by Tranay Adams
A South Central
Love Affair
By Tranay Adams
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
A SOUTH CENTRAL LOVE AFFAIR
First edition. November 3, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Tranay Adams.
Written by Tranay Adams.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
A South Central Love Affair
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
EPILOGUE
The End
A South Central Love Affair
Copyright © 2016 Tranay Adams. All rights reserved.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by FBI and is punishable by up to five (5) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A South Central Love Affair/ Tranay Adams-1st ed.© 2016
Formatting: MadeWrite
Editor: Jasmine Devonish
Cover Artist: Sunny Giovanni
Publisher: Tranay Adams
Chapter One
“Baby, your ride is here!” Marbella called out to her husband as she looked beyond the curtains to the outside, seeing a Lincoln Town Car pull up into the driveway. She left the window and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Inside she found her husband, Franklin Trombone, putting on his trench coat.
Franklin ‘The Brute’ Trombone was the boss of arguably the most infamous crime family Southern California had ever had the misfortune of producing. He ruled his organization with an iron-fist. The mob figure ran a tight ship and didn’t leave any room for error.
“Honey, Joey-T and Jackie Needles just pulled up,” Marbella repeated in case he hadn’t heard her from down stairs.
“I heard ya the first time,” a line formed across his forehead as he looked himself over in the mirror, combing back his greasy black hair to hide the growing bald spot at the back of his head. Afterwards, he dabbed some expensive cologne into his palm and smacked his hands together, slapping the fragrance underneath his chin and neck. Once he adjusted his hat on his head, he slid his plump, hairy fingers around his brim. He gave himself the once over as he straightened out the collar of his coat. The forty-eight-year-old Mafioso stood six foot two. He was as big as an ox and just as strong as one, too.
The Trumbones’ marriage was bitter-sweet partly due to the big man’s possessive nature. He was insensitive, overbearing, controlling and abusive at times. He was sort of like the Italian version of Mister from The Color Purple movie. Only he thought he could say or do anything to Marbella as long as he bought her flowers and showered her with expensive gifts.
What’s worse is he was a womanizer. In his mind he owned her. He didn’t see Marbella as a living, breathing, human being, with a heart and soul. He saw her as a possession; a piece of property; a trophy-wife; a pretty ornament to hang on his arm when he attended social gatherings. Many men would kill for the chance to be with a woman like Marbella. The European vixen was every man’s wet dream. She was 5’ 7 with long, silky jet black hair and a cinnamon hue. Baby girl was thick where it counted with long, thick sexy legs and an ass you could sit a shot of Tequila on. Her combination of brains and beauty made her the total package. The mob wife was heaven sent. It was as if God had molded the perfect woman and decided to share his creation with the world.
“Hand me my watch off the dresser there, will ya?” Franklin told Marbella, still looking himself over in his reflection. She did as she was asked, passing her husband his luxurious time piece. He slipped on his gold presidential Rolex watch, picked up his suitcases and headed down the steps, with his wife on the heels of his Fennix leather shoes.
“When will you be back?” she asked, coming down the steps behind him.
“Couple days,” he answered over his shoulder, turning around in the doorway and kissing his wife. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she responded closing and locking the door behind him. She then headed up the steps, pulling the rollers from out of her hair. Entering the bedroom, she kicked off her house slippers and removed her robe. Underneath she wore a champagne colored teddy. The beauty sat down at the vanity brushing her hair and then applying cosmetics to her face. She picked up the perfume and was about to spray some on her neck, when she heard the hammer of a pistol being cocked back. Its metallic noise made her freeze stiff in her chair, gasping.
“Haa!” Hesitantly, she slowly brought her head around to the doorway and met a man in a ski-mask holding a chrome .357 Magnum revolver on her.
Marbella swallowed the ball of nervousness in her throat, closed her eyes tightly and peeled them back open.
“I assure you this is not a dream, sweetheart. The Boogie Man is real and so is this,” the masked intruder said in a deep baritone voice, raising his .357. His eyes were lethal and his demeanor was threatening. “Now, is there anyone else home?”
“No. I’m here alone,” she answered, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Are you sure? A place this big, there’s usually a maid or butler, or somebody around.” Marbella was so shaken up and scared that she couldn’t think straight. She winded up nodding her head yes and shaking it no. “Don’t chu fucking lie to me, bitch!” he barked loud and angrily. The volume of his voice and the hostility he spoke with startled her, causing her heart to skip a beat. “Yes or no, is there anyone else here?” He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted, shaking his head heatedly. “And I swear to God if I find out your ass is lying...”
“No, I swear I’m the only one here, my husband left town on business,” she spoke up hastily, sniffling and wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.
The stranger looked over the bathroom’s décor and said, “This is a cool lil’ spot ya’ll got here. You gotta lotta fancy and expensive shit, too. It’s...how do you rich mothafuckaz say, exquisite?” he spoke with a foreign accent, nodding his head in approval of the mansion.
