by J-Blunt
“What the fuck is this?” Block asked.
Queenie looked at 2-Tone. “Tell him.”
2-Tone hung his head. “Fuck. These Pop bitches.”
A car pulling up behind the truck got Block and Raw’s attention. Pop Somethin’ climbed out of the 300C looking like a vision in someone’s nightmare. Raw knew it was do or die, so he went for the pistol on his waist. Queenie shot him in the face.
Terror washed over Block’s face when he seen his boy fall into the seat with a hole in his cheek. Then he looked at Princess.
“Try me and I’ma burn yo’ ass, fuck-nigga,” she said, cocking the hammer. “Keep yo’ hands on the steering wheel.”
Pop Somethin’ yanked open the side door and took in the scene. Then he began barking orders like a drill sergeant. “Block, come back here and let my bitch drive. Princess, gimme that dog and get us outta here.”
When the seating was arranged, Pop was sitting in the rear seat with Queenie. Block, 2-Tone, and Raw’s dead body were in the middle row while Princess drove.
Pop addressed 2-Tone first. “I thought we was on the same page, brah? How much he give you for my head?”
“C’mon, Pop. It–”
Pop put the revolver to his head. “Think about lyin’ to me and I’ma splatter yo’ boy shirt.”
“F-fifteen racks.”
Pop laughed. “That’s all I’m worth, Block? Fifteen racks!”
Block wore a salty mug, his hands crossed over his chest. “You know how it is out here, nigga. Quit playin’. You got li’l cuz out the way. Make up yo’ mind and do what you gotta do, ‘cause if I make it out this truck, I’m bringin’ it to you.”
Pow!
A hole the size of a quarter opened up in Block’s face, some of his blood spraying 2-Tone. The backstabber let out a scream. “Ah, shit! Damn! C’mon, Pop Somethin’. I didn’t mean to do this, mane. I got caught up. Please, don’t kill me.”
“Shut the fuck up, nigga,” Pop spat. “Princess, take us to Born Ready. I need him to see this.”
When they got to Born Ready’s apartment, Pop sent him a text. The short, bald man came out a few moments later. Pop opened the side door and let him survey the scene. When he seen the dead bodies, his eyes popped and he backed away from the Escalade.
“What the fuck is this, Pop?
“Yo’ boy tried to set me up. These dead niggas paid him. They sent them niggas to my aunty house. My bitches caught this nigga gettin’ his payment to send these niggas to yo’ house next. Matter fact, where that money at, nigga?” Pop said, searching 2-Tone’s pockets and taking the fifteen grand.
The concern on Born Ready’s face changed to anger in the blink of an eye. “You’s a real fuck-nigga, 2-Tone. Foul-ass nigga. Niggas like you don’t deserve to breathe.”
“C’mon, Born Ready. It ain’t like that, brah. I was just trynna-”
“Shut the fuck up, pussy-nigga!” Born Ready exploded. “Lemme see that saw, Pop.”
When he gave him the revolver, Born Ready emptied it into 2-Tone’s face and chest.
“I’ma take care of all this and get back wit’ chu later,” Pop said. “Keep yo’ enemies close.”
“Friends closer,” Born Ready finished.
Chapter 8
Jason Aldean’s country song Dirt Road Anthem played softly from the speakers of the state-issued white prison transport minivan. In the driver’s seat was Correctional Officer Frank Davis, a 25-year vet of the Texas Department of Corrections. The 56-year-old pink-skinned, silver-haired, man could’ve retired five years ago, but he wanted to fill his retirement fund to the max, so he planned to stay on the job until he was 65. All he had to do was drive inmates to court, medical appointments, and different institutions.
Arlo Martinez sat in the passenger seat bopping his head to the up-beat country song. Officer Martinez wasn’t a fan of country music, but he liked the modern sound and tapped his hand on his knee in rhythm to the music. For the younger prison guard, working transport was a blessing. He didn’t have to watch inmates, do cell searches, break up fights, or enforce petty-ass prison rules. Today he could take a break, watch cable, and flirt with the nurses.
“Turn that bitch-ass shit off,” an inmate complained from the back seat.
“C’mon, Cummings. It ain’t that bad,” Officer Davis laughed. “It sounds like that hippy-hoppy stuff, don’t it?”
“Hell nah. This hillbilly-ass shit hurtin’ my ears. Change the station, Martinez. Fuck that honky.”
