BONUS: God's Hands - Free Book Reading + Song Preview

0:03 Welcome back to NO. Tears for Black Girls, the podcast. Where we not only do true crime, but. Also celebrate the. Strength, resilience, and untold stories of black women everywhere. I'm your host, Samantha Paul. Today is a very. Special bonus episode. Because we're stepping. Away from our usual true crime format to bring you something completely different, an exclusive preview of a brand new novelette written by our. Show's creator JC Reedberg The book is called God's. Hands a no. Tears for black girls story. And while it's fiction. It feels as. Real and raw, as any true crime case we've.

0:43 Covered, it tells the powerful. Story of Jasmine, a young black woman surviving on the streets of Oakland who experiences a moment of divine intervention that changes. Her life forever. This isn't just St. fiction, this is a testament to how mercy can break. Cycles of. Violence and transform lives in just a few minutes. I'm going to read you the. Entire first chapter. And trust me, you're going to be hooked from the very first line. But first let me tell you. How you can get this book absolutely free? Right now, God's hands is. Available as a. Free download exclusively on Amazon Kindle until September 10th. After that, it remains free with your Kindle Unlimited subscription if.

1:29 You love what? You hear today, and I know. You will please. Show some love. With a 5 star. Rating and review. And here's something extra special at the end of. Today's episode. We'll preview the song inspired by this. Book. It's called God's hands. By dat's hot. Featuring Jada Truth. Who? Is actually the transformed version of our main character. You can find it on SoundCloud, YouTube, and all our social media channels right now, so get comfortable. Because. We're about to take you on a journey through the streets of Oakland into a moment where God's hands intervene in the most unexpected. Way here's chapter. One of God's hands, A no tears.

2:12 For black girls. Story Chapter 1. Ghost Ride. Jasmine wakes to the grind of her cheek on raw concrete, sweat matting her skin in the pre dawn chill. Above her. The ceiling gapes. Like a battlefield. Wooden beams exposed like splintered ribs. She blinks through the blue gloom and sees the bone white walls. Scrawled with layer. Upon layer of. Graffiti tags. Threats, crude cartoons and there in faded blue spray paint. RIP Marshawn Chavis, you're in God's hands. Spray painted testimonies to 100 sleepless Nights. Cold seeps up her legs. And her thigh burns with the ache of last night's. Bruises, she flexes.

2:58 Free one hand, feeling her. Backpack's zipper. A small. Relief that it's still hers. She rolls onto her side, hugs her knees and fishes out her battered Samsung. No new messages. Just Darius's last text sleep light. Meet up tomorrow. Hunger knots her stomach. But thirst is sharper. She shakes the lone water bottle, only a throat tickling. Rattle of backwash. She tips it to her lips, tasting dust, plastic. And a. Flicker of copper like old blood. A burnt spoon lies near her shoe. She kicks it aside.

3:39 Stay sharp, jazz. Never too tired, too hungry too. Soft the air. Is a weapon here, Urine rotting, insulation, chemical haze from the paint. She stands, joints cracking, then stills. At a soft. Clatter beyond the broken windows. Clutching her pack, she creeps to the. Sill International Ave. is a rumor, a single bus. Squeaks. By empty save for one man asleep in the back in the alley, two men in. Puffy jackets argue over a dirt bike. One missing 3 fingers. The other. Scratching at a. Plastic wrapped wrist. No sign of. Darius she. Scans for surprises, heart tightening with a memory. The stairwell off. 59th 6 months ago. His hand at her throat.

4:26 Wild Turkey breath. Hot against her ear, the small animal sound she made still burns inside her. Footsteps. Skip down the hall, She spins, fist raised. But Darius? Slips into the doorway, palms up, grinning like an idiot. Yo, don't swing, I come in. Peace she. Lowers her hand. You're late, He. Shrugs under his. Hoodie cops swept the block. Messed my timing but I got a plan. You always do. She notes his wet shoes, mud crusted knees. He's wired on something, security cams dead for months. He steps in, eyes flicking around 711 off. Foothill Quick Lick, old school clerk. Won't.

5:15 Fight. He produces 2 balaclavas. Black and Navy. Like party favors? Jasmine studies the masks, then her empty bottle, then the few coins hidden in her sock. She wants to refuse. But her mother? 'S voice coils in her head. You don't eat, you don't breathe. She exhales. All right. Quick, in and out, no lingering. Darius beams. In and out, Promise. He fades down the stairs. Jasmine let's her. Chest, relax. She doesn't trust him, trusts only the plan. The pulse. The need The sun's half risen, but international still sleeps under long shadows that cling like fear. Jasmine and Darius stick to the margins, feet crunching glass. As they weave past busted bus stops. And drifting trash.

