Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3

by K'Aliyah Knight

  “Rocky,” he says, holding me at arm’s length. But I would rather just be held tightly, loved on. Even though I don’t love this man, somewhere inside of me, I need to save the love I had for Lorenzo. Today I wanted to hate my nigga with a passion. Now, this might not make sense, but if I can just contemplate on Chuey like he were Lorenzo for these few moments… Then maybe I can return home and forgive Lorenzo for this dirty stunt he tried to pull earlier.

  “I thought you were dead,” he tells me, kissing me softly on the lips. It isn’t romantic. Maybe even Chuey was trying to kiss my passionately, I still wouldn’t school Chuey on trying his luck with a married woman.

  “Damn Mommi, I fucking missed you. Do you know how long I’ve cried over you like a bitch?” Chuey adds, taking a deep breath. “I promise you, Rocky; I ain’t fucking ever leaving your side.”

  “But Chuey,” I begin to speak. This is the part that I hate the most. When this nigga oversteps his boundaries. Telling him to slow his role should be automatic, right? In this dusky room, Chuey’s voice is so similar to Lorenzo that all I need to do is squint a little. Then him professing that he’s going to be by my side will mean the world to me. I bite my lip, wanting to be selfish, wanting to say deuces to Lorenzo’s bitch ass like he’s done me all throughout this pregnancy. Nah, this ain’t a good look for Chuey or me. The words hurt, but I get them out, “But you can’t.”

  “You and Lorenzo’s baby died. That nigga wasn’t even at your side,” Chuey tells me. Here we go again, with this muthafucka giving me the real about my husband. “I was just down the hall. Everybody heard y’all screaming about him wanting to know if the baby is his, Rocky. I’m not leaving you.”

  It takes more energy than I have to push Chuey’s chest away. “Fool, are you stupid. I barely survived. I have kids by that crazy nigga. I can’t leave him.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Chuey asks, gripping on my chin to look me in the eye.

  My eyes waver just to the left of this dude. Nope, I won’t. The ring on my finger belongs to a dead bitch. The man that has my heart had it since I was twelve, so the muthafucka is going to keep it. One day, I’ma get Lorenzo back! But I ain’t telling Chuey that. He will make this flawed love seem so very wrong.

  Nino

  1996

  After that stunt Zendaya’s nasty ass daddy pulled by touching her at the birthday party, I made sure she didn't go shopping at the same time every time. Sometimes in the morning sometimes late, just so she wouldn’t run into that bitch that gave birth to her. Hell, I made Zendaya miss a few of those expensive ass courses at school. Her mom and pops kept busy. Really her daddy kept her mom fucking a gang of dudes tryna keep they money up. Her dad had touched my property. He was tryna see how much my bitch was worth when nobody was going to get close enough to smell the pussy; that shit belonged to me. So when I went out, sometimes I told my homie to check on Zendaya. Make sure her ass stayed in the house, which really wasn’t a problem since my girl kept her nose in one of her expensive ass textbooks.

  Since Zendaya was only 14, I didn’t force my bitch to hustle with me all the time. Shit, she’d spent enough time on her back, making ends meet for her parents. So I told myself from jump that Zendaya wouldn’t be on her knees, her back, or any other variation to get a crusty muthafucka’s rocks off. One evening, I was out with this one bitch, named Carlotta.

  Carlotta had just freshened up my cornrows in a new style. Now we were standing outside the apartment she shared with her sister. I had the trunk opened, as we were digging through stolen burners. I picked up a Glock as Carlotta grabbed the Moss Berg. Little as this bitch was, Carlotta liked the biggest muthafucking guns. That’s what attracted me to her. And the way she fired shit off, Carlotta could switch up her Colombian dialect too damn good. We were getting ready to pull a lick when Andres called.

  “Que pasa?” I quickly asked.

  “Zendaya fue a la tienda,” he said quickly.

  “The fuck you mean she went to the damn store,” I snapped back in Spanish.

  “Amigo,” he sighed, and I was guessing his black ass was scratching the naps in the back of his head. “She just went to the store, that’s what I mean.”

  “Por que, estúpido—Why, stupid?”

