Sex in the Hood Saga

by White Chocolate

  Plus, The Queen had to keep her cool as a test of wills with Knight. She had seen too many examples of women turning into jealous, suspicious bitches because they claimed to love their man so much. But ultimately their possessiveness had the opposite effect pushing their man away, right into the conniving arms of the bitches who were trying to hook their men.

  “Never let anyone see your anger,” Daddy would say. “Never let ’em see you sweat or you’ll lose.”

  The Queen took several deep breaths. That fresh oxygen and slow breathing calmed her nerves. Then she walked back out into the gym, where Knight was watching sexercise and talking with Big Moe.

  The Queen returned to CoCo, who was checking off names on her clipboard.

  “With training like this,” CoCo said, “Babylon will win every event in The Games, hands down. Check out Bam-Bam and Pebbles.” CoCo nodded toward the muscular couple as they held dumbbells in each hand and did multiple sets of lunges. They both grimaced because that shit hurt when you extended one foot forward then lowered your other knee to the floor over and over.

  Bam-Bam cast a loving glance at Pebbles as sweat poured down their temples and their pulses throbbed in their neck veins.

  CoCo smiled. “Check out the champs. Pebbles and BamBam are the projected winners of the top three events. Longest Fuck, Longest Slut on Top, and Longest One-Knee Stud Fuck.” Now that The Queen had calmed down, her perception of Pebbles and Bam-Bam was different. They looked like a loving couple who was working hard to master their craft.

  Just like me and Knight.

  The Queen shivered. “Love that.”

  “Look like you lovin’ that shit or you out,” Noah shouted down at one of the women..

  Peaches bit down on her bottom lip in a way that could be construed as an expression of pleasure. And she pumped and pumped some more.

  The whistle blew. Noah shouted, “Okay, ladies, on your knees!”

  “Gentlemen, three minutes.” Noah blew the whistle.

  The men lined up in perfect alignment with the women. They thrust forward in unison while the women sucked and slurped in sync. The Queen felt dizzy. Her pussy creamed. And all that lust melted away her headache.

  Noah’s whistle blew. He shouted, “Switch!”

  The women laid down and spread their legs. The men got on their knees and dove face first into steamy, hot pussies. I need that now.

  The Queen shivered with the need to feel Knight’s tongue stroking her insides.

  She looked around the room until she spotted him. Knight’s back was turned to her as he talked with Noah and surveyed the class. But why were his shoulders moving up and down like that? The Queen hurried over the pathway between the cardio machines and the mats. Knight looked up at her reflection in the mirror as she approached.

  No!

  He looked gray. He was breathing quickly and holding his chest with one hand.

  The curse.

  She stepped toward him.

  “Excuse me, man,” Knight said to Noah, who nodded.

  The Queen walked him to the men’s locker-room. She pushed through the white door. She guided him to a long bench.

  As he held his chest and struggled to breath she sat beside him, stroking his back. “Knight, baby, what is wrong?”

  He was looking down. “Knight?”

  He turned slightly.

  She gasped at the expression in his eyes fear.

  Something is wrong with me, Baby girl. What can I do? Love me. Trust me. See me through the wedding and The Games and we’ll be all right, baby girl.

  “Breathe,” she whispered. “All the tests turned out normal at the doctor. It’s just panic attacks. So attack it back. Say, ‘I am a warrior. I am a warrior. I am a warrior.’”

  Knight sat up straight. He inhaled deeply, making his broad shoulders rise and fall.

  “There you go,” she whispered as he gripped her hands in his trembling fingers. “I am a warrior.”

  The Queen had researched panic attacks on the internet. Turned out, they could make somebody feel like they were having a heart attack: squeezing chest, struggling to breathe, racing thoughts of doom. Some people fainted. And others rushed to the hospital fearing they were about to have cardiac arrest and drop dead. But it was just a reaction to stress. Or a person allowing stress to take hold of the mind and body.

  What The Queen didn’t understand was how a person like Knight who meditated and carried himself with cool, calm confidence at all times, and practiced positive affirmations, could allow himself to fall victim to this invisible beast called stress.

