by Brick
Dame gave his approval from behind me. “Trigga nigga, good look. Now pick that pussy up, and let’s roll out. I got better shit to do.”
“So we ain’t cappin the bitch?” one of the homies asked.
Nigga was sweating and shit, dick print visible, and it pissed me off. Sloppy killers always got caught and snitched, and this fool was just that type. He killed ’cause shit made his dick hard. Sewer-ass niggas like him always had to find some way to get his, and by the way he was sweating and shit, it looked like he needed to get him some molly too. Weak-ass niggas, I swear.
I yanked hard and lifted li’l shawty’s head to slam it hard against the floor, knocking her out easily. Then I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder, and locked eyes on Dame.
“Did I say cap that bitch yet? No, I didn’t. Let’s be out. Got uses for that pussy,” Dame said and walked out.
My eyes narrowed, I pulled my fitted down to shield my eyes, reached back to tuck my short locks into my hoodie, and pulled it over my head. As we walked out the apartment, I made a mental note to come back and holler at each broad and nigga in the complex that may have wanted to talk. Everyone knew that you didn’t fuck with Dame and you didn’t fuck with his product. This broad’s people had done just that. Never take from the hand that feed you. Feel me? That was a straight OG rule right there.
Throwing her in the back seat, I watched some of the niggas grab their dicks the moment li’l shawty’s legs fell apart and showed her pink panties. Typical-ass niggas. Pussy always on their minds no matter where they could get it. Me? Fuck that shit! My pussy knew where to stay and knew not to be fucked with outside of me. I stayed getting my dick wet, so being hungry for random pussy, especially fresh pussy, wasn’t even on my mind. My throne was on my mind.
My throne always equaled staying tight in the street, my money, my kills, and then pussy. Ain’t no order to that shit either.
“Ey yo, pretty boy Trigga, we got some shit ready for tonight for your day.” TooTight, another nigga in the crew, flashed his gold and laughed while watching me. “Li’l nigga going to get mad pussy and dough, right?”
Nigga always called me pretty boy, because of my brown skin. Broads stayed thirsty from that alone. They said I had eyes that look lined with eyeliner or some shit. I hated when they said that crap, but it always made their pussies wet at the same time. Said my brown skin looked like red clay and you know the broads loved my short locks and smile. They loved the way I licked my lips and rubbed my jaw too. So, yeah, a nigga was pretty to them. Always had me pullin’ pussy for Dame and the crew. Always. But TooTight’s words went over my head as he asked me again.
So, I said nothing. Why? Because I didn’t talk. But I did smirk and swipe at my nose, closing the door to the car behind me. Yeah, party was going to be swagged out, but I couldn’t give two shits about it really. I just wanted my cash and wanted to push more product. Was done with school, so I had to hit up my block on the regular now to push out Dame’s goods. Yeah, a nigga had his high-school diploma. I really don’t know why I cared about that, just reminded me of what my pops always put in my head, I guess. Either way, it kept me close to anyone that needed some dust, as well as our enemies on the street.
Climbing into the car, I dropped my head back as the other goon niggas started clapping at the mouth, talking ’bout dumb shit. This was the time I usually always go into my black box and pull out the teachings of my pops and one of the books on being a samurai that I found in his closet. But right now, that shit wasn’t even possible. Niggas kept talking, asking me about when I was going to get inked up.
I mean, I didn’t know how many fuckin’ times I had to tell them that shit wasn’t happening. I mean, I thought about that shit, but my mind was always ten steps ahead of niggas. What was the quickest way to be ID’d in the black streets of ATL? Ink. You got ink that stands out and shows, then how you gonna hide in the hood? Naw. I wasn’t going to do any visible shit, and if I did, you would have to get up on me to ID that shit. That wasn’t going to happen.
I sat back and just laughed as they asked me questions, like bitches.
“Yo, li’l homie is getting inked up just right tonight. My gift,” Dame said to us from the front.
Of course he would throw his weight around. Damn!
