This was crew business.
Chapter 2
The following morning Qwess walked into Crescent Sounds, the studio he had erected when he really started getting money. After making his rounds through the building he learned he was all alone, which was how he preferred it. He left the lights low, walked into the vocal booth, and inhaled the scent of the place. This was his sanctuary, his home away from home, the place where everything in his world made sense.
Qwess stepped before the mic, closed his eyes, and visualized himself on stage commanding the crowd. In his mind, they showered him with love as he spit a vicious rhyme about the streets. His vision was so vivid he could’ve sworn he heard the roar of the crowd ringing inside his ears. He bobbed his head to the imaginary beat, the brooding track he and Reece had been listening to just before they tossed a man over the edge of a rooftop at two in the morning. He felt light, free. He felt as if he were on top of the world. Unconsciously, he started rapping aloud . . .
“Niggas bleed when they romp with the Crescent Crew, heard tales ’bout the kinda evil shit we do/ like stay true and put it down for the culture, a savage act up we give ’em wings like vultures . . .” he spat, referring to the incident from last night.
This was his shtick, the thing that set him apart from everyone else. The rep of his crew preceded him, so when Qwess spat some gangsta shit, the streets embraced him because they knew he was authentic. However, while most rappers were desperate to run toward street cred, Qwess was actually trying to run away from his.
Qwess opened his eyes, and his attention fell on the television hanging on the wall outside the booth. The midday news was on, broadcasting live from downtown about a gruesome murder that had been committed during the wee hours of the morning. Qwess rushed from the booth and turned the volume up.
“Authorities are still trying to piece together the details of a gruesome scene they discovered this morning. Apparently, a man was thrown from the rooftop of this hotel behind me. Now what happened next isn’t clear. Apparently, some type of mechanical device was wrapped around his neck from his SUV before he was thrown over the roof. The tension from the rope caused the man to become decapitated . . .” Qwess silenced the TV. He had heard enough. He watched the remainder of the report on mute.
The door to the studio opened, and in walked Reece, swagged out and beaming from ear to ear. “Peace, my brother! Beautiful day, huh?” Reece asked.
Qwess pointed to the TV. “You see this shit?”
Reece watched a few seconds of the news, then spread his arms expansively. “Yeah, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? I bet Victor got the message now.”
Qwess shook his head. “Bro, we don’t need this right now. I got some big things on the table right now, things that can set us all straight.”
“You talking about this music shit again?” Reece asked. “Bro, I respect what you got going on with that, but, man, they don’t let guys like us in that industry. The industry is full of move fakers.”
Qwess shook his head in exasperation. “They respect units, man! Numbers. We’ve been doing numbers like crazy out here in these streets.”
Reece reached deep into his pockets and pulled out a huge wad of cash. “These type of numbers?” he asked. “I got a Louie bag in the trunk of the Masi with about ninety bands in it, too. Half of that is yours. Are they showing you that type of respect with the numbers?”
Qwess walked over to the mixing board and cued up a track. “This is the ticket right here, Reece. This music shit is the new dope game. You know they just gave them niggas down in New Orleans a thirty-million-dollar distribution deal? Where else can you see that type of money legally?” Qwess posed. “Now I got love for the crew. We built this shit from the ground up, but like I told you before, I’m out. That shit last night can never happen again. I only agreed to come along because me and Black Vic got history. Thought I could talk to him.”
“Well, you see how that worked out,” Reece sniped.
“Yeah, because you didn’t stay in the truck!” Qwess pointed out.
Reece walked up to Qwess and got right in his chest. “Look, the day I let a muthafucka disrespect me, you, or this crew we built is the day I’d rather die,” Reece vowed. “Now you ain’t the only one out here making moves. I got some shit lined up that can put us in a real good position also, and that’s what matters most. A’ight? Crew business, all the time. Remember?”
Reece was pulling rank. Crew business was their motto. It meant that nothing or no one came before the crew. Whatever it took for their crew to win was crew business. That was the oath they had built the Crescent Crew upon.
