I smile at her cocky ass. I slide out, looking at her swollen clit, and then slide back in slowly. While my dick is fucking that gush oh so softly, my thumb plunges in and out of Trinidad’s asshole. “You want it in ya ass, Trini?”
Her narrow eyes roll away from mine. This bitch is getting wetter and wetter, but I know she wants the dick in her ass, she better ask. Trinidad bites her lip, so I pound the pussy quickly and ask her again, “Bitch, let a nigga know what the fuck you want?”
“Fuck… damn… nigga…” She starts to spasm. Soon as Trinidad nuts all over my dick, I slam straight into those fat cheeks. Her back is arched, ass big as fuck as she rocks back on her knees.
Later on, Trinidad cozies up in my arms and it’s time to get down to business. “How my cuzzo, Chuey, doing?” I ask.
“He a’ight,” Trinidad sighs.
I know this bitch wish I had given her the reign when I left for Miami. But fuck that, first she ain’t blood. Second, she got a damn pussy so how the fuck I look? “Trini, how shit going? I ain’t about that micromanagement shit.”
“Well… you know Chuey doing a’ight but there was this one rich dude that bought 10 kilos of coke with counterfeit money…”
“The fuck you mean, counterfeit?” I ask. “And who?”
“Man, Chuey handled the muthafucka that sold 10keys but–”
“Bitch talk!” I snap. For starters, it sounds like they don’t know who tricked them into giving away all that coke. Somebody is trying to buy my shit for free and turn around to sell it. Fuck that.
“It was a new nigga that Chuey put on. Ten kilos is all that we will give the middleman, but anyway, ol’ dude sold it all to one person. And that muthafucka so happened to be a person with funny ass money. Chuey put the nigga down proper.” She nodded and I know Trinidad don’t have much respect for my cuzzo, so he must have really burned a nigga down. “The nigga didn’t know the name of who he sold to, Lorenzo. But he said it was an Italian. The guy had a cross tat on his wrist.”
“Anything else the muthafucka knew before Chuey bodied him?”
“The nigga said that the Italian dude had reddish hair.”
I nod my head and climb out of her full-sized bed. I pull up my boxers and jeans. Damn, I don’t even feel like getting fresh, and whipping this bitch pussy off my dick. I’m so pissed. I step out the room and call my connect at the precinct.
“Sup, Pookie,” I say when the call goes through.
“What you need?”
“Italian dude, reddish hair, Jesus piece on his wrist.”
“Gimme a minute.”
Ol boy hangs up. I stalk back and forth, fists punching through air so hard that it makes a loud swoosh sound. Trinidad comes to the bedroom doorway with a silky black rob around her. My bitch hard when it comes to putting a nigga down, but she has fear in her eyes. As she should.
I put a hand up for her ass not to say shit. If this ain’t enough description to catch the muthafucka that owes me 10 Gs, then I’ma chop this bitch down. And not in the way that she wants. It’s almost three in the morning when Pookie calls back, with the Italian dude's name.
~~~
I park right behind a Maserati that belongs to dude, in this raggedy as apartment building. Pookie had did more than just confirm that ol’ boy was the only one that could be running around with counterfeit dough. He said the little muthafucka had done a few more counterfeit scams before. So, I was good knowing I had the right muthafucka.
Besides tryna be a drug dealer, the red-head was a pimp.
My eyes glue onto the simp as he backhands his bitch on the street corner, and the other chick’s mouth clamp shut on key. Dude so blazed, prolly don’t know which dealer he’s been fucked within the past. He turns around and sees me. The girls look scared. Yeah, these white bitches know I’m ready to nut up on somebody and they look back at the Italian dude.
“Ladies, y’all should go,” I tell them.
The cracker pushes one of his hoes. Not sure what he’s thinking, but he starts to run straight past me. Heard dude was on the basketball team at a local university, with his lanky ass, but really tho’. So, I pull my gun out and shoot him in the back of the kneecap. The slug goes out the front, shattering his bone. As he’s dropping to his knees and falling straight on his face, I tell these scary ass bitches to go again. They’re still glued to the spot by the stop sign. “C’mon ladies, ya’ll ain’t seen me and I show don’t know you bitches live in Palermo.” I mention the closest area nearby that these white girls could live in, and their eyes widen. Stupid asses really think I know where they live.
