She Gave Her All to the Hood’s Finest 3

by Shvonne Latrice

  “Nah, she didn’t. I don’t associate with that bitch ever since she lied on me and broke us up.”

  “Oh my gosh, Phillip!” I exclaimed. Niggas would lie until their dying day. “Give it up! You fucked her, and that baby she’s walking around with is yours!”

  “No I didn’t, and no it ain’t. That bitch always wanted what you had and knew you would believe this bullshit.”

  “Right, sure. She jeopardized our friendship by making up a whole lie.” I nodded, and Prince raised his brows as if he were saying ‘exactly’. “She told me that you paid somebody to kill Driz.” I got right to it, making him choke on his liquor.

  I didn’t make one move or attempt to assist him as he turned to lean over his sink, giving himself the Heimlich. He panted heavily once he’d saved his own life, then rinsed his mouth before turning to look my way again.

  “You was just gon’ let me fucking die!”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “Is what she said true?”

  “What? No! I didn’t even know that nigga or you!” As he talked, he massaged the back of his neck like he always did when he was lying. “What?” He frowned since I was staring at him.

  “You did do it.” I rose up slowly, and even though he was bigger than me, his facial expression was dripping with fear.

  “No I didn’t! I told you I didn’t even know him!” His voice was high pitched as he watched me round the counter to come closer to him.

  “Yes you fucking did!”

  “Camarih!” He shouted when I grabbed the knife from the wooden holder and charged him. “You crazy ass bitch!” He roared after I had rammed the knife into his shoulder. “Ahhhh, fuck!” He doubled over in pain. “You kill me and you going straight to jail. You never gon’ see that baby again.” He spoke through labored breaths as blood seeped through the fingers of the hand gripping his shoulder.

  “You’re a coward.” I pressed the tip of the knife to his neck, watching him freeze up at the feeling. “You knew I would never leave a man like Driz for you, so you had to go about things like only a little ass boy would. And look, now you still don’t have me. I never loved you either. I knew you were a bridge to someone else, someone better than you, and I was right.

  Now I’m with Tony, and you wouldn’t dare try to have him taken out. You’re too soft.”

  “Yeah I fucking could, I—” He stopped talking when he realized he’d admitted to what I was accusing him of.

  “No, you couldn’t. You may have been able to rally up some people to kill Driz, but you won’t be able to with Tony.” I chuckled, making him angrier.

  That was one of the good things about having a nigga that everybody knew was off in the head. It was highly unlikely that someone would try him.

  “Camarih, please call 911,” Prince whimpered.

  “Shut up.” I shoved him, making him cry out loudly. I knew that shoulder hurt because I’d plunged as deeply as possible. “Know that you will die and soon.” I rinsed the knife off before taking it with me. I didn’t want his whack ass trying to use it for anything.

  I wanted to just kill him right now, but I wasn’t prepared, and that was how people got caught.

  “If you kill me, you better kill that best friend of yours too. That bitch gave me y’all location the night of.”

  His words caused me to stop walking and stare at him.

  I didn’t know why I kept letting Isis surprise me, when it was obvious her ass was as shady as they came.

  “No,” was all I could say as I thought back to that night when I told Isis where I was going and when I was on my way home. I thought nothing of it because, as best friends, we always randomly asked what the other was doing.

  “Fuck! This shit hurt! Call the fucking ambulance!” He hollered through tears, but I left his ass right there.

  He’d be fine, and I wanted him to suffer a little bit before I figured out how to get him killed. I wanted to do this on my own, but I knew I might have to ask Tony. I was sure if I got some other man to help me, he would be pissed.

  He told me when we first got together that I was never supposed to go to another man for something, and I was sure this was included. I was conflicted, however, because he had a record and had been messed with a few times by the police, so I didn’t need him getting caught up in my shit. Plus, would he even help? I was avenging my old man’s murder, and Tony was my new man.

