Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug

by K'Aliyah Knight

  As she gets angry, I stay calm and let that shit eat her up. “Like I said, mi Hermosa madre–my beautiful mother, I’m a man of my word. If Junior is my son, I’ma be around and raise my lil’ nigga right, believe that.”

  Upper lip curled in a sneer, Rita turns away. Moms still has that hard fight in her, even though she ain’t claiming Mendoza anymore. She heads back to the stadium. It’s the end of the inning and Junior’s team is heading from the outfield so I start after Rita but hear my name called. Eyes narrow I look through the tinted windows of a brand new Cadi. Those muthafuckin Italians drive all Cadillacs, but this isn’t their neck of the woods. My hand goes to my waistband for my gat, even though my goons are lurking all over the streets.

  Then I see one of my old pretty bitches from back in the day.

  Chapter 6

  ROCKWELL

  That familiar feeling of jealousy starts to eat at me soon as Lorenzo arrived at the game. Luckily, Elisha dashed that feeling, though I wanted to reach over and knock her ass the fuck out. Some people are just so stupid and childish. Had me thinking about Italy. I had designer clothing deals on the table. Wish I could show that bitch, slap her face with all the contracts. The bidding war between financiers for my clothing line in Italy. So many muthafuckin' zeros! Then I decided to come back to Illinois because Daddy got hurt.

  Any who, that jealous feeling came back when Lorenzo went to a midnight blue Cadillac in the parking lot. I could see a female flirting with him, touching all on his arm and stuff. I used to hate that. Bitches couldn’t ever just smile and shit, they’d have to touch on him. Anyway, don’t know who the chick was but she caught his attention for a cool minute. And it pissed me off that Junior had gotten up to bat and was looking around for him.

  Almost reminded me of the first time Raphael said he’d come to one of Junior’s games. Then looking around for him started to fade after a few more promises, but soon as Lorenzo got back, I put on my salty face. Fuck that nigga. I remind myself that Lorenzo isn’t Junior’s dad. This nigga has been replaced, so it doesn’t really matter.

  Guess we all looking pissed because his half-breed's ass is sitting on the other side of his momma, glaring at me every few minutes like I’m a liar. Told him I couldn’t find the paternity papers. Man, ain’t never told a nigga no lie. Trust me, I woulda shoved those DNA papers in Lorenzo’s mouth. I’d lied and told Lorenzo that I met Raphael right after him; well that part was the truth. But I said I hadn’t known if I was pregnant or not. I told him that Raphael and I got a paternity test soon as Junior was born. Nope, nah, Raphael was just so proud to give Junior his name. I ain’t said shit about Lorenzo or already being pregnant. Neither of them need to know.

  After the game Junior looks pitiful, my poor baby’s team lost. With the Peewee’s, the coaches try to tell the kids that there are no winners or losers, but these damn teams and their momma’s be walking away all hyped. Junior and his crew know they didn’t win or at least know they can’t play.

  Soon as Junior comes up to us, my arms are outstretched and Rita wants to baby him too, but he goes straight to Lorenzo.

  “Lil’ man, keep ya head up.” Lorenzo taps his chin. “Remember what I told you?”

  My son nods.

  What the hell did Lorenzo tell my son!

  “Now that I got a chance to see ya game, we gon’ put some fire in that arm. Can’t promise that this muthafuckas gon’ get got next game, but by the end of the season you will be MVP.”

  “Don’t cuss around all these children,” Rita says before I am able to.

  Then Junior is all hyped up again. At the pizza place, the kids are running around playing games when Elisha takes the chance to step up to me.

  “Real cute, you and Lorenzo on again? Forgot that big ass rock on ya finger?”

  “Seven carrots-crunch, crunch. Yeah buddy.” I chuckle her simple ass off and sip on my Coke. When she doesn’t leave, I ask, “No really? You the one that came at me foul, now you wanna talk?”

  “Yeah, you too damn good for the hood. Only bring Junior to play games–”

  “Elisha, don’t let me kid’s name come out your mouth.”

  “Bitch, I just came over here to tell you to watch yaself.” She twirls her micro braid around her finger, and pops her gum. “Townsends don’t mean shit in Hoover no mo’. Even though you ain’t got love for the set no more–“

  “Elisha, the only person hating on me is you.” I shake my head. Now it would be nice to have Marcel’s goon’s around sometimes, like back in the day, but she’s the one with issues.

