by J-Blunt
Deso looked hurt. “I did this for you, my nigga. Put a squad together so we can get down like we used to.”
“No disrespect, but these yo’ niggas. I can’t jump into nothin’ blind. I don’t know what kinda shit y’all in or who y’all beefin’ wit’. I’m solo for now.”
“What kinda shit is that, dawg?” Yea spoke up. “You think we fake? Nigga, we put in work!”
Pop mugged Yea. “But I don’t know you, nigga. And I don’t eat wit’ niggas I don’t know.”
“Nigga, that shit sound slick as a bitch. While you was in a box, we was puttin’ niggas in boxes,” Yea spat.
“Get cho boy, Deso,” Pop warned.
“Chill, Yea. Get off that fuck shit! This my nigga.”
“Man, I ain’t trynna hear none of dat’. Nigga come in here actin’ like he Jesus. He don’t wanna eat wit’ us, and he trynna split the team. I don’t give a fuck who this nigga is. Nigga gon’ respect my gangsta.”
“Yea, calm down, nigga! I just told yo’ ass to chill!” Deso barked.
While the Pop Squad went back and forth, Pop Somethin’ checked the AR. When he cocked the machine gun, the room got quiet. Pop pointed the gun at Yea and squeezed the trigger. Twice. One bullet hit him in the chest, the other in the neck. Yea choked on blood as he struggled to breathe. Drama, Snot, and Deso looked back and forth from Pop Somethin’ to Yea. Nobody moved or said a word.
“Damn. This bitch ain’t no ho,” Pop laughed, watching Yea die slowly.
“Pop! What the fuck, nigga?” Deso yelled.
“You hear how reckless that nigga’s lips got? Only reason I gave him the first pass was ‘cause he yo’ boy. You know I don’t fuck around.”
Queenie ran into the living room. “What happened? Who shootin’ in the house?” She stopped when she seen Yea dead on the couch and Pop Somethin’ holding the gun. “What happened?”
“Judgment. You ready?”
She looked at the other Pop Squad members. They wore shocked and surprised looks on their faces. “Damn. You don’t play. Shit.”
“You see how I move. What it’s gon’ be?”
She looked at Deso one more time. He looked stuck. Then she turned back to Pop Somethin’. “You got another gun?”
Pop smiled and gave her the Glock 40 he got from Smoke. Then he turned to Deso. “We good, bruh?”
Deso looked at Yea’s dead body, then back at Pop. “Yeah. Nigga talked his way into that one. Damn, I wish you woulda gave the nigga a pass.”
“Passes is for football players. I play for keeps.”
***
After parking the Infinity at the curb, Pop Somethin’ turned to Queenie. “Tell me more about you? How you start fuckin’ wit’ Deso an’ ‘em?”
“Trynna get money. Deso got a baby wit’ my homegirl, Emmy. Once she told me how they be robbin’ niggas for ten or twenty Gs, I was in. Dancers live fast, and we run into a lot of niggas wit’ money. Deso an’ ‘em do all the work. We lure niggas, and they hit ‘em”
“You eva have to get down on a nigga?”
“Once. A nigga got the ups on Deso and Drama, so I shot him. He didn’t die. I hit him in the stomach.”
“How you feel about what I did to Yea?”
“I mean, he Pop Squad. But at the same time, you Pop Somethin’. If he was talkin’ shit, he got what he had comin’.”
“You think the rest of them niggas feel the same way?”
“Deso, maybe, ‘cause y’all boys. But Drama and Snot might not let that shit go. I think they might try to get at you.”
“Yeah. I think the same thing. So, where yo’ loyalty at?”
“Wit’ chu and my sister.”
“Yo’ sister still Pop Squad. What if she roll wit her niggas against me?”
“She won’t. Me and my sister got a special bond.”
Pop raised an eyebrow. “What that mean?”
“You gon’ see when the time right. Look. Somebody leavin’ the house.”
A man and a woman walked off the porch of a black-and white brick house. They were oblivious to the wolves that lurked in the silver Infinity. The couple hopped into a white BMW and drove away.
“Was that him?” Queenie asked.
“Nah. That was his brother. It’s on you now. You sure you ready? This a trial by fire, and I play for keeps.”
