Gods & Gangsters 2

by SLMN

Othello felt like shit.

  He went and sat on the side of the bed, taking her into his arms.

  “I’m sorry. I just love you so much, sometimes it just makes me a little crazy, okay? Things get in my head. Ghosts, I guess. Whisper in my ear.” He told her.

  “We’re on the same team, Othello. I got your back,” she told him. Then kissed him to show things were all good. “And I’m telling you Cash is street sharp.”

  “What about Mac? He sharp, too,” Othello retorted.

  Mona looked away.

  “What?” Othello asked, sensing something in her silence.

  “Look, I know Mac is your boy and all, but…”

  “But what?” He pressed.

  Mona sighed.

  “It’s just… look, babe, I don’t wanna say, but there’s something about him and his wife, Kandi. They just…” Mona said, ending her sentence with a shake of her head.

  Maybe it’s because Mac is onto your bullshit, bitch, Othello’s jealousy darkened side spat.

  No, no, she loves us, his softer side argued. “Mac’s my boy, ma.”

  “So’s Cash,” she shot back. “Didn’t you always tell me that Mac is too hot-headed, too quick to move without thinking?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, reluctantly.

  “Then you already know what I’m saying,” Mona concluded, then kissed him on the nose. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Othello watched her naked ass prance into the bathroom, and for a moment he was tempted to join her, but feeling too full for another round of her chocolate he laid back with every intention of getting back up, but his stomach overcame his will and he soon drifted off to sleep…

  He heard voices.

  He lifted his head to find himself alone in the bedroom.

  “Mona?” Othello called out, but got no reply.

  He checked his watch.

  3:33 a.m.

  “Damn, I sleep that long?”

  The voices, whispered in the wind, hard to discern, but easy to recognize. It was Mona and… a deeper voice. One that was familiar, that he knew as well as his own… but not in the context of the middle of the night.

  Othello got up and headed towards the living room.

  The voices were no longer saying words, they were making sounds.

  The sounds of panting and heavy breathing.

  Fucking.

  He quickened his pace, but the hallway seemed to just grow longer, like a funhouse treadmill that moved faster as he ran harder. The sounds growing louder, louder, until he could hear them clearly.

  “Ohhhh fuck this pussy,” Mona called out.

  “Whose pussy is this?!”

  “Yours!”

  “Say it louder!”

  “Yours baby, yours!”

  “Whose?”

  “Caaaaaaaash,” she squealed, and Othello knew from the tremble in her tone that she was squirting, her pussy milking his dick and pelvis.

  “Nooooooo!” Othello cried, as he finally made it into the living room.

  He saw Cash, with his big ass dick, long-dicking Mona, cockeyed, her head thrown back as he blew her back out, her titties bouncing to the rhythm of his stroke.

  “His dick is way bigger than yours, baby,” she giggled, as Cash smacked her ass, biting his bottom lip.

  “Nigga, I’ll kill, you.”

  Othello flew upright in a rage, spinning around, left, right. Trembling. Every muscle fired off trigger warnings, about to do something dumb. Mona was asleep next to him, her face partly glowing with the light of the moon.

  He looked at his watch. 3:33 a.m.

  His heartbeat thundered out a mile a minute.

  He looked into Mona’s sleeping face.

  She seemed to be smiling, like she was having a pleasant dream.

  About who? His jealous mind taunted.

  Mac walked into the mosque and looked around.

  On the men-only side, several Muslim men were in prayer, as two women, dressed head to toe in black hijabs, burkas, shuffled past him, their beautiful eyes downcast.

  Two men approached him.

  “I’m here to see Malik,” Mac told them.

  “He expecting you?”

  “Yeah.”

  One of them left, while the other waited with Mac.

  Neither man spoke.

  The first man returned a couple of minutes later, hooked a finger and said, “Okay, follow me.”