  “Nino, dude, I didn’t ask. Prolly hungry. Shit, you got a muthafucka over here babysitting her ass, I’m fucking hungry too!”

  “Check this you dumb fuck. Where is she at now?”

  “Still at the store I guess.”

  “C’mon, amigo...” I hang up real quick.

  Carlotta’s dark eyes glare straight through me. “You’re running to the rescue? Go save that little ass girl you fucking with then.”

  I laugh at Carlotta’s stupid ass. When it’s about the paper, this barely five foot tall bitch has no breaks. She says exactly what she wants. I grab her by the throat. It doesn’t even faze her. This one has been punched around so much that she could give a fuck. That sexy face just miraculously shapes back into place. But I don’t want to give her a black eye. We have a mission to do. Shit, Andres is hungry. Zendaya is hungry. Her education ain’t cheap; it cost more than my apartment.

  “I’ma be back tonight,” I tell Carlotta while squeezing her throat tightly. Then I realize her eyes are the size of saucers, her brown skin is becoming ashen. As I continue to choke her ass out, I lean into her, asking, “What else you gotta say about my bitch?”

  Either Carlotta is going to pass out or she’s trying to shake her head.

  “Say something, girl,” I dare her. Carlotta’s knees buckle. I’m holding her up more with my weight, which really isn’t saving that slender neck of hers. Too bad, half of my irritation is from Zendaya taking her ass to the grocery store without Andres or me.

  First stop is to the outdoor market. With no trace of my girl, I call Andres, even though he promised to tell me if she returned. By the time I’m headed to her parents’ house, I’m mumbling how I'm gonna whoop her ass if she took her ass home.

  Zendaya

  “Mama, what's wrong?” I ask, continuously glancing at the clock on the greasy stove. Telling myself I shouldn’t be here isn’t helping me move any faster

  “Nothing. Just...” she pauses. My brain tells me that my manipulative mama is tryna pull something but Nino isn’t right about my familia. No matter his intentions, he just doesn’t know them like me. Well, at least my mom. Mama does what she must to survive.

  Mama begins to open a pot of stewed pork, saying, “Mi amor, try this—“

  I shake my head before she can offer me any more food.

  “But you always loved my—”

  “Mama! What is your problem?” I shake with annoyance. “Nino should be home in about an hour. You wanted to talk to me about something important.”

  “I just...”

  “Mama!”

  “We're suffering, you know?”

  “I thought my padre got a job? Isn't he working in the resorts?” As I speak, I realize how dumb I must be to believe how life is good for them. How my mom just wanted to catch up.

  “During season,” she says, not even smart enough to lie.

  “It's season now.” I fold my arms. The season just started a few days ago. Shit, I expect Nino to return tonight and we make love in a lumpy bed of money from him stealing from tourist.

  “Yes, Zennie but the sun will be shining for maybe another month. Then the rain. Then hurricane season... ” Mama’s voice starts to get frantic. All that’s roaming through her mind is the thought of ends not meeting. Dang, they seldom ever do. However, there’s nothing like hurricane season to remind you that if you ain’t had shit before, you sure as hell won’t have shit now.

  I sigh, digging through my purse. Nino’s doing the best he can for us. I love him for that, but there’s always going to be a place in my heart for my padre, even if they only know how to pimp me out. “Here.”

  It’s the last bit of money I have. If Nino doesn’t return home from this job tonight, we’re going to b
e eating clay for dinner. She takes the few papers I give, counting them as if I owed. At the sound of a backfire outside, I grab the grocery bag of toilet paper and rice, and then rush out. Fuck! Raggedy cars backfire all day, every day but this one sounded like…

  Nino glares at me as he leans against the passenger door of his box-shaped car.

  “Baby!” I smile. I hurry over with the bag, knowing he is pissed. I drop the bag and kiss him good and hard.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “The store. Duh. I look at the bag and then at him. You finna grab that.” I turn around and strut back to the apartments.

  “Nah Zendaya, getcha ass over here.” He yanks up my arm. “Why you go shopping?”

  “Well, when I take a shit, I like to wipe my ass,” I tell him. Being smart gets me nowhere so I add, “We were out of some things… Look,” I pause. My dude is not taking the bait. I grab the bag from the ground and take out a new deodorant for him.

