Cameron 3

by Jade Jones

  “Get some mothafuckin’ help man!” Jude cried.

  Marcus ignored Jude as he climbed inside his Cadillac Escalade and skirted out of the driveway.

  ***

  Marcus couldn’t believe that Ki Ki’s simpleminded ass had actually gone straight home after the shit she had pulled. Yet sure enough her Toyota Camry was parked in the driveway in front of her ran down duplex. She hadn’t made any type of come up in almost two years.

  Marcus pulled his truck crookedly into her driveway, parking halfway on her dilapidated front lawn. After hopping out of his truck, he ran up to the front door. Not bothering to knock on it, he proceeded to viciously kick her front door.

  “Bitch, I know you in there!” Marcus screamed like a maniac.

  Nearby neighbors slowly exited their homes to see what all the commotion was. In that specific neighborhood, they had 911 on speed dial for when shit like this happened. One of the neighbors quickly ran inside their home and dialed the police.

  Marcus continued to kick the front door, until he finally kicked the raggedy door off the hinges.

  “Bitch, where you at?!” Marcus screamed. “I know you in here!”

  He ran through the entire downstairs looking for Ki Ki, but didn’t find her. Marcus anxiously raced upstairs towards her bedroom where the door was closed. He pressed his ear against the door, and listened to Ki Ki’s muffled cries.

  Backing away from the door, Marcus drew his leg back, and viciously kicked the bedroom door open.

  Ki Ki sat on her bed crying and holding the gun in her hands. She shook her head vehemently. “I’m sorry, Marcus,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to do it…I just—I lost it.”

  Marcus slowly made his way over towards Ki Ki. He looked like a psychopath as he approached her with clenched fists.

  “Marcus, please,” Ki Ki cried raising her gun towards him. “I love you…I don’t wanna shoot you…”

  Marcus was not trying to hear that shit as he continued to approach Ki Ki.

  With trembling fingers, Ki Ki aimed the gun towards his head, and squeezed the trigger.

  POP!

  A single bullet flew past Marcus’s head, but not before grazing his left ear slightly. Blood trickled from his ear and ran down the side of his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

  Ki Ki raised the gun towards him again, preparing to take aim for a second time. Marcus quickly slapped the gun out her hands. It slid over towards her dresser.

  Marcus suddenly wrapped his calloused hands around Ki Ki’s slender throat, and squeezed with all his strength. One of her eyes shot open in its socket. The other was swollen shut from when she had beaten herself earlier. Ki Ki clawed at his hands, but the more she fought, the harder Marcus squeezed. Images of Cameron’s motionless body in Jude’s arms came to mind, and all he could think about was making Ki Ki suffer.

  Marcus slowly climbed on top of her, and bared his teeth like a mad man as he strangled her to death. Her cheeks quickly turned beet red, and the blood vessels in her eyes burst. After seconds, she stopped moving and trying to fight with him completely.

  Ki Ki was dead.

  Marcus slowly released the vice grip he had locked around her throat, and stood to his feet. Ki Ki’s eyes were wide open as she continued to stare at the ceiling. He was so out of it that he didn’t even hear the rapid footsteps racing up the stairs.

  “Get on the ground!” An officer barked as he aimed his gun at Marcus. Several police officers stood nearby with their weapons aimed and ready to fire if need be.

  Marcus slowly turned around to face the police officers. Gradually, he lowered himself onto his knees, and allowed the officers to cuff him. It wasn’t until then, that he realized the consequences of his many actions.

  26

  One Week Later.

  Jude knocked on the wooden door before slowly making his way inside. He had his son in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, he actually looked happy regardless of everything he had gone through.

  Cameron sat up in the hospital bed. There wasn’t an ounce of makeup on her pretty face, but she was still flawless in Jude’s eyes.

  A wide grin spread across her face at the sight of the two most important men in her life.

  “Look who’s awake,” Jude said.

  Cameron held her arms out for her son who had his own little arms outstretched.

