She Gave Her All to the Hood’s Finest 3

by Shvonne Latrice

  Once dressed, I took him down to the kitchen to give him one of his bottles filled with that titty milk, while I had a bowl of cereal. I took a seat on the couch and had him in his little baby recliner shit right next to me.

  “Oh my gosh, when did you guys get up?” Camarih walked in, wearing a tiny ass robe. “Houston.” She snapped me from my freaky ass thoughts of her. We had about two more weeks of this dry spell shit before I could fuck, and I felt like I was losing my shit, on God.

  “Why you got that little shit on?” I frowned as she walked over, leaning down to kiss Baby Cuz.

  “It’s my robe. I always wear it.” She smirked connivingly. “Stop!” She screeched when I grabbed a handful of her ass.

  “Come here.” I put my bowl on the coffee table and brought her down into my lap.

  “What?” She half smiled, straddling me.

  “I just want a hug.”

  “No you don’t, Houston.” She laughed as I wrapped my arms around her body, feeling on that ass and kissing her neck. “Stooopp!” She giggled as I continued to feel on her.

  Just then, I felt something slightly warm hit me, and I looked down to see my son’s bottle had rolled off onto the couch.

  “For real, cockblockin’ ass? How the fuck you think you got here?” I tapped his little ass nose as Camarih cheesed.

  I kissed her jawline, wanting to do way fucking more, but I couldn’t.

  “What is this?” Camarih touched the bandage on my neck.

  “Peel it back.”

  Slowly she did, and her jaw lowered slightly at the sight of her name inscribed on my neck. I’d just gotten the shit yesterday evening, so when I came home, her ass was knocked out.

  “Is this real?”

  “Real as this shit right here.” I pecked her even though her lips were still parted.

  She covered her mouth to stare down into my eyes for a little longer, and when I moved them, she was smiling. Soon after, tears had filled her eyes.

  “What if I leave you?” She sniffled.

  “I’ll just murk you.” I shrugged before we both sniggered. “You so fucking corny, man.” I thumbed her tears. “Beautiful ass.”

  She got up to get her phone and then took a picture of my new tattoo. I knew she was gon’ post that shit on her story or something because females posted everything on there.

  Baby Cuz and I chilled with Camarih while she ate, then we had some real nigga alone time while she bathed, brushed her teeth, and got dressed. By the time she was done and had her shit set up to make products and work, it was time for me to dip out.

  I went to run some errands, and then I had a business meeting that was luckily gon’ be over the phone with Paramount Recording Company. They were happy as fuck, opening their wallets even more now that I’d gotten the five artists they’d requested, one of them being well established. So now that more funds were available, I’d purchased some more real estate, one being a new office space for my company.

  The studio was cool, but I wanted to have somewhere I could work and hold meetings where I didn’t have to drown out niggas recording next door. Not to mention, the studio only had rooms to record in, and the spot I had been using for my office didn’t look professional at all. Shit was cool before, but now that I was bringing in a little under $350,000 a month, I had to do better.

  As bad as it was, muthafuckas judged you by shit like that; it was human nature. They’d much rather break bread and close deals with a nigga who had an actual office than a muthafucka taking meetings in a studio room with water cases and leftover equipment everywhere.

  “Mr. Terranova, how are you?” Victor, the CEO of PRC, answered his phone happily.

  This nigga was rich as shit, clearing seventeen million a fucking year. That was some goals for me at the moment, but by the time I got to be his age, I was gon’ be a fucking multi-billionaire.

  “’Sup. What did you wanna speak to me about?”

  “Well firstly, I got your email about more funds for video shoots, and that’s no problem. I just need a priority list. Let me know which artists are the best, and that’s who we wanna put most of the money toward.”

  “I got you. I know you ain’t have me call you for that bullshit, right? You could’ve sent that in an email.”

  “No, of course not. I know you asked me if I had any recommendations for an assistant, and basically someone to be able to handle certain things for you when you can’t. I have someone.”

  “Who?” I stroked my beard, waiting.