The 36-year-old Mexican guard began laughing, not wanting to get involved in the radio beef. Davis was a senior officer, and Reese Cummings was no average inmate. He was serving a 200-year sentence for a home invasion and police shooting, and if the violent crime wasn’t scary enough, his physical presence was: 6’4” and 250 pounds. Back at the prison he was called Buck Wild, one of the founding members of the violent prison gang ABK, which meant ‘Anybody Killas’. The big man’s complexion was light brown like sand on a beach, his face and head clean-shaven, and tattoos covered his neck, chest, and arms. Across his face were tales of many prison battles he’d survived, leaving healed scars above his left eye, another above his top lip, and his nose crooked from being broken twice.
“Hey, cool it wit’ the insults, boy!” Davis yelled, turning red with anger. “I voted for Obama. Twice. I’m on y’all’s side.”
“I ain’t trynna hear dat shit. Change the muthafuckin’ station. And if you call me anotha ‘boy’, I’ma slip these cuffs and break yo’ old ass in half.”
“See, I tried to be nice. Since you wanna fuck with me, I’ma fuck with you, stupid nigger,” Davis laughed, turning the radio up louder and singing along to the music.
It was 5:47 AM when the prison transport van pulled into the hospital parking lot. Davis drove past the Emergency Room doors and into the underground parking. Prisoners were taken into the hospital through a secure door, out of sight from the civilians.
“Alright, we’re here. I don’t want no shit out of you, Cummings,” Davis said as he parked near the secure entrance.
Buck Wild laughed, flexing his muscles. “Don’t get scared now, cracka-ass cracka.”
Davis spun around quickly, his face red with anger. “I’ll turn this fuckin’ van around right now and take your ass back! I don’t want anymore shit from–”
The van’s passenger window exploded, and officer Martinez was ripped through it. Everything happened so fast the older prison guard didn’t realize what was happening. A second later the gravity of the situation dawned on him. The transport van was under attack! He went for the gun at his belt as he spun around, and that’s when he noticed the figure dressed in black standing in front of the van, pointing an assault rifle at him. For a moment Officer Davis thought about being a hero, then his wife, children, and grandchildren’s faces flashed in his mind.
“Put cho hands up!” the rifle-holder ordered.
Davis did as he was told. When the side door opened, a large man dressed in black threw Martinez’s unconscious body into the van like he weighed fifty pounds. After disarming the old man, the big man grabbed the old-timer and threw him in the back seat with Martinez. Then the machine gun-holder got in the driver’s seat and the big man hopped in the passenger seat. In less than thirty seconds the van was overtaken and sped out of the underground parking.
“Uncuff him, bitch!” the masked man ordered, pointing a gun at Davis.
The older man fumbled with his keys, trying to keep his balance as the van sped through traffic. When he was able to gather himself, he uncuffed Buck Wild’s leg restraints, then his hands. As soon as the cuffs fell to the floor, Buck Wild began beating the old man. The transport-jackers didn’t seem to notice or care about the violence taking place a few inches away. When the prison guard no longer moved, Buck Wild let out a savage scream, his fists and arms covered in the blood of his kill.
“Woo! Hell yeah! I can’t believe this shit! I’m free! Gimme one of dem guns!”
“We ain’t free yet,”
the man said, throwing Buck Wild a change of clothes. “Put these on. We ‘bout to change cars.”
“Who the fuck is y’all? Where my brotha at?” Buck asked, stripping from the prison uniform and putting on the black jeans and black t-shirt.
“We on our way to him,” the driver spoke up, stopping under a bridge. A white Cadillac truck was waiting. Princess sat in the driver’s seat. When the escape team climbed in, the white Escalade sped away.
“He remind me of you, baby,” Queenie told Pop Somethin’ as she took off her mask.
When Buck Wild seen one of the people that broke him out was a woman, he couldn’t hold in his surprise. Seeing her twin driving put him over the edge. “What the fuck? Y’all on some Ocean’s Eight shit!”
“They got more heart than you do, nigga,” Pop said, taking off his mask.
Shock and awe shown on Buck Wild’s face when he looked at Pop Somethin’. Then anger. “If you didn’t have that gun, I’d beat cho ass, nigga.”
Pop sat the pistol on the dashboard. “Last time we went toe-to-toe, you lost, dawg.”
Buck Wild clenched his fists and flexed his muscles. “I won the one before that.”
“Cause you had help, nigga. It took four of y’all. I’m immortal, nigga. God ain’t made a nigga that can see me one-on-one.”