“I remember, bro.” Qwess sighed heavily. “I’m just saying, we can’t do this shit forever. If we have a way out . . .”
“We ain’t trying to do it forever. We just trying to do it for our forever,” Reece returned.
Qwess turned away. “I feel you,” he conceded, then pointed at the TV. “But this shit can’t be good for nothing.”
Reece shrugged. “It is what it is, bro. We here now. Ain’t no such things as halfway crooks.”
“True indeed.”
The brothers walked outside to Reece’s Maserati Cambio-corsa Spyder. Reece popped the trunk and passed Qwess a bag stuffed with cash.
“Take that, Qwess. Smell that money and remind yourself what life is all about,” Reece suggested.
Qwess took the bag and tossed it on the back seat of his Benz. “What you got planned tonight?” he asked.
“I got to see a man about a dog,” he joked. “Matter fact, two dogs.”
Qwess shook his head. “You can’t get enough, huh?”
“Brother, you locked down; I’m not. I’m a descendant of Solomon, and I’m going to live like it,” Reece bragged.
“Word.” Qwess dapped Reece up. “I’ll get at you later.”
The friends parted ways with their minds on two separate missions, yet one cause—glory for the Crescent Crew.
Unbeknownst to them, there was someone watching their interaction from a distance. This person was on a mission also. Their cause? The demise of the Crescent Crew.
Later that night
Reece lay in amazement as the ladies worshipped him like the god he thought himself to be. Sure, this wasn’t the first threesome he’d indulged in, but it was definitely the most memorable. Just the way Cretia was moaning had him rock hard. And oh, that skin . . . that beautiful chocolate skin! He’d normally go for the redbones, but Cretia was next-level fine with thick thighs, nice breasts, and long, wavy hair that she didn’t pay for. Besides, the way Cretia had made this proposal, who was he to refuse? Turned out she was right. Chocolate does melt in your mouth!
And how could he forget Vanilla? She was doing her best to make sure he didn’t do that. Hell, the way she was sucking him, you’d think his dick was a pacifier. The broad never let up! He had already released himself inside her mouth twice. The first time, she shared the reward with Cretia. The second time, she selfishly kept it to herself.
Reece raised his head from the bed. “Yo, why don’t y’all switch,” he suggested. “Vanilla, let a nigga breathe this time, though.”
Vanilla smirked. “I’ll try, ’cause you know that shit be feeling too good,” she claimed. “Who would’ve thought King Reece could eat pussy like that.”
“Yo, chill, shorty. They call me King ’cause I get down for my crown in everything,” he boasted.
“Well, why don’t you get down on this,” Cretia interrupted, pointing to her crotch. “My shit is throbbing, and I’m dying to feel that inside me,” she stated, pointing at his erection.
Reece slipped on another condom and dived in. Although she was wet already, she was still somewhat tight. With a little maneuvering, he managed to sink deep inside Cretia. As he began a nice, rhythmic, long stroke, he felt Vanilla grab his ass. He knew what she was about to do, but before he could object, she slid her tongue through the crack of his ass. At that point, it felt so good, he figured fuck it
and let her have her way.
A few moments later, Reece exploded with a powerful orgasm. No sooner than he released his load, both women snatched the condom off and drank of his essence as if their lives depended on it.
As they pleased him simultaneously, Reece marveled at how beautiful the women were, as if truly noticing it for the first time. He had dealt with so many beautiful women in his life that he was somewhat jaded when it came to pretty faces. However, he’d always run into one—or two—that would raise the bar on his personal standard of beauty.
Such was the case this night. Cretia and Vanilla were two of the most desired women in the city. Every hustler in town wanted a piece of them, but they played hard to get. Yet, here was Reece having his way with both of the beauties, doing things that would have gotten them kicked out of the Bible, purely on the strength of who he was.
This is the life! he thought. Qwess would be a fool to want to give this up.
For Reece, living any other way wasn’t an option. He was true to the game. He would rather rule in hell than serve in heaven.