  “Thanks, baby,” he mumbles, taking the bag and following me.

  Now this is where I got off my game by thinking we were good. But soon as we get inside the apartment, Nino tossed the bag across the room. He grips my shoulders; fingernails tearing straight through the skin. Nino pulls me up to eye level.

  “What else you do today?” His voice is hard, testing me to lie.

  Though my shoulders feel as if they’ve been branded with fire, I begin with the biology class I took this morning, saying, “Learned about anomalies and genetics… Did you know—”

  “Nah, cut that shit.” Nino lets me down, yet I’m not out the heat just yet.

  Playing my cards right, I softly suggest, “Nino, lemme cook dinner. I know the company you keep doesn't.”

  “You don't know shit.”

  Damn, now I’m just getting jealous. As headstrong as I am with this crazy muthafucka, I continue, “Yeah, I known I smell some bitch.”

  “Maybe you do know a few things.” He smiles devilishly, letting me know that he’s been fucking today. Whatever hoe is grinding with him, is doing more than hustling for dough. We used to have this issue when I was a prostitute. Now I’m not fucking anybody but Nino!

  Nino laughs it off. “Don’t worry about what the fuck I was doing today. All you need to know, Zendaya, is that if you even looked at your moms today I’ma go upside that cute little head of yours. Understand?”

  “Yup.” Our eyes break away. Good, he doesn’t need to see the pain I feel, knowing that he does more than care for home. Sniffling back tears, and images of any trick on the street corner that is probably working with Nino, I sigh. Then I yank up the grocery bag and a few items scatter on the floor. My hands are slightly shaking as he leans against the kitchen wall, watching me. This is the dangerous part.

  Allowing Nino to watch me and think, sometimes I believe his crazy ass is obsessed with me. In some weird way, Nino thinks I’m more than an ex-child prostitute. Guess it’s because unlike any other trick on the corner, I open up a book before I even desire to open up my legs. I get to cooking. I open up the refrigerator, placing the last beer can on the table for Nino. I then pull out one of the last packages of pork with shaky hands. I damn near jump out of my skin as Nino opens the beer. I can feel him staring. The argument ain’t over. It’s just begun.

  As I’m pulling out seasonings, I think to bust Nino upside the head with the pot of simmering pork. He’s mad. He knows I went home, just waiting for me to confess. This is what I suspect a father would do with his child, give them a chance to come clean. Sometimes I can’t stand when Nino beats me. Even worse? Him spanking me with a belt like I’m a child. Christ save me from my life...

  “You went to see your parents, Zendaya,” Nino finally speaks.

  I roll my eyes while slowly cutting chili peppers. He continues to dig in on me about going home. “Man, you aren’t my padre!”

  “Technically, we both fucked you but lemme keep it real. At least I provide.”

  I shake my head as he guzzles down the rest of the beer. Then Nino stands up. Internally, I’m praying to God that Nino will just exit the kitchen.

  “So you wanna go back home.” His fingers twine within my thick, curly hair. “I was just wondering. When I hit you, do you get me confused with your father? Since that muthafucka beats and fucks you too!”

  “You’re being gross,” I sob as the roots of my hair begin to hurt.

  “What's that?” he asks, wrapping his fingers so hard with my hair that my neck turns uncomfortably.

  “You know I don't like when my papa touch me. He does it while drunk, like you do. But he wasn’t even home today.” I reach for the pot handle, but Nino yanks at my hair until I fall on the floor.

  “The fuck was you finna do, Zendaya, huh? Were you going to hit me?”

  “Ouch,” I cry.

  Nino’s hands plant harshly against the counter over my head as I cower against the cabinet. His foot comes swiftly toward my face. I scream. He kicks the cabinet and laughs.

  “Just kidding, Zennie,” Nino calls me by the name my mom does. “Funny thing,” Nino squats. He tenderly rubs a thumb against the tears streaming down my cheek. “When I was young, you knew I ain't never liked games. Not dominos or cards, nada. But you wanna play games, huh? Lie to my muthafucking face?”

  “No Nino,” I sniffle.

  He thumps my forehead. “Book smarts. Gorgeous as that head is, that muthafucka ain’t got no street smarts, not one bit.”

