Jamaican Me Crazy Mon

By Ireland Lorelei

Keisha Harper is a journalist for the Miami Sentinel. She was burnt out. She had been investigating a string of arson cases with the fire department for a year. When the arsonist was finally caught, she needed to take a break, so she decided to take a two-month sabbatical to Montego Bay, Jamaica. She never imagined she would meet someone there a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Warrioress Publishing
• Release date: Mar 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869229878

Book preview

Ireland Lorelei

Jamaican Me Crazy Mon

A Vegabond Series Book

Copyright © 2023 by Ireland Lorelei

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Contents

Note to Readers

Keisha’s Burnout

The Arrest of the Arsonist

Keisha’s Sabbatical Plans

Llanzo Trying to Move On

Arrival in Montego Bay

Meeting Llanzo

Llanzo’s Past

The First Kiss

Keisha’s Inner Conflict

Learning About Llanzo’s Business

A Night Out

Llanzo’s Confession

A Jamaican Adventure

Facing Reality

Goodbye

Keisha Returns to Miami

Surprise Visit

The Move

Happily Ever After Mon

About the Author

Also by Ireland Lorelei

Note to Readers

Chapter Separator

The characters in this book are unapologetic and dramatic. The scenes are steamy and the road to happily ever after maybe twisted. This book is meant for audiences 18 years old and older. A list of potential triggering themes can be found on my website at https://irelandlorelei.com/possible-triggers

If you find any errors, I would like to hear about them. Please screenshot the page and email then to me at [e-mail]

Keisha’s Burnout

Chapter Separator

The sound of sirens reverberated through the night, cutting through the thick, heavy air. With each passing moment, the cries of the emergency vehicles grew more persistent, as if the sirens were pleading with me to pay attention. But my heart wasn’t in it. I had spent a year chasing after the elusive flames that licked the buildings of Miami, all while trying to unravel the twisted minds that set them alight. And now, I was completely and utterly spent.

The fire station loomed before me, its red brick exterior awash in the glow of streetlights. It was a bastion of safety, a sanctuary against the flames that threatened to consume the city. Yet, standing there on the sidewalk, I felt a sense of dread creeping in like a thief in the night. I knew that my time was running out, and that I needed to make a decision soon. But how could I walk away when there was so much left unresolved?

My name is Keisha Harper, and I am a journalist for the Miami Sentinel. For the past year, I have been investigating a series of arson cases alongside the city’s fire department. At first, the challenge of uncovering the truth behind these mysterious fires had been exhilarating. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the weight of my responsibility had become too much to bear.

For months, I had been running on fumes, subsisting on a diet of caffeine and adrenaline. My days were a blur of fire scenes, interviews, and frantic writing sessions, all while trying to maintain a semblance of a normal life outside of work. But the stress of the job was beginning to take its toll, and I knew that something had to give.

I could feel the strain on my relationships, as friends and family grew increasingly frustrated with my constant absence. But the one person who seemed to understand was my editor, Carla Martinez. She had been a mentor to me ever since I joined the Miami Sentinel, always offering her guidance and support. And in my darkest moments, she had been the one to remind me of the importance of our work.

You’re doing something important here, Keisha, she would tell me, her voice filled with conviction. You’re shedding light on a dark corner of the city, and giving a voice to those who have been silenced by fear. Don’t give up, no matter how hard it gets.

But now, as I stood before the fire station, I couldn’t help but feel that I had reached my breaking point. The adrenaline that had once fueled my passion for the job had long since drained away, leaving me hollow and empty inside. I felt like a burnt-out shell of my former self, my mind and body struggling to keep up with the demands of my work.

It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that was wearing me down, but the emotional toll as well. I had seen things that I could never forget, images that haunted my dreams and left me feeling as if I were wading through a sea of despair. And with each new case, I felt a growing sense of futility. No matter how many fires we extinguished, it seemed as if the flames would never truly be snuffed out.

The door to the fire station swung open, and a group of firefighters emerged, their faces grim and soot-streaked. As they passed by, I caught a glimpse of their haunted expressions, and I knew that I was not alone in my suffering. These brave men and women faced the same demons that I did, risking their lives every day to keep the city safe from the ravages of fire.

As I watched them trudge wearily towards their vehicles, I felt a sudden wave of resolve wash over me. I couldn’t abandon them now, not when they needed me the most. It was true that I was tired, and that my spirit was flagging under the weight of my responsibilities. But if these firefighters could find the strength to carry on in the face of such adversity, then so could I.

I took a deep breath, letting the crisp night air fill my lungs and chase away the lingering traces of doubt and fear. I reminded myself that I was not just a journalist, but a guardian of truth, shining a light on the darkness that threatened to consume the city. And as long as there were fires to fight, I would be there, pen in hand, ready to document the battle.

With renewed determination, I strode into the fire station, the warmth of the building enveloping me like a comforting embrace. The familiar scent of smoke and sweat filled my nostrils, reminding me that this was where I belonged. This was my purpose, my calling, and I would not let burnout extinguish the flames of my passion.

As I made my way through the station, I could feel the curious eyes of the firefighters upon me. I knew that they respected me for the work I had done, and that they saw me as a kindred spirit, fighting the same battle that they did. And in their eyes, I saw the unspoken promise that they would stand by me, just as I had stood by them.

I reached the office of the fire chief, pausing for a moment to gather my thoughts. I knew that I needed to be honest with him about my struggles, and to seek his guidance in finding a way to overcome my burnout. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, I felt a flicker of hope begin to kindle within me, a spark that might one day grow into a roaring blaze.

And as I stepped into the fire chief’s office, I vowed to myself that I would not let my burnout consume me. I would rise from the ashes, stronger and more determined than ever before. I would continue to fight the fires that threatened the city, and to bring the arsonists to justice.

For I was Keisha Harper, journalist and fire chaser, and I would not be defeated.

I stood there for a moment, taking in the familiar surroundings of the fire chief’s office. The walls were lined with memorabilia and awards, a testament to his many years of service to the city. A map of Miami adorned one wall, red pins marking the sites of recent fires. The chief’s desk was a monument to organized chaos, with stacks of paperwork and an assortment of firefighting paraphernalia.

As I approached the desk, Fire Chief Donovan looked up from the documents he was scrutinizing, his furrowed brow momentarily easing as he saw me. Keisha, he said, his gruff voice betraying a hint of warmth. What brings you here this late?

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. But as I met his steady gaze, I found the courage to speak my truth. Chief, I need to talk to you about something important, I said, my voice wavering slightly. I think I might be…burning out.

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any sign of insincerity. But as he saw the exhaustion etched into my features, his expression softened. Sit down, Keisha, he said gently, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. Let’s talk.

As I sank into the worn leather seat, I suddenly found myself at a loss for words. How could I possibly convey the depth of my fatigue, the sense of hopelessness that had come to pervade my every waking moment? But as I looked into