  “A’ight, when shit get popping you can’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

  “If something happen, I’m coming straight for yo’ ass.” I point my slice of veggie pizza at her.

  “That’s what’s up sadity, come get that ass beating when you ready.”

  We glare at each other in a room full of happy ass kids. Then she moves away from my booth, heading over to Nacho, who’s chatting it up with Lorenzo. Damn, where did we go wrong? It used to be me, Lorenzo, her and Tee Tee. Miss dude. He was the funniest weed head in all of Illinois. She better watch out ‘fore I don’t feel sorry for her anymore.

  ~~~

  “Sure you aren’t getting sleepy?” I look through the rearview mirror at my son. He usually takes a nap after a big tournament day, but instead has begged me to go to Lorenzo’s house.

  I pull up into the driveway behind Lorenzo’s Chevy truck and watch as he gets out. Before I can back away and speed off, he’s opening the back door to my Porsche Cayenne to help Junior with his gear. They’re already talking about some type of knuckle ball when I get out the car.

  We’re almost in Italian territory. The imaginary line that used to mark my uncle Marcel’s section of the hood from my husband’s mafia family is a few streets over. And that doesn’t sit right with me as I step out the car and head up the long path. Something in me wants me to be happy for Lorenzo. The house is big, but nowhere as big as mine. When I step inside, everything is clean and in its place. So, I head to the backyard and they’re already practicing.

  “Go make us some lemonade,” Lorenzo orders.

  “Nigga, please,” My hands go to my hips; ol’ boy got me all wrong. I can understand him being used to bossing me around, like he did when we were young. But this is a new day.

  “Yeah Mom, I’m thirsty,” Junior says, catching the ball.

  My eyes get large as saucers. My son can catch a ball!

  I step into the house and go into the kitchen to start making the lemonade. There are a bunch of lemons in a bowl of fruit on the marble counter. I’m looking through all the cherry wood cabinets for the sugar.

  “Aye, what you doing!” Lorenzo shouts at me as soon as I touch the pantry door.

  The hardness of his voice makes me almost break my ankle in these brand new Dior stilettos, and I was born walking in six-inch heels. I snap, “Just looking for some sugar, dang, Lorenzo.”

  “Ain’t no sugar in there. Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck and starts opening every cupboard too.

  “Nigga is this your house?” Now I’m worried, Lorenzo has me looking at him all cross-eyed with confusion. There weren’t any pictures when I snooped around.

  “Yeah, Kid.”

  “Dude, don’t call me kid.”

  “Well, you was lookin’ like Scary Kid a minute ago, when all I did was ask what you doing.’”

  “You yelled at me!” I snap. If he wants an argument, I’m down. My hands go to my hips since I'm ready to light this nigga up, for being disrespectful, but Junior steps inside from the backyard.

  “I’m hungry, Mommy.”

  “Let’s just order a pizza, I need to go shopping,” Lorenzo says.

  “Let’s go home, Junior. You just had pizza for lunch.”

  “Mommy, nooooo.” he whines. I cave.

  ~~~

  Lorenzo finally figures out where things were in his kitchen. I fried chicken wings, made rice and only Lord knows how old th
at frozen bag of mixed vegetables was. We eat dinner on the outside patio because Raphael never lets us eat outside at home, and Junior is starting to get real spoiled when it comes to Lorenzo. It’s getting dark, and Lorenzo turns on the fire pit.

  “Let’s roast marshmallows!” Junior says excitedly.

  I give a blank stare. My son is doing too much!

  “Lemme see if I have any,” Lorenzo gets up and Junior becomes his shadow.

  As they go inside Raphael finally calls me back. Slipping my phone from my BCBG pocket, I take a walk around the pool and sit on the ledge of the Jacuzzi. “Hey, honey, I miss you,” I say.

  “Where are you?”

  “At Rita’s,” lying has come easy to me. Being with Raphael taught me how, shit we can go tit-for-tat when it comes to lies. My heart hurts that I have told my first lie to Lorenzo tho. “How’s the convention going?”

  “All right, I guess. Why are you at Rita’s? It’s too late for you to be in the ghetto.”