As they run by, I go to the lame and lean down. This muthafucka blood is leaking all over the cracked concrete.
“Lemme give you a tip, mi amigo,” I begin in a calm, precise voice as he cries. “Shhhh, I’ma need you to shut the fuck up. This a workin’ class hood. Let these peeples wake up on they own. No crying and shit. You ain’t finna die.”
Grimacing and holding his knee, the lame stops for a second to look at me in disbelief.
“Now the smart thing to do would be to put a cap right here,” I thump his forehead. “But where I’ma get my money then?” I dig through his pockets, wipe the blood on his shirt, and pocket his drivers license. Grabbing my lighter, I burn a tip of his bankroll. “So you still tryna roll with that counterfeit money I see.”
After it got a good blaze, I let it fall. This pussy white boy scampers and tries to move as the ashes and fire come down. Now he’s patting his bloody hands on the money and his jeans getting the fire out. “Dude, c’mon dude. I’m sorry…, please,” he sobs.
At the loud sound of the Maserati's exhaust, he begins to cry.
“See, that’s my ride now, huh?” I nod my head over as the sports car goes blazing down the streets, with one of my goons riding it.
“We… we… even?” the lame stutters. I laugh; he doesn’t even know that’s an insult. I could buy a Maserati every day of my life until I’m 110 years old and not go anywhere near being broke. Nah, what this muthafucka stole from me didn’t compare to the car. It wasn’t mullah. This dude tried to take advantage. He brought his Italian ass south of the imaginary marker that outlined Italian territory from mine. This muthafucka tried me.
He busts up crying again, knowing the Maserati doesn’t cut it. Tears and snot stream down his chin.
“Nah, mi amigo, you safe. Round here, nobody gon’ body your stupid ass. You about the safest muthafucka in these streets. Ain’t nobody–but me–gon’ touch a hair on ya head, least not till I get my mullah. 20Gs for last time, and lets just double that shit for you tryna run. Ve con Dios–Go with God.” I pat his shoulder and arise.
When the lame doesn’t start to run, I chuckle and add, “Or maybe just stay here. Last tip, mi amigo, look for my peeples and gimme my money. Because shit ain’t gon’ be pretty when I have to come to 2571 Dublin Drive.” I pat his driver’s license in my leather jacket.
“Kill me,” he pleads.
I start to walk away.
“You fucking… you fucking Colombian muthafucka, I know you’re going to kill me anyway. Don’t touch my fucking family! Just do it now.”
“Twenty-four hours, dude,” I shout over my shoulders while walking back to my ride.
“Man, ju…just do it now!”
Shit, this muthafucka is right. But I want my money first, and if he thinks I’ma just bust off a few rounds on him, his girl or even his kids, if this limp dick muthafucka has any. Well, fuck that. I’ma kill everybody that he loves in the worse way… They all are already dead. He pulled the trigger on his entire fam.
Chapter 8
BLU
“Bitch, I ain't hungry.” I push the plate of tortillas away and then the rice and beans while sitting at the dining room table at my moms condo.
“You will eat!” Moms snaps in Spanish. She returns the bowl of carnitas toward me.
I glare at her. “Rita, I ain’t hungry.”
“While you’re in my hous
e you will eat.”
I look around the table at my three younger sisters. Lakitha was born right after me. We was tight growing up now her face is scrunched up like the rest. Toi rolls her eyes. That lil’ bitch been acting salty since hitting high school. Lorenza just keeps eating with her fat self.
I start scratching my arm. My mouth is dry as fuck. If I don't get a taste soon, I'ma line these bitches up and snap, crack, and pop them upside the face! The chair scrapes against the linoleum floor as I stand up abruptly, “Look, I'm far from stupid. Y'all don't want me here. Fuck it, I sho’ as hell don't wanna be here with a house full of pussy!”
“Sit down,” Moms commands.
“Nah.” My body starts to tick.
Next thing I know, Moms stands before me. Okay, so Moms ain’t that old, maybe thirty-something, but how the fuck she get around the table and through the entryway to the door? Don't ask me. Don't know. But she's quicker than Lorenzo.
“Look at your arms. Stupid!” She tries to snatch my left arm up, but I push her. We both 5'6" and have the same tiny muscular built, but my muscles seemed to have disappeared somewhere.