She leaned over and gave him a long tongue kiss. “Watch me, baby. I’ma blink the lights twice when I’m ready for you.” Queenie put an extra switch in her hips as she got out of the truck and walked up on the porch of the brick house. She was dressed in a body-hugging red cat suit, red bottom heels, and carried a Louis Vuitton clutch.
She didn’t have to wait on the porch long after ringing the doorbell. “Who dat?” a man called from the house.
“I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Jessica. My car broke down, and I need help.”
When the door opened, a tall, dark-skinned nigga eyed Queenie. “Who is you? What chu want?”
“Sorry, man. My name Jessica. My car broke down. Can I use your phone? I need to call my sister.”
He eyed her body. The red and blonde dreads and the cat suit had her looking irresistible.
“Who at the door, baby?” a woman asked from in the house.
“Some chick Jessica. Said her car broke down and she need to use the phone.”
A pretty, brown-skinned woman with shoulder-length permed hair appeared at the man’s side. After looking Queenie from head to toe, she gave her man a you-won’t-be-helping-her look. “Go check on the baby. I got it.”
He took one more look at Queenie before disappearing.
“C’mon in, girl. What happened?”
“My car broke down around the corner. Yo’ neighbors so rude. They wouldn’t even help me. I just need to use the phone to call my sister.”
“Not everybody want a woman that got it goin’ on like you in they house. You probably intimidated the whole block. Have a seat. I’ma grab my phone from the other room.”
When the woman left, Queenie found the light switch and flipped it twice. When the woman came back into the living room, her mouth dropped open. Queenie had the Glock 40 pointed at her chest.
“Don’t scream, bitch! Open the front door.”
She did as she was told. Pop Somethin’ walked in carrying the AR-15.
“Where he at?”
Queenie looked at the woman. “I don’t know. Ask her.”
“Where yo’ man at? How many people in the house?”
“Just me, my man, and our baby. Please don’t hurt us. You can have whatever you want.”
“Take me to yo’ man.”
He was in the bedroom, sitting on the couch with his one-year-old son in his arms. When his wife walked into the room, he immediately noticed the tears in her eyes and look of terror on her face. “What’s goin’ on, baby? Where that lady?”
He stopped talking when Queenie and Pop Somethin’ walked into the room with their guns out. “You look like you just seen a ghost, Scarp,” Pop Somethin’ sneered.
“P-Pop Somethin’. Shit. Uh, c-c’mon, dawg. Let’s talk about dis.”
“Talk, nigga. I’m listenin’.”
“Um. J-Just tell me how to make it right. I got money. What chu want?”
“All of it.”
“I-I got a safe in the closet. Eighty Gs. That’s you.”
Pop looked at Queenie. “Check it out.”
On the top shelf was a small safe. Next to it was a silver revolver. She gave the gun to Pop Somethin’ and sat the safe on the bed.
“Open it, nigga,” Pop ordered.
Scrap lay the baby on the bed and nervously fumbled with the combination. When it was open, he looked up at Pop Somethin’ with hope in his eyes. “Eighty Gs. It’s all you.”
Pop Somethin’ smiled. “Good lookin’. But I know you didn’t think that shit was gon’ be this easy. You tried to kill me, nigga. I still got cho bullet in my back.”
“C’mon, Pop.”
“Shut
the fuck up, nigga! It’s over. You dead!
Scrap and his wife cried while Pop Somethin’ emptied the bullets from the revolver. It was a 38 Special. Pop put one bullet back in the gun and held it out to Scrap’s wife. “One of ‘em gotta die. Yo’ baby or Scrap. You choose.”
Crocodile tears fell from the woman’s eyes. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t know what he did to you, but I’m sorry. Take the money. We can get more if you want. Please don’t do this.”
“Listen, bitch. That nigga tried to kill me. If you wanna live, you betta kill his ass. This my last offer. Take this gun and kill one or I’ma kill all y’all.”
She sobbed like a child as she took the gun. Scrap cried with her. After some hesitation, she pointed the gun at her husband. Her body shook as she tried to pull the trigger. “I can’t do it,” she cried.
“Go ‘head, baby. Do it. I fucked up. This the way it gotta be,” Scrap encouraged.
“I can’t. I love you.”
