The Kat Trap

by Cairo

  He frowned. “And what type of consultin’ you do again?”

  I put muhfuckas outta they misery. But of course I couldn’t tell his ass what I was thinkin’. Hell, I couldn’t really tell him much of anything. I mean, on some real shit, how do you tell a nigga you tryna be fly with that you fuckin’ niggas, then blowin’ they brains out at point-blank range? That with a kiss on a nigga’s lips and sweet whispers in his ear, you’ll shoot him between the eyes while straddled on top of him, slammin’ down on his dick? I mean, really. That’ll fuck a nigga’s head up; have him thinkin’ ya ass is nuts or you some borderline psycho bitch. Fuck, I thought, takin’ a deep breath, tryna figure out what I was gonna say to keep his ass from tryna sniff out more than what he needed to know. I shoulda knew this nigga wasn’t gonna just let this shit go. I tried to think fast, but came up blank. So, a bitch did the next best thing. I pressed my lips against his, slid my tongue into his mouth, then grabbed at his dick. At first he sat there like he was in a trance, but I kept massagin’ his dick and kissin’ him. Slowly, his hands started roamin’ all over my body. He started squeezin’ my titties and pushin’ himself up into me as I ground my ass onto his dick. I slowly sucked on his earlobe, lickin’ ’round the edges, then dartin’ my tongue in and out of his ear. Yeah, he knew I was tryna changin’ the subject and it was workin’. I was smart enough to know that this wasn’t gonna stop him from askin’ me again how I stacked my paper but, for the moment, it was gonna keep him from askin’ me anythin’ else until I could figure out what I was gonna tell ’im. On some real shit, I knew there was no way I was gonna be able to dip outta town the way I do if I was gonna fuck with his ass on some serious-type shit without problems. Oh, well…I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. In the meantime, I’d keep it cute, and give him the bare minimum.

  I whispered in his ear, “I wanna suck all over ya thick, black dick.”

  He lowered his voice. “Oh, word?”

  I nodded, kissin’ him on his lips and neck, then slitherin’ my way down his body in between his legs, reachin’ for his dick. “Can I suck daddy’s big dick?” I asked, as if I was beggin’ for it. I slowly licked my lips, pullin’ his dick outta the slit of his boxers. I flicked my tongue across the head. “Oh, I need daddy’s dick real bad.” He lifted his arms up, then locked his fingers together, placing them under his head, spreadin’ his legs wider apart. He lifted his hips and allowed me to remove his underwear all the way down to his ankles. His dick was brick. “Oh, yes,” I said, grabbin’ his dick at the base, lickin’ the drool from the corners of my lips. “Look at all this big dick. Mmm…you got a pretty dick.”

  “Yeah, you love that dick, don’t you?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I moaned, kissin’ the tip of his dick. “I”—kiss—“love”—kiss—“it.”

  He let out a soft moan as I nibbled and licked on his balls, then slid my tongue along the back of his dick. I slid my lips up and down it, from his balls back up to the tip of his dick, wettin’ it up real nice, glidin’ my tongue all over it. He moaned again. I smiled and wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, and slowly gulped it down one inch at a time until I had his entire dick down in my throat. “Oh, shit, baby,” he groaned. “You tryna fuck a nigga’s head up.”

  I increased the suction and neck bobbin’, while massagin’ and squeezin’ his balls. He grabbed the sides of my head, slowly pumped his hips, then face-fucked me until he shot his thick, creamy load down into my throat. Humph. There was nothin’ like lickin’ and suckin’ the nut outta a thick cock. Although I swallowed most of it, some still overflowed outta my mouth and dripped along the sides of his dick and down onto his balls. But a cum-hungry bitch like me never wastes a drop. I licked and slurped all around his balls and dick, then took him back into my mouth and sucked the remainin’ drops of his nut until his body shook, and his eyes rolled up in his head. And for the rest of the night, I wet his dick and kept him fucked down to the bone, hopin’ he wouldn’t press me for answers I was never gonna be ready to give.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Everything ain’t always what it seems…Niggas frontin’, bitches stuntin’…at the end of the day, it’s all a dream…so you better watch ya step…there ain’t no loyalty, there ain’t no love…just a bunch of niggas and bitches…grimy, ruthless, rotten to the core…

  Biggie’s “Niggas Bleed” was blarin’ outta the Bose speakers of my sleek silver Jaguar XJ12 as I drove down the parkway, heading south toward Atlantic City. A bitch was feelin’ sexy and real horny. It was close to midnight, and the ride was smooth as fuck until I almost hit a damn deer that raced across the highway. I swerved to the right, quickly brakin’, then pressin’ down on the gas pedal, pushin’ one-ten. It takes a lot to shake a bitch like me, but the thought of havin’ a damn deer flipped up on my fuckin’ hood or comin’ through my windshield with its hoof in my grill had a bitch shook. I ain’t gonna front. But I sparked a blunt, took three deep pulls, and quickly pulled it together, thinkin’ ’bout my mark for the night.

