by J-Blunt
“Is that what you want? A family?” Shanice asked, paying extra attention to Queenie’s answer.
“Yeah, but Pop don’t. He don’t want love. Said it makes us weak. He wants loyalty. Told me if I ever find somebody to fall in love with, he would let me go.”
There was a hint of pain in Queenie’s voice. Shanice felt it. “Damn. That’s kinda fucked up. But at least you know how he feels. What about your sister? I know y’all live together. Do y’all, um, sleep together, too?”
Queenie gave Shanice a curious look. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I don’t know. I thought I heard you or Pop say both of y’all was his bitches. I guess I wanted to know how it worked, sharing a man with your sister.”
Queenie laughed. “I know what you thinkin’. It’s different, but yeah, Pop is both our nigga. But Princess more like him when it comes to love. She love him, but she not in love with him. That’s her nigga. He my man.”
Shanice shook her head, thankful she wasn’t a part of a confusing love triangle. “That sounds crazy. I couldn’t picture sharing my man, especially with my sister. What if he gives her more attention? Do you get jealous?”
“I know you ain’t talkin’ ‘bout nobody crazy love triangle,” Queenie said, calling Shanice out. “You had two niggas, and you know as well as I do Nitty was fuckin’ other bitches.”
Shanice looked away, a busted look on her face. “Okay. You got me. I’m not innocent. But you know how it is. Nitty wasn’t shit. I like C-Note.”
“And me and my sister like Pop. It don’t bother me that they have sex. At least I know who he doin’ it wit’. Plus, I love my sister. We best friends. We shared everything our whole life.”
“It still sounds different. It would take some gettin’ used to.”
“You would be surprised what you could get used to. What the world thinks is normal may not be what feels good to you, and vice-versa. I’m sure you have a secret. Er’body does. We just don’t care if people know.”
Shanice looked away, unable to deny the truth. Queenie recognized the look. “I knew you was a bad bitch, Shanice! Tell me. Tell me your secret!”
“No. Not right now. I can’t say.”
Queenie grabbed Shanice’s arm, spinning her until they were face-to-face. “You can tell me. I promise I won’t judge you. If you want, I can tell you a secret first.”
When Shanice looked into Queenie’s eyes, they reflected trust, compassion, and genuine interest. The lonely single mother felt a connection to the dark-skinned temptress. It was spiritual and emotional. “Okay. Tell me your secret and I’ll tell you mine.”
Queenie didn’t hesitate. “I think I’m fallin’ in love with you.”
Shanice was caught off guard by the honesty. “Oh. Um. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“And now you know. I keep havin’ dreams about you. I think you’re a beautiful woman, and you have a good soul. And you are sexy. I want to be the first woman to make love to you.”
Shanice’s skin flushed and heart rate increased. “Damn, Queenie. Your words, gurl. I don’t know how to feel about all this.”
Queenie seen the words were having an effect on Shanice, so she pulled back. “I’m sorry, girl. Bein’ around you just,” she trailed off. “Tell me your secret. I want to hear it.”
“Look, Momma! I’m riding a unicorn!” Shawntale called.
Hearing the child’s voice broke the connection building between the women. In that moment their surroundings became real. They were at a crowded carnival. Shanice was five months pregnant, and she wasn’t attracted to women. Especially not her cousin’s bitch.
After pulling her hand from Queenie’s, she went to get her daughter from the ride. When they tired of the carnival, the women went to get something to eat before heading back to Shanice’s house. Shawntale tired herself out with excitement and food. By the time they got home, she was sound asleep.
After putting her to bed, the grown-ups settled on the couch to watch Girls Trip. Halfway through the movie, Shanice got emotional.
“What happened to C-Note, Queenie? For real. What did Pop say?”
Queenie could see the pain in her newfound friend’s eyes and hear it in her voice. “He won’t talk about it. To nobody. You know how Pop is when he make his mind up.”
Devastation washed over Shanice. “That just don’t make sense. I thought they were boys. Did Pop know C-Note took the deal and was going to testify against the cartel?”
“Yeah. They tried to kill us. They blew up our house. We lost everything.”
“Damn. I didn’t know that.”
“I know. Pop didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to worry.”
