by Renta
Her lips were parted as her breathing came out in sexy short breaths with each rise and fall of her body. Tonya lifted and placed one hand on my chest as she bucked on top of me. I was on the verge of throwin’ that dick back when the strangest thing happened—
“Um—um—um—ohh, God, daddy, you want to bust in this pussy—huh?” she cried as she quickened her pace. My nut was surging through my body as I felt her waterfall pour down upon me in a gush of sticky pleasure. “Ohh!” she screamed.
I tried to get that nut outta me, but she’d stopped fuckin’ me. “Naw—keep going, baby, I’m almost there!” I growled.
But she merely stared down at me as I felt her hand slide from underneath the pillow. “Later for that, Goose,” she spat in contempt.
My heart instantly froze. ‘How the fuck she know my name?’ I thought as my mind lusted for the Glock .17, I had on the floor by my clothes, but the .40 aimed at my face made me disregard any rash decisions.
“So—what’s next, you’re gonna kill me or take me in, Detective Johnson?”
Surprise exploded over her face as she wondered how I found out what she hadn’t revealed to me, but it only lasted a brief moment. “I guess we both have secrets, huh?” She smiled a sad smile. “The difference is, Goose—” she put emphasis on my street handle. “—the difference is that my secret doesn’t have the FBI building a case on me for an 848 CCE and heading a murdering group of savages!” She’d dropped a bomb on me.
It was my time to be surprised. ‘What the fuck?’ I wondered.
She must have found my facial expression comical because she laughed as if I was the most pitiful thing. “Oh—him didn’t know him was on the big boy’s radar?” She mocked in an animated child’s voice. The bitch lifted off me—carefully. She kept the tool on me as she eased out of the bed. “Why though, Mark—” she paused before shaking her head as if to clear it of the name. “I mean, Bennie—Goose—what the fuck ever your name is!” she screamed. A storm converged in her eyes. “Just tell me why-why lie to me?”
Chapter Fifteen
Snake Bitch
~Twisted~
I had the lil’ pretty bitch bent ova the counter as I dug in that pussy like I owned it.
“Oh—Twisted, fuck—me!” she moaned in painful bliss.
I’d been fuckin’ wit’ lil’ one for a few weeks. I always knew she wanted to give me the pussy, but since she was from the other side, I kept my distance. Yet, the girl was persistent! One day the treacherous bitch pulled up on me at the club and dropped a bomb on me. She said she had some info that would put me a step ahead of my enemies. I thought the slut was tryin to play me.
“Bitch fuck you mean Assata and Pain—Pain ain’t amongst the living no more,” I growled, but even with the lights being dimmed, I could see the confusion on her face.
“I don’t understand—what you tryna say, nigga, I’m lying?” Marcella frowned.
The slut was either a great actress or she truly knew something I didn’t, so I downed my shot and repeated what I’d said. Marcella took it all in before the snake bitch put me on to how she’d been at the house when Pain had gotten sown up and even when B.G. had sent shots in Lovey’s spot. I thought the hoe had had one too many drinks when she let me, and Lil Ben take her to the tell. We blew the girl’s back out before takin’ turns bustin’ on her titties and face. Afterward, she told me everything she knew ‘bout them boys. She even put me on to how she and Pain fucked around every now and then. She told me that he had a tendency to spill his guts to her during pillow talk.
I laughed at the weenie ass nigga—I never understood why niggas got their dick wet and felt the need to tell a hoe their life story like the freak wasn’t gonna meet anotha nigga with some good dick. Females talked the most in three situations—when they’re emotional—at the beauty salon—or when they getting some good dick. When a boss all up in them guts, the hoe gonna repeat everything she’d been told!
I thought as the poisonous bitch gripped the counter with each stroke, I hit her wit. That monsta raged out of me as I pulled out and busted all ova Marcella’s ass cheeks. Just like the slut she was, she spun around, dropped to her knees, and wrapped her lips around my deflating manhood. She sucked and pulled on that mu’fucka until she got every drop.
I had to fight the lady off my shit. “Damn, bitch—what you tryna do?” I asked as I pulled my pants up and got myself together.