  I was gonna fuck him real good, then splatter his brains out. I pressed my thighs together, tryna pinch the excitement stirrin’ between my legs. Yes, I was gonna fuck this nigga to death, literally and figuratively. But then I felt guilty. Fuckin’ with Grant had my groove all jacked up. Like I already told ya, I was diggin’ the nigga. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to live a double life if I wanted to be wifed-up by his ass. I was glad his ass was outta town doin’ him for the weekend. Although fuckin’ these marks was strictly a part of how I handled my business, it would be cheatin’. So I decided I’d have to stop fuckin’ ’em if I was gonna rock with Grant. Yep, this is the last mark I’m fuckin’, I thought, veerin’ off the ramp onto the toll road for AC. From now on, I’ll just kill ’em on the spot. No extras.

  I caught my reflection in my rearview mirror, pulled the front of my burgundy spiked, pixie-cut wig cap down a little, then made sure my self-made beauty mole over my lip was still in place. I adjusted my wire-framed Christian Dior glasses. I hated all these wigs and makeup ’n shit, but they were needed props. I pulled into the parkin’ garage for the Borgata, then checked inside my Gucci duffle bag to make sure I had e’erything. It was show-time.

  I entered the fly-ass hotel, strutted through the casino toward the elevators to my mark’s suite. On the way up, somethin’ didn’t feel right. My gut told me to turn around and take my ass back home. I was startin’ to feel real paranoid ’bout shit, but knew I couldn’t back out. There was money to be made, and a body to be accounted for. What the fuck! I snapped in my head, steppin’ outta the elevator. I shoulda never smoked that shit. The closer I got to my mark’s room, the more shit didn’t feel right. So, I decided to follow my gut. I’m not fuckin’ this nigga; not tonight. In that split second, I decided I would just smoke his ass and bounce.

  I reached his door, then looked around to make sure no witnesses were around. I knocked. A few minutes later, the door opened. There stood my mark in a pair of black jeans and black tee shirt. The nigga was fine. He had caramel-coated skin with thick lips, a big nose, and a bangin’ body. “Yes?” he said, checkin’ me out from head to toe. “How can I help you?”

  Damn, this nigga looks like someone, I thought. “Somebody called for a massage,” I said, takin’ ’im in.

  “Nah, baby, you got the wrong room.”

  I felt my nipples harden and licked my lips. “That’s too bad,” I said, eyein’ him real slow and sexy-like. “I woulda loved roamin’ ya body with my hands. Oh well. Enjoy ya night.”

  “Yo, hold up,” he said. I stopped in my tracks, slowly turnin’ around. Gotcha! “How much one of those massages run?”

  “For you,” I said, smilin’. “It’ll be on the house. And I’ll even give ya a nice release.” I winked. He smiled. “I promise. You’ll feel like ya floatin’ on clouds when I’m done workin’ ya body.”

  “I like that,” he said, steppin’ back and openin’ the door with a big-ass grin on his face. “Come on in. Aft
er the night I’ve had, I can definitely use a little tension release.”

  I stepped into the spacious suite. It was just him there. “Okay, you’ll need to remove all your clothes.”

  “Say what?”

  “It’s a nude massage, baby,” I said. “You need to be butt-ass.”

  He chuckled. “Got ya. Uh, so this really does come with a happy ending?” He started laughin’. “Just kiddin’.”

  I smiled. “Actually, big daddy, it sure does. When I’m done with you, ya gonna be spillin’ all over the place.”

  “Oh, word? That’s wassup.”

  He removed his clothes, then lay across the king-sized bed. I tried not to look too hard at his muscled back and thighs. His ass was nice and firm. My mind started wanderin’ and a bitch started wonderin’ what it would feel like havin’ my legs up over his shoulders and my nails diggin’ in his muscular ass cheeks while he fucked me down. I shook away the thought before I changed my mind and gave him some pussy.