  I huff. He had a fit when I told him Junior would be on the same baseball team my father was on as a child. He had complained that Hoover isn’t a good neighborhood to be raised in, but if I remind Raphael of the marriage counseling we had a few years back, Raphael shuts his mouth. So I smile and say,“I’ll see you at the end of the week.”

  “All right, Rockwell.”

  Soon as I step back in the house, most of the lights are out so I head up the stairs.

  “Junior, time to go,” I call out, starting to open the doors to the rooms one after another.

  “Shhh.” Lorenzo exists the last room down the hall. “He’s sleep.”

  “Well, it’s time for us to go then,” I start, but he grabs my waist and pulls me right in front of him.

  “Nah, not till I get some of that cake.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m married.”

  “Bet I can still get that–my pussy wetter than that trick.”

  “Bet you won’t! Lorenzo, this ain’t your pussy no more,” I snap. This nigga puts a kiss on my neck that makes it hard for me to add, “Bye, Lorenzo.”

  “What’s stopping you from leaving?” he teases, still holding me around the waist.

  “I hate you.”

  “Don’t give a fuck.” He yanks down my skirt turns me toward the banister, dropping to his knees. His teeth barely sink into one of my ass cheeks before I snatch away from him trying to cover my lace thong. My honeypot is already jumping and sweetening more by the second. Yeah, I’ve been here before. The desire is instant. And now I need to run quick! If I’m not coming clean about Lorenzo being my son’s dad, then I gotta stay the hell away from this nigga. What was I even thinking allowing Lorenzo to come to Junior’s baseball game? Thinking about how much Lorenzo comes and goes, I know I can’t have that for my child.

  “Nigga, you just wanna smash! I am not just any hoe. Now, I’m getting my son. We are leaving. I’ve already told you that Junior is not your child.”

  “A’ight Rocky,” Lorenzo chuckles. “Quit playing. Just take yo’ scary ass to sleep. You ain’t leaving tonight. The door's locked, the alarm is on. And then there’s me.” He steps in front of the door.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Shhh,” He opens the door to the room Junior is sleeping in just for me to look inside.

  After softly closing the door, Lorenzo says, “Like I said, we gon’ figure out if this is my son one way or another. Tomorrow morning we got an appointment to check.”

  “Lorenzo,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “I promise you, Junior is not your son. I swore to you on my father’s grave I wouldn’t even name my baby Raphael until after the DNA papers came back. My child is not yours.”

  “Where are the papers, then?” He looks down at me.

  “Man, don’t nobody got time for the 21 questions.” I start down the stairs to really see if there is an alarm, but he’s on my heels.

  “You know I don’t fuckin’ play these games, if you was any other bitch, I’da just taken him from you. Shit, any other bitch woulda got two in the head for keeping my son from me. Show me the papers and this can be over.”

  I look and see there is an alarm on. “Nigga, I ain’t scared of you.”

  “Bitch, shut the fuck up.”

  Why, he got me feeling like crying. How could he disrespect me like this? I push his swole chest. “You ain’t shit! How you going to lock me and my son in this house! And call me a bitch. You a bitch. Let me and my son go!”

  “My son!” Lorenzo shouts, punching his chest. It’s so hard and rough. If I wasn’t in my feelings, that shit would turn me the fuck on. My pussy is already dripping but, right now, I can still think right.

  “Fuck you! Man, wish I’da said something to Tony and Vido when you brought yo’ punk bitch ass in my shop, acting all kindsa crazy the other day! Let the Sica’s put you down.” I smile. He’s heard of the Sica’s before, yeah, I can see it in his eyes.

  “You wanna get me bodied?” He glares in my eyes.

  My eyes burn, but I’m not gonna cry. Damn, I just crossed the line. Nah, I would never have the Italians murder Lorenzo but this nigga has me so heated, I’m saying anything.

  “Bitch, I fucking asked if you want me dead,” Lorenzo shouts, and I don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about. Before I can ask what he means, Lorenzo says some stuff in Spanish that got me scared.

  This shit takes me back in the day. I remember Lorenzo would come over to my parents house late at night. I’d be getting ready for bed and this nigga would climb into my bedroom like he owns the place. He’d be so fucking quiet, so fucking deadly. Barely sixteen and it looked like he’s been running around murking niggas. Anyway, back then I would just hold him until he wasn’t mad anymore. No words. No nothing. Just hold my nigga.

