by Renta
She ran her manicured fingers up my thigh until they slid underneath the leg of my boxers. The silly bitch fondled my balls softly as she took another pull on the cancer stick. “You’re just as beautiful with your life hanging in the balance as you were the first night that I met you,” she whispered as she held my dick in her small hand stroking me to an erection.
I fought against her, but to no avail—my manhood betrayed me as it surged to life. The poisonous slut giggled as she pulled my nature free and gave it a long—wet—slow lick before placing it back in its confines and looking back up at me. “You have a nice dick, Assata, but I’ll have enough time to taste it after it’s all said and done,” she spoke softly.
“Over my dead body—bi—bitch, you killed my flesh, you’ll pay with your life,” I spat dangerously.
The punk bitch laughed softly and patted my deflating dick. “Over your dead body, huh?” She seemed to think for a moment as she put her index finger against her lips. “That can be arranged, hon, rigor mortis dick?” She looked up at me before she laughed. “I’ve never had any, but I’d try it with you. I bet you’re wondering how I pulled it off?” She smiled so big I wondered if it hurt her face. “I bet you’re wondering how I freed myself from one form of slavery only to become the fuck toy of a sadistic motherfucker like Russia, huh?” she asked as if she was the original Machiavelli.
As a response, I used every ounce of energy I could muster, gathered an impressive amount of saliva and spat on her. It splashed against the right side of her face and dripped down onto her shoulder.
The silly female smiled before she spoke words into the atmosphere that couldn’t be taken back. “This may have been the best thing to happen to you—but most importantly, death was the best thing that ever happened to your, Uncle Brains.”
Murder bled into my pupils as I silently asked the atmosphere for the chance to ride on my enemies one more time before the hands of life took my piece off the board. Then, shawty fucked my world up.
“Assata—your uncle was a federal informant. He was working with the DEA to take you and your organization down, he just didn’t anticipate the blood that would come from the Russia situation.” The surprise on my face must not have been enough for the woman because she sealed the deal with one last nail. “What, you thought he got himself killed because of his love for me?” She laughed. “No—he could give two fucks about the prostitute he took under his wing—he killed himself, Assata. He ran down those stairs in the line of fire because of guilt, not love.”
****
~Ice-Berg~
I beat those boys to the draw but honestly didn’t have any intentions of rocking either of one to sleep unless that was the only solution. I held the fo’fifth steady as Goose zoned into the danger that floated in the air. It wasn’t a question of if I’d kill—hell, I didn’t even need a reason to do that. Goose latched onto Pain’s wrist to prevent him from turning and upping the burna on me. I knew he’d peel my scalp back if he so much as sneezed too loud—his brains would be blown all over Lovey’s couch right before I lit his brotha’s ass up.
“Don’t trip out, cuz, you survived one situation, but you won’t walk away from this one, on gang!” I seethed and gave Pain pause. He slouched back onto the couch as I stood up and backpedaled toward the door. “Look, homie, I didn’t have shit to do with whatever happened to you, but if my loc got at you—” I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, ‘fuck it.’ “I’m just as guilty, I’ll handle my family myself if he was outta pocket.” I turned my eyes to Goose. “You know Pain ain’t no innocent bystander, fam. Him and Twisted been at each otha’s throats since the sandbox. I don’t know how y’all do in San Antonio, but up here in the metroplex beef ends when death is born.”
Goose snatched his pistol out of Pain’s weak grasp. “In San Antonio we murda niggas! I don’t give a fuck ‘bout the tough shit you spittin’, yo’ people touched my flesh and he didn’t finish the job.” He looked back at Pain. “We both know what typa nigga my brotha is, they’ll meet up again.” Goose nodded his head as if he could see the future. I nodded and made my exit, but as soon as I stepped outside my phone vibrated; without screening the call I answered. “What’s crackin’?”
The silence on the other end lasted for a few seconds before an accented voice fucked my head up. “Mister, Swanson—so we meet again, hmmm?” The Russian sounded elated as if we were long lost, friends.