When Dame said something, it was law around the A, and since I didn’t feel like hearing that nigga’s mouth, I had to oblige. Now I had to think about how to do the shit smart. I mean, yeah, I had an idea of what kind of ink I wanted to get—something dealing with who I was—which made me smile inwardly. I knew getting a tat went against everything I’d just said, but I had to show loyalty to Dame’s word or he would start to fuck with me. It was all good though because I was a different kind of nigga. So, what I got would be something I drew—two shackles on my wrists with the chains disappearing into my veins. That was it. They’d think it was some hood shit. I didn’t care. It would be what I wanted it to be.
So the day came close to night, and li’l shawty started whimpering on my lap. We had run some product all the while she laid in the back of the ride tied up, blindfolded, and gagged. Every time I got in, I made sure to knock her out with a quick squeeze near her neck and behind her head, something I learned in my pop’s book that I had been practicing. Made shit easier in these situations, and I didn’t want another Band-Aid on the side of my eye.
The trap was thick with niggas and bitches in the streets. As we made it to Dame’s spot, we got out and flanked him, watching for any enemy that might try to get at dude. My fingers began to itch, which let me know we were being watched. The situation got so tense, it had me pacing with one hand in my pocket, and the other tugging on my fitted hat.
Behind me, I heard, “What you see, Trigga, nigga?”
I said nothing because I was in my zone. I’d learned how to listen to the streets long ago after being homeless and hiding from DFCS, Division of Family and Children Services. It was a certain vibe you got when you knew shit was about to pop off. Some didn’t listen to that shit, but I did. Stepping backwards, I slapped the top of the car to tell the driver to get Dame in the house.
Walking slowly to the locking gates, I tilted my head up at a set of young cats watching from across the street and adjusted my Glock before yelling behind me, “Nothing, my nigga. You know how shit gets.”
“Hahaha. Yeah, that’s why Dame got you where you at, li’l nigga. Forgot how you read the Trap,” some random nigga said to me.
Walking backwards, I moved past the new niggas that ain’t know about me and how I worked without saying shit and went inside. One of the rules of the street was, you always protect the boss. Protect him and you protect that profit you may get later. How did you turn your back and trust that everything was good in the crib? You didn’t. That was how niggas got taken out, turning their backs with guns always pointed their way.
Inside, I heard li’l shawty screaming again and fighting. I threw back my hood and rubbed my hands together. Wasn’t my place to even check on that shit. I was just the gun, not the right hand. So as she screamed, I watched her kick and slam her balled fist against Big Jake’s broad shoulders. I knew that shit had to hurt her because he was one solid fat-ass nigga. All his beef was nothing but muscle, which people didn’t know, but I did. See, we niggas in the streets always had to have an ace. Mine was my mind, my eyes, and my always clean-shot takedowns.
Big Jake was making people think he was a big, dumb, fat-ass nigga that always had to eat. He was the bodyguard, and I always trained with that nigga on the low to get our strength up. See, he was the one who told Dame to get me when I met them in the streets long ago. Back then I was just a runner with good eyes who could tell when people were ready to gun for them. That was how I got in, and me and Big Jake had been like extended fam always. Nothing more than just a cool dude.
Anyway, I dropped back on the couch and watched as li’l shawty planted her feet against Big Jake’s chest, pushing, and swinging. She balled her fists up an
d connected them to each side of his skull. Big Jake laughed at each blow.
Something about her fight reminded me of some old shit. I kept my amber gaze on her, following and laughing when Big Jake dropped her on the floor with a loud bang. The broad’s body bowed up then went straight as a board when her head hit the wall, her dark hair covering the wooden floor.
Kicking my feet up on the table, pushing weed, and empty cans out of the way, I kept watching while she fought and tried to kick at Big Jake, until he picked her up by her head and threw her into the closet and locked the door. Laughter had me dropping my head back against the couch and picking up the game controller to start up some Madden.
This side of the bossman’s property was for his goons. Here we did whatever the fuck we liked, which was why there was shit everywhere. That irritated me. No matter the fuckin’ way I grew up, a nigga still liked to have at least a spot where it was clean and roaches and shit weren’t trying to come through and say whaddup. Bossman was the same, so though shit was everywhere, it wasn’t dirty to the point of roaches and mice.