Marcella stood and pulled her dress down from around her waist before wiping her mouth and smiling. “Nigga, you know I’m trying to make us official. What, you thought I’m fuckin’ and suckin’ cause I’m a nympho or sumthin’?” the silly bitch asked.
I laughed in her face before I turned and walked off without entertaining what she already knew. We were at the trap on Ruth Street—Lil Ben and Krazy were in the living room playing Call of Duty on the PS4. I shook my head in disappointment—the niggas were so entranced with the game that if the reaper showed up at that moment, everybody in the spot woulda had a first-class ticket to the cemetery.
I snatched the blunt from between Lil Ben’s lips. “Damn, Loc, fuck you doing?” he demanded with a quick glance at me before turning his attention back to the game.
I laughed mildly, I had to be getting soft. The young cats of his era were fucked up, but I had the remedy—before anyone knew my intentions, I had the burna in my hands and aimed at the TV—Boc! Boc! I squeezed the trigga. The TV exploded as all three of them tensed. I heard rushed footsteps coming from the back room and just as my eyes found the startled expressions of Lil Ben and Krazy, my shoota Pac Man joined the party.
“You, niggas ‘round here playin’ games and getting high like this a mu’fuckin’ party or somthin’!” I gritted. “The big homie fightin’ for his life and our enemies after our head, but you, niggas rather kill niggas on a game!” I was on fire. All eyes were tuned in—fear, frustration, but most importantly, respect radiated from their stares. “Since you real good game playin’ ass niggas wanna play Call of mu’fuckin’ Duty—I’m callin’ y’all to duty! This bitch Marcella makin’ it official today. So, you niggas strap up and be ready!”
I turned to walk away, but just like the dumb hoe she was, Marcella had to tempt fate. “Damn, nigga, fuck you keep disrespectin’ me like that?” she demanded with attitude in her stance.
I paused before turning to face her—tension was thick as I strode ova to her. She stared at me defiantly, but I could sense the fear just behind the tough girl act. I lifted my hand—she flinched. I smiled and ran the back of my hand down her soft cheek.
“Disrespect you?” I asked with a crooked grin. “Aren’t you the same female that me and my nigga took turns fuckin’ a few weeks ago?”
Shawty rolled her eyes before slapping my hand away. “Fuck you, Twisted, you’re a hoe ass nigga!” she snapped.
I laughed in her face before turning and heading to the back room. Her words didn’t faze me cause they were the gospel—my mama told me I’d be a hoe ass nigga the first time I stole a few dollars out her pocketbook when I was a lil’ nigga. Since then, I made it big business to live up to that prediction, but even better—I had more pressing shit to tend to than tryin’ to remind a hoe that she was, in fact, a hoe.
‘Even when a prostitute becomes a devout Christian, she still had to pray for that freak that resided just beyond that Bible,’ I laughed at the thought.
****
~Assata~
I stripped out of my clothes until my dick swung free, and the ink that tainted my flesh was on full display. Snatching a pair of Gucci briefs out of the drawer, I turned and headed to the bathroom, but a fleeting thought made me double back to take the black and brown .380 from under my pillow. I checked to ensure the clip was full, and one was in the head. I couldn’t rationalize it, but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something fucked up was ‘bout to happen. I didn’t know when or what, but a man’s gut is his navigational system, and I trusted mine with every beat of my heart.
I turned at the sound of Jazzy entering the room—she’d been on some other shit for the past few days. She wasn’t fuckin’ with me, and the attitude that radiated from her body language told me she had some beef on her chest. Three days ago, she’d come home with some scratches on her face, her knuckles bleeding, and a busted lip. It was evident that she’d been in a scuffle, but I’d neva been the typa nigga to press a female for details.
“A woman could be a man’s realist confidant or his fakest ally—if she truly belonged to a particular man, she’d never keep secrets,” Lovey once told me that a real woman kept her castle clean so there was no need for a maid.
She’ll talk when she’s ready,’ I thought as Jazz huffed around the room yearning for a nigga to respond.
She was as naked as the day she was born—ass on fleek with a mouthful of titties that drooped just a bit to let a nigga know she had weight to ‘em. A few stretch marks complimented her waist, and the shit turned me on. She’d recently gotten my name tattooed across her lower back to let it be known she belonged to the Boss, and as she made up the bed, I could tell she was flexin’ on me by dry bending ova and shit. I flashed her a mouthful of diamonds before going ‘bout my B-I, I had to tend to my shit. I’d been absent from the streets way too long, and though I trusted my niggas to make sure my portion of bread was righteous, I knew money had a way of tempting the most loyal of men.