  He led Mac down a back corridor with pipes and electrical ducts exposed, to a set of stairs that went to the next floor. They climbed them. On the landing, Mac saw a small studio apartment, decked out with what he assumed were Islamic motifs. There was a thick oriental rug in the middle of the floor. This wasn’t his world. He didn’t go in for all that religion stuff. He didn’t think much of the idea of a higher power, nevermind some great divinity. He was more down to earth in his thinking that all men were gods with the right tools in their hands. They could create, they could destroy. Simple as that.

  Malik reclined on an oversized pillow. It was every bit as big as a couch, and looked just as comfortable.

  Mac was about to set foot on the carpet, when his Muslim guard stopped him.

  “Shoes,” he said, pointing at Mac’s gators.

  “My bad,” Mac replied, kicking them off. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken.”

  He stepped over to Malik, who rose slightly to shake his hand, then sat across from him on a similar pillow. It was a strange way to live. “Glad you could make it,” Malik said, by way of greeting.

  “Glad that you were willing to talk.”

  “A wise man is always willing to talk,” Malik said.

  “I could use a drink,” Mac commented.

  “Alas, Muslims do not drink,” Malik shot back.

  “Far as I’m aware, they don’t sell drugs either,” Mac chuckled.

  Malik laughed.

  “I like you, Mac. You get straight to the point. No bullshit. It is an endearing trait.”

  Malik nodded to one of his bodyguards. They man disappeared out of the room, only to reappear a few minutes later with a bottle of Hennessey and two glasses.

  He poured Malik and Mac two fingers each.

  “What can I say? I’m just not the kinda guy who likes to deal with facades,” Mac told him.

  “Understandable. So, given you have come to me, I assume you want something? What can I do for you Mac?”

  Mac took a sip, then replied, “Othello is retiring from the game.”

  Malik’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Retiring? Unexpected, especially as he just joined The Commission. Are you sure your information is good?”

  “It’s not his decision. Joe Hamlet made it for him. An ultimatum, The Commission or marrying his daughter.”

  “I see. So, Othello chose love?”

  “He did.”

  “Will he be leaving The Commission, too?”

  “No. He’ll be strictly legit, but he’ll be in Joe’s pocket, and that will be a problem for you,” Mac explained.

  Malik nodded and sipped.

  Mac continued. “What you may or may not know, is that Joe Hamlet is on the way out as well. It’ll be his son we’ll be dealing with.”

  “Adonis is soft.”

  “This is true, but his mother isn’t. She’s the real power behind the throne.”

  “Don’t worry about that. What I need from you is a guarantee.”

  “I don’t give guarantees.”

  “First time for everything. I’m fronting to you to cement our relationship. See, I’m going to be filling Othello’s shoes. Heir apparent, if you will, and when I am in place I’ll be loyal to those who are loyal to me. Right now, I’m simply looking for where those mutual loyalties may be found,” Mac stated.

  “So you come to me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, enlighten me, Mac. What exactly would I be guaranteeing?”

  “Your friendship throughout whatever I have to do to claim the sea
t. With Joe out of the way, I figure you stand to be Commissioner, that is, assuming you have the votes? Mine will be guaranteed,” Mac assured him.

  Malik smiled.

  “A guarantee for a guarantee, huh?”

  “You scratch my back, and I’ll drag my fingernails down yours,” Mac said.

  Malik rubbed his chin, then downed his drink.

  “Okay, Mac, you’ve got yourself a deal,” he said. The pair shook on it, old school. But Malik held Mac’s hand a little too long and said, “If you become boss.”

  “Not if...when,” Mac smirked.

  “Damn, you make my pussy wet,” Kandi cooed, laying in the stew of their own sexual juices in the aftermath of a marathon fuck session.

  She’d been fucked raw pink.

  Mac chuckled, feeling himself.

  He knew he was on his way up, and he had everybody around him on a string.

  He felt like a muhfuckin’ puppet master supreme.

  “This shit is too easy,” he remarked, rubbing Kandi’s back.

  “So O bit? He really thinks Cash is fuckin’ his wife?” Kandi questioned.

