“Oh my God, Auntie,” I said and put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I have to be completely honest with you about why you’re here, Jackie,” she told me wiping away the tears at the corners of her eyes. “I did get you out of there, and Trudy is to pee for you and also report that you are working for the next year. I have also paid off your probation officer, Dan Roberts, to make false records of your progress. Although you won’t be free by law for a year, I have granted you the livelihood to do whatever you want forever.”
“That sounds to me like you have been completely honest with me, then,” I said, but she shook her head.
“As I said before, you, my dear niece, are priceless. Whereas I can still handle the professional side of this business, I am too old to move in the streets like a soldier. Which is why I will be asking this of you, versus demanding.”
“Asking what, Aunt Patricia?” I was growing antsy now. The look on her face read one of determination and malice. “What do you need?”
“I want you to finish what you started. I cannot get close to Demarcus, but you can. I want you to kill him, Jackie.”
Chapter 4
OK. I know what you are all thinking, and it probably goes something like, “Jackie, you just served fifteen years for trying to kill this man! Steer your lifeboat straight. It isn’t your war to fight.” And if that is what you’re thinking, you’re completely wrong. It was my war to fight as much as it was my aunt Patricia’s. The best years of my life were wasted all behind a mothafucka who could have left me where he found me. Aunt Patricia didn’t have to do much persuading after she popped the question. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think about the possibility of going back to jail, but with the way my aunt’s reach was, I didn’t think that would be a problem. Still, Aunt Patricia told me she would give me the night to sit and think on her request. She warned me that it would not be a simple task, and the job would entail me getting my hands more than a little dirty.
The next morning, I sat in my new bedroom on the California king-sized bed. The foot of it was round, and the headboard had my initials carved big in cursive. The wood of the bed was black, much like the rest of the furniture in the bedroom, and looked darker in pigment along the snowy white walls. I had a sixty-inch TV on the wall in front of my bed, and don’t get me started on the walk-in closet. It was the size of another bedroom, and Aunt Patricia had taken the liberty to go shopping for me. There were many of the same pieces, just different sizes in there, but I assumed it was because she didn’t know my size. I wasn’t complaining, though. It had been so long since names like Marc Jacobs, Fendi, and Gucci blessed my body, so I was thankful, if anything. My bathroom was to die for, and I mean that in the figurative sense. The light fixtures above the long mirror looked like crystals and lit the room up brilliantly. The shower had an overhead faucet with a gray and black tile decoration that matched the ledge of the hot tub in the far corner. I’d woken up before the sun had even come out just to spend two hours in the bathroom. It had been so long since I took a lavish bath like that, I even used one of the purple bath bombs Aunt Patricia had under the sink to accent the mood.
I sat on my bed contemplating the outfits I had sprawled out on it before I finally settled on a long pink sundress with a slit in it that came all the way up to my thigh. The low cut V-neck showed off the cleavage caused by my soft breasts, and it nicely displayed my ass. My ass looked so big that even I wanted to squeeze it—both cheeks. Slipping on a pair of silver thong sandals that matched the silver hoop earrings in my ears I decided to make my way downstairs to give Aunt Patricia my final answer.
As soon as I opened the door, the delicious aroma of bacon being fried blessed my nostrils and led me to where my aunt was. Sure enough, there she was, right beside Gloria, whipping up a big breakfast. Aunt Patricia was wearing a silk peach blouse and a pair of ankle capris that were tight on her big butt and thighs. Naturally, I headed toward the counter by the stove where a pan and a carton of eggs sat. Before I could even crack one open, I felt a hand swat the back of my arm.
“Girl, sit your ass down and let me make you breakfast!” Aunt Patricia pointed for me to sit down at the dining room table. “You aren’t about to mess up my eggs.”
“I know how to cook,” I laughed.
“Well, you don’t have to in this kitchen, chile,” Gloria said wiping her hands on her apron. “Go on in there and sit down like your auntie said.”
“You clean up nice, by the way,” Aunt Patricia added over her shoulder.
Reluctantly, I did as I was told and waited until Gloria placed a hot plate of food in front of me. She set another one down right across from me, and Aunt Patricia sat down. Gloria came back with two tall glasses filled with orange juice before taking her leave to another part of the house. I waited for Aunt Patricia to get settled and the two of us held hands, like we used to do, and said our grace before digging in.
“Oh my God, this is so good!” I moaned with a mouth full of hash browns and bacon.
“Girl, you better slow down before you choke!”
I paid her no mind and kept on stuffing my face like nobody’s business. It took me all of six minutes to scarf down the entire meal, and when I glanced up, I noticed that she still had half of her food on her plate. Smiling sheepishly, I just shrugged my shoulders.
“I guess that prison mind-set hasn’t completely left me just yet.”
“You can say that again,” she said chuckling and handed me a napkin from the center of the table. “Did you give my request some thought last night?”
“I honestly didn’t even need a whole night to think on it,” I replied after I wiped the grease from my mouth. “The answer was yes the second you asked the question.”
“I need you to understand what this means.” Her fiery eyes were on me, and her expression was serious.
“I know. It means you need me to put a bullet in the middle of his head, right?”