I paused midstride at the same time Goose rushed out the door with his phone in one hand and the .357 in the other. We stared at each other as Russia spoke his peace in my ear.
“You betrayed my trust, Mister Swanson—for ‘tis grievance you will die slowly, piece—by—piece!” a painted scream punctuated his point.
My blood turned cold when recognition set in. It was Pablo, the head of the El Salva Trucha—Bella’s cousin, and my boy. Russia had gotten a hold of him somehow, and I knew the outcome would be fatal.
“Tell me, Mister Swanson, when was the last time you fucked my wife—” Russia mocked me with a chuckle. “She is an animal isn’t she, son? But later for that slut, you have something that belongs to the Black Mamba Mafia and we want it back. Until it’s in our hands again, you will watch those you love be eliminated for your sins!” Russia taunted.
The last thing I heard before the call disconnected was Pablo swearing and screaming for me not to give him shit, and then a gunshot ended the call. I’d just lost my connections to the MS-13 organization.
I looked up at Goose, his eyes were in slits. “Say I don’t know if you had anything to do with my brotha, but if I find out you did—” he left the unspoken threat hangin’ in the balance and tucked his tool. “We’ll deal with that at another time,” he said before tossin’ his phone to me. I caught it and stared at him perplexed. “Read the text, homie,” Goose requested.
Reluctantly, I looked down at the screen. My thoughts were racing a hundred miles an hour. The text could lead me to Russia. It read:
//: If you ever want to see your brother again…alive—he’s at the old Morrison Mills building on the top floor. Come ready for war—
I looked up at Goose. “What this gotta do with me?”
He smiled as he walked over to me. “That was the Russian on your phone, huh?” He surprised me and ignited suspicions all at once.
‘How the fuck would he know that?’ I wondered.
Before I could verbalize those sentiments, the screeching of tires snatched my attention causing me to spin around with the tool ready to spit. About eight SUVs pulled to a halt on the curb. Thinkin’ that Russia sent a hit squad, I began backpedaling toward the house, but the doors to the first truck swung open, and a dark-skinned dude dressed in all black stepped out with a mac 90 in his grip. The red bandana that covered his face was the only indication that my assumption was wrong, but the problem was found within the fact that not only was I crip, but the possibility of me conspiring to give Pain that long nap floated in the air.
“Soowoo; what’s poppin’, big homie?” The man pulled the bandanna from over his mouth.
Tricky B was a solid cat whose word held some weight in the hood. I liked the nigga, but that wouldn’t stop him from putting one in my head for all the blood on my hands from slaying a few of his fallen soldiers. The O.G. Hubb, Tonio Manuel, and a few other bustas stepped out of their vehicles—all were ‘bout that action.
The nigga Hubb stepped forward clutchin’ a chrome Desert Eagle in his paw. “Ain’t that—” he began.
Goose stepped up beside me and put his arm around my shoulder. “Yea, but he good—you, niggas leave that gang bangin’ shit for after we get my brotha back. Then y’all can kill each other’s entire family for all I care.” Goose looked at me, our eyes communicated a temporary peace treaty before he took his arm from around my shoulder and headed for the house. “Dig, Berg, this don’t make us even—” He turned his head to look at me once again before he spoke his peace. “Nothin’ will be sufficient compensation for the harm of my
flesh. So, for your sake, let’s hope your hands are clean—” he paused. “I’m going to kill your relative, Twisted, but fair exchange ain’t no robbery, homie—Blood for Blood.”
I still held that steel tight, so I glanced down at it before allowin’ the windows to my soul to capture his. “Homie, I respected ya gangsta, but like you say—Blood is traded for blood, and for the life of my loc, you’ll be standin’ ova a casket or two yourself.” I turned my back to the dread head and before heading for my whip, I left him with something to ponder. “The difference between a chess game and playing chess with real life is one can control the pieces on the board, but he can’t control destiny. A sacrificed pawn on the board is a sacrifice for position.” I tossed up the Hoova as I walked past the group of cats I’d been at odds with my entire life and spoke over my shoulder. “But a sacrificed pawn in real life is a heartless move for complete dominance,” I jeweled him.
