by Jade Jones
“I understand…”
“Good.”
Kenyon then opened the door and allowed Sweater entrance before he himself stepped inside. As he prepared to close the door, a hooded figure instantly bum rushed inside the small room!
The metal door slammed against Kenyon’s 5”9 inch frame, sending him crashing down onto the carpeted floor. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
Royalty Jackson III slammed and locked the door behind him before snatching the hood off his head. The 6”1 inch dark-brown skinned thug was extremely handsome in a rugged sense. He wore his short box fade cut and styled similar to Bishop’s in the film, Juice and had the exact same swag and demeanor to match. Royalty was reckless and didn’t give a fuck about anything.
“What the hell is your problem?!” Kenyon yelled, standing to his feet. However, the minute he caught sight of Royalty’s Beretta he froze in place.
Suddenly, Sweater walked up from behind and snatched Kenyon’s wallet out his back pocket. She then tossed it to Royalty who managed to keep his gun aimed at Kenyon as he caught it.
Kenyon turned towards Sweater with rage-filled eyes. “You bitch! You set me up!”
Sweater smiled. “Surprised? Shit like this happens all the time, boo.”
With his fists clenched tightly, Kenyon took a step towards her—but quickly stopped in his tracks after hearing the sound of Royalty’s gun being cocked. Hesitantly, he refocused his attention on the armed assailant.
“Aight then homeboy, this what we finna do,” Royalty’s strong southern accent was profound. “We ‘bout to hit up da bank. We gon’ make two withdrawals. One before midnight and one after. Now I want this to go smooth and simple. I ain’t tryin’ to hurt nobody, ya dig?”
“Fuck you!” Kenyon spat. “I’m not doing shit for you or this bitch!”
“Oh, you tough?” Royalty asked skeptically. He pulled Kenyon’s identification cards and photos out and flipped through them all the while keeping his gun aimed at Kenyon. “Well, we’ll see how tough you are when I send my folks to ya crib.” Royalty smiled revealing his gold fangs. “I see you got a beautiful wife and daughter who don’t even know you up in this spot tryin’ to get some pussy—”
“If you hurt my family, I swear to God I’ll kill you!”
Royalty rushed Kenyon, and pistol-whipped the shit out of him with the butt of his Beretta! Blood gushed from Kenyon’s nose and soaked his dress shirt. He stumbled backwards after the blow but somehow managed to keep his footing.
Royalty pulled his cellphone out and dialed a number up. He kept his intense gaze locked on Kenyon. It was important that he let him know who was in charge.
When the person on the opposite end answered, Royalty rattled off Kenyon’s address and informed them that he also had a family. After passing the info on, Royalty disconnected the call and directed his attention back to Kenyon.
“I’m runnin’ this show, bruh! Now let’s try this shit again! You gon’ make two withdrawals takin’ out da maximum limit. One before midnight and one after. The sooner you just cooperate the quicker we can get this shit done. Do you got that? ‘Cuz my patna got ya info now and I’d hate for some ugly shit to go down. Ya dig?”
Kenyon covered his bloodied nose and nodded his head in agreement.
“Sorry you had to be a victim, hon’,” Sweater said. “But it’s all business…never personal.”
***
Fifteen minutes after walking out of the Glenn Hotel together, the trio pulled inside the empty Bank of America parking lot located on Ponce De Leon Avenue. There were fewer witnesses around and the area was somewhat low-key.
“Get out the car slowly—and no funny shit, aight?” Royalty stressed.
Kenyon grimaced as he held in the threats he desperately wanted to utter. As instructed, he took his time climbing out his gun metal black 2012 Mercedes Benz. Sweater followed suit, glancing around at her surroundings every so often to make sure no one was within distance.
Keeping his gun aimed on Kenyon, Royalty rounded the car, and snatched him up by the back of his collar. “Let’s make this shit quick. We ain’t got all fuckin’ night to be bullshittin’.”
Kenyon stepped in front of the ATM and stared at the bright red screen for several seconds. “I can only withdraw $100,” he said.
WHAP!
The butt of Royalty’s Beretta crashed down on Kenyon’s skull.
“Oomph!” he groaned in pain, falling against the ATM machine.
“Bruh, stop fuckin’ around! Ya max is 500 so who the fuck you really tryin’ to fool?” Royalty asked. “I been doin’ this shit longer then you prolly knew what the fuck a Backpage was. So stop bullshittin’ with me!” He then checked the time on his cellphone. It was a quarter until midnight. “Ya time’s windin’ down. Now it’s up to you if you wanna sacrifice ya family’s lives over a stack. It ain’t shit but a call away, man.”
“Okay. Okay. Okay. I got it,” Kenyon finally caved. He held onto the back of his head where a knot had quickly formed. “But I’ll need my wallet to get the debit card.”
My patience is really starting to grow thin with this mothafucka, Royalty thought to himself as he reached in his pocket to get the wallet—
Kenyon used that opportunity to deliver a fierce punch to Royalty’s jaw. The blow was so unexpected that it sent Royalty crashing onto the ground.
Kenyon wasted no time as he took off running in the opposite direction.
“Motherfucker!” Sweater hissed. She’d witnessed the entire scene unfold.
Sweater quickly jumped into the Benz to pursue him.
By the time Royalty stood to his feet, Kenyon was already sprinting across the bank’s parking lot.
Sweater snatched the gears into drive and floored the gas pedal. Like a police officer racing after a fleeing criminal, she chased down Kenyon until she was finally alongside him. After ensuring that it was enough space between them, Sweater flung open the driver’s door.
BOOM!
The metal door slammed into Kenyon and he crashed onto the pavement face first after the impact. Afterward, Sweater brought the Benz to a screeching stop.
“My fucking leg,” Kenyon groaned in pain, cradling his injured knee. Something told him it seemed foolish to try to run, but with fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins it was hard to think clearly.
When Royalty finally reached Kenyon, he snatched the disoriented man off the ground and dragged him towards the car’s front door. “I told you not to fuck with me but I see you wanna try a nigga!” he yelled. Royalty opened the door, and placed Kenyon’s right arm inside.
“No! No! No!”
WHAM!
“AHHHHH!” Kenyon screamed in pain after Royalty slammed the door against his forearm.
A terrible decision had now forced him to deal with the twenty-five year old’s intermittent explosive disorder. After serving a few years in the military, Royalty wasn’t the same man as he was when he enrolled. The doctors blamed it on posttraumatic stress disorder.
Royalty shoved the barrel of his gun inside Kenyon’s mouth. “You must wanna take ya last breath tonight!” he said through clenched teeth. The fury in his eyes made him look more monster than human. “I ain’t the one to fuck with,” Royalty stressed. “I’ll put a got damn hole in ya head right now and then murk ya folks just because.” He then lowered himself to Kenyon’s eye level. “And I’m not talkin’ no quick and easy death. I will fuck ya wife until she begs me to kill her, and then I’ll torture ya lil’ girl—”
“Please, no!” Kenyon burst out in hysterical cries. Mucus oozed from his nostrils mixing in with dark red blood. “Man, I’m begging you don’t hurt my family—”
“Their fate’s on you,” Royalty simply said. “You’re doin’ this shit the hard way when you should be doin’ it the easy way.”
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