“What you laughing at, nigglet?” Big Jake’s booming voice rumbled behind me.
Shrugging my shoulder, I reached into my pocket and pulled out some candy. Just as I popped it in my mouth, the other niggas in the house came into the room.
“A big-ass bear getting fucked up by some pussy.” I smirked.
“Little nigglet, you should talk. She got you too. Get the fuck up and get ready for this party,” Big Jake boomed.
I laughed as he gripped me by my hoodie and threw me off the couch.
The party. I had forgot about it that fast. Bossman Dame was serious about this shit, so I knew I had to get ready. We all did. That meant the street pussy he always called in to clean the house was already working on one side of the house and about to come this way. All I had at Dame’s was a backpack and some shoes, so I needed to go to my own place, which was over an abandoned firehouse.
“A’ight, Big Jake,” I threw at him, still laughing, “hit you up later.”
My eyes locked on the closet where I heard pleading, screaming, and clawing. Shit had nothing to do with me, so I kept it trill and walked out.
Hours later, I walked back to the crib dressed in dark sagging jeans, tan Tims, and a black leather and jean hoodie with a black tee underneath it. The streets were hyped about my big day. Honestly, I didn’t care, but it was dope to see Dame’s place spilling with pussy and people from all over simply for my birthday. I wasn’t allowed to deal in Dame’s crib, so I couldn’t look at any of these cats as money for the night. That was one fucked-up thing about it.
“Hey, Trigga,” several sweet female voices said around me.
I rubbed my chin and licked my lips as my eyes ran over curve-hugging leggings that left a plump pussy-print then upward toward titties that made me want to touch. I tilted my chin up, and shawties surrounded me, crooking their fingers for me to bend down so they could press their pillow-soft lips on my cheeks. My dimples settled in my cheeks, causing more pussy to surround me. Of course, a nigga was in heaven right then.
Hands played in my shoulder-length locks, running over my chests, and some even slipped into my sagging jeans to feel how much of a man I was. Dropping my hands over asses aplenty, I smelled wet pussy the moment they learned my dick game was on ten.
“Ohhh, happy birthday, Trigga! You gonna come get some of this pussy, huh?” one of the chicks asked.
As I smirked, Dame appeared behind me and said, “Later. Let this little nigga get into the party first.”
If anybody was a pretty boy, it was that nigga—light bright damn-near white nigga with light eyes that always had chicks on some swooning shit. Bitches had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they flocked to that nigga. Everyone stepped away from me and went to him, giggling and flirting, flipping their hair and laying kisses on his lips and cheeks.
“You ready for all this pussy around here, li’l nigga?” Dame asked.
Like I said, I was a selective talker, so I nodded, rubbing my hands together, and gave a smirk, which Dame understood as gloating.
“A’ight then, li’l nigga, quit talking wit’ ya chest and enjoy this party. Hit me up in five so you can get inked and your dick sucked.” Dame laughed, slapping the pretty asses around him.
Dame didn’t give a damn about nothing but his, and I had to respect it. But a lot of his mannerism just didn’t make sense to me. At times he could get real stupid over pussy and product, but that was the game.
I moved through the dancing bodies in the house. Everyone was grinding, groping, and probably fuckin’, thanks to the product and liquid running through, and all of it was for me, but really in the name of Dame.
As I got deeper into the house, I walked past the closet that shawty was in. I wondered what he had done with her, if she got popped or not. Either way, she wasn’t in the closet anymore.
Music thumped around me, and I bobbed my head to the tunes while grinding up on two women. Everyone who knew me knew not to offer me any product or drink. I always kept a level head in this game and never dove into using my own shit. Just another OG rule I knew I never wanted to break. Which was why I always had my own weed. I lit up and let the broads around me get kush off of it.