Chapter 3
Qwess scanned his rearview looking for a cop as he ran yet another red light. He shifted the gear in his SL55 and zoomed down Skibo Road. He was already late for his meeting with Reece and Doe, and he knew how Reece could be about time. For a dude who didn’t have any set work hours, he sure stressed punctuality.
As Qwess rolled up to the restaurant, he spotted Rolando, or “Doe” as he was called, sitting on his Corvette, talking on the phone. Reece’s first cousin, Doe was the third member of their brotherhood. The three had been friends since high school, and although Doe chose to live on the right side of the law, their bond never wavered. By day, Doe worked as a logistics specialist for a firm that handled accounts for Cape Fear Valley Hospital. By night, he handled most of the day-to-day business operations for Qwess’s record label, A.B.P. In fact, it was Doe’s expertise that had catapulted A.B.P. to the top of the rap game in the Southeast. He had coordinated the marketing campaign and was responsible for getting the CDs in the hands of the people.
Right beside Doe’s car was Reece’s Porsche. Qwess pulled into a parking space a few cars down from Reece’s 911 and hopped out, eager to share the great news.
As he got out of the car, he spotted Reece all the way on the other side of the parking lot of the restaurant. He was bent over at the window of a red Honda Accord, spitting game at some chick. Reece spotted Qwess and held up a finger for him to wait. Qwess had to give it to the brother, he pulled more hoes than a dentist pulled teeth.
Qwess and Doe salaamed each other, as they were both Muslims, in theory anyway. Doe checked Qwess’s clothes out and nodded approvingly. Qwess was wearing olive-green slacks, an orange Coogi short-sleeve sweater, and olive-green alligator loafers. He topped it off with a thin platinum chain with a charm that read Allah in Arabic, along with his signature Versace frame glasses with rose tint.
“You looking real smooth, brother,” Doe complimented him.
“Appreciate it. You ain’t slacking yourself.” Doe instinctively looked down at his gear and knew what was coming next. “Though you could lose the tie,” Qwess continued.
“Yo, you always say that!” Doe said, shaking his head.
“’Cause that’s word, Ock,” Qwess insisted. “You gotta learn how to coordinate.”
Just as Doe was about to respond, Reece walked up, interrupting them. “Yo, son, you not gonna believe what happened to me the other night,” Reece claimed.
“Here we go!” Both Qwess and Doe said simultaneously.
“Yo, word, word. Check it,” Reece said, rubbing his palms together. “You remember ole girl that used to dance at X-tasy named Vanilla?”
“You talking about the short mixed broad with the blond hair?” Qwess recalled.
“Yeah, yeah. Her!” Reece confirmed.
Before Reece could delve deeper into his tryst, the red Honda Accord pulled up next to them. The driver’s door swung open, and time seemed to slow down as the woman stepped out of the vehicle as if she was on a photo shoot. Her black stiletto heel touched the pavement and she rose to her full five-foot-six-inch height, allowing everyone to drink in her beauty. Black suede boots encased her smooth, peanut butter–colored skin all the way up to her thick, sculpted thighs, which glistened with oil all the way up to the edges of her short, ripped jean shorts. Her waist seemed to disappear between wide hips and large melons weighing down the fabric of her white spaghetti-strap top. It was evident she wore no bra because her nipples were eagerly trying to get a glimpse of everything around them. Her juicy lips were coated in lip gloss and shined like the chrome rims on Reece’s Porsche. Her auburn colored hair was cut in a sharp bob style that was Reece’s weakness.
Reece quickly stepped in, wrapped his arm around the woman’s slim waist, and presented her to his crew. “Brothers, this is my new lady,” he said, staking claim to the bombshell. “Her name is Destiny. Destiny, these are my brothers. This is Doe, and this is Qwess.”
“Qwess? That name sounds familiar . . .” Destiny whispered to herself. “Wait! You’re Qwess, the rapper?”
Qwess took a slight bow. “In the flesh. Rapper, producer, CEO, etcetera.”
“Ahhh, I should’ve known,” Destiny stated flatly. She glanced at Reece with a dejected expression. “The dreads, the Porsche . . .” She shook her head. “I should’ve known.”
“Is there a problem?” Reece asked.