“Aye Dios mio! You lost your mind!” Moms starts spouting off at the mouth again calling on God. Calling on Jesus! Maybe even Santa Maria but her Spanish is too quick for me.
“Man, I ain't even tryna hear all that, Rita. Just lemme 'lone.”
The argument elevates, maybe it's not even me. Then my sisters are tugging me down. There's hands all over me... They won’t let me go–
“Elisha, please!” I tried. We continued to scuffle but she made sure not to hold down my belly. “You stupid bitch, Tee Tee and Popeye are out there, we need to go help them!”
I think the guns stopped going off, but the ringing was still in my ears.
“No, Blu, it’s not safe!” Tears streamed down her eyes as she rocked and held me.
“But lemme just go see how they’re doing with that heavy crib Rocky bought for the baby. They might need a hand, Elisha, c…come on…get up…” I strained against her, but her arms had me in a solid bear hug. “You’re hurting my tummy,” I lied, sobbing, knowing something was so very wrong.
“No…”
Maybe it’s minutes or hours later. The cops don’t really work in The H like that. Then Chuey was there. My big cuzzo had tears in his eyes as he picked me up. Noticing that I wasn’t going to be a simple bitch, Chuey forced me against the wall, being as careful as possible.
“Blu, chill out. You don't wanna see that shit man,” he had a way of making shit sound like it's okay. My hand gets up and I clock him dead in the mouth. Then he got me under control again as sirens start out of nowhere.
“What the fuck you here for? Pussy ass nigga! You always been a scary ass trick!” I shouted. This muthafucka was born and raised in Colombia. He just moved out here to help Lorenzo and our Tio Santi get shit in order. I shouted at Chuey, “Go get the dudes that just shot up my house. See this mess, muthafucka? Popeye granny gon’ be mad, so go get them bitches that just shot up my house!”
“Cool down, Blu, you’re pregnant.” He slowly led me to the couch, being cautious of the glass on the floor, and wiping it from the seat.
I didn’t notice Elisha go outside till I heard her screaming and sobbing loudly.
I asked, “Where my bae, Chuey? They went to go get them dudes? Is that where Tee Tee and Popeye are? They went to go get the dudes for blasting on Popeye Granny house?”
Tears blurred my eyes and I couldn’t wipe them fast enough.
“In here quick, she's in labor,” Elisha’s voice carried into the doorway.
EMTs crowded around me as Chuey let me go.
“Fuck you, where is Popeye? Where is my fucking husband?” Finally, I hop up and run to the door. Just one look outside. They're both lying on the ground. It's so much muthafuckin' blood that I screamed. Now I've walked right past dead bodies in The H, especially when Marcel owned Hoover Projects. But this right here?
Why did this hit home?
One of the EMTs began to speak, I couldn’t see past his pale blue eyes. Then I tried to run past him as another jolt went to my belly. A grip of hands grabbed me and something stuck into my arm.
“Bitchhhh…” I screamed to the black lady EMT to my right, but at that moment, my body failed me.
Chapter 9
ROCKWELL
“Good morning.” I used my sexiest voice and step away from the bed that I shared with my son last night.
“Hey, Mrs. Bell, are you ready to work out those kinks?” Ashley asks in a deep voice, I can imagine him already in that personal trainer tee that fit snug against his big muscular arms.
“Um, this morning I kinda have an appointment. Rain check?” I ask, looking through the closet. It’s full of niggas clothing. All new. Nikes and Jordan’s are all still in boxes. My eyes narrow, tryna figure out what Lorenzo’s latest hustle is.
“Okay, don’t slack on that beautiful body of yours,” he says a few more things and I’m all smiles as I hang up. When I step into the kitchen, Lorenzo is cooking breakfast and looking at me like I’m crazy.
“You lookin’ like a fuckin’ school girl with her first crush, Kid,” he says folding an omelet.
Shit, he hit the hammer on the nail. I have never fucked around on Raphael. He’s my second, and supposed to be my last. Sex with my husband makes me okay with going a lifetime without dick at all. But the personal trainer Ashley, tho? He really knows how to flirt. Leaning against the counter, I ask, “So are we still locked in?”