6:06 Last night's rain has smeared everything. Colors. Edges. The thin line between danger and whatever. Passes for safe. Jasmine clutches her. Pack knuckles, white eyes. Flicking over every. Face for cops. Or anyone who might remember the angle of her jaw. Traffic on the main drag roils around them a. Slurry. Of idling engines, weed smoke, old grease and damp cardboard a woman in. Scrubs shuffles past. Head down, earbuds sealing her off, Darius leans. Close voice, low. Bet she's. Carrying at least 20, Jasmine says nothing and lifts her. Boot over a bloated. Rat in the gutter.

6:49 It's tail still. Quivering at the next corner, they halt. A white van drifts by, windows caked. With dust Darius. Murmurs half. Chant half. Plea. After this we disappear. Lay low in San Leandro, maybe even see the ocean. You ever seen the real Pacific? Jazz every word. Stokes her anxiety. Upward, she forces out. We do this clean, one slip up and we're both dead. His grin is too sharp. I know I got you yet. His thumb drums on his thigh and his jaw twitches in the lamplight. They veer behind the.

7:29 Taco Truck Depot. Into the flea market, fringe vendors haul tarps and crates, chain smoke and shout over trap beats. Darius nods at an old man behind a folding table, half his teeth missing. Gloves. Ski masks, Sunglasses fanned out the vendor. Eyes the parked. Cruiser then tucks. His lips together 2 black balaclavas, Darius says. 10 bucks for both 15. The man grunts, sizing up Jasmine, his muscle. She counts out greasy. Bills, they slip. Away with two masks rolled into a sandwich. Bag Darius. Conceals his inside.

8:09 His sleeve. A horn blares. Jasmine's skin crawls. She's yanked into a memory, a mattress in a windowless room, her voice strangled. By fear bleach. Stinging her nostrils, the vent rattling overhead. She's 17, already spent. Door crashes open. Aunt Keisha stands framed in chaos, arms crossed. Storm cloud face. You don't belong. Here, she'd said. Scooping Jasmine up and wrapping her in a denim jacket that smelled of cocoa butter and cheap. Soap the 1st. Good smell in a. Year, the scrape of a shopping. Cart pulls her. Back they slip. Into an alley. Scrawled with tags too sick loco.

8:51 Misdemeanor. Darius paces. Spinning an unlit cigarette, Jasmine leans against damp brick. Heart pounding, he finally speaks and clipped breaths. We hit just. Before shift change, old man behind the counter freaks at masked. Black kids. I'll wave the burner keeps him pinned. You clear the register, we bolt the back door. Cross the. Tracks dump everything in the Creek by 20 3rd St. Silence stretches. Jasmine watches him count Bricks 123. Her pulse echoes. You sure? She asks. He stops the cigarette spin.

9:34 Yeah, no cameras until the alley. His voice is. Steady, but his hand trembles. You remember the safe code 7-4-1 dash? Zero, he says. Same as last. Week. She closes her eyes. Last job He. Puked twice and almost left his phone behind. She did all the work. You keep picking him even when you know better, because he stayed when nobody. Else did. Because nobody. Else ever will. She rehearses the plan. Entry, countdown, exit. They can't fuck up, not now. Darius pulls his mask down. Breath. Fogs the fabric.

10:14 He grins in the dim. Light, we're ghosts. She lets a thin smile slip, adrenaline dulling the. Dread. She pulls hers over her. Face sudden. Hush, the world reduced to two. Slits of vision and her pounding breath, they press into the shadows and slip onto the street. Let's get paid. Darius whispers. They slosh across the muddy lot. Each. Footfall sucking cold sludge onto their sneakers. Last night's rain clings and thick, oily clumps. Up ahead, the 711 crouches under a flickering neon sign with one letter dark. It's grimy windows reflecting distorted St. lamps. The automatic.

10:59 Doors shutter as if afraid to. Open. Jasmine feels the masks rigid curve against her cheek. Every exhale fogs the plastic. Darius glides ahead, shoulders low. One hand tucked into his sleeve. 10 years ago, they sprinted the same block, she clutching stolen candy, he knocking over a magazine rack, heart pounding with the rush of being unseen. We're invisible, he'd whispered. Now she's older, steel in her spine. This is no petty. Theft. Tonight, they stake everything on one gamble. Erase the past or die. Under its weight. A delivery truck idle at the curb, hisses through its exhaust. Jasmine nods.