“Problem? Uhhh, yeah,” Destiny retorted. She looked down at the business card she had been clutching since Reece had given it to her just a few minutes ago. “King Reece,” she repeated, reading the card. “So, you’re part of the infamous Crescent Crew?”
“Of course,” Reece answered, barely able to contain his smile. He knew this deal was closed now. Most women flocked to the Crescent Crew like birds to bread. He figured he would have her limbs up by nightfall now for sure.
Destiny shook her head emphatically. “Oh, noooo, I can’t even get involved with you. I heard about you guys.”
“I hope it was the good parts,” Qwess quipped.
Destiny extended the business card back to Reece. “Um, Reece, I’m sure you’re a really nice guy. For real. But I’m not going to waste your time or mine. From what I’ve heard, you’re definitely not my type of guy.”
“Hold up now,” Reece objected. “You don’t seem like the type to feed into hearsay. I took you as a smart woman. Let me holla at you over here for a minute.”
Reece pulled Destiny away from the others and lowered his voice to just above a whisper, kicking the smooth game he was known for. “Listen, Destiny, don’t let what you hear stop you from what could be your namesake,” he pleaded.
“My namesake?”
“Yeah,” Reece said. “I’m talking about your destiny. This thing right here is bigger than the both of us. Let’s stop all this beating around the bush and go on with our original plans. That way, if you choose to indulge in the he say/she say, you can at least have my perspective in the matter. Feel me? No one can speak for me better than me. And we can at least do it over a nice meal—my treat,” he added, flashing his million-dollar smile.
Destiny crossed her arms and gnawed on her bottom lip while contemplating his offer. Reece didn’t miss one second to admire her, either. Even the way she pouted was cool and sexy to him. He was smitten. He had to have her.
“Well?”
Destiny smirked. “Okay, King Reece, I’ll give you a shot, but if anything happens to me, you will regret it.”
Reece dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Knock it off. The only thing in danger is that thing right there.” He pointed to her chest.
“What? My breast?”
“Nah, shorty, your heart. I’m going to steal it,” Reece vowed.
Destiny blessed Reece with a genuine smile. She was impressed.
“Well, I have somewhere to be, Reece.”
“Of course.” Reece rushed to hold the door open for De
stiny. He helped her get into her Honda safely, then stared at her as she adjusted herself inside the safety belt. Destiny looked up at Reece and fell into his dark eyes. Right there in the parking lot, both of their hearts skipped a beat.
After Destiny made her exit, Reece joined his brethren inside the steakhouse for this important meeting Qwess had called. While they waited for their meals, Reece kept the conversation light with the blow-by-blow from his threesome.
“Aww, man, the bitch licked my ass so good I started calling her Charmin,” Reece joked, referring to Vanilla.
Doe frowned. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in the graphic details. Qwess just laughed. Meanwhile Reece continued, “Yo, on the real, though, the broad had me feeling like I was a bitch. If I would’ve known it was like that, I would’ve pulled that a looong time ago.”
“I heard shorty was freaky,” Qwess cut in. “I just never got a chance to find out. And she was choosing hard,” he added, recalling the time Vanilla had caught him in Walmart.
“Man, y’all niggas goin’ get enough of fucking with them gold-digging hoes,” Doe warned.
“NIGGA!” Reece exclaimed, a little too loudly, apparently, because the other patrons were now looking at them. Reece lowered his voice just a bit and dropped game. “All hoes after money, Doe. With a name like Doe you should know. Oh, shit, I’m rhyming again,” Reece joked. “Seriously, though, that’s what you don’t understand yet. You be thinking ’cause a bitch don’t live in the hood, or because she talk proper, she ain’t a gold digger. Man, them the biggest ones! It’s just them cornball-ass niggas raised the price of pussy so high, a regular nigga can’t afford it.”
Qwess nodded in agreement. “Yo, he ain’t lying, D. Bitches thinking they entitled to money ’cause they cute.”
“Sheeeit, I’m a handsome mu’fucka myself!” Reece said, more to himself than anyone else.
Street Rap Page 2