“Yeah and no. It means I need you to put a bullet in his head, but before you do that, I need you to learn how my soldiers move.”
“What do you mean? You want me to be a soldier?”
“No, definitely not,” she chuckled again. “You’re royalty compared to them. I want you to lead them. I want you in charge of all drug trade in the state of Texas. The job Marco should have taken instead of gallivanting around the city like a fucking crybaby.”
Now that was new to me. I thought she just wanted me to body Marco and keep it pushing. I didn’t think she was asking me to be a part of a drug cartel. I took a long swig of my orange juice trying to buy myself time. Her eyes pierced my expression, looking for any indication of what I might be thinking, but I think I did a pretty good job holding a poker face.
“Auntie, I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”
“You’ll learn.”
“I don’t know how to flip a brick. I don’t even know the difference between good and bad product.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“Who’s going to teach me to shoot a gun?”
Ding! Dong!
The sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted our conversation, but by the sparkle in Aunt Patricia’s eyes, she must have known who was at the front door. Gloria must have let the person in, because the next thing I knew, a newcomer had entered the kitchen. I was thrown completely for a loop because I was suddenly staring at what had to be a chocolate god. The man was about six foot two with a muscular build. He had a smooth baby face and bright mahogany-colored eyes with fans for eyelashes. He had juicy lips that I wanted to suck just to see what they tasted like, and a jawline that would make Idris Alba jealous. He was dressed simply in a navy blue Nike sweat suit complete with a pair of all-white Air Max 90s.
“Braxton, this is my niece—”
“Jackie,” he finished.
Ohhh! His voice was deep and sensual too. He held his hand out to me, and I placed mine in it and tried to tell my pussy to calm herself down there.
<
br /> “How do you know my name?” I asked.
“Pat Pat has been talking about how you were moving in with her for the past month now,” he told me, then gave me a slick smile showing off a small gap between his front teeth that made him even sexier. “Plus, I’m the one who had to drop off the payment to your probation officer. You was locked up for stabbin’ a nigga, right? I gotta watch you.”
My mouth dropped open, and I made a sound that not even I recognized. The two of them seemed to enjoy my reaction because they burst into laughter. I hurried to close my mouth and regain my composure.
“He put his hands on me,” I told him. “I did what I had to do.”
“Good,” he said giving me his approval. “That means you’ll do what you have to do on the streets.”
“The streets?” I asked, and Braxton looked at my aunt with a raised brow.
“You ain’t tell her what’s up for the day?” he asked my aunt.
“We were actually just getting to that part before you got here,” she told him and focused her attention back on me. “Jackie, this is who is going to teach you everything you need to know about how to move in the streets.”
“How to be a street general,” he corrected her.
“Same thing!”
It dawned on me that I had never given her an official answer. I looked back and forth between the two of them and thought about what I wanted to do. I didn’t know the first thing to being a “street general,” as Braxton put it, but then again, I wanted Marco dead as bad as I wanted to breathe. Whatever I had to do to make that possible was OK with me.
“All right,” I told them. “When do we start?”
“Now,” he said and nodded his head toward the front door. “Your car is still running outside.”
“My . . . car?”
“Yeah, come on, ma. I put your tank on full, and we wasting gas,” he said grabbing me by my hand again and throwing up a peace sign at my aunt. “All right, Pat Pat! I’ma fuck with you later.”
I didn’t even have time to grab anything, not even a purse, before I was already outside. But once I saw what was waiting there for me, I didn’t care about a purse.
“This is not my car.”
“I look like a liar to you, ma?” Braxton asked and got in the driver’s seat of the bright red Porsche. “911 GTS. I think she fits your swag. What you think?”
“Hell yes!” I eagerly hopped in the car and ran my hands all over the interior of the vehicle. “Oh my God. This is really mine?”
“Yes,” he said putting the car in drive and speeding around the circle driveway and away from the house. “Unless you want me to take it back to the dealership.”
“You picked this out?”
“Yes,” he said. “Pat Pat showed me a picture of you a minute ago.” He averted his eyes from the street to look me up and down. “I mean, you were a little younger in the picture, but I thought this would fit you.”
I rolled my eyes at him and called him an asshole under my breath. He turned on the radio, and I let my window down to feel my long hair blow in the wind while he drove.
“You from here?” I asked even though I knew he couldn’t have been. His accent was one I hadn’t heard before.
“Nah,” he said. “I’m a Midwestern boy. Detroit.”
“What you doing here, then?”
“No opportunities where I’m from,” he answered simply. “I can be a king here freely. Where I’m from, it’s too many niggas after the same position, and nobody wanna make money together.”
“I guess I can understand that. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine. Why? You wanna get your cougar thing on with me?”
“No!” I said and couldn’t hold the laugh that spurted from my lips. “And I’m only six years older than you, so I don’t think that qualifies me as a cougar.”
“I was just fuckin’ with you.” He shot me a look I couldn’t read, but his eyes lingered on my small waist. “But real shit, you look way younger than that.”