  Jude carefully handed Justin to Cameron. Her shoulder and chest were bandaged. The bullet had impaled her upper chest before going clean through her back, but luckily no major arteries had been hit.

  Jude was relieved to know that Cameron had simply fainted after she had been shot.

  He leaned down and kissed the top of Cameron’s hair before taking a seat in the visitor’s chair beside her bed. “How are you feeling, bay?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  “Ready to get back to my life,” Cameron smiled.

  It was ironic how almost two years ago, she hated her life. With all the drama, fighting, and betrayal she had put up with she wondered if her life would ever change for the good and luckily it did starting with Jude.

  The day she had gone to the abortion clinic she barely made it to the front door before she quickly turned around and hopped back inside her truck. That was the best decision she had ever made in her life. Cameron also ended up running into Silk’s sister Tamika a few months into her pregnancy, and offered a heartfelt apology about Silk’s death. She was relieved when Tamika accepted her apology, and even showed up to Cameron’s baby shower bearing gifts.

  If Cameron would have run into Pure Seduction she would have offered the same heartfelt outfit apology, but the last she heard of Pure Seduction was that she had gotten her grill fixed, and ran off with some pimp to Miami. Cameron was just relieved to be rid of the drama so she could finally lead a peaceful life.

  Cameron, however, was disheartened about Marcus’s fate. He had gotten twenty years for Ki Ki’s brutal murder.

  “You won’t have to be in here for too much longer,” Jude said snapping Cameron from her thoughts.

  She smiled. “Thank God,” she said. “It’s boring in here. I miss my boys.”

  Cameron bounced her son up and down on her knee, and played with him. Jude sat back and watched in silence enjoying the sight of his family.

  “Cameron, I have to tell you something,” Jude finally said.

  She turned to face him. “What’s that?” she asked.

  Jude took a deep breath. “I don’t ever wanna lose you again,” he admitted. “I know we been through a lot of shit these past these few years, and I’m man enough to admit that I fucked up. A lot of it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been pushin’ you away when we supposed to be each other’s rock,” he explained. “And I promise you that that shit won’t happen again. I lost you once, and I’m not gonna lose you again…I wanna make this shit official. I wanna marry you…make you Mrs. Jude Patterson. And a nigga ain’t got the money right now to buy you the biggest rock I can afford, but once I get on my feet, I promise you got that.”

  Cameron scoffed and shook her head. “I don’t care about the biggest rock,” she told him. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t want any of that,” she said. “I just want you…”

  Part 4 is AVAILABLE NOW! CLICK HERE!

  FIRST CHAPTER OF “SCHEMIN’”

  1

  Nikita Brown trained her polished, black semi-automatic pistol towards the guard lying face down on the dirty tiled floor of Key Bank. She wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a black hooded sweatshirt that was two sizes too big for her petite frame. The hood was pulled over her head and shielding her eyes was a pair of black, cheap rectangular sunglasses. Tearing her gaze away from the lone security guard for half a second, she glanced at the digital watch on her wrist that had been timed accordingly.

  “One minute!” she yelled.

  DeAndre McCall was dressed in a black warm up suit with a fitted cap pulled low over his shoulder length dreadlocks. “Hurry up! Don’t do
any dumb shit tryin’ to be a hero,” he warned the teller.

  With trembling fingers, the young brown-skinned teller forked over all the money from her drawer. Tears slipped from her eyes as fear shook her senses. She wasn’t even supposed to be working today. She had picked up her best friend’s shift since her friend was suffering a hangover from the previous night of partying. Maybe Chante James wouldn’t be as terrified as she was had she not been the only teller being robbed.

  The Key Bank located on 140th and Kinsman Avenue only kept one teller and one security guard during every shift. Knocking over the corner bank in the hood was like taking candy from a baby. The robbery was damn near effortless.

  “Big bills first! Come on now! Let’s go Chante!” Dre ordered, eyeing the teller’s nametag.

  “That’s time!” Nikki yelled.

  Chante barely had enough time to stuff the band of singles into the gray gym bag Dre had tossed her, before he snatched it and darted towards the exit.