“You gotta do it, or he gon’ kill you and li’l Brian. Do it. I love you.”
Pow!
The bullet went through Scrap’s forehead, exploding out the back and leaving his brains on the wall. His wife collapsed to her knees, crying. When the baby started crying, Pop Somethin’ grabbed a pillow and smashed it onto the boy’s face.
“No!” the woman cried, jumping to her feet and rushing Pop Somethin’.
Pop!
The woman fell onto the bed next to Scrap, a hole the size of a quarter in the back of her head. Queenie stood over her, eyes wide, breathing shallow, holding a smoking 40 Glock.
“You a’ight?” Pop Somethin’ asked, removing the pillow from the dead child’s face after a minute or two and breathing somewhat heavily.
A bewildered look came over Queenie’s face as she looked from all the dead bodies to Pop Somethin’. “Damn, Pop. I feel,” she paused to search for the words. “Strange. Powerful. Like I can do anything.”
“You did good, girl. We bound by blood now. It’s me and you against the world. You my queen. I’m yo’ king.”
She responded by walking over to Pop Somethin’ and kissing him. “Damn, Pop. I ain’t neva felt like this before. I feel like a god. My pussy so wet. Feel it.”
After a struggle to get the cat suit down, Pop stuck his finger into her pussy and tasted her juices. “Damn. Murda get my bitch wet. You a freak!”
“C’mon, Pop. I’m horny. Fuck me real quick,” Queenie said, kneeling on the bed next to the dead family.
Pop laid the AR-15 on the dead baby and unzipped his pants. Queenie’s pussy was hot and wet. He slipped in easily. She moaned his name and threw her ass back at him while he fucked her. Earlier he fucked her with a condom and her pussy was good. Now that he was in her raw, her pussy was so good he wanted to fuck her forever.
Forever came quicker than he wanted it to. It only took a few minutes for him to bust.
“Damn, we some freaks, girl,” he laughed, zipping his pants.
Queenie wore a satisfied look as she pulled up her clothes. “That shit was fire, baby. Best sex I ever had.”
“Speakin’ of fire, grab that safe and get to the truck. I’ma be out right after I set this bitch on fire.”
Chapter 7
Pop Somethin’ was normally a light sleeper. In prison he had to be. His life could have depended on it. But on his second day of freedom, the soft hotel mattress had him in a deep slumber.
Queenie got up to use the bathroom. After washing her hands, she stood in the bathroom doorway listening to Pop Somethin’s light snore. In one day her life had changed. She had gone from being a stripper running with a clique of jack boys to a murderess, bound by the blood of victims to a street legend with a quick temper. She hadn’t had the time to stop and think about what she had done until that moment. She had killed, taken a life, helped set a family on fire. And she felt powerful. Like a goddess. Pop Somethin’ had awakened something deep within, something she never knew existed, and now that the monster had been released from its cage, she wanted to spill more blood. Taste more death. Feel more power.
The thought of murder made her pussy tingle. She noticed the tent Pop Somethin’s morning hardness made under the sheet. She went to him, peeling the covers back, exposing his chiseled body. She used her mouth to make love to him, taking her time, sucking, licking, and kissing his dick. Pop Somethin’ moaned as he stirred. His hands found the back of her head, guiding her. She kept sucking him, getting lost in her own zone. When he busted his nut, she swallowed it all, not wasting a drop.
“G’mornin’, Pop. How you feel?”
He smiled. “Like a boss, man.”
“I’m glad. Now lay back so I can bounce on yo’ dick and get mine.”
Pop lay back as Queenie put a rubber on him and climbed on top. She started off slow, running her hands through her dreads. Pop Somethin’ reached out and began squeezing her nipples as she rode him. Queenie moaned her approval, speeding up her pace, her orgasm building fast.
“Pull on my nipples,” she told Pop.
He did, tugging her nipples roughly. Queenie loved it. She tilted her head back, screaming his name as she came.
After another round of sex in the shower, Pop Somethin’ and Queenie hit the mall for a change of clothes and then hopped on the highway. Several hours later the GPS guided them to the curb of a red, white, and blue house in Fort Worth, Texas.
“What if she not here? Why didn’t you call her first?” Queenie asked.
“She here. I know her schedule. Her bum-ass nigga make sure she don’t got no life.”