“It’s yours, take whatever you want! Just don’t hurt me. You want cash? We’ve got about $250,000 dollars in a digital-safe behind our wedding portrait in the bedroom. It can only be opened with the combination and a scan of our hand. I can take you to it. Come with me,” Marbella said, rising from the chair.
The intruder eyed her lustfully, licking his chops hungrily seeing her melon size breasts and her bodacious ass. “Mmmmhmmm, now, I came here for the money, but I’ll take some pussy, too.” He smiled wickedly and slowly approached, dancing up on her.
“Oh, God please, I’m begging you, don’t do this!” she sobbed uncontrollably, slowly stepping backwards. Her manicured hands trembled badly and her chests jumped anxiously.
“Take your clothes off,” he ordered her with a sway of his deadly weapon, his eyes frightening serious.
<
br /> “Wait a minute; I can give you the money.” Marbella panicked, tears cascading down her face. She stopped as she bumped up against the wall. She glanced at her rear and when she looked back the masked man stormed over to her, smacking her viciously across the face. The impact of the assault caused her to bump her head and she slid down to the linoleum.
“Bitch, I ain’t gone tell yo’ mothafucking ass again, now strip!” he demanded of her. She slowly staggered upon her feet and wiped the blood from her trickling lip. Whimpering, she reluctantly did as she was told. When she dropped her last article of clothing on the floor, the bastard feasted his eyes on her hypnotizing body, pleased at what was standing before him. “Yeahhhhh, that’s what I’m talking about.” He sucked on his bottom lip, feeling his Grown Man press up against the zipper of his Levi’s. “Now, turn around in a circle...real slow like you’re modeling something. Yeah, just like that.” He sucked and bit down on his bottom lip, imagining his dick sliding in and out of her tight, wet pussy. Marbella did what he asked, whimpering and crying all the while doing the 360 degree turn he’d ordered her to do. When she came back around, he had his meat hanging out of his zipper and was stroking it with one gloved hand while pointing his head bussa at her with the other.
Arms hugging her breasts, Marbella swallowed hard and closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself for what she knew was sure to come.
Stepping closer, the fiend pinched on her luscious buttocks and smacked her on them, causing them to jiggle.
“Oh, yeah, shorty, you gotta fat ass. I’m running up in them guts raw.” He traced the nipples of Marbella’s breasts with his revolver, flicking her nipple up and down, groaning. She sniffled and cried silently as his pistol traveled down her torso and penetrated the lips of her shaved southern region, flinching as the cold steel entered her moist pinkness. The intruder worked his weapon in and out of her sex until it dripped her hot fluid, trickling on the floor. He stuck the barrel between her full lips, and mouthed fucked her. The sight aroused him and his dick grew harder and harder, until he was at his full potential.
“Yeah, suck on that shit...yeah, yeah; treat it like it’s my dick. Look at them DS...” that’s as far as he got before going into a coughing fit and laughing.
“Damn it, Zonyai, you broke character,” Marbella grinned and shoved him. She loved role playing before getting it in with her side nigga.
“My bad, but it’s hard for me to keep doing that voice after a while,” he admitted, pulling off the ski-mask and tucking it into his back pocket. Underneath was the handsome face of an African American man in his late 20’s with a mahogany hue. Homie rocked a close fade which was spinning in waves. He wore a hook part on the side of his hairline how cats used to during the late 80s and early 90s circa. He had dimples and light brown eyes that could put any woman under his hypnosis.
“Alright, just use your regular voice, but this time be more demanding. Okay?” she capped with a smile, rubbing her hands together.
Zonyai nodded, gave her a kiss, and pulled the ski-mask back over his face, getting back into character. “Get on your knees and suck this dick!” Marbella interlocked her fingers and jumped up and down excitedly, smiling. “Bitch, fuck I say?” he pressed the revolver against her forehead and she reverted back to the damsel in distress, lowering herself to her knees. Her eyes moistened and her body shivered. She spat on his meat twice and used her saliva to work him to an erection causing him to throw his head back and moan. Right after, she took his engorged length into her warm, juicy mouth and whipping her lips on him feverishly.
“Ahhhhh, ssssssshiettt!” With an ugly face he looked down at her working her jaws as he held the .357 to the side of her head. Old girl was handling her business like a young Heather Hunter, twisting her delicate hand around his steel as she sucked on the head of him, staring up at his face. Letting his banger hang at his side, he staggered backwards and bumped into the wall, with her head moving to and from his lap rapidly.
“Goddamn, what the fuck!” Zonyai tilted his head back and received his blessing, while holding the back of her head. “Sssssssss.” Their role playing continued until they ended up in bed, where they made love.
Marbella broke down Kush buds on a Don Diva Magazine and sprinkled them throughout a Zig-Zag paper. She skillfully licked and rolled the paper into a joint and lit it up. She took a few pulls and then blew smoke rings into the air, watching them evaporate. She tried to pass the joint to Zonyai and he waved her off.