“Y’all ain’t ‘bout to start fightin’ while we trynna get away?” Queenie asked, looking back and forth from Pop to Buck Wild.
“Nah,” Pop waved. “Buck Wild know better. We the reason he free.”
Hearing the word ‘free’ seemed to calm Buck Wild down and lighten the hostility. Then he began laughing. “Damn, Pop. I knew you was a beast out here, but I never imagined you would be the one to get me out.”
“Life is a bitch, and fate is her sister,” Pop said, repeating the line he heard from Born Ready. “You smoke, right?”
“Hell yeah!” Buck yelled, grabbing the blunt Pop handed him. “Who truck is this? This muthafucka fuckin’ shit up! And y’all twins? Which one can I get, Pop?”
“You can’t handle them, nigga,” Pop laughed. “They a rare breed and don’t fuck wit’ typical niggas.”
“I just did ten years, nigga. Ain’t a bitch out here that can handle me!” Buck bragged before turning to Queenie. “’Sup, baby? You wearin’ the fuck outta them black yoga pants. Got a nigga wantin’ to know if you got some room in there for me.”
Queenie gave him a sideways look. “What Pop just say? You can’t handle me, nigga. Plus, Pop is my nigga. I know all about what happened in there, how he fucked you up. What I look like givin’ you some pussy when you and my nigga had a issue?”
Buck sucked the back of his teeth, mugging Queenie. “That nigga wasn’t on shit. But what up wit’ cho sista, though? Y’all twins, right?”
“Yep,” Princess spoke up from the driver’s seat. “And we share everything. You big and sexy, but it’s loyalty first.”
It took a couple seconds for her words to make sense. When they did, Buck Wild turned to Pop Somethin’. “You fuckin’ twins, brah? Real shit?”
“Rare breed,” Pop grinned.
Buck Wild sat back in the seat, puffing the blunt hard. “Damn, Pop. I didn’t know you had all this in you. Niggas talked about you like you was a legend, but actually seein’ this shit is a trip. I heard some shit about you and C-Note soft ass out here fuckin’ wit’ a cartel. What up wit’ that?”
“Who told you that?”
“C’mon, brah. You know niggas in the joint gossip like hos about what they heard niggas out here doin’.”
“Yeah. It was some truth to that, but C-Note turned bitch and fucked it up. I’m fuckin’ wit’ cho brotha on this takeover.”
“I knew C-Note was a bitch. That’s why I pressed him like that. I hope you buried his bitch-ass.”
“He got judged.”
“Good. And good lookin’ on gettin’ a nigga out. I thought I was gon’ spend the rest of my life in that bitch. Damn, I owe you, brah.”
“Don’t trip. This all part of the plan. Now, let’s focus on gettin’ this money in Atlanta.”
“I love the sound of that,” Buck Wild smiled. “But on some otha shit, why don’t you let me get a couple minutes wit’ one of yo’ bitches? I just did a dime. Watchin’ the way shorty handle that AR and how she look in them pants got a nigga weak in the knees.”
Pop looked at Queenie. “It’s on you. If I was fuckin’ my hand for ten, I’d be on the same shit.”
Queenie tried to read Pop’s face as they had a brief stare down. Deep down inside, she felt some type of way that Pop had consented to her fucking another man. She searched his face for a sign of jealously or any type of emotion that would make her decision, but Pop’s face was flat. The decision was all her’s, and her desire to show she was down for whatever Pop wanted won. “Okay. Just because you want me to,” she said, moving to sit next to Buck. “Don’t be fallin’ in love wit’ me, nigga. This just a fuck. I’m only doin’ this ‘cause I’m a real bitch and I’m showin’ you some love.”
Pop took the blunt from Buck Wild and moved to the passenger seat, giving them room. When Queenie sat on Buck’s lap, he pulled her face to him, sticking his tongue down her throat and palming her ass. Even though he was a terrible kisser, Queenie hung in there and ground her pussy on his lap. When she felt his dick get hard, she dug in his pants to get a feel. Her body went stiff, jaw dropped, and eyes popped as she felt up his dick. His thickness and length seemed unreal. And then she felt the knots and lumps near the head.
“What the fuck is that?” she asked, snatching her hand from his pants and jumping up.
Buck grinned lustfully. “The biggest dick you eva felt in yo’ life, gurl!”
Queenie stayed where she was. “Lemme see.”