  Work had become overwhelming as fuck. Long gone were the days when I could manage my email on my own and keep track of every fucking thing. I needed somebody to do all that small shit so I could focus on the bigger picture. Not to mention, I had a kid and wasn’t about to be spending hours sending emails and other menial shit like a bitch while he grew up with only his mama.

  Speaking of his mama, I wanted to spend time with my girl, travel, or something—do some nice shit for her for having my baby. And lately, I could barely take her ass to dinner without my phone blowing up over some dumb shit.

  “Her name is Alejandra Jenkins.”

  “Is she Hispanic or Black?”

  We laughed.

  “Both; Afro-Latin, I just don’t know from which part. Anyhow, she’s very smart, on her toes, and she has a background in music.”

  “Aight. Give her my information or some shit so we can set up a meeting. I wanna feel her out first, make sure she ain’t no skeezer.”

  “Sure, and what exactly is a skeeter?”

  “Them two different things, Vic.” I laughed at his out of the loop ass. “And if you doing yo’ bitch right, you should know what a skeeter is.”

  “Hmm.” He pondered.

  “Hit me with the update.” I deaded the line before focusing back on my computer.

  I felt a presence about fifteen minutes later, and when I looked to my left, I saw my cousin Carter’s bitch ass.

  “You busy?” he inquired, walking further into the studio room. I said nothing because that question was pointless as fuck to me. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what?” I offered a sullen look, already knowing it was some shit I didn’t give a fuck about.

  “So I know you heard about Joy.”

  “Nigga, get to the fucking point. I don’t pay attention to what be going on with these hoes unless their asses is making me some fucking money.”

  “She’s in the hospital. She took a lot of pills and stuff. Her homegirl told me when I saw her at Krispy Kreme, so I went to visit her.”

  “Carter, why the fuck is you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m letting you know that umm…” he briefly looked off before regaining eye contact with me, “that she’s done with whatever y’all had now.”

  “Bruh, if you don’t get the fuck out my studio ’fore I shoot yo’ ass. I got a whole ass girlfriend plus a fucking baby, and you coming up in here thinking I’m worried about that bitch? I wasn’t worried about her ass when I was beating them cheeks. Fuck would I be thinking about her now for? Stop with that dumb shit or you gon’ piss me off, on everything I love.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He rose up. “I’m just letting you know not to expect to double back.”

  “Double back?” I grinned as I leaned back in my chair, staring up at his stupid ass. “Oh, you gon’ start fucking with that hoe, huh?”

  “It don’t matter. Just know she done with you.”

  I’d been telling this nigga he could fuck Joy for the longest. I truly didn’t care, but I could tell he brought his snakeskin lip ass up here to try to throw the shit in my face. Like Joy, this nigga felt deep down that I gave a fuck about her ass, and my words saying otherwise was just that—words. But since he wanted to come through here on some bullshit, I was gon’ give it right back.

  “Oh, she done?” I stood since he was standing too.

  “Yep.”

  “So you don’t think if I rolled up to her hospital room she wouldn
’t suck my dick without me even asking?” I laughed, lighting my pre-rolled blunt when I saw his nose flare. “Why you think she took them pills, muthafucka?”

  “She’s depressed.”

  “Depressed over this dick.”

  “Watch how you talk about her, nigga.”

  “Or what? Let me guess, you gon’ whoop my ass?” I inhaled on the blunt. “Nah, I ain’t think so. What you need to do is take yo’ bitch ass on somewhere ’fore you end up in the room next to that hoe you gettin’ swole in the chest for. In my fucking studio trying to low-key floss with a bitch whose face I nutted on.”

  “Whatever, nigga.” He waved me off. “She mine now.”

  “Good. Make sure you keep her thirsty ass occupied so she can leave me the fuck alone. And be happy my family means more to me than bitching yo’ ass out, ’cause if it didn’t, next time you visited that hospital room, I’d be deep in that hoe’s guts while she gripped that IV stand.”

  Like I wanted, the nigga ran up, and I cracked him dead in his shit using my left hand. My right was occupied with the blunt, but both these muthafuckas worked.