  The difference between then and now? He has that same dead look, but today that shit is geared toward me. Then Lorenzo puts his trigger finger to my forehead. “See, mommi, how easy it is for me to put a bullet through that beautiful head of yours. But you want me dead?”

  “Renz…” I try to break through to him and tell him never ever. Shit, his finger might as well be loaded. I know he hates me. No matter how much he has hurt me, I couldn’t want him dead. But he keeps repeating it. Then he’s speaking Spanish. The words sound so good coming out of his mouth, even through this crazy ish this muthafucka is talking about murdering me. As those sexy Spanish threats make my pussy cry, tears stream down my eyes. I just say, “No, no. I don’t want you dead, bae. I’m sorry.”

  He stops on a dime and asks, “So you sorry?”

  “Yes,” I plead through my tears. He has to know I was just talking shit.

  Chapter 7

  LORENZO

  Rocky’s light-brown eyes are all glossy with tears and guilt as she tells me she’s sorry again. I feel like taking my gun out and putting a bullet straight through her muthafuckin’ skull. One nice little slug, to shut Rocky up for the rest of her life. Rockwell just confessed that she tried to have Marcel kill me that one night a long time ago. Probably was right after Marcel found out Rocky was pregnant. Yeah, I’d left and this muthafucka thought I left his niece pregnant. Fuck that, if I knew Rockwell was pregnant I woulda came back real quick. Forget what bullshit that had made us break up in the first place, little mama was always supposed to be mine. But nah, Rocky didn’t tell me she was pregnant. She must’ve just told Marcel and Big Bo. The OG’s had nothing but love for Rocky. Marcel would murk me over anything. But Big Bo had put me on back in the day. So yeah, she probably just wanted to get rid of me...

  I leave her scary ass at the front door, in the dark. Walking up the stairs, I remember life differently. No matter the shit we been through, never thought Rockwell would do that. Rocky was a nigga’s closest. She was fam. She’s my fucking baby mama, but I’ll kill the bitch before I get laid the fuck out. I’ve been in these streets too long, murked a gang of niggas, just to be put down by the pussy? Nah.

  I step into my room and l
ook around. Since Chuey’s been staying at my house, I go into the closet and check out my digs. Then I wait until Rockwell falls asleep to leave and reset the alarm to lock them in.

  I end up on Rincon Way, right outside of the boarded up and abandoned Hoover Projects. This is all my area now. At the right apartment door, I go inside and see my girl, Trinidad. This sexy Columbiana is dressed in a red lingerie.

  “Sup, bae. I heard you was in town. You finally came round my way,” she says jumping into my arms.

  “How Chuey doin’ with my shit?”

  “Learning.”

  “Heard Blu got you comin’ through The H, huh? Thought you woulda come see me before now…” She kisses my lips, knowing just how much I hate Hoover these days. “So you fuckin’ with that cute boujie bitch again?”

  “Something like that. Papi, got something I need you to handle.”

  “Whatever you like. You know I got you.” Trinidad drops to her knees, unbuckling my belt. “But lemme make you feel good first, bae, you too damn stressed.”

  “Fosho’ Trini.”

  She puts her lips around my dick. Her tongue flicks up and down the veins on the sides, after she’s gotten enough, Trinidad’s mouth opens wide and inch by inch her warm, wet mouth gets to work as her tongue continues to slither around. Her fingers cuddle and massage my balls. I lean back against the wall, “Damn, girl…”

  “Mmmm,” she hums on it, knowing the same tricks I taught Rockwell and all my other hoes. My feet plant wide as she takes me to the brink, sucking and licking, then guzzles down my nut.

  We take it to the bedroom. Now, I don’t eat pussy. Only Rockwell’s way back when. But Trinidad does this little dance for me, as I sit on the chair by her bed. She got my dick saluting her in seconds.

  “Damn, Papi, can I get another taste,” she asks while I rub on my dick.

  I push her ass on the bed, grab her hips and thrust inside that dripping wet pussy.

  On her hands and knees, Trinidad clinches my dick with her walls. She looks back at me. “How you like that, Papi?”