  All these thoughts plagued my mind as I drove to the nail shop. I got the white on my toes redone, and then for my ugly, short nails, I let Grace do some pretty pink design. I hurried home, which was now much farther away, and couldn’t wait to see my baby and boyfriend.

  When I walked in, Tony came from the kitchen, sipping something from a glass with one hand, while holding Houston with his other arm. They looked exactly the same. It was just my baby had a chubby face and no facial hair or tattoos obviously.

  Tony was shirtless, looking like a tall sexy ass caramel macchiato, with tattoos adorning his body. He wore gray sweats on bottom half, and some royal blue Crenshaw socks.

  “Look.” I put my foot out to show him. He just stared at me, no expression at all as he took another gulp.

  “Where was you?” He set the cup on the counter. The environment was eerie.

  “The nail shop, see.” I flashed my hands with an awkward chuckle.

  “Nah, because about thirty minutes after you bounced, me and Baby Cuz drove over that way, and yo’ ass wasn’t in there.” As he talked, he moved closer to me, his cologne becoming more and more prevalent.

  “You must’ve gotten there before me, Houston.” I almost stuttered but didn’t, thank God. My neck was hurting from staring up at him, and it seemed like my little baby was looking down at me too, suspiciously it felt like.

  Only chuckling subtly, he went to place our son in his bed swing.

  “Come here, Camarih.”

  “I have to cook.”

  “Camarih, bring yo’ ass over here. I’m already hot as fuck.” His handsome mug was twisted all up, so slowly I went his way. “Tell me where the fuck you was. And I swear to God if you say you was at the fucking nail shop, we gon’ have a huge fucking problem.”

  “I went to see Prince, but don’t worry, it’s not what you think!”

  “I know it ain’t what the fuck I think. You ain’t stupid. You know damn fucking well I’d kill y’all both.” He frowned, almost like he was insulted by me thinking that he’d believe I’d cheat on him with the likes of Prince. “Why the fuck you was over there?”

  “My old best friend, she revealed to me that Prince was behind my ex dying, so—”

  “Wait.” Tony sat down, bringing me into his lap. I turned to straddle him. “Prince, the singing ass nigga?”

  “I know, right, but he paid some people to do it.”

  “Them niggas had beef?”

  “Absolutely not. Driz didn’t even know him. Prince just wanted to be with me, so he…” I shrugged. Tony looked off for a few moments, brows dipped like he was puzzled.

  “You saying this nigga put a hit out on yo’ man at the time to get with you? That’s what the fuck you saying?”

  “That’s what she told me, and when I asked him, he kind of admitted it.”

  “So that’s why this shit happened.” He opened his phone and showed me a major blog had reported that Prince was in the hospital due to a stabbing.

  “Yes.”

  It got quiet before we both burst into laughter.

  “You really my girl.” He sat back, looking sexy as ever, so I snaked my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his.

  “I know. I called someone a hoe the other day, and it felt good.”

  “See, I told yo’ ass.”

  We chuckled in unison before kissing again.

  “Stay away from that nigga, Camarih. He a bitch, but he off, and if he touch you, I’m gon’ nut the fuck up, on some real shit.”

  “But I can’t let him just go on—”

  “We not.” He gave me a
look. “I just don’t want you doing this shit by yo’self.”

  “You’d help me, even though it’s for Driz?”

  “Who yo’ nigga?”

  “You.”

  “Aight then, so I don’t give a fuck about all that other shit. As long as my dick is the only one in yo’ guts, I’m straight. Plus, I don’t like cuz.”

  “Thank you.” I hugged him tightly, and he reciprocated, which always felt good.

  “Even if that nigga Driz was still alive, you’d still be fucking with me.”

  “I think so too.”

  “Nah, you know so.” He nodded seriously as I smirked.

  “Okay, let me go cook.”

  “Aye, wait.” He started sucking my neck while squeezing my butt with his large hands. “Let me get some head while homie is sleep.”

  “Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed, pushing him away from the crook of my neck.

  Getting out of his lap, I turned the baby’s swing to face the other way and then got to work.