Then he tells me some shit that don’t make a lick of sense. After the shock passes that Lorenzo has broken into my home and gotten clothes for myself and my child, I get another shocker. Dude actually has us go to the doctor to do the DNA thing. When we get back, I’m still stunned. The DNA test will be back in two weeks since the lab is behind schedule. It’s hard to get in the groove of being “held against my will.” On the other hand, Junior enjoys every minute of being “kidnapped”.
They’re outside in the pool when I dig through my purse for my iPhone. I keep checking. Then my keys. Both are gone… Renz! God, I can’t stand this nigga. When we were younger, he was so damn possessive. I shake my head at how I thought it was so cute as a teen, while storming through the hallway; he would even buy my favorite sour-apple candy ring pop from the liquor store and propose. To think my stupid ass always said yes.
“Lorenzo!” I strut outside. “Where is my stuff?”
“You already know,” Lorenzo tells me before he and Junior race to the other side of the pool and jump in. And it is hard to get him to go to bed tonight after putting on his favorite pajamas.
Knowing that Junior’s going to be sleeping crazy since he has been having so much fun, I go to sleep in the next guest bedroom. My dreams are always of Lorenzo…
This time, the nigga had snatched me into one of the catering rooms at Paco’s Tacos. It was after midnight and we just came from a fashion event that my internship designs were featured at.
“The fuck wrong with you, huh, Rockwell? I went to that boring ass function. Didn’t do shit but try to support, and show you love, Rocky. What the fuck is your problem!” He’d shouted at me closing the door behind him.
“Renz, shut up and let me out.” I tried to push him. “You were flirting with one of the fucking models while I told my other models when to step out and shit, don’t fucking play me.”
“Rocky for real? That bitch was just talking to me, damn.” Lorenzo rubbed the back of his neck. Nah, I wasn’t being fair, but the buzzard talking to my man had me pissed off. It wasn’t even really that the bitch was tryna flirt. Lorenzo was just bored and chatting. I was already pissed that he’d just come back from Colombia. My designs were catching interest at school, but I wanted to focus on us. In fashion there really ain’t time for both, but I always put Renz above all. And this nigga had miraculously appeared. He might leave anytime, so I was just angry.
He held me closely, saying, “Rockwell, I a
in’t fuckin’ nobody but you.”
“No. Just let me go, Lorenzo,” I murmured into his chest. “Nigga you just came back. I got the feeling that tho you ain’t on Marcel team no more, you still doing something.”
I should’ve been happy as hell that Lorenzo wasn’t working for my uncle. Shit, I used to massage Lorenzo’s back and talk about him getting legit. So I shook my head, and said, “I know you finna get into some trouble. Don’t try to take my heart when you ain’t finna do nothing but get ghost again. Or worse, get shot up for doing something foul–”
“Nah, fuck that. How you going to call me foul? Shit, Marcel your uncle but you know half the set hates that nigga. He’s the grimy one.”
Yeah, I knew my uncle wasn’t no good. But I would be losing Lorenzo to the streets from selling burners or getting bodied.. Or I’d be losing him to Colombia. I didn’t know what Santiago was into but don’t ask me which was worse. So, I gave Lorenzo an ultimatum. “Nigga, how about this? Get gone! Just go. You just came back. The fuck I need you for? Be gone for good.”
He yanked me to his hard body and turned me around. “Fuck all that, Rocky, you ain’t going nowhere.”
Lorenzo pulled my panties down and tossing them away. With my ass against that King Kong dick, he pushed my her hair over one shoulder and started kissing my neck. This nigga bit me really hard, like he was some sort of vampire. That pain turned into pleasure, making my pussy quake and I didn’t give a damn that I was at a greasy restaurant in a room that wasn’t locked.
“Rocky, you mine?”
I ignored him as he began to finger banging my sweet, wet pussy.
“Nah, boy we done,” I was hanging onto one last thread of sanity. We’d just started fucking. I kept telling myself it was easier to let this nigga go and focus on my fashion career now rather than later.
“Nah, Rockwell. You mine. Is this pussy mine, girl?” His finger is pushing rapidly into my gush. He swirled his tongue into my ear, while letting his jeans drop. My fingernails dug into his thick forearm, going for blood. In response, he pushed the pipe up against my soft ass, and I sighed. “Want this dick? Say it!”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug Page 5