I heard a commotion as I hit the automatic start on the Benz that made me divert my eyes in the direction of the group of men standing beside the first SUV. Tricky B was sighting me with a compact machine gun that I’d never seen before. The infrared danced over my left eye before stopping in the middle of my forehead.
“You know I’ve been thirsty for your blood since we were lil’ niggas—” he said as he placed the stock of the machinery against his right shoulder for leverage. I watched him squint one eye as his finger tickled the trigger.
“Say fam—” Goose demanded as he stepped toward me. “—fuck I tell you, Tricky? You, niggas, think this the wild-wild west where you can jus’ jump out brandishing guns out ‘chere?” He stepped in between me and Tricky’s aim.
I took that as my opportunity to make my exit before my luck ran out. Whatever Goose was sayin’ to that boy was lost on me as I murked outta the driveway in hot pursuit of a madman I loved with a cold heart. Twisted was reckless, but I saluted him for touchin’ the boy, Pain. My only beef wit’ lil’ cuz was that he didn’t finish the pussy, because if I knew Pain like I thought I did—the hood was gonna rain blood soon enough.
Chapter Five
Face in The Dark
~Jazzy~
“Baby—Baby, I got it, I got the part—I got it, baby!” I screamed. “Oh my God—this is—this—I mean?” I paced the floor back and forth as I fanned myself in an attempt to calm down.
Shotta rushed into the living room with a frown on his face and pistol in his hand. He surveyed his surroundings as if he expected trouble before his Bambi's eyes landed on me. His facial expression transformed from one of battle ready to one of curiosity. “Sup, babe, you doin’ all that screaming and shit like someone was trying to rape you or sumthin’. What’s up?” He asked while tucking his gun.
I rushed right over to him and without warning, hopped into the air. He caught me as if it was nothin’! I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. His hands instantly cupped my butt as I leaned down to plant a juicy kiss on his lips. Nervousness ate at my elation as our eyes bore into each other’s, his filled with anticipation—mine overflowing with the fear of his reaction.
“Baby—” I paused for the right words. “Don’t be mad okay, promise me that you won’t be mad or overreact?” I pleaded.
Shotta was a good dude, but his possessiveness was over the top. He was the type of man that found it hard to trust no matter what was shown. We’d be cool and I’d come to terms with my decision to give him a fair shake with my heart, then boom! I’d remember why I left out the gate. If I go out, I had to have fucked some other dude. If I went to the grocery store and was gone too long, I had to be out creeping. His insecurities were a sensitive bomb that could explode with the slightest shift of the wind. Sometimes, more often than not the explosion turned physical.
“Jazmina, just say what the fuck you need to say so I can go back and finish weighing this exotic. I have business to tend to. What’s up?” he demanded with a slap to my behind.
I unwrapped my legs and dropped my feet to the floor with my arms still around his neck as I took a deep breath. “Well—when me and Charla were window shopping the other day, there was this sign on one of the store windows promoting a model search, and—”
The heat that bled into his eyes gave me pause. I was so familiar with his body language that I could foretell his reaction merely from the expression on his face.
“And?” he inquired.
“And—and she persuaded me to audition. They told me they’d call the girls that made the cut. I didn’t think I’d make it because all the other pretty girls, but they called to tell me—I mean, I won’t do it if you’re not cool with it, but I really wanna do it, baby. I’ve always wanted to—”
My words came out in a ramble until Shotta unhooked my arms from around his neck. Without a word, he turned and headed back to his business. Just as I thought he’d just leave me standing there—maybe giving the opportunity some thought. He turned and proved to me that luck was occasional, and more often than not found in leprechauns.
“You just can’t leave your hoeish ways behind, can you?” he spat with a disgusted look on his face. I visibly deflated. “What—you wanna go around the world showing niggas your ass and titties—huh? You’re pitiful.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, I always dreamed of modeling. I wasn’t a hoe, nor did I aspire to show my assets to anyone but the man I was with. At that moment, I realized that the self-esteem of most woman was brittle regardless of how beautiful one was. I knew I was a bad bitch, but all it took was for a man—my man to reveal the things he thought about me, and I lost confidence.