  “Yeah, if I had street smarts I would stay away from your mean ass too!”

  He backhands me. The opposite side of my temple goes banging against the cupboards again.

  “Next time I hear that you hanging out with your madre, that bitch finna really get some action.”

  My chest heaves. My eyes burn and I hate this dude so much right now.

  “What you wanna say?” Nino asks, standing up. The way he stands over me, man. Moments like this make me wonder how God allows us females to live in this world. It’s a man’s world. Something in my gut tells me that things can only get worse…

  Lorenzo

  The twins’ two-year birthday party was yesterday. Fireworks completed the carnival style fiesta. It was the first time Rockwell smiled since the baby died a few months back. Everything has been on the up since I’ve been associated with Emerald and Hernandez. I thought those muthafuckas would try to play me like a bitch. My guard is still up, but for now, Santiago and his crew ain’t even whispering in the streets of Colombia.

  This is where my baby and me were supposed to be. King and Queen of the Cartel. Rockwell should be in my ear about us having way more than enough. She did that the moment when we stepped in Colombia. But now, the words would hold weight. I’m pushing billions of coke on a daily. Yet, my wifey isn’t by my side tryna worry and get us to retire. Lil mama hasn’t said a word to me—unless it’s about the kids—since that day at the hospital.

  I rub my face, climbing out of bed. I fucked her last night, yet now Rockwell’s side of the bed is empty. Damn, I want to believe my bitch didn’t fuck my cuzzo. This shit is all bad. Then when I lay eyes on Rockwell, I realize that every muthafucka standing wants to fuck her. So now I can’t trust her.

  After showering, I put on a new pair of jeans and a tee. I’m on my way to the master bedroom door when it opens.

  “Renzo…” Rockwell pauses. She looks me up and down. Her warm caramel skin is all glowy and salty with sweat. Her workout bra and tights catch my attention. “I thought you were leaving today?”

  I glare at her and all that mistrust comes back. Now, why all of a sudden lil’ mama has words for me? She's only been opening her legs lately. No lip, no nothing but the pussy when I ask for it.

  Rockwell

  Seeing Lorenzo had me in shock. He is supposed to be gone. Already on a jet somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Anywhere but here. I took my morning run. Twelve miles of pounding the pavement—sand really. But anyway, Chuey is helping me move later on today. Not really helping, since we’
ve only been chatting by phone for the past few months. I keep him for moral support, no matter how deadly the associated can be if Lorenzo finds out.

  But back to my husband. Soon as I opened the bedroom door to see him, he looked at me as if he loved me still. As if my love still counts. Then the nigga really looked at me. After eyeing me real good, Lorenzo went back to his evil self. Glaring straight through me. He said that he could come and go as he pleases.

  Muthafucka.

  “Well, I’m waiting on the day that you leave and don’t come back,” I snap, stepping past him. He laughs me off as usual. Every single chance Lorenzo gets, he makes me feel so fucking irrelevant. I snatch off my wedding ring. It thumps the back of his head, before the huge rock goes banging against the marble floor.

  He continues out the room. I feel like boo-boo-the-fool so I continue, “Fucking stupid ass bitch, I can’t wait for the day somebody takes your ass out on the streets. The day you never come back. I’m going to be so very happy!”

  I scream the lie at the top of my lungs. He turns around slowly, head cocked to the side. The look in his eyes tell me I’m wasting his precious time. I don’t mean shit to him anymore.

  “You want me dead?” Lorenzo asks. I sigh. This is just as dysfunctional as we were when Junior was younger and Lorenzo had just come back into my life. The nigga thought I wanted the Italians to murk him or whatever.

  I shake my head, “Honestly I don’t care anymore… I just want to leave.”

  “You ain’t leaving.”

  “So you say,” I mumble under my breath.

  Lorenzo steps closer to me. He grips the back of my hair, making my chin pull up. Since he’s so tall, I’m forced to look up at him. “The only way out for you is death, Rocky.”

  “Then kill me!” I push at his chest, but Lorenzo doesn’t say anything for a second. And his voice becomes so deadly that my heart is on pause as he says something in Spanish. Some shit that I don’t know. This is worse than Mark Walberg in that crazy ass movie Fear.