  “Not fully, he just doubts his own mind. It’s in there, eatin’ away at him. I don’t want him certain about anything yet, ‘cause with certainty comes control of your own actions and that nigga needs to be on the edge. Long as he’s in doubt, he’s open to influence, the wise words of his tried and true friend.”

  “Oh, you are so bad,” Kandi snickered.

  He kissed her on the nose.

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Aphrodite listened to Adonis’ explanation, calmly, leaning back in the chair, behind her desk, while he paced the floor of her office, nervously.

  “Ma, I’m telling you, I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice trembling.

  “First of all, Adonis, sit down. You’re making me nervous with all of this pacing. I can barely think.”

  He sat down.

  She continued.

  “Secondly, you need to think. How are these pictures getting taken inside the places where you and Devante meet?”

  Adonis shook his head.

  “There is only one way,” she reasoned

  “But ma, I love him,” Adonis admitted.

  “This isn’t about love, Adonis, it’s about survival. And the evidence would suggest Devante doesn’t love you the same way.”

  Adonis shook his head.

  He couldn’t say anything because he knew his mother was right.

  It had damn near broken his heart when the deep-voiced dude contacted him again, this time with pictures of him and Devante having sex on the couch, taken the same day Adonis had gone to Devante’s crib to tell him about the blackmail.

  “You gotta use your head. Who else could it be, baby, if it isn’t Devante?” Aphrodite asked.

  “Nobody,” he replied, his heart shattering for the thousandth time with the admission.

  Aphrodite stood up, came around the table and caressed his cheek.

  “Then you know what you have to do.”

  Adonis looked at her.

  “Me? If I’m a boss, then I shouldn’t have to get my hands dirty.”

  Aphrodite smiled knowingly. “First, my child, you have to prove you are a boss, and you do that by getting your hands dirty. Taking care of this yourself is the only way to know you have what it takes to be the head of this family. If you can’t look Devante in the eye, stare him right in his treacherous face as you take his life, then you don’t have what it takes. No one will respect you. Not even me,” Aphrodite’s voice was as cold as her eyes. Ice.

  Adonis nodded, the coldness in her eyes froze the blood to ice in his veins, steeling him against his own emotions. “Okay, ma. I’ll handle it,” he vowed.

  “Today, Adonis. You never give a snake a chance to strike once you know where he’s hiding in your grass,” she schooled him.

  Adonis stood. He hugged his mother. When they broke the embrace, Aphrodite caressed his face again, this time, running her thumb sensually over his lips. “My sweet Adonis, my sexy Adonis. I know this hurts, but believe me, Devante is only your first love… he is far from your last.”

  The implications in her tone, made Adonis’ heart skip with anticipation.

  As he began to walk out, Aphrodite said, “Call me when you’re done. I’ll send somebody to clean up the mess.”

  He wasn’t Jesus, but he wept, all the way down to the car in the underground lot beneath his mother’s non-profit office.

  He had been being groomed for this moment his entire life.

  His father’s expectations for his only son had rode Adonis hard since childhood.

  Deep down, he didn’t want to be a gangsta, but with a killer for a father and a devil for a mother, it was hard to escape. He never had a chance at being his own man.

  That fact rammed home with the first cock he had dreamed of taking. He was seventeen years old, surfing the internet, searching for porn, and came across a bunch of streams dedicated to trannies.

  It wasn’t a term he was intimately familiar with, but once he went headfirst down into the rabbit hole, life was never going to be the same again. The first thing he saw was this beautiful Asian woman. She looked just like a real woman, so he was amazed when he saw the little pink piece of meat hanging between her legs. It didn’t disgust him, rather, it kinda turned him on. It was the femininity of the transgender that turned him on. After that, he would secretly go to the site and masturbate to videos of trannies being fucked, liking the ones when they were on their backs, and their hard cocks were bouncing against their stomachs. Then he found ones where they came without being touched and his mind was melted. He couldn’t get enough. Thing was, he didn’t imagine he’d ever have the nerve to actually fuck a shemale in real life, as hypnotic as he found them.