  “Knight is a warrior,” she whispered in a soft lullaby mantra. Her hand stroked gentle circles on his back. “My Knight baby is an African god warrior.” Her mind spun in an effort to make sense of this. A panicky feeling burned in her gut, too. Because what if something was seriously wrong with Knight and the doctor’s tests just hadn’t found it? What if he were to just mysteriously drop dead? What would she do? Where would she go?

  Naw, that ain’t an option. I gotta heal him.

  “Knight, baby?”

  “Yeah, baby girl.”

  “You know that Psalm you love so much? ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning’?”

  Knight nodded.

  “Well, I believe that this, whatever it is, this weeping may endure for my Knight, for a minute, but joy is about to cumeth in the morning, in our favorite way.” She let out a sexy laugh as she realized her play on words. “But seriously, let’s make like the morning is now. The weeping is over. We got each otha, to the infinity. We can’t waste another minute feelin’ anything less than hype in love and all we got.”

  Knight’s beautiful onyx eyes sparkled back at her. He pulled her into his arms and held her like she was a swaddled infant. With her behind on his lap, he wrapped his arms around her and cupped his giant hands around hers, her cheek resting on his shoulder. “Baby girl,” he whispered softly but happily, “thank you.”

  She smiled slightly, staring up into the black jewels that were his eyes. “For what?”

  “For loving me for me. For letting me let my guard down and show that I ain’t perfect. For loving me even more when I hurt.”

  The tenderness in his glassy eyes made The Queen’s throat burn. His face blurred as hot tears stung her eyes. All those ridiculous, paranoid thoughts about Reba dissolved under the intense heat of this karmic connection with her soul mate. All that internal drama she’d just experienced about Knight plucking a new Slut from the luscious fields of Babylon, all that dissipated under his loving gaze too.

  She squeezed out the tears and stared deep into his eyes. “I love you to the infinity,” she whispered, knowing that there would be no life for her without this other half of her soul.

  “Love you to the infinity,” they said in unison.

  Chapter 84

  Knight led Jamal into the silent, empty auditorium, which filled the entire first and second floors of The Playhouse. In just a few weeks, it would be packed to capacity for The Games. That was also the time that they would do the multimillion dollar buyout for Jamal to take charge of Babylon, so Knight could flee into the safety and security of a tropical eternity with his Queen and their baby Prince.

  Manifest Destiny is so close, I can taste the fresh-cut pineapple that I’m gon’ feed into my baby girl’s hungry mouth on the beach.

  But right now, Knight needed to stop Jamal’s second thoughts in their tracks. He also needed to let Jamal know that conspiring with the likes of Raynard “Dickman” Ingalls who was on Li’l Tut’s payroll was a good way to follow in the bullet-riddled footsteps of a whole lot of dead musical geniuses.

  After he knocked some sense back into Jamal’s dreadlocked head, Knight still believed that this trusted friend was the only man who could take over the reins of his urban empire in a way that would continue its goodwill endeavors.

  “A thousand seats on this level,” Knight said as they walked down the purple carpeted aisle
. “Plus, the balconies and the box seats, and we’ll have two thousand.”

  Knight stared hard down into Jamal’s eyes. “You hear me, man? Ten grand a seat, times two thousand people. Do the math. And the other folks payin’ five K a head to swim, dance, and party in this building during The Games. That’s ridiculous bank for one night.”

  “But I’m gon’ take the admissions money,” Knight said. “Just this year. Next year it’s all yours.”

  “Dig that,” Jamal said. “Yo, dog, if I bail, how come you can’t fin’ somebody else to buy Babylon? Like Mr. and Mrs. Marx out west, or even Moreno.”

  Knight stared down at Jamal, who was framed by the ornate gold figures carved into the balconies. “Jamal, it’s not about the money; it’s about the principle. I need to know that for the next fifty years, at least, proceeds from Babylon will continue to feed and shelter children in the village I’ve adopted in the Sudan, and fund college scholarships for twelve graduates of Detroit public schools every year.”