Shanice lay back on the couch, tears spilling from her eyes when she closed them. “I know C-Note is dead. I knew it the night he didn’t come get me. What I didn’t expect was for my cousin to shut me out his life. That hurts just as much as losing C-Note. I lost two people. Three counting Nitty.”
Queenie sat her drink down and moved closer to Shanice, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting way. “I don’t know what to say about yo’ baby daddy. Pop won’t talk about it, but I guess I get how you feel. He didn’t come back, but you didn’t lose Pop. He loves you more than you know. To be honest, the way he love you kinda make me jealous. I wish he was that overprotective of me.”
Shanice looked surprised. “Jealous of me? Yeah, right. Have you seen you? Girl, I would kill for an ass and titties like those.”
Queenie blushed. “Stop. Yo’ ass is just fine, and after you have the baby, yo’ titties gon’ be bigger than mine.”
Shanice laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You crazy.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! Smile and laugh. You are so beautiful. Don’t be sad. The baby can feel that,” Queenie said, reaching out and touching Shanice’s face.
The gesture was small, but Queenie’s touch was enough to send butterflies through Shanice’s stomach and make her lady parts tingle. “Damn, Queenie. You driving me crazy.”
The seducer leaned in close. “Good, because you do the same thing to me.”
When their lips met, neither woman held back. The kiss was passionate and wet and sloppy. Moans of pleasure filled the room. The taste of Queenie’s mouth unlocked hidden passions within Shanice. She wanted more, to feel Queenie’s soft skin pressed against hers. “Can we take off our clothes?”
They took their time undressing, admiring the shapes and curves of each other’s body. Queenie’s skin was dark as night, colorful tattoos covering her body, large double-D breasts, a small waist, thick thighs, and a fat ass. Pink butterfly wings were tattooed above each of Queenie’s breasts. Shanice traced a finger over the body art, her fingers taking a path of their own. She rubbed and cupped Queenie’s double-Ds, moving down her stomach, waist, and thighs. The soft flesh of a woman excited Shanice. Men were hard and muscled. A woman’s body molded to a man. Now she had found someone’s body that could mold with hers.
Queenie allowed Shanice to explore, liking the way inexperienced hands felt, but she wanted more, so she leaned forward and found her lips again, their tongues playing games. From her lips to her neck, down her chest, stopping at her swollen breasts. A moan of pleasure escaped Shanice’s lips when Queenie flipped her tongue across the sensitive, dark brown nipple. She used her tongue to show Shanice’s body pleasure no man had. All the sensitive spots were stimulated, the neck, shoulder, behind the ears, breasts, elbows, hips, and inner thighs. She paused to admire her pussy, clean-shaven, no hair bumps, the reddish-brown skin soft and flawless. Her labia was juicy and slick. After a few kisses, Queenie dove in, licking and sucking. Shanice cried out as her body was lit on fire.
Every time Queenie’s tongue flipped across a body part, it burned. The orgasm built quickly, bubbling inside like a volcano about to erupt. Then it happened. The floodgates opened and Shanice’s body vibrated in pleasure. Wave after wave of the electric orgasm paralyzed Shanice as all of her in
sides dissolved and flowed from her body.
Chapter 13
An orange Range Rover cruised down Peach Tree, the occupants inside in no rush to get to their destination. Behind the tinted windows, Sid lay back in the seat, puffing a blunt of lime, doing the speed limit. Sidney Banks was the co-founder of Grind Squad. Six feet tall with a slim build, dark skin, and brushed waves, he had the aura of a boss. Whenever a nigga stood in his presence, he knew he was in the company of a leader.
In the passenger seat was Duke, one of Grind Squad’s shooters. A small man, just 5’6” and 150 pounds, but his vicious nature made up for his pint size. The streets knew him to be a ruthless enforcer, and he felled many men for underestimating the size of his bite.
“That shit wit’ S.O.D. is a trip, ain’t it?” Sid asked. “Somethin’ ain’t right ‘bout how er’thang went down wit’ dem niggas. Why ain’t nobody heard nothin’ ‘bout Mecca? You think he killed his niggas and hit it wit’ the bag?”