11:43 At the drivers watchful eyes. Then ducks behind a drooping display of roses. Pressing her damp palms to her jeans, Darius makes a. Slow circle, a soft hiss of a. Whistle under his breath. She counts distant noises, a freeway rumble, birds squabbling on overhead. Wires. Muted laughter from a parked. Car. None of it matters. She has tunnel vision. The store's entrance. He slides back into view and inclines his head inside. Only the old clerk perches behind the counter, hunched like a tired Sentinel. Go time. Darius murmurs. Jasmine's throat tightens, Her mouth turns to dust. She exhales once, careful, silent, and they step. Through the doors together the bell. Emits A jarring shriek.

12:34 Jasmine drifts down the narrow aisle. Toward the frosted cooler. Keeping her shoulders. Loose. Her gaze casual. Every overhead light buzzes. Every hum of refrigeration presses against her. Skull Darius strides to the register. Chin lifted mask. Pulled high. The clerk looks up. No startle, just slow, Precise. Calculation. He's seen this before, Jasmine thinks, heart stuttering. Darius raises. The gun open the register now. His voice booms, cracking at the edge like a snapped wire. Silence thickens. The clerk stays stoic.

13:15 Watching Darius's trembling hand, then glancing toward Jasmine's frozen silhouette, he simply waits. Calm as stone. The refrigerator's wine swells, drowning out Darius's next words. Jasmine catches fragments. Fast. Don't fuck around, nobody wants to die. Time fractures. Jasmine's eyes flick to the candy display. Blue and white sunflower. Seeds. Teetering on the. Edge. She tastes. Vertigo. Then the clerk moves with deliberate slowness, reaches under the counter, and with one smooth motion pushes the drawer open.

13:57 There's a metallic. Clack that echoes like a. Starting gun. Darius stares at the fanned bills as if he's forgotten what money feels like in his hand. Her skin prickles. This isn't right. A sudden ring of the doorbell. Jasmine whips around. A man in a fluorescent construction vest stumbles inside, nearly tripping over the rubber mat. His eyes. Widen at the sight of the gun, the masks, the rigid tension in Jasmine's stance. For a breath. Too long, none of them moves. Darius's voice cracks the air. Get back, Get the fuck back, he levels. The pistol at the newcomer panic coils. Through his words.

14:40 His finger tightens on the trigger. The shot rings out. Unplanned, A primal. Reflex the bullet. Slams into a. Rack of lottery. Scratchers sending cardboard shards spraying like confetti. Jasmine dives behind the coolers. A storm of dust and gunpowder fills her nose somewhere behind her. There's a wet. Sickening thump. Darius keels over. Clutching his belly, pants blooming red. Shit, he wheezes. Jazz. Shit, he collapses. To one knee, then slumps fully to the floor. The gun skitters just out of reach Jasmine's legs. Lock. She stares down at him.

15:21 His fingers tremble against the wound, blood pooling beneath him. The world tilts, the clerk's face blacks with fury. Then flickers to something else. Fatigue or pity before? Jasmine can brace. For the blast. He Yanks a pump action shotgun from under the counter and Rakes it back. With a practiced flick, he raises the barrel. Aims at Jasmine. Her knees buckle. Sure. This. Is the end. But he hesitates. Then. Lowers the barrel. By inches. He says. Go. Jasmine snaps. Out of paralysis. She lunges to Darius's side, kneeling in spilled milk and torn lottery.

16:03 Tickets. His breaths. Come shallow rapid iron metallic in her nose she. Rips at his. Shirt pressing down on the wound. Don't. You can't. Don't. Die, she hisses, voice raw. He tries a smile trembling. Told you we'd make history, huh? Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder, closer. Jasmine glances up. No gun insight. The clerk talking quietly into a phone behind the counter. She shifts her weight. Presses harder on Darius's wound, counting each second. His eyelids flutter. Run Jazz, he murmurs.

16:44 She shakes her head, tears bright as. Splintered glass. Her chest hammers, the bell in her ears, the sirens in her blood. She remembers the garden shed 10 years. Ago the sticky. Candy. Their childish laughter. We're invisible, but they were never unseen. The world watches. The world never forgets. The sirens crescendo. Jasmine stays. She's not running. She's not invisible. Not anymore. And that's where we'll leave you for now. Right at that. Pivotal moment where everything changes for Jasmine. But trust me, that's just the beginning of her incredible journey from the streets to salvation. If you want to know what happens next and you, absolutely. Do go get your free copy of God.