  Nose already bleeding, Carter came back at me just as I ashed my shit, so I hit him with another one, way harder since it was my right. He slumped to the floor, and I waited for him to get his ass up, but he was knocked the fuck out I realized. A nigga was just getting started.

  Stupid bitch got me excited thinking I was about to finally beat a nigga’s ass, which I hadn’t done in a minute, just to pass out like a hoe.

  Scooping him up from under his arms, I dragged him out the room and down the hallway, before laying him outside. I had somewhere to be later and wasn’t about to wait for this hoe nigga to wake up.

  I locked my shit, while keeping an eye out for my surroundings, and then hopped in the whip to pull off. Less than fifteen minutes later, I was parking in front of this barbershop I frequented off Crenshaw.

  I never let another muthafucka cut my hair, only Rob.

  “Hey, I thought you stood me up!” Angel smiled, waving me down as she switched up to me looking like a fucking hooker.

  I initially wasn’t interested in her ass, despite how good she sang, but with the way Nala was starting to remind me of Joy, I needed a backup bitch who had some chops on her. So just in case I had to kick Nala’s ass to the curb, I wouldn’t lose out on a female singer. And shit, if I ended up keeping both their asses, it was more money for a nigga.

  “I told you this was business. Why the fuck wouldn’t I show up? And why you dressed like that?”

  “Well you told me when I go out, to be dressed so I could get used to looking my best every time I left the house.”

  “Yeah, but on some normal shit. You got on fucking club clothes.”

  “My bad.” She gave me a soft smile.

  Angel was cute, dark skin, long ass pretty hair, and a cool smile. Her personality was off though; too fucking high and mighty.

  “Anyway, I told you we needed to get started working on yo’ appearance. Most shit a stylist, hair bitch, and a makeup muthafucka can fix, but some shit you gotta do on yo’ own. The main two things that need extra attention are yo’ body and yo’ hairline.”

  “What? My body is slim!”

  “It is, but you got a gut some fucking how.”

  “No I don’t. It’s just the clothes I be wearing and—”

  “Well the last time I saw you seated, yo’ stomach was sitting in yo’ fucking lap like an extra person. So whatever the fuck you think the reason is, I don’t care. Go on a diet, exercise, or wrap the shit up in saran wrap, but don’t have that spare tire visible come time for photo shoots and appearances.”

  “Yes, umm, okay.”

  “Now, we here because the nigga who cuts my hair, Rob, is gon’ hook you up—”

  “I can’t cut my hair!”

  “Ain’t nobody said shit about cutting yo’ fucking hair. You need a muthafuckin’ line up.”

  This was the first female I’d ever seen that required a shape up like a nigga, but she was in desperate fucking need.

  “I—”

  “Rob is good. He do my shit all the time.” I started walking into the barbershop, and she followed behind. A few niggas greeted me, and I returned the gesture. Others I ignored because I didn’t know them muthafuckas.

  “Tony Wacko!” Rob grinned, walking his old ass over to me to slap hands. “I didn’t know you was coming by. Your hair still looks good, boy.”

  “Thanks, but this shit is for her. Line her ass up for me.” I waved Angel over, who was hesitant but eventually came to sit in the chair.

  “A woman?” Rob surveyed her in the chair, face squished.

  “Her fucking hairline is all over the place. And make sure you get the back of her neck. She got some cool ass hair, but the nape is like boiled taco meat.”

  Chuckling, Rob nodded as I peeled off some cash and a tip to cover it.

  “Wait, you’re not gonna stay?” Angel called after me as I started off.

  “It’s in your lap,” was all I said, pointing from afar.

  Looking down, she quickly covered her gut with her purse just as Rob put the cape on her ass.

  Isis

  I swayed my body to “10 Bands” by Joyner Lucas as it boomed from the large speakers spread all over the club.

  I was at work, which was being a dancer at The Pink Cherry. It was fairly new, which was good for me because I didn’t have to worry about competing with different bitches over niggas they’d been shaking ass for, for years. The old club I worked at, I couldn’t anymore once I got pregnant with my son, and when I tried to come back, my boss told me my position had been filled.

  As I leaned up against the bar in the dark venue, I spotted a group of niggas across the way in one of the more expensive VIP areas. From my time being here, I’d learned that getting to dance in one of those sections meant big money for a lady working here.