  As soon as he turned his head, facin’ the other way, I reached into my bag and pulled out my nickel-plated nine-millimeter with the silencer attached. I walked up on him. Theessrrpp! I blasted him in the back of his head. I hadn’t touched shit so I was gonna be able to dip out real easy. I let out a deep breath, relieved that this went smoother than I had expected. Well, that’s what I thought. But jas I was headed toward the door, it opened. And in stepped this fine-ass nigga. My eyes popped open. My face cracked. Keepin’ shit real, a bitch almost passed the fuck out. It was Grant!

  “Yo, who da fuck are you?” he asked, starin’ me down. He squinted. The door closed behind him. I took a deep breath and backed up real slow, pullin’ off my wig and removin’ my glasses. I was caught and there was no need tryna talk my way outta it. “Yo, what the fuck you doin’ up in here with my brotha?”

  My mouth dropped. “Ya brotha?” I asked in disbelief as he walked up on me.

  “Yeah, Kat, my brotha,” he replied, soundin’ heated. He glanced over at the bed and saw the mark sprawled on his stomach with blood oozin’ outta a hole in the back of his head. He blacked. “Yo, what the fuck did you fuckin’ do?” He ran over to the bed, shakin’ the body. “Yo, Greg, man, you aiight? Wake up, man. Yo, Greg.” He shook ’im, all frantic and whatnot, then looked up at me. “Why da fuck did you kill him, huh, bitch? Is you fuckin’ crazy? That’s my fam, bitch! You’se a dead ho. Word on my brotha’s body.” He jumped up and tried to come at me. But I had pulled my gun out and had it pointed at his head. He stopped in his tracks.

  “Now put ya hands up and on the back of ya head, and don’t move ’em,” I said.

  He did, turnin’ his head back toward his brotha. When it finally hit him that his brotha was layin’ there naked, he stared at him for a minute longer, then shot me a look. “Did you just fuck my fam, then turn around and kill ’im?”

  “No, I didn’t fuck him,” I said, relieved I didn’t. “You asked me several times how I made my paper,” I said, starin’ him in his eyes. “And I never answered you ’cause I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to tell you. I hoped that I would be outta this shit. But, now it looks like it doesn’t really matter.” I knew the nigga was strapped so I tried to keep my eyes on his hands.

  “I don’t believe this shit!” he yelled, holdin’ his head and walkin’ in circles. “I don’t fuckin’ believe it! Why?”

  “It’s my job,” I offered, avoidin’ his eyes. It rattled a bitch’s nerves to see the look on my man’s face. Okay, the nigga wasn’t officially my man, but he was the nigga I was fuckin’ on a regular. And I was diggin’ him. Anyway, knowin’ I had caused the pained look in his eyes started fuckin’ with me. Keep shit cute, bitch, I warned myself, tryin’ fuckin’ hard not to look at him. Ain’t no time for gettin’ all soft up in this piece, ho. He broke down cryin’. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! E’erything was all fucked up. But there wasn’t shit I could do ’bout it. It was too late. And what really fucked a bitch up the most was knowin’ one of us wasn’t gonna be walkin’ up outta here. “I wish it didn’t hafta go down like this,” I said softly.

  “Fuck you, bitch!” he spat. “Fuck you talkin’ ’bout it’s ya job? Fuck you wishin’ for, bitch? You just bodied my brotha!”

  “It’s what I do,” I said, keepin’ my heat aimed at his head. But for the first time in years, my hands shook. On the inside a bitch was tremblin’. I took two deep breaths. “It’s my hustle.”

  “Ya ‘hustle’? Bitch, is you cracked out or what? How the fuck is killin’ muhfuckas ya hustle? You killed my muhfuckin’ fam.”

  My heart ached. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I took a deep breath. “Like with ya bruh,” I tried to explain. “When somebody puts a hit out on a nigga, someone’s paid to make that shit happen. Tonight, it was me. Trust me. If it wasn’t me, it woulda been someone else slumpin’ him. It was a done deal. Whoever he pissed on wanted him murked.”

  “Hits? Who the fuck ordered a hit out on him?”

  “That’s not my concern. Makin’ it happen is. I don’t get caught up in all the details. The less I know, the better. But had I known he was related to you, I woulda passed.”

  “But you woulda let someone else kill ’im? You fuckin’ mean to tell me you wouldn’t have warned me?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  The nigga’s eyes filled with hate. “That’s some real foul shit,” he said, shiftin’ his weight from one leg to the other. He moved his hands from his head, then spread his arms open. “Now what? Am I next? You gonna smoke me, too?”