  Jamal shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “This my beef wit’ it. All my bidnesses legit, right? I’m wonderin’ why I wanna take on somethin’ that could bring me down?”

  Knight’s chest squeezed. His mind lurched forward to the moment of transfer, of money and ownership, just minutes before he and The Queen would execute the exit plan. If Jamal reneged at that moment, or didn’t show up, or acted wishy washy, it could jeopardize Knight’s entire strategy.

  No! I see him the night of The Games, on the yacht, transferring the twenty-five million into my account, as I give him the keys and papers to takeover.

  For now, Knight would keep it diplomatic. But if Jamal persisted like this, Knight would have to go ghetto on the young brotha. Yeah, he’d remind that muthafucka where he came from and who made his music mogul ass.

  “Every detail will be in place for you to take over once I’m gone,” Knight said.

  “Coo’,” Jamal said. “Man, this some hype shit you ’bout to do. Bad as I think I am, I don’t know if I could do it. ’Specially if my lady don’t have a clue.”

  Tiny needles of pain shot around Knight’s heart. Guilt.

  “Yo’ dog, you ain’t worried yo’ lady gon’ be so pissed, she gon’ kill yo’ ass right there on the beach? Like, ‘What the fuck you mean, nigga, we ain’t goin’ back?’ Damn, between that an’ Duke, no wonder you be lookin’ so pale lately.”

  “No sleep,” Knight said coolly. “I been workin’ twenty-four/ seven. It’s a lot of work planning a Houdini act and running an empire at the same time.”

  Jamal shook his head. “See, I’m worried that runnin’ Babylon will jack my music vibe. I don’t know, dog. I’m still havin’ second thoughts. Gimme a minute to think. I worked so hard to build up what I got in the music business. I ain’t no pimp.”

  “We don’t use that term at Babylon; we’re far and above that gritty, degrading image for both black men and women. We don’t even say prostitute. We provide a much needed service that creates win-win situations for all parties.”

  Jamal laughed, making his long dreads shift over his shoulders. “You make it sound so professional.”

  “It is. The security company is a legitimate front. You know our Barriors and B’Amazons provide protection for your concerts all over the country. Plus sporting events and political gatherings.”

  Jamal shrugged. “It sound sexy as hell to rule ova Babylon. But music be my numba one—”

  “I have directors in place for every city to handle the day to day operations. You, your name, and Bang Squad Incorporated will be well insulated from any risk involved in Babylon’s main source of revenue.”

  Jamal nodded. “Dang, dog! You be spittin’ some big words dese days. Yo’ Queen daddy blood mus’ be rubbin’ off some white boy speech lessons.”

  That “white boy” comment flipped a switch inside Knight’s brain from the blue zone labeled DIPLOMATIC into the yellow zone marked PISSED OFF. Knight resented the commonly held belief among too many of his people that speaking correct English meant acting white. He was bilingual, he spoke Ebonics when necessary and proper English when appropriate. That had nothing to do with his racial allegiance. But that was a debate for Jamal on another day.

  Knight put his hand on Jamal’s shoulder. “The best thing about this deal is that you’ll be the figurehead who makes the most money.”

  “Yo, dog, say it all like that an’ I’m all in.” Jamal scanned the wide, shiny pine stage. “Where the judges gon’ sit?”

  Knight extended his arm over the purple velvet seats. He pointed to the empty space between the stage and the arc of bolted-down chairs. “Up there, at a long table, we’ll have security stationed across the front of the stage. And under cover every where else.”

  After a quick tour of the dressing rooms backstage and downstairs, and a glance at where the deejay would spin the tunes for each routine, Knight led Jamal up the stairs to one of the plush box seats overlooking the stage.

  “The Queen and I will be here until eleven forty-five,” Knight said as they sat on a purple velvet couch in the box closest to the right side of the stage. “You’ll be in the next box.” Knight pointed to the balcony like seating area to their left. “At eleven forty-seven, you slip back into these curtains with us, and I hand it all over to you.”

  “Check,” Jamal said. Something in his eyes glinted in a way that kept Knight’s suspicion running high. As if Jamal were going through the motions of this conversation with no intention of following through.