  Nikki’s index finger rested on the trigger of the pistol. “Stay on the ground,” she told the security guard. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ move!” Satisfied that the guard wouldn’t move from his position, she turned on her heel and sprinted towards the doors.

  Hassan Bashir was stationed right outside in Dre’s 2004 black Monte Carlo assuring a clean and quick getaway.

  The three friends had been knocking over small banks and convenience stores since high school. In the beginning they were doing such crimes as a desperate means to earn money.

  Truthfully, they were too lazy to work and at the youthful ages of twenty-two and twenty-three, Nikki and Dre already had one felony under their belt for a robbery they had been convicted of two years ago. Their punishment may have very well been a slap on the wrist since they were each sentenced to a mere year in federal prison.

  Eventually the trio began enjoying the rush of being able to do it and get away with their crimes. The money they earned from the petty robberies was not much, but it afforded them the ability to pay bills and live comfortably—even though they all shacked up together in a single family home located in the hood off 116th and Benham.

  Dre tore through the exit door and Nikki was right on his heels as she bolted after him—

  BOOM!

  Nikki felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her as she slammed face first into the door. The impact of the gun shot to her back was so powerful that she uncontrollably stumbled through the exit door and crashed onto the pavement.

  Pedestrians instantly stopped in their tracks at the sound of the single gunshot. Several people stationed at the bus stop across the street pointed in Nikki’s direction as she lay motionlessly on the ground.

  Blood leaked from an open wound that had formed above her eyebrow from where she had hit the pavement. She could taste blood in her mouth from when she had accidentally bitten down on her tongue.

  Nikki ran her tongue along the top and bottom row of teeth to ensure that she had not lost any. That should have been the last thing on her mind since she had just been shot, but it was. Her ears rang from the sound of the loud gunshot and for a minute she could not hear anything. Seconds felt like hours as she lay on the ground.

  Suddenly, Nikki watched as Dre’s Retro VII Air Jordans approached her. In one swift movement, he lifted her off the ground and carried her towards the Monte Carlo parked several feet away. Her ability to hear had quickly returned and the faint sound of sirens were approaching.

  Dre quickly but carefully placed Nikki in the backseat and climbed in. A crowd of onlookers pointed in the car’s direction and Dre knew he would probably be forced with the tough task of getting rid of his beloved Monte Carlo.

  Hassan bore a look of irritation and concern as he glimpsed at the side view mirror. The security guard from Key Bank stood outside in front of the bank with his gun hanging loosely by his side.

  “What the fuck happened?!” Hassan yelled, rapidly pulling off and burning rubber in the process. “Is Nikki okay?! What happened?!”

  “Man, she’s fine, aight!” Dre responded in irritation. His main focus was making sure neither of them got caught.

  Nikki tried to sit up in the backseat but her body was growing sorer by the second.

  “Here let me help you,” Dre said in a soothing voice. No matter how crazy a situation ever got, he never resorted to panicking. He figured that you lost focus whenever you began to panic and for that he always remained cool, calm and collected.

  Dre assisted Nikki in removing the baggy sweatshirt. Underneath was a police style bulletproof vest.

  “You’re good,” Dre breathed a sigh of a relief. “You’re alright, baby. You did good,” he said pulling her towards him. His warm, moist tongue slid into her mouth as they indulged in a passion-filled kiss. “You took that bullet like a mothafuckin’ G,” he joked.

  Nikki flashed an innocent smile. “I did?” she asked. “Doesn’t feel like I did.”

  On countless occasions, Dre had taken Nikki to the open field, teaching her how to shoot and even preparing her for taking a bullet. Of course the experience was totally different when she took an expected bullet from Dre’s gun. The outcome was all but pleasant but at least she had an idea of how it felt to be shot.

  “You good Nikki?” Hassan asked again, wanting to hear it from her instead of her boyfriend.

  Nikki sat up in the back seat. “I’m good Hassan.”