  The Pink Cherry was a pretty upscale strip club, so most of the men that came through here had nice healthy bank accounts, but we did get the occasional broke niggas rocking fake chains and watches, trying to floss with their mama’s mortgage money.

  Taking down my double shot of tequila, I closed my eyes, letting the liquor flow through me as Joyner Lucas rapped at an extremely fast pace. Knowing I wasn’t about to throw up from the taste of the liquor, I strutted across the club, keeping it sexy just in case any of the men were watching. It was hard to see exactly.

  “Hold up.” The bouncer, Jacob, stopped me.

  “How you know they don’t want me in here?” I folded my arms.

  “Give them a second to get their bottles and then I will ask,” he told me.

  I stepped off to the side, and now that I could see better, I realized that the niggas in the section were that rapper Eitan, a few other niggas, the guy who always produced his records, and then none other than Tony Wacko.

  I smirked seeing the latter gentleman. He was dressed nice, in jeans that fit well, not too tight or baggy, and a white polo that was the perfect size as well. It showed how nicely built he was but wasn’t clinging to him. Tattoos covered his arms, hands, neck, and even the sides of his eyebrows. Nigga was fine as hell, looking like a freshly dipped caramel apple with facial hair and tatts.

  I had definitely heard of Tony Wacko, and well before my ex bestie became his baby mama. He was known for being crazy as hell, fine, and willing to slap a bitch or nigga up if he got out of line. Nigga was gun happy too.

  He was every girl’s dream that fantasized about being with a hood nigga because he was a pure bred one. He was nothing like the gangstas they put on television or in these movies; he was the real deal, and hoes loved it. I might have been on his ass too had I not been wrapped up in stupid ass Prince.

  And Tony Wacko was ignorant but an intelligent hood nigga. It was rare you found dudes with his demeanor that didn’t talk like they dropped out of school in the third grade and didn’t see pushing weight as their forever income. Nobody rea
lly knew exactly what he did to make money, but it was a sure thing that he was far from broke, had property somewhere, and was big on investing his money.

  “You trying to get in there too?” A girl named Frida stepped off to the side near me. I guess Jacob had told her the same shit he’d said to me.

  “I am.”

  “Man, if we get to dance for them, when I’m done, I’m clocking out. I won’t need to do little ass lap dances around the club.” Frida kept her eyes on the men in the section who were popping bottles, rolling up, and making loud ass conversation.

  “Shit, me neither if we’ll make that much.”

  “Right. And maybe I can get some dick too.” She licked her lips, only looking my way for a split second, before focusing back on them.

  “Which one?”

  “Hmmm.” She cocked her head, thinking. Frida was a pretty Black Mexican girl. She was short and wore a long blonde wig for some reason. She was tiny in her build too, but she knew how to work it and that pole. “I think Eitan would be easier, so most likely him. I would love to fuck Wacko, but he’s rude as fuck I heard and may turn me down. A bitch got too much pride for that.”

  “For real.” I chuckled, eyeing him.

  “As for that producer nigga, I feel like he’d be trying to marry me or make me be with him if I let him fuck.”

  “I can definitely see that. He seems like the super monogamous type.” My eyes ran amuck over Raqim or Rahim, whatever his damn name was. He was a good-looking guy, but I agreed with Frida; he seemed like he didn’t dabble in hoes.

  “But I know Wacko’s dick is good. Crazy niggas always got some good dick. And any nigga that talks to you the way he does, only does it because he knows that dick is so good, you’ll still fuck with him,” Frida explained in an animated fashion, making it hilarious.

  “Maybe you should try then,” I suggested, thinking this would be a nice little gift to Camarih who was probably at home, still bleeding from giving birth.

  I didn’t even see how they came together. Camarih was a firecracker, but she was also nice and sweet. How she ended up with a crazy, rude nigga was beyond me. I could see why she liked him; all good girls liked the worst niggas, but why he wanted her threw me. She was beautiful, but there were a lot of pretty women in the world, plenty who were interested in him, so that couldn’t have been it.