizable allowance that Pete Barlowe gave her each month, but she didn’t care about overspending because she had Barlowe wrapped around her little finger.
When he heard her come in, Pete left the library in his home, where he did the majority of his business and entertainment, and he went to greet her. He walked into the foyer and saw all her shopping bags.
“My God, woman,” Barlowe said.
“What?”
“All of them bags.” He walked up to her, shaking his head. “How much of my money did you spend today?”
“As much as it took for your woman to look good for you, baby.” She kissed him.
“You look amazing all the time,” he said to the beautiful young woman.
At thirty-seven years old, Arya was twenty-seven years younger than her man. She had played the other woman for years before Caroline passed away. May she rest in peace. Ten years later, it was Arya’s time, and she was taking full advantage of the situation.
“You wouldn’t be so worried about how much money I’m spending if you’d get your folks to stop skimming.”
“Skimming?” Barlowe went to sit down. “Who’s skimming?”
“Look, baby.” Arya sat down next to him. “I’m just telling you what the talk is, and the talk is that it’s the wild, wild west out there. Niggas is out there lawless getting money.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “You know I hear shit that people wouldn’t dare mention around you, lover.”
“I know you do. Which is exactly why you need to tell me what you heard, and who you heard it from.”
“Remy.”
“Remy?” Barlowe questioned. Remington Sharp was his top seller.
“That’s just what I heard. It may be just all talk.”
“No, no, it makes sense.”
The fact that Arya heard things that he needed to know was what had attracted Barlowe to her. He kept her around because Arya always knew what was going on and made sure that he knew about it. She had been his eyes and ears in the street; although nobody else did, he had come to trust her.
“That muthafucka always thought he was too big for his shoes. Wanting what I have.”
“Like I said, that’s just what I heard. Hear the nigga tell it, he’s as honest and loyal as any of your soldiers.”
“You asked him about it?”
“I might have mentioned a little something to him.”
Barlowe grabbed her by the shoulders. “Fuck you do that for?”
“To put something on his mind,” Arya said, even though she’d done no such thing. She hadn’t heard anything about anybody skimming.