Time passed and everything was icing. The crew niggas grabbed me up and took me upstairs, where I sat down with Starry, the baddest tattooist in the game, and one of Dame’s former bitches. Baby had the look of Blac Chyna, but with black hair. She sat on her knees, a pillow under her, waiting on me, dressed in only a red thong and bra that pushed up her caramel titties. No lie, her plump lips made my dick hard as some of her chicks led me into the room. I saw Dame nod and then walk out the bedroom closing the door as I was stripped naked and sat on the bed. Bad bitches surrounded me and I let Starry know what I wanted, which she digged. Pulling out a drawing I did, she glanced at it once, before having me lean back on the bed.
With pussy surrounding me left and right, my shit sprung up rigid hard, only to get swallowed and throated. Any tension I had melted away with the kush I’d inhaled and with my dick being swallowed then dunked into the finest pussy in the game. The sound of the tattoo gun on my wrists then forearms had me in purple haze as sex scented the air and, “Ohhh, Trigga . . .” flooded my ears.
Ray-Ray
When I opened my eyes, the room started to spin. I knew I was no longer in a closet because there was light. The bed I was laying on was soft, almost like a cloud. The lower part of my back hurt from where that nigga had put his knee, and my neck hurt from that big burly grizzly bear-looking nigga sending me head first into the wall. Shit, my whole body hurt.
I could hear music and feel the bass thumping from the speakers. The first thing I would have done was try to run away, but I couldn’t even sit up straight. Where was I? How would I get away? I couldn’t front like a bitch wasn’t terrified. I was so scared, I was shaking, but when I realized I was only in my bra and panties, my senses quickly came together.
I jumped up from the bed and grabbed between my legs like I had a dick. Everything felt normal. I didn’t want to be raped or none of that shit. I didn’t want a nigga’s dick in me who I didn’t know shit about. I looked around the room in a panic. It wasn’t what I was expecting. The marble floors, decked-out bedroom suite, bay windows with attached balcony, and flowing sheer panels to the windows told me I was in place of money. The walls were cream colored and trimmed in gold, and an expensive-looking rug lay at the foot of the bed.
I did notice the room had another queen-sized bed in there. That was how big it was. To the left was a big walk-in closet. I knew that because someone had left the door open. There were all kinds of expensive shit in there—clothes, shoes, purses, belts, lace-front wigs. There was another closed door. I could hear two people behind it oohing and aahing; it sounded like they were having sex.
I could hear chicks in the next room screaming out something about Trigga, the muthafucka who had knoc
ked me out. He was on my hit list. I’d kill his ass too. Just like I was going to kill the muthafucka with the deep, raspy voice. And I was going to murk whoever the fuck Dame was.
Yeah, my mama and daddy were foul as fuck in their dealings, but they’d sheltered me from the shit most times. Other times, I made myself disappear, reading a book or jumping ahead in my homework studies. My daddy always told me keep my head in my books and out their business. Which was what I did.
As I thought about my mama and my daddy, my fear was replaced with anger. I dropped my weak body back down to the bed and placed my head between my legs. The tears started, and they wouldn’t stop. I cried loudly and didn’t care who heard me. I didn’t think they could hear me over the loud-ass music anyway.
“Oh shit,” a female’s voice said after I heard the bathroom door swing open.
“What?” a male’s voice asked.
“This new bitch is up. Dame wanted me to make sure she bathed and put some clothes on. You know that nigga like his new pussy fresh for him,” the woman said.
“But I ain’t even bus’ yet.”
“Nigga, put ya dick away and get the fuck out. Let me handle daddy’s business, or else I’ma tell ’im you dipping and ain’t tipping.”
The dude sucked his lips and grumbled something about her playing with his dick later.
I slowly lifted my head and took in the woman, who looked older than me. Light-skin with a long blonde weave that hung down her back, she had an abundance of ass, but not nearly enough titties. She looked like a stripper. The red leather catsuit she had on hugged her pussy and made it sit out like a moose knuckle. Her berry-colored lips were plush, and her makeup was done like she was prepping for a photo shoot or some shit. I could tell she had blue contacts in her almond-shaped eyes. She was pretty, and when she smiled at me, I almost felt safe. Almost. But I knew this game. A smiling face could mean your death around these parts.