  Hassan nodded his head in satisfaction and floored the pedal. Luckily they weren’t being pursued but the sooner they got home, the better.

  ***

  Dre sat shirtless at the wooden kitchen table. Full sleeves and upper chest tattoos adorned his caramel colored skin. Spelled across four digits on each hand with a single letter was the words THUG LIFE. A single star was tattooed beside his left eye.

  He stood at six feet two inches tall and weighed a solid two hundred and twenty pounds. Sifting through his weed, removing the stems and seeds, he didn’t notice when Hassan entered the small kitchen.

  “Aye bruh? Can I holla at you real quick?” Hassan took a seat across from his friend. He looked a lot less intimidating than Dre. He stood at five foot eleven inches and was rather slim in frame. His skin tone and short curly hair hinted his mixed heritage—his mother was African American and his father was Arabic.

  Dre moved his dreadlocks from blocking his view as he looked up. “What’s good?” he asked.

  “Man, I just got done dividing the money up,” he informed Dre. “We each got less than a seventeen hundred dollar cut.”

  “That sounds about right,” Dre said nonchalantly as he continued to break the weed down.

  Hassan grimaced. “You do realize we just risked our fuckin’ lives for five thousand dollars?”

  Dre didn’t look up when he responded, “Don’t we risk our lives every time we do this shit?”

  Hassan didn’t miss a beat. “Fa’ sho’, but Nikki ain’t ever been shot.” Hassan silently chastised himself for specifically saying her name. Instead he meant to say ‘neither of them had ever been shot’. He wasn’t thinking clearly, but then again he never was when thinking about Nikita.

  Her safety had been put in jeopardy for a measly five grand and Dre didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Instead he was happy with the fact that they had gotten away with another successful robbery. Hell, he was probably sitting here planning out their next scheme.

  Dre finally looked up to meet his best friend’s intense gaze. “My nigga, we take risks every minute we step through the doors. You already know how this shit works—”

  “Yeah, but it was for five grand,” Hassan argued. Truthfully his quarrel wasn’t with the sum of money they had earned. It was about Nikki being hurt.

  “I said we should’ve hit up the safe, but what did you say?” Dre asked. “You said that’d be too big of a risk and that it’d take up too much time.”

  “Dre, it ain’t about the fuckin’ money,” Hassan argued. “It’s about Nik—”

 
; “Aye, man, let me worry about my woman and you just worry about yaself. You feel me?”

  Hassan was slightly taken back by Dre’s reaction. As a matter of fact, he was borderline offended. Standing to his feet, his expression showed his obvious frustration, but Dre was too busy picking the seeds out of his weed to notice.

  “Aight then,” Hassan said in a defeated tone. Without another word, he exited the kitchen.

  ***

  Hassan approached Nikki and Dre’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. Peering into the bedroom, he quietly watched as Nikki struggled to remove the police style bullet proof vest. Her face was contorted in pain as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  Damn, she was so fucking beautiful to Hassan. Always had been since the first time he laid eyes upon her seven years ago. Shamefully, he was too afraid to speak up for what he wanted and by the time he finally did gather up enough courage, Dre had beaten him to the task.

  Standing outside her bedroom door, he admired Nikki from a distance. She was flawless as far as her physical attributes. Standing at a mere five foot two and one hundred thirty-five pounds, her curvaceous figure had just the right amount of “assets.” Her butterscotch colored skin was smooth and blemish free.

  Nikki’s eyes were her most attractive feature in Hassan’s opinion. She had these sexy slanted hazel eyes that always seemed to unintentionally flirt with Hassan whenever she looked at him.

  Snapping himself from his own provocative thoughts, he softly rapped on her bedroom door. Nikki quickly looked up noticing Hassan standing in her doorway.

  “You alright? You need help?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  Before Nikki could fix her mouth up to decline his offer, Hassan was already assisting her with the damn near impossible task of removing the bullet proof vest. She wore a fitted white beater underneath, and when then the vest was finally off, Hassan was met with an unsightly purplish bruise on her upper back from where she had been shot.