  4

  Rahim

  The very next day… a little after 3 p.m.…

  I was meeting up with my lawyer this afternoon so that we could discuss this damn divorce. Over the past few weeks or so, I’d been acting like I wanted the same thing Amara did, even telling her so due to my broken pride, but I was lying.

  I wanted to stay married and was scared of how life was gon’ be without her, especially since she had my daughter in another state with her. I already didn’t see Ahmira that much, so now that shit had hit the fan between her mama and I, I was sure that shit was gon’ be even less.

  Ahmira wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want a divorce though; I loved Amara. Being by myself for these past few weeks made me realize what I’d done. I was beyond regretful, and knowing that I couldn’t go back in time to reverse my mistakes kept me up most nights. The bright side to that though was that I used the insomnia to work, so I had plenty beats for Make A Killing’s artists.

  On the flip side, a part of me missed Shanece. Even though I wished I hadn’t gone as far with her or Phoebe’s weak ass, I couldn’t say I didn’t enjoy my time with her. If I hadn’t been married to Amara, she and I could’ve really done some shit now that her husband was dead. I felt wishy-washy as hell and didn’t know why.

  “Mr. Cambridge.” A young light-skinned guy came out of his office into the waiting area.

  “Jordan Free?” I turned my lip upward, sizing him up as I got out of my seat.

  “Yes sir. Come on back.” He shook my hand then waved for me to follow him.

  When we got into his spacious office, I said, “How old are you? I was kind of expecting someone older when I read your bio online.”

  Jordan sat down, laughing, not appearing to be bothered in the slightest by my comment.

  “I’m thirty-eight years old.” He sat back. “That’s why I don’t post my picture, only my resume.”

  “You don’t look thirty-eight, but still, that’s pretty young to have the experience of a lawyer I think I need.”

  “That’s understandable, but I’ve been handling divorces for a while, and I’ve never had an unsatisfied client.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Remember, you came to me, so you must’ve been impressed by what you read.”

  “You right.” I nodded, and he gestured for me to take a seat across from him.

  “We spoke a bit through email, and I was able to get in contact with your wife’s lawyer to find out what she wants from this. As you know, she’s in law herself, so she’s pretty much aware of any loopholes and just what she can get from you.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  He laughed.

  Opening a beige folder, he stated, “She wants alimony and a percentage of your royalties from the songs you’ve produced and will produce while married to her. Meaning, any songs in the past and songs you create while the divorce is in process; she wants fifty percent, by the way. Once over, any music after that, the royalties will be all yours.”

  “Wait, nah. We had a prenup; don’t that count for something?” I perked up. I figured Amara would be willing to separate more amicably. Giving her a percentage of my royalties wasn’t gon’ work for me, especially not 50 percent.

  “It usually would, but in the prenup here, it says that it’s voided if there is infidelity on either part.”

  “Then help me out and say I wasn’t unfaithful.”

  “Remember, I said your wife is in law, Mr. Cambridge, so she has evidence to prove you were being unfaithful.

  Also, a Phoebe Holden, your apparent mistress has agreed to provide more evidence if needed and testify in court if it has to go that far.” Jordan read off a paper in his files.

  “You gotta be fucking joking.” I snickered angrily, massaging the bridge of my nose.

  Every day that went by, I was reminded more and more of how bad of a decision it was to start fucking with Phoebe. That bitch was legit ruining my life in any way possible. If only I was psycho like the homie Tony Wacko, then I’d have the gall to murk her ass.

  “I wish I was. Now, I think it’s best that we work with what we can. Your wife means business, so we must play nicely. If you agitate her, she’s only going to go harder, and right now, she has the upper hand.”

  “Then what the fuck am I hiring you for?”

  “To be sure that you get to keep enough of your money to benefit from your hard work, Mr. Cambridge. You go in this with no representation against basically two lawyers, and you will be living royalty check to royalty check while she’s very comfortable.