  I looked in his eyes. I felt so fuckin’ sick to my stomach. And for the first time in my life, regret crept up on me. No time for regrets.

  “It’s what I do,” I said, shiftin’ my eyes from his stare. The nigga had love and hate all wrapped up in his eyes. They were pleadin’ with me. Even though he knew I was gonna blast him, he didn’t blink. He was a real nigga. “I really dig you. Things with you coulda been great. But I can’t let you live; not after walkin’ in on this. I have a rule that I live by: No witnesses, no evidence. Killin’ is my life, and I’m not goin’ down on some soft shit.”

  “Just like that? You gonna shoot a nigga?” He tried to reach for his piece, but I was on him.

  Theessrrp! “I’m a killa, baby,” I said, shootin’ him in the left shoulder. He stumbled backward, grabbin’ the place where I shot him. Blood started runnin’ down his shirt. He tried to reach for his gun again. Theessssrrrp!

  “Aaaah, shit,” he screeched, clutchin’ his chest. “Whatchu gonna do, kill me? Is that it? I gave you my fuckin’ heart! And you just gonna snake me.” His breathin’ was deep. It hurt me to see him cringin’ from the two bullet wounds. Shit! Shit! Shit! Why the fuck did he hafta come up in here? Why couldn’t he stay where the fuck he was? Fuck! The front of his shirt was soaked with blood and it was now runnin’ down his thick fingas.

  On the outside I was calm and collected, but on the inside I was straight fucked up. But this shit was much bigger than feelin’s. It was a matter of life or prison—me sparin’ his life versus me possibly goin’ to prison. He lost. Prison wasn’t an option.

  “Grant, please don’t make this any harder than it already is. And don’t try my patience. If you move again, I’ma take ya head off. This shit ain’t personal.”

  “Fuck you,” he spat. “I wanted to make shit happen with you.” He tried to reach for his gun again.

  “I fuckin’ warned you.” Theessrrp! I shot him in the center of his forehead. He fell back onto the bed, next to his naked brotha.

  I swallowed hard, watchin’ blood spill outta his head and chest. “I wanted to give you my heart and make shit happen with you, too,” I finally said, pressin’ my eyes tightly closed, shuttin’ off the pain that was startin’ to burn in the center of my chest. I took in a deep breath, held it in for what seemed like forever, then slowly opened my eyes. His vacant brown eyes—the ones a bitch loved lookin’ into when he was fuckin’ her—were starin’ up at the ceilin’. I looked at his lifeless bod
y, grabbed his crotch area, and rubbed my hand all over the bulge of his big dick. I was gonna miss that good dick. I planted a soft kiss on his lips. “I’ma miss you, nigga,” I said, almost whisperin’. My heart fuckin’ ached. But there wasn’t shit I could do ’bout it now. The nigga was dead, and a bitch had to keep pressin’. I slipped my gun back into my bag, put my wig back on, and headed for the door. I walked through the casino and outta the hotel to my car, realizin’ that after tonight, a bitch’s dreams would never come true. I got in my car, flipped open my cell, and choked back tears.

  I took a deep breath. “I know why the caged bird sings.”

  “That’s what it is. I’ll hit you later.”

  “By the way, there was an extra birdie flyin’ tonight.”

  “Did you catch it?” he asked. It was the code for an unexpected witness.

  “Yeah, I snatched it by the wings.”

  “Bet.”

  “Uh, Cash.”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “A bitch needs a break.”

  “Oh, word. How long you talkin’?”

  “I’m not sure. I just know I gotta take some time and get away for a minute; maybe for good. I gotta do me.”

  “I can dig it,” he said, pausin’. I’m sure he was thinkin’ ’bout how he was gonna come at me. It wasn’t like I was under contract or any shit like that, so I could bounce any time I wanted. But outta respect, I felt a sick obligation to let the nigga know. “Do what you gotta do,” he finally said. “You know I’ma miss you, though.”

  I sighed, rollin’ my eyes. “I’m sure a nigga like you will manage,” I said, dismissin’ his comment.

  “So can a nigga finally get some of that pussy now?”

  Yeah, muhfucka! And then I’ma put a bullet in ya head. I smiled, shakin’ my head at the thought of two Hefty trash bags wrapped ’round his face, then one over his head and tied in a knot ’round his neck. ’Cause that was the only way a bitch would ever fuck his ass. “Maybe,” I said, not sure at that moment if it was a lie, or half-truth.