I stepped into the steam filled bathroom, laid the tool down on the ledge, and stepped into the glass encased shower. The water was almost scolding, but that’s how I rocked. I bowed my head under the shower nozzle—hot water poured over me in a cascade of streaming rain. My thoughts were everywhere as I reflected on everything that had transpired in the past six months. Lovey—I missed her with all my soul. I needed that advice—that love only a righteous black woman could give. As I wondered ‘bout the vision I had of her and Shy in that meadow, I didn’t know if it was the drugs I’d been exposed to or if there was a such thing as divine intervention.
Shy had said some shit that still didn’t make sense, but for some reason, my thoughts carried me to Pain’s call earlier that morning. He’d had me and Goose on three-way when he said he’d made plans to fuck with Marcella’s trick ass. Fam told us he didn’t feel right but didn’t think the hoe would try any funny business when she knew his get down. Goose asked the nigga why he’d even entertain a bitch his gut warned him ‘bout, but we both knew Pain and Marcella had been doin’ them for years. Pain had a hunger for snake bitches that I never understood, and Marcella was as serpentine as they came.
I had the same gut feeling Pain had, so I made a mental note to pull up where she wanted to meet. She wanted to go see the Christmas Parade they were having Downtown Fort. Worth, even though it would be crawling with boys in blue—I didn’t put nothin’ pass a baby snake. They bit and didn’t know the amount of venom to use to kill their prey—so they overkilled.
“So—you wanna fuck, Marcella, huh?” The glass door flew open.
I had to wipe the water out my face before my confused stare landed on Jazzy. She stood there fuming with her hair wild and curly. He gray eyes bore into mine as she bounced her left leg.
“Fuck you talmbout, fam?” I asked confused. ‘I wouldn’t fuck that bitch with an aids patient dick!’ I thought.
“Assata Lamar, answer my question—miss me with all the theatrics! That bitch threw it in my face how you was pushin’ up on her—ugh, Marcella, Satta?” she teared up before rolling her eyes. “Out of all the hoes that would fuck you just to say they did—why my homegirl, huh? I don’t deserve more respect than that?”
I picked up the towel and Gucci body wash, then squeezed a small mountain on the cloth. I began to lather up before lookin’ back at the crazy woman. “First off, at this point—I don’t know how much respect you deserve. You left me for a whole ‘notha nigga, Jazmina, remember?” I punctured her pride.
I could tell my words cut deep as she dropped her head to hide the shame that swam in her pretty eyes.
‘Fuck it, I can’t let her think she Gucci just cause we’re rockin again—that would open doors for her to think the shit was cooked, and she could fuck ova me and get away with it. Naw—naw, the next betrayal would cost everybody involved,’ I thought before giving my Queen the peace she needed. “Secondly, you know I’m way too ‘G’ to run up in one of ya potnas, Jazzy.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “You promise, Satta, you promise?” she whispered.
I didn’t even respond to that shit—my yes was my yes, and my no was my no. I reached out gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. I placed the lathered towel in her hand before placing it on what was swingin’ between my legs—she lifted my inches and cleaned my nuts.
“Jazzy, you have to know the nigga you commit yourself to without a shadow of a doubt, ma. There can never be longevity in a trustless relationship. When a man and his gal winning, even ya potna’s will do hoe shit to rob you of what should be sucka proof.”
She stared at me as she digested the diamonds, I was droppin’ on her. The slow strokes she used to purge my dick of any evidence of the past was awakening the beast in me.
“Betrayal is suicide, ma, and shouldn’t no otha nigga be able to game mine—push up—nor divide this shit. I ain’t tried, nor want to fuck Marcella’s punk ass, and if that’s who you squabbled—you out of line, my nigga.”
Heat instantly lit in her eyes as she stopped cleansing me. “Why? That bitch deserved that ass-whoopin'! What, you trying to protect the bitch, Assata?” she spat with a roll of her eyes. Dick on strong, I pulled her lil’ ass inside the steaming shower and closed the glass. “Boy stop—I’m not tryin’ to get my hair—” she was in the midst of sayin’ before I slid my tongue in her mouth.