“Nah. Me and the nigga wasn’t close, but I talked to him enough to know he loved his team. S.O.D. was Mecca baby. You don’t destroy nothin’ that you build. He wasn’t crazy. The last time I seen him, he mentioned cleaning that money and trynna take S.O.D. legit. When a nigga talkin’ like that, you don’t run away wit’ the bag. You clean that shit so you can get more. I think it’s somethin’ foul goin’ on wit’ they circle. One of them niggas might’ve tried to make a power grab.”
“That would explain a lot,” Duke admitted, checking his phone after it buzzed. Me-Me flashed on the screen. “What up, baby? I was wonderin’ when–”
The Range Rover jerked violently when Sid smashed the brake. A black Mustang had swerved in front of them, stopping in the middle of the street. When the SUV came to a stop, a beat-up, white Pontiac Lemans rear ended it, causing the airbags to deploy. Duke’s instincts were second to none. As soon as his face hit the airbag, the Tech-9 was in his fist. After movin’ the safety device from view, he lifted the semi-automatic handgun. Someone had climbed out of the Mustang with a chopper, and it was about to be set off.
K-Dawg sprang from the passenger seat of the Mustang, the AK-47 erupting death into the Range Rover’s windshield. The driver made jerking moves as the bullets hit home. When K-Dawg felt a burning pain on the left side of his chest, he let go of the AK’s trigger. Before he could decide to fight or flee, he felt a similar pain in his left arm. The decision to run came too late. When he spun around, four bullets in his back knocked him on the ground.
The front and rear doors of the Pontiac sprang open. Two men hopped out with rifles and began spraying the truck with bullets. They fired blindly through the frame and tinted windows, aiming for the driver and passenger seats. After a volley of bullets, they walked to the driver’s side to make sure Sid and Duke were dead. When the lead man opened the door, Sid was slumped in the seat. When he looked to the passenger seat, death met him at the speed of sound as Tech-9 bullets tore into his face. The second gunman to leave the Pontiac was able to get a lock on Duke. More gunfire sounded.
“Let’s go, nigga!” B-Real called from the driver’s seat of the Pontiac.
Born Ready didn’t respond as he peeked over at Duke. The Grind Squad shooter lay against the passenger door, breathing rapidly, blood soaking his clothing. Born Ready lifted the chopper to his face. “It’s a takeover, nigga. S.O.D. in the building!”
***
The navy blue Ford Explorer hadn’t moved in three hours. Tinted windows made it hard to see who was inside. Seeing out wasn’t a problem. Detectives Marks and Steward were 12-year veterans of the APD. For 18 days they had been keeping an eye on Dennis “D.D.” Davis. A couple anonymous calls had put them onto the suspected drug dealer and murderer.
“After two weeks, what does your gut say? Did D.D. put the hit on those S.O.D. boys?” Detective Marks asked, blowing a cloud of nicotine smoke out the cracked passenger window.
“If he did, he sure as hell ain’t celebrating like he should be. If I wiped out my biggest competition, I would party for a week.”
“How do you know he ain’t in there partying right now?”
“Because ain’t nobody in the house but his old lady and kid. Nobody parties with their wife for something that happened at work,” Steward laughed.
“I do. When I made detective, me and Barbra went out and celebrated.”
“Which is exactly why you ain’t got a social life.”
“Which is also why I haven’t been divorced twice,” Marks shot back.
Steward gave his longtime partner a smirk as the phone rang. “This is Detective Steward. Speak your piece.” After listening for a few moments, his eyes lit up. “Wait! Wait! Say that again.”
Marks became anxious when he seen the excitement in his partner’s features. “What’s goin’ on?”
Steward held up a hand, continuing to listen to the caller. “Okay. I’ll make a few calls and get back to you. I think we just got what we needed to crack this case wide open.” When he hung up, he faced his partner. “That was Detective Horse. That was Sid’s orange Range Rover that got swiss cheesed on Peach Tree.”
Mark’s eyes grew wide. “S.O.D. got Sid?”
“Yep. And the two guys found in the street are believed to be S.O.D. A war is about to hit our city. The bodies are going to pile up.”
“So what the fuck are we doing here? Let’s get over on Peach Tree and get in on the investigation.”