“They used to tell me that when I left prison, I would look like I aged double my time, and I saw it happen right before my eyes while I was in there. But I always told myself that wouldn’t be me.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew eventually I would get out, you know? And when I did, I wanted to be just as bad as I was when I got there. I want a husband and a normal life.” I paused and grinned at him. “Well, as normal as I can get it.”
“What was it like on the other side?”
“At first, the bitches up in there tried to fuck with me ’cause I’m pretty. I got cut up a couple of times, but soon they learned that these hands ain’t shit to play with.”
“You can fight?” he asked and looked at me like I was lying.
“Niggaaa,” I raised my eyebrow at him. “I gets down!”
“OK,” he said laughing, “Miss Get Down, tell me somethin’.”
“What?”
“You was down for fifteen years. Were you eating pussy?” he asked, and the serious expression on his face is what made me lift my lip in disgust at him.
“No, nigga,” I said, then turned my face out the window. “I had them licking on my pussy, though. I busted so many times in those bitches’ mouths I lost count.”
I didn’t turn back to face him to see his reaction, but the fact that he had no further questions told me all I needed to know. We were quiet for a while until he started to explain that day’s game plan. He told me that he was taking me to one of the hood spots to introduce me to some of the young niggas that would be under me.
He took me to a neighborhood about five blocks away from the one I grew up in, but it looked the exact same. Some of the owners kept their homes up, while some had let them go to complete turmoil. I smiled at the scenery because it was all too familiar. A group of girls who looked to be about twelve were posted on the sidewalk with their bikes, probably talking about boys. A few teenagers were walking their pit bulls, and, of course, there were the junkies posted outside a family-owned liquor store arguing over who drank the last of the bottle. As we drove, everybody’s eyes went to the red car rolling down their block. Strangely, it didn’t make me feel awkward. In fact, I even nodded my head at a couple of people as we passed.
“We’re here,” Braxton said, pulling in to the back of what looked to be an abandoned house.
“You sure?” I asked. “It looks like there are boards over the windows.”
“Lesson one,” Braxton said, reaching over me to get into the glove compartment, “never be deceived by the ‘look’ of something. Everything ain’t always what it seems.” He handed me something, and I peeped quickly that it was a small firearm. It was small but fit perfectly in my hand. “That’s a nine millimeter Glock. You know how to work one of them?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t trip,” he told me cutting the car off. “Nobody taught me how to shoot or aim. My OG just gave me a gun one day and let me have at it. Now I don’t think there’s a nigga around who could fuck with me when it comes to gunplay. Just aim. Shoot.”
He gave me a little tutorial before he got out of the car.
“Wait!” I called. “You never told me why I would need a gun!”
He was too far away from the car to pay attention to me. I had no choice but to jump out after him and follow him around the house to the front door. He waited for me to get there before he did something that I didn’t see coming. He kicked the door down.
Bang! Bang!
His gun sounded off before I could register what was happening. In the house, there were a few fiends passed out, high, on the filthiest mattress I had ever seen in my life. The other people in the house were the distributers who scattered like roaches once the door burst open. Braxton’s bullets caught one of them in the back, and he dropped instantly. The sight of his blood made me realize that this was really happening.
“DBD who, niggas?” Braxton shouted, pulling his trigger.
Gunfire filled
the entire house. I jumped to the side, behind an old couch, when a bullet whizzed past my head. The dress I wore made it hard to maneuver, but with my life at stake, I made it do what it do.
“Nigga, this DBD over everything! Opp-ass nigga!” one of the little niggas shouted from wherever they were perched.
“Watch out!” I yelled to Braxton when I peeked over the couch.
He was doing his thing without me and had already killed two of the four DBD gang members. He was taking cover behind a desk and didn’t even know a scope was making its way up his back all the way to the back of his head. I followed the scope with my eyes until I found the source. The nigga holding the gun didn’t look to be older than twenty-one, but it was him or Braxton. I opted for the latter.
Bang! Bang!
The power from the gun made my shoulders jerk when I stood up and fired at the kid, but I kept my footing and didn’t fall.
“Umph!” the kid groaned and fell to the ground from the bullet wound in his chest.
There was one last shot and a loud thud that filled the air before everything ceased. The two fiends that had been passed out on the mattress were now asleep forever. They must have gotten caught in the crossfire because they both had multiple bullet holes in their backs. Slowly, I walked up to the person whose life I was responsible for taking. His eyes were still open, and his gun still hung loosely in his hand. I thought I would feel something, anything. I was not God. Who was I to take a life? But surprisingly, I felt . . . nothing. Nothing at all. I had a choice to make, and I knew I made the right one.
“Let’s go,” Braxton said and grabbed my arm. “Come on!”
We ran out of the house, me gripping the bottom of my skirt, all the way back to the car behind the house. Everything had happened so fast, I was still trying to process it in my head. I was confused, but even more so, I was angry.
“What the fuck!” I yelled when we were already back on the main street. I couldn’t help it, I punched his arm as hard as I could. “What the hell was that!”
Braxton threw my fists back at me so I would stop hitting him. He was quiet, like I hadn’t just asked him a question, so I cocked my gun back and put it to his temple while he drove.
Girls from Da Hood 12 Page 19