“You don’t sound like you feelin’ her man. Who is he?”
“I don’t know, but I hope he here so I can find out.”
Pop Somethin’ tucked the Glock 40 in his waist and Queenie hid the 38 Special in her clutch. When they were decent, the couple left the truck and walked up to the house. Pop Somethin’ rang the doorbell.
“Who is it?” a female called.
“Pop. Open the door, girl.”
When the door flew open, Shanice ran out and jumped into Pop’s arms. “What’s up, cousin? Welcome home! Why didn’t you call me?”
“’Cause I wanted to surprise you. Surprise!”
Queenie stood off to the side and watched the cousins have a love fest. Shanice hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek several times. “I’m jealous,” Queenie joked.
Shanice looked at Queenie as she climbed from Pop’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so rude. Hi. I’m Shanice, his cousin. Are y’all together?”
“I know who you are. He told me all about you. I was just playin’ about bein’ jealous. I’m Queenie.”
After exchanging smiles, Shanice turned to Pop Somethin’. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, cousin.”
“She not my girl. She my bitch.”
Shanice looked surprised and didn’t know what to say. Queenie spoke up. “It’s cool. It is what it is. He my nigga. I’m his bitch. Bonnie and Clyde, ride-or-die shit.”
“Oh. Okay. If you like it, I love it. Y’all come in. Damn, cousin, you huge! What was you eatin’ up in there?”
“Everything,” Pop Somethin’ said, sniffing the air as he walked into the house. “I’m hungry. What you got to eat?”
“You right on time. I was just making us dinner. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, cornbread, and glazed carrots. Come in the kitchen. I’m feeding Shawntale.”
The smell of food made Pop Somethin’s stomach growl. After the long drive he was starved, and the smells from the kitchen had him feeling weak.
When the big man walked in the kitchen, the little girl sitting at the table stopped eating and her eyes popped.
“Pop, this is my daughter, Shawntale. Shawntale, say hi to cousin Pop,” Shanice said.
The toddler just stared at him with a wide-eyed gaze.
“Hi, Shawntale,” Pop waved.
The child didn’t speak. She just stared at the intimidating giant.
“I don’t kno
w what’s wrong with her. Yo’ li’l t-shirt and muscles got her tongue-tied. Sit down. I’ma make y’all some plates,” Shanice said as she went over to the stove.
Pop p pulled up a chair next to Shawntale. “She cute as fuck. Look just like you when you was little. She just gotta warm up to me. All ladies love Pop Somethin’. Ain’t that right, Queenie?”
Queenie rolled her eyes. “Stop, Pop. You doin’ too much. But she is a li’l cutie. Look like you spit her out, Shanice. Make me want a mini-me.”
Pop Somethin’ mugged Queenie. “Quit playin’.”
“Chill, Pop. I’m twenty. I don’t want no kids right now. I’m young and havin’ fun.”
“Kids might not be a bad thing for you, cousin,” Shanice said as she sat plates of food in front of Queenie and Pop. “They might help you calm down, help you change.”
“I don’t need changing. The world need more niggas like me. And stop plantin’ seeds in my bitch’s head. We don’t need no babies. We good.”
“She ain’t plantin’ no seeds, baby. Believe me,” Queenie said, digging into the meatloaf. “Damn, girl. You can burn!”
“I got a baby and a man that ain’t neva satisfied. Sunny Anderson taught me a few things.”
“This shit is fiya!” Pop mumbled in between bites. “Where yo’ man at, anyway? I wanna meet him.”
“I don’t know. In the streets. He comes and goes.”
“He don’t got no job?”
“Nope. He get his money the best way he know how.”
“You remember what I used to tell you about street niggas? Niggas ain’t shit. But you fucked around and got wit’ one anyway. Street niggas don’t know how to do that family shit.”
“C’mon, Pop. Niggas in suits and ties with college degrees don’t come around the hood. I’m attracted to what I see.”
“They be around. You just wasn’t lookin’ hard enough.”
“C’mon, cousin. We not about to dissect my love life.”
He brushed off her words. “Lemme get anotha piece of meatloaf. And yeah, we is about to dissect yo’ love life. Since you wouldn’t tell me about yo’ nigga while I was locked up, you gon’ tell me now.”