“Not now. Those dead bodies ain’t going nowhere. Something in my gut tells me D.D.’s house is going to pop off before the night is over.”
Marks wanted to protest. They had been staking out the house for hours. Everything appeared normal. The action was happening on Peach Tree, and he wanted in, but having been partners for five years, he knew to trust his partner’s hunches. Following Steward’s gut had led them to big collars, so he put his eagerness in check and began watching the house. Then he thought he seen something move in the bushes. “You see that?”
“No, what is it?” Steward asked, following his partner’s pointed finger.
“Something moved in the bushes. Look! There it is again! There are two of them. Your gut is right again. They’re about to make a move on D.D.! I’m callin’ it in!”
***
“Why the fuck you park so far from the house?” Buck Wild complained.
“Because they got neighbors. People record everything, and they can get a picture of the car. Stop askin’ so many questions and follow me,” Pop snapped.
The house they were stalking was at the cul-de-sac of an expensive neighborhood surrounded by woods. Trees and bushes covered the landscape as if the owner didn’t want to make it easy for people outside to see inside. Pop stopped near a bush to check the block. A cloud of smoke came from the passenger side of a truck a few houses away.
“C’mon, Pop! Let’s get to it,” Buck whispered eagerly.
“Hold up. It’s a truck parked out here. I don’t like the way this feel,” Pop warned.
“What? Fuck that truck. This phase three, nigga. Born Ready and B-Real did they part. This on us.”
“We gon’ have to pull it anotha day. Somebody watchin’ the house.”
Buck Wild looked in the same direction as Pop. He seen the SUV, but the tinted windows didn’t allow him to see inside. “Fuck that shit. Ain’t nobody in that truck. I’m goin’ in here and killin’ this nigga.”
Without waiting for his partner, Buck Wild went to the side of the house and tried the glass patio door. It was locked, so he grabbed a lawn chair, throwing it through the door. The loud crash got Pop’s attention. He ran to the side of the house just in time to see Buck Wild disappear inside.
The disciplined goon was stuck. Buck Wild was stupid and had rushed in the house blind. They didn’t know how many people were in the house, nor the rooms they were in. Pop didn’t like entering anything blind. He also had a bad feeling about the truck parked a few houses away.
Instead of running inside behind Buck, Pop crept bac
k to the front of the house to check on the blue truck. Two men in dark suits ran toward him with their guns drawn. They spotted him at the same time.
“Stay right there!” one yelled, pointing his gun.
“Freeze! Don’t move!” the other yelled, taking aim.
Pop wanted to resist, but they had the drop on him. Fifty feet of open space separated him from the trained shooters. He wanted to go for the gun in his waist, but if he flinched they wouldn’t miss. If he ran, they would shoot him in the back. Pop was fucked.
Gunfire inside the house made the detectives flinch and duck. That was all Pop needed to turn the tables. The Desert Eagle came out in a blur. Bullets were exchanged. Steward caught one in the chest. Marks ducked, returning fire. Pop Somethin’ felt something hot slam into the right side of his chest as he turned to run. It didn’t take long to realize he was shot. The old bullet wounds in his back began to itch as a similar burning filled his chest. The threat of jail kept him on his feet.
***
Buck Wild ran through the house like a mad man. He checked most of the rooms on the first level when he heard a noise come from the end of the hall. Ready to kill, Buck Wild charged into the room, firing his pistol. When the door crashed in, a little boy dove underneath the bed. Buck bent down, about to end the child’s life. Gunshots outside made him pause and think of the truck parked a few houses away. Red light flashed in his mind along with visions of a prison cell. Buck forgot about the boy and tore out of the room. When he stepped into the hallway, motion in his peripheral vision made him duck.
When D.D. seen the big shadow run into the hallway, he squeezed the trigger on the shotgun. The 12-guage boomed as a foot-long fire shot out of the barrel. The slug went high, barely missing the target. The man in black continued moving down the hall toward the recreation room. D.D. cocked the gun and fired again. Buck Wild crashed through the door, the slug just missing him. Instead of trying to fight back, Buck Wild located the nearest window and jumped through it. The woods were to his left. The 12-guage coughed behind him like a fire-breathing dragon as he disappeared.