  Did Jamal think that if his punk ass disappeared when the deal was to go down that Knight would carry on and “Houdini” himself and The Queen away regardless?

  Jamal’s eyes looked a million miles away as he said, “An’ you got e’rythang set in case it’s mutiny in the ranks?”

  Knight stared back hard. “Everything is set.”

  “Yo, dog, what about Duke? Y’all’s search an’ destroy mission accomplished yet? I don’t want no shit.”

  “I guarantee,” Knight said with a sinister chuckle, “there won’t be any.”

  Jamal stiffened. His eyes grew a little bigger. “Well where that Duke muthafucka at? I want that shit done now. He crazy as hell. I ain’t takin’ ova, ’less I know e’rythang runnin’ smoov.”

  “We’re watching him.”

  Thanks to Reba, Knight was monitoring Li’l Tut’s every move. Knight knew that Moreno, Shar, Raynard, and Leroy were all conspiring with his brother. What he didn’t know yet was whether Reba was telling him the truth about what that “motley crew” was actually planning to do. Were they plotting to start their own sex empire? Seize Babylon? Or both?

  “What you fin’ out?” Jamal asked in a way that pushed Knight’s mental mad meter into the red zone marked RENEGADE.

  Knight’s fist shot out with lightning speed and grabbed the collar of Jamal’s white tee, twisted it up against his Adam’s apple. Raised that muthafucka an inch or two off the floor and looked down in his eyes with six-gun brutality in his stare. “Jamal, tell me straight-up,” Knight groaned through tight lips. “Who’d your punk ass come to when you needed bank to start the Bang Squad?”

  Jamal’s eyes bugged. “You.”

  Knight twisted his shirt harder and shook him.

  “You an’ Prince an’ Duke.”

  “Who gave you the money?”

  “You an’ Prince. Duke didn’t want to—”

  “Nice.” Knight loosened his grip.

  Jamal exhaled with relief.

  But just as quickly, Knight snatched him up even higher. The heels of his Air Force One hit the side of a chair. “Who made your hip-hoppin’ ass?”

  “You!” Jamal’s voice was high-pitched due to the fact that he was being choked by his shirt. His face bulged and turned red.

  “Who has the power to destroy you just as fast?”

  “You! You!” His teeth chattered like it was ten degrees below zero outside.

  “What you gon’ say next time
Dickman call?”

  “F-f-f-f-f-fuck that muthafucka.”

  Knight nodded. “And if you talk to him.”

  “Jamal a dead muthafucka.”

  Knight threw him down to the aisle.

  Jamal thudded on his back. His eyes opened wide, staring up as if he were trying to figure out if he were still alive.

  “Jamal,” Knight said coolly, “Tell me what you’re gonna do at eleven forty-five the night of October first on the other side of those curtains.” Knight pointed to the purple velvet drapes framing the stage.

  Jamal coughed. He grabbed his throat, massaging the red marks.

  “Tell me!” Knight’s bellow echoed through the auditorium.

  “I’ma sign the papers.” Jamal coughed.

  “I’ma give you a fat-ass check. An’?”

  “I ain’t neva gon’ tell nobody nothin’ about Manifest Destiny.”

  Knight stared down. “Remember them magic words for the rest of yo’ life. They yo’ bulletproof vest as far as I’m concerned.” The power pumping through Knight’s veins made him feel eight feet tall. His chest was clear. His heart was pumping slowly, calmly.

  I am king. An African warrior king who will never be defeated.

  Chapter 85

  In the dark paneled office inside The Penthouse at Babylon HQ, Knight huddled in front of his computer with Larry Marx. The California media mogul and his wife were in town to discuss the final details of Manifest Destiny. Now he and Knight were switching accounts to protect Babylon’s assets, just in case the Marxes got indicted.

  “Julius Mark Anthony, meet Moses Alexander,” Larry said as he typed account numbers in the global banking Web site. “This is switching all your assets into another account that’s handled by our company in Sweden. It’s untraceable.”