  Until he met Devante.

  He met him in Cancun, at his eighteenth birthday party.

  He was Malik’s nephew. Malik, a strict Muslim. Devante carried himself properly in front of the world, the right male front, but the first time he looked at Adonis, Adonis recognized the mask. It was the same one he wore. The glint of mockery in his eye said it all. I know you see me, and I see you, your mask… I see you.

  Devante was every bit as pretty as a girl, but packaged all boy.

  That first time they were alone, Devante smiled that damned smile of his and asked, “I took a birthday picture for you. Wanna see it?”

  Adonis nodded. Devante sent him a picture of himself, butt-naked, bent over in the mirror, looking back over his shoulders with a fuck me expression. His face was made up so well, he looked like a sexy young girl. Adonis immediately got an erection. Devante peeped it and giggled.

  “You’re welcome. Do you want to see more?”

  “More?”

  Devante eyed him lustfully, nodding. “Everything.”

  In Devante’s hotel suite, Adonis’ whole world changed.

  They became the best of friends and lovers.

  To the world, they were two young dudes, on the prowl for pussy, but behind closed doors, they were free to be who they were. Their own true selves. They both knew the day would come when Adonis would take over the family, and that’s when things got out of hand.

  Could a true gangsta be gay?

  It was a simple enough question, but he couldn’t think of a single one. Of course, if any had been gay, most likely they would have hidden the fact, and put on their own mask.

  Adonis was two men, and had always been. One him craved the power of a true gangsta and the chance to rule his own life, the other him wanted nothing more than to be free…

  Adonis wiped his eyes, took a deep breath and called Devante.

  “Hey you,” Devante cooed over the phone, “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh yeah? What part of me?” Adonis flirted, his voice firm, even as his heart wavered.

  “How you fucked me so good last night.”

  “Funny, I was thinking about
how you fucked me,” Adonis replied, Devante unaware of the duplicitous meaning of his words.

  Devante giggled.

  “You are delicious.”

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ve got a few hours. Meet me at our secret place in a couple of hours,” Adonis suggested.

  “I’m on my way. Mwah!” Adonis hung up the phone.

  Yeah… you are.

  Their special place was a small cabin in the woods, right out on the fringes of the suburbs, way beyond The Commission’s control.

  It was a place people went to fish, canoe and camp out.

  And like Crystal Lake, it was the perfect place for a murder.

  Devante was already there when Adonis arrived. He saw his car parked behind the cabin, discrete. Adonis pulled around back as well. He took a deep breath, looked at himself in the mirror, and said to the man in there, “Choose.”

  He got out and went inside, not convinced he had actually made a choice.

  Devante was already naked. He was in a whorish sprawl across the king-sized waterbed, dick raging in his hand as he peeled back the foreskin, enticing Adonis with the view.

  “See anything you like?” Devante sang, his voice husky and wanton.

  Adonis couldn’t help but get hard.

  Devante knew how to turn him on.

  On the drive up, he’d imagined it in the simplest possible way: walk through the door, no words, no second thoughts, just pull the trigger, shoot Devante in the head and walk out. The last thing he wanted to do was give him the chance to plead for his life, to beg, claim his innocence, how they were being set up, all of that shit that mocked Adonis’ intelligence. But he was smart. Smarter than that. There was zero chance Devante wasn’t involved. The places they had gone together, no one knew about except for them. Try as he might, Adonis couldn’t imagine a way to clear his lover, but Devante had betrayed him, he had betrayed his love, and for that he had to pay the absolute price.

  Devante sensed something was wrong.

  He stopped stroking his dick and knelt on the bed, facing him. No sign of his erection fading. It was a beautifully potent thing. How could he be such a bastard?

  “What’s wrong, Don-don?”

  Adonis stepped up to him.

  Moved in close.

  Devante wrapped his arms around his neck.