A soft moan replaced her words before I broke the kiss and spun her around. “Shut the fuck up, Jazz, you outta line cause when a nigga run his dick in the next bitch—it ain’t her fault. It’s no such thing as accidentally fuckin’, just as a female can’t force yo’ nigga’s dick in her.” I slid deep inside shawty. She cried out as I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back with another thrust. “The same goes for a female, a bitch don’t just fall on anotha nigga’s dick—you know what that means?” I growled.
Jazzy’s pussy lips kissed my nuts as I buried myself inside her. “Whaa—what, baby, what does it mean?” she cried out as her lower lips hugged me.
“It means this pussy mine, and betrayal is unacceptable—promise me I won’t have to—shit—to damn, ma—” I was stroking that pussy feverishly. I released her hair and latched on to her waist as she left her prints on the fogged glass. She worked my dick like a boss bitch. “Promise I won’t have to put yo brains on anotha nigga’s pillow.” I bit down on her shoulder as a demon shot from my soul and entered her heaven.
“On, Ellen, bae—no—this yo—your pussy!”
****
~Pain~
~Four Hours Later~
I pulled the Jag up to the curb—I was late to the parade, but I wasn’t on nobody’s time, but mine. All morning my stomach had knots, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I just wasn’t feelin’ that parade shit. I’d just made up my mind to smash off and text the hoe Marcella when a knock on my passenger window made me reach for the Glock .17. Marcella stood with an irritated look on her face, but I paid the hoe no mind as I finished the blunt and put the clip in the astray. I stepped out of the whip and inspected one of the twenty-six-inch big heads the truck was squattin’ on. Through its reflection, I could see Marcella approaching from behind.
“Damn, Pain, why you always gotta be late to shit? You’re thirty minutes late!” she spazzed as I stood and faced her.
I allowed my eyes to roam for any signs of fuck shit, but the sounds of Christmas carols and the sight of police eased my apprehension. My eyes took her in—the lady was the sexiest reptile I’d ever laid eyes on. Her long hair had been hot combed bone straight but feathered out her mocha toned face. I
recognized the forest green wool Jeffery Dodd turtle neck dress I’d gotten her a year ago. It molested her curves until it opened and hid the knee-high snakeskin boots she wore. The Fleur du Mal trench coat she wore set the outfit perfectly.
“Some shit came up, Mami. What the bidness tho?” I allowed my eyes to tell her what she knew I wanted.
Marcella smiled a mischievous smile before grabbing my hand and leading me toward the long procession of joyful people singing Christmas carols. We were at the back of the spectators; we had a clear view of the parade, but we seemed to be in our own lil spot of seclusion. Downtown Fort. Worth was a contradicting contrast to the rest of the city. I knew that just beyond the outdated red brick building, neighborhoods such as the Bloody Stop Six, Eastwood, Poly, Riverside, Como, and the entire south side, were poverty-stricken and plagued by death, trap houses, and more death.
A noise from my left caused me to jump—I turned to investigate, but the bum dumpster diving for food or whatever he was looking for eased that gangsta shit in me. I eased my hand away from the Glock on my waist.
“Why yo’ scary ass so jumpy today?” Marcella asked as her eyes studied me peculiarly. Her eyes turned to the dirty man digging in the trash—shaking her head sadly, Marcella returned her attention to me. “That’s fucked up, I wonder—” her voice trailed off as my phone rung.
I looked at it and answered without taking my eyes off lil’ one. “What’s brackin’, Bleed?” I barked at Assata. The nigga had his music so loud he couldn’t hear me. ‘I hate when he do that shit!’ I fumed.
I heard the volume drop before fam barked back. “What’s toppin’, Rusta, where the fuck that hoe got you? I’m just pullin’ up, but it’s too many mu’fuckas out here.”
My spirit eased dramatically—my nigga was on deck, and I knew we’d die for each otha. I looked around to get a feel for where I was at, but Marcella’s posture caught my attention. She seemed fidgety—nervous! She slightly perspired and that set off alarms in my head. My mind automatically took me back to the day Tessa tried to clip me—the way the ese bitch was actin’.