Buck Wild lifted enough to pull his pants and underwear down. The Louisville Slugger-sized monster dick sprang out, the lumps on it making it look like a deformed snake.
“What the fuck is that?” Queenie screamed, moving closer to Pop Somethin’.
The fear in her voice got Pop and Princess’s attention. When Pop seen what had caused her reaction, he pointed a pistol at Buck Wild. “Put that nasty-ass shit up, nigga!”
***
When he walked into the apartment, Born Ready and Buck Wild hugged aggressively, then stepped back to look at each other. After smiles, they hugged again.
“Damn, boy! You big as fuck!” Born Ready said, looking his little brother from head to toe again.
“You know how it is in there. You gotta be a wolf. But what’s up wit’ this bald head shit? Lookin’ like that nigga, Taye Diggs!” Buck Wild laughed.
“Fuck you, nigga,” Born Ready laughed. “I want you to meet my lady friend, Sasha. It’s because of her all this shit is about to happen.”
The silver-haired BBW sat on the couch in a way-too-small pink robe with one leg crossed over the other, showing all of her naked thighs. “Welcome home, baby brother!” she smiled, standing and hugging the prison breakee.
“And this is her friend, Treazur,” Born Ready introduced, pointing to the white woman who stood with Sasha.
“Welcome home, Buck Wild!” she smiled, giving him a hug.
The big man eyed the tan-skinned white woman lustfully. Her hair was braided in two long cornrows, and she wore light makeup with plenty of lip gloss. With blue eyes, a sharp nose, and high cheekbones, she flexed her curves in a blue tank top, white jeans, and heels.
“Damn, you bad!” Buck Wild grinned.
“And I’m all yours,” she smiled lustfully.
Buck Wild’s eyes popped as he looked back and forth from Treazur to Born Ready and Sasha. They gave approving nods. “Where my room at?” Buck asked, grabbing her by the hand.
“Second door on the left,” Born Ready pointed.
Buck Wild dragged the woman down the hall like she was a sex doll instead of a human being. “I’ma grab the wheelchair from the closet. She gon’ need it,” Born Ready said.
Curiosi
ty and worry shown on Sasha’s face. “Is she really gon’ need that? I ain’t neva heard of a nigga fuckin’ a bitch ‘til she can’t walk. Ain’t no nigga dick game that good or that big.”
Born Ready gave her a look as he rolled the wheelchair down the hall. “It’s just some shit you don’t want to see. She ‘bout to earn that two hunnit.”
An ear-piercing scream from behind the door made Sasha flinch. “What the fuck is he doin’ to her?”
“Fuckin’ her.”
The screams that came from the room didn’t sound like someone having sex. More like someone being tortured. Treazur’s screams began high-pitched, eventually fading to hoarse, animalistic roars, then cries for help.
Sasha looked worried. “C’mon, baby. I think she need help.”
“I told her about him before she took the money. She said he could get two hours. It’s only been twenty minutes.”
“But she screamin’ for help, babe. I’m goin’ in there. It sound like he killin’ her.”
Sasha got up from the couch, and Born Ready followed her down the hall. When they opened the door, neither of them was prepared for what they seen. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the floor, the bed, and all over their bodies. Treazur lay on her back in blood, both of her hands locked around Buck Wild’s wrist, her face blue and purple. Buck Wild was on top of her, choking her with one arm, the other arm folding her leg on his shoulder as he pounded her pussy.
“Stop him! He ‘bout to kill her!” Sasha screamed.
“Chill, brah! You ‘bout to kill her!” Born Ready yelled.
Buck Wild acted as if he didn’t hear them, lost in a sadistic zone of pleasure and pain. When Born Ready seen his brother wasn’t going to stop, he ran over and pushed him off the half-dead white woman. “Fuck wrong wit’ chu, nigga?”
Buck Wild blinked a couple times like he was coming back to reality. “I-I don’t know what happened, brah. I blacked out.”
Treazur lay on the bed choking, unable to move, covered in blood.
Chapter 9
Lithonia, Georgia was located about 20 miles southeast of Atlanta. The occupants of the small town were some of the richest people in Georgia. Lavish mansions, condos, and estates made up most of the housing market. The price tag on the cars that roamed the streets averaged $100,000. On Evans Mill Road was a row of massive, very expensive homes known as the Belair Estates. An iron gate separated the outsiders from luxurious living, and next to the big, fancy gate was a small door.