  Now I think we need to crunch some numbers for the alimony, as well as what percentage of your royalties would be okay with you to give away, then try to get fifty-fifty custody in order to keep you from paying too much child support, or any at all.”

  “Cool.” I nodded, watching him pull out some forms and more pens so we could get started. “I’m gon’ be honest; I don’t want a divorce. So since you know how all this shit goes, you got any advice? I’m sure some of yo’ clients have rekindled and reneged on the divorce proceedings.”

  “That has happened, yes. As far as advice, I would say to play nice, like I stated prior. If you play hardball, it will make her hate you even more, lessening your chance at any type of reconciliation.”

  “Thanks. I think I will maybe hold off on all of this then and try to butter her up to see how that goes.” I smiled, but when he gave a certain look before nodding, I asked, “What?”

  “In my experience, when the woman is as calm as Amara, she’s done, if I’m being honest. When I got on video chat to speak with her and the lawyer, she was very relaxed, didn’t come off bitter, and was almost anxious for me to get in contact with you to start.

  Usually when I see couples come back together, they have so much animosity and anger toward each other because the fire is still burning. She just didn’t appear to have that for you.”

  “Well I think I know her better than you, my nigga, so like I said, I will hold off on this process.” I shot up from the seat.

  “Understandable. If and when you’re ready, give me a call so you can come down and we can handle this. If not, then I’m happy you were able to get your wife back.”

  I said nothing as I left his office. He had me mad as fuck telling me how chill Amara was. I didn’t care what he said though; she loved me, and the fire would always fucking burn. I just needed to see her ass face to face.

  It was easy as hell for her to throw me to the side while over the phone, but I knew when I got in her presence, she would switch her tune with the quickness.

  In addition to that, she was pregnant, last time I checked, so she wasn’t about to go nowhere. I didn’t know what man would be interested in a female with a toddler and then a new baby growing in her stomach.

  As soon as I got into my car, I plugged my phone up to the charger and booked a flight and hotel in Las Vegas.

  When I came back, I was gone have 100 percent of my royaltie
s and my wife.

  Just to bring in some extra cash since I had a lot of beats on my computer due to my late nights, I’d agreed to work with a couple other artists. I made it clear to them though that Make A Killing and who was signed under them were priority.

  The first person was this singer named Cope. He wasn’t even that good of a vocalist in my opinion, but the nigga had a fan base and the bread to pay my fee, so I was gonna work with him.

  I guess his songs were just that good because he was nowhere near the niggas I thought of when someone mentioned a good male singer, yet he was successful.

  I got to his studio in far ass North Hollywood, hoping shit went smoothly. I wasn’t too used to working with new artists just yet, and I knew a lot of these niggas had huge ass egos. I wanted to go in here, get this shit done, hopefully, and collect the other half of my money. I wasn’t trying to babysit, fight, or be bossed the fuck around by some entitled muthafucka I didn’t know.

  “Who is it?” Someone spoke through the intercom.

  “Rahim. Rahim Cambridge. I’m here to work on the record with Cope.” I frowned, shaking my head. I was already annoyed with all this extra shit.

  The person didn’t respond and buzzed for me to open the door. Once in, I saw a lady who told me to go to the fifth room toward the back, so I did.

  “Oh, my bad, I thought this room was for Cope.” I squinted upon seeing a dark-skinned girl dressed in everything Chanel sold in their damn store. Her hair was in a short cut like Nia Long’s in Friday, and she was just as pretty as the actress, with her full lips covered in red lipstick. Her pretty ass toes were painted a light blue, which went well with her white heels.

  “This is the right room.” She tapped away on one of the two phones in her space, before putting them both to the side and standing. “I’m his manager, Dallas.” Her perfume hit me before she did. It was strong, but I didn’t mind.

  “Oh, I didn’t know he’d have you here.” I shook her hand.

  “I’m always around when there is business; I’m his manager. I like to feel the person out before he arrives, which is why you were told to come twenty minutes earlier.”