“This is some pretty good stuff, where’d you get it?” she asked before taking another pull.
“My lil’nigga Wayne got it from some dreads over in Compton.” He turned around in bed and propped his head on his fist. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” she replied leaning over and dumping ashes into an ashtray on the dresser.
“Why do you stay with him? I mean, you’ve got every excuse in the world to leave this nigga, but you’re sticking it out.”
Marbella expelled smoke from her mouth, allowing it to be vacuumed into her nostrils and then blown back out. “You really wanna know?” She looked to Zonyai, he nodded yes and brushed the strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear. “I owe him.”
“What do you mean?”
“As you know, I’m no stranger to poverty. I grew up in it. My family was poor, real poor. In fact, you could say ‘broke,’” she quoted with her fingers “was passed down in my family, from generation to generation. Our financial troubles got even worse once my father passed. The life insurance check we got helped out, but in the end it just wasn’t enough. My mother was one paycheck away from us being thrown out on our asses when Franklin came into our lives.
He was my knight in shining armor then...not exactly how I’d pictured him in my head, but there he was. He introduced us to a lifestyle that was a rich woman’s reality and a poor woman’s dream. Our lives seemed to change drastically overnight, and I loved him for it. In a way he saved me, saved us. So when he asked me to marry him when I was only fifteen...seeing all that he had done for me, I said yes. It was the least I could do. I guess it was my way of saying thanks.” She blew smoke from her nose and mouth and mashed what was left of the joint out into the ashtray.
“You say you love him, is it the same type of love you have for me?” Zonyai asked seriously.
“No. I never gave Franklin that love...the love I have for you...my soul mate.” She smiled, leaning closer and sharing a passionate, emotional kiss
****
Meanwhile
The Lincoln Town Car ripped down Century Blvd en route to LAX airport. Jackie Needles was driving while Joey-T sat in the front passenger seat. Franklin played the backseat, clipping the end of his cigar and firing it up, polluting the interior of the vehicle with smoke. He stuffed his Zippo lighter inside of his pocket and fanned the wafting smoke out of his face, narrowing his eyelids into slits. He took casual puffs as he watched the streets from where he was perched, listening to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Stay Together and thinking about his wife at home. He and the fellas were headed out to China to talk business with a very important man out there that could get him an even cheaper price on the birds than he was getting now from the Mexican plug he’d been fucking with for years. He knew that this move would probably put him in bad light with the South American, but he didn’t give a shit. If this Asian cat was talking a better price for the work he was getting at an even better quality, then he’d be a mothafucking fool not to take him up on his offer.
The ringing of his cell phone brought the mobster out of his thoughts. He switched hands with the cigar and pulled out his cellular, looking at the screen. He frowned noticing it was a blocked number, but remembering that the Chinese man he was heading out of town to go see said he would contact him to see if he was still coming could be calling him, he went ahead and pressed answer. Taking the cigar from his lips, he blew smoke up into the air and spoke calmly.
“Who is this?”
“I
s this Franklin Trombone?”
“Maybe...who’s asking?” He took another puff of his cigar.
“Mr. Trombone, what would be your reaction if I told you at this moment that your wife was fucking a nigger?”
Franklin bit down on his cigar and sat up, adjusting his overcoat. His eyebrows arched and his lips peeled back in a sneer.
“I’d tell ya to quit playin’ on my phone before ya piss me off,” he spoke unapologetically. “’Cause believe you and me, you don’t wanna beef with a guy like me, my friend. I will track you down with a cork screw and pull your fuckin’ eyeballs out of your fuckin’ head!” His nostrils pulsated and his chest inflated and deflated aggressively.
“I see, well, what if I told you that it wasn’t a joke?”
“Then I’d be havin’ my guy turn this car back around and we’d be headed back to my home so I could kill that son of a bitch!”
The stranger disconnected the call and the made man looked at it like it was covered in slime. He stashed the device back where he’d gotten it and mashed out the cigar. He brought a hand down his face and took a deep breath, thinking hard.
“You okay back there, Skip?” Jackie Needles asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror.
“Hell no, turn this mothafucka back around, go to my house!” he hollered out.
“Alright, Skip.” Jackie Needles busted a U-turn in the middle of the intersection, bringing oncoming cars to a screeching halt nearly hitting them. The Lincoln sped through the next light going in the opposite direction.
****
Thirty minutes later
“Runaway with me,” Zonyai told Marbella, staring deep into her eyes as he gently caressed her cheek with his hand.
“Where would we go?” her brows furrowed, she was willing to go any and everywhere as long as he was with her.
“I don’t know. Somewhere...anywhere...I don’t care...as long as we’re together.” He stared into her eyes while kissing her wedding band hand. He saw that she was thinking about it and he hoped that she’d say yes, kissing her fingers gently. She opened her mouth to give him an answer and that’s when they heard the door slam downstairs.