17:34 'S hands a no. Tears for Black Girls story by JC Reedberg. Right now on Amazon Kindle, remember it's completely free until September 10th and free with Kindle Unlimited after that. And if this story moved you the way it moved me? Please take 2. Seconds to leave a. Five Star Review It helps other people discover these powerful stories. That need to be told now. As promised, here's something extra. Special you just heard. Jasmine's story. But what you're about to hear? Is her transformation. This. Is God's hands by dot? 'S hot. Featuring Jada. Truth, the artist. That Jasmine becomes.

18:14 This track will be. Featured on our upcoming No Tears. For black girls. Volume 1 compilation You can find this song right now on SoundCloud, YouTube, and all our social media channels. Links are in our bio. Before we go. Remember every black. Girl has a. Story worth telling, a strength worth celebrating, and a voice worth hearing. Don't let anyone convince. You otherwise stay loved, stay blessed. And stay safe. This is Samantha Paul, and we'll see you next time on No Tears. For black girls.

19:00 Sometimes when you've got. Nowhere to go and nobody to turn to you Find out who. Really got you when you got nothing left. To lose. And the. Word on turning back on you. That's when you. Find out what's true. Hands got me, got me, got me. When no one don't want me, hold me, God's hands hold me, hold me. When the devil tried to own me, hold me, God 's. Hands. God's hands. That's who really understands hands.

19:44 Hands. God's hands got me when I. Couldn't stand in years. Cold concrete, my bed where you sleep warm food dreams dancing in my head. What you need East Oakland nights in the national spread Where you from Mama go home. Listen daddy, go to birth. Foster home spell me left questioning my birth desperation whispers got my thinking. Wow $20 bills for what makes me a child. Virginity traded for roof and something. Oh the creditors circling young flesh. They see gas station bathroom fluorescent light flickers. There shows a girl, but the pain runs thicker. Nasty ever streak in heaven. Why God, if you're real, why you let me cry.

20:24 Aunt Keisha's Honda pull into the curb. Baby girl, come home. Let love be your bird. First warm meal, first clean sheets in weeks. He knows First time I felt God. When my spirit speaks. I hear you. God's hands got. Me got me got. Me when the world won't me. Won't me my hands holy, holy, holy. The devil tried to own me. God. That's who really understand God. God. God, there, it's been my eighth since 2nd grade recess. Now he's 17.

21:05 He's preaching about some success. Easy lick J, just be the lookout. The same 711 robbery, but my soul filled with doubt. The mass tight, adrenaline pumping fast, Gina's bounce, but the moment can pass. Clerk duck low. Derry's finger got nervous now, my childhood homie breathing on the surface, Chrome barrel pointed at my trembling frame, froze like a statue, couldn't even say his name. Old man's hands shaking, tears in his eyes. And you right now, but God hears your cry. Thank the universe child. God got your back. Leave my store now. Get your life on track. Garry's blood pooling on the linoleum. Flo. That night I prayed like I never prayed before. Three years later, still sending money to his Mama. Baby girl born never met her daddy's drama. Lil Grace got his eyes smile his chin to convince the Mama to name after my sin.

22:22 Every month I send what I can spend because everything here but see he can't guilt eating at me like cancer in my chest. Sometimes I wonder if death will bring me breasts. Part of me wishes I went with him that night, part of me curious about that eternal life. If I spoke up more. Would he still be breathing if I pulled him back when we both be leaving? What? To be sincere, since he ain't here. I shed invisible tears crystal clear, his soul resting in God's mighty hands. The same hair strong enough to crush Satan's plants. Look in the mirror. I see her. I've kissed myself for choosing fervent destruction. Since that.

23:02 Night I've been listening, calling. God has caught me when I was falling. Never let go. Every star tells the. Story of survival. I'm still here. Every tear was a prayer for revival. Me knew. From the streets to the. Station. From the pain. To the light. Your pants told every pain. Everything's going. To be OK. Grace Running. Round calling me Auntie J, you lie. Darius lives on in a different way. God's hands got me, got me when the world will want me for me. God's hands hold me for me. When the Devil. Tried to own me, on me, my hands, God. 18 Now scars tell my story, but God's hands held me, gave me glory.

24:11 From the streets to the stage, from the pain to the light. Jerry's watching over me. Everything's all right. Little grace got us now I got his memory. God's hands got us all. That's my testimony.