“I—I’ve never been hoeish, Shotta, I just want to get us on the map. I’d never disrespect myself as a woman—I’m—my—” My face was wet with liquid heartbreak. I couldn’t even finish my statement. “Forget I said anything about it—okay?” I whispered.
A look of satisfaction leaked into his expression. “That’s my girl.” He smiled.
****
~Face in The Dark~
“He used everybody, Assata. He was a rotten son of a bitch that deserved what he got,” I hissed.
Assata was in bad shape, but he was a soldier if I must say so myself. I’d researched the Novichoks drug, and it’s a wicked creation. It spoke volumes of the dangerous shit governments had at their disposal. Russia—Korea—Japan, and the United Stated created weapons that had the potential to increase global warming as well as cause national disasters. This drug Novichoks was merely one of the hundreds of thousands of species of chemical agents created around the world. In Italy—and Russian people are still finding chemical weapons from World War II buried in their backyards. Looking over Assata, I was surprised the man still held on to his sanity after his system was introduced to the nerve agent.
“Bitch—you-you faked your death!” Assata breathed fire down at me.
I smiled up at him, suddenly exhaustion overtook me. I was tired of all the hiding—the life. I was tired of it all, especially being a slave—a sex toy to egotistical men. “Yes, Assata, I faked my death. Yes—I switched sides. The slut, Snow, that no one expected, freed herself from the clutches of not only the grips of a mad con man turned informant, but also the clutches of the United States Government,” I revealed heatedly. The look Assata gave me was contemptuous laced with a river of surprise. “Your uncle was gonna trade me for his freedom.” I stared into Assata eyes as I unraveled the ball of yarn that held the missing pieces to the puzzle. “All those divine interventions you had during those times you thought you should have died—"
I allowed silence to make love to the moment as I took a pull from the leaf rolled cancer stick, I could see Assata’s mind working in warp speed as the pieces snapped into place. His assumption that he had a guardian angel died as reality stood before him.
“That was me, hon, and I had a reason to keep you alive.” My eyes descended to his cock print and I snickered naughtily. “Beyond fucking you—” I giggled. “The funny thing is –I would have n
ever known if I wouldn’t have gone to that block party in the Kreek that day. That’s where I saw her, an old friend that used to work the track with me. The slut used to be one of the highest paid prostitutes hailing from the mean streets of Milwaukee. One day the bitch just up and left the stable, but the next time I saw her I got the surprise of my life—” I smiled a sad smile at the reflection. Assata seemed antsy, he seemed to be searching for a weakness in the chains that held him captive. “She was a fucking cop!” I spat as if the idea was the most revolting thing. “She’d somehow beat the odds, Kamika McDade, the ex-prostitute was at your block party, and I watched her infiltrate your circle. After that day, I followed her everywhere she went, and that’s when things got interesting, Assata.”
****
~Detective Harrison~
I’d been at my desk all day. In fact, I hadn’t left my office at Quantico for two days. I hadn’t had a lick of sleep, and the energy drinks and fast food was starting to do more harm than their intended purposes. My wife and closest friends feared for my well-being. They thought I was obsessed with cracking the bank heist case. The truth is, I was! I dreamed about it—I had a real hard on for those pricks that ran, off with good tax payer’s money. That and the heat I was getting from the director about closing the Willow Kreek Drug Organization case had me restless. Ever since my number one link, Detective Hunter, was slain, things had become quite complicated.
I still didn’t understand how things became so fucked, but I had a strong inkling that the answer to that question would be found when we found David ‘Ice-Berg’ Swanson. The story Detective Winslet told us that day in her boss’ office blew my mind, reconstructive surgery was common in the underworld circles, but the kicker was the fact of how he’d gotten it. I thought Bella Dahik was the wife of a Russian.
