Thug Immortal

by J-Blunt

  A Gangsta’s Code 2:

  Thug Immortal

  Lock Down Publications and

  Ca$h Presents

  A Gangster’s Code

  A Novel by J-Blunt

  Lock Down Publications

  P.O. Box 870494

  Mesquite, Tx 75187

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  Copyright 2018 by A Gangster’s Code 2

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  First Edition October 2018

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Cover design and layout by: Dynasty Cover Me

  Book interior design by: Shawn Walker

  Edited by: Lauren Burton

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  Table of Content

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Prologue

  10 years earlier

  Three masked men blended in with the night as they moved swiftly from the bushes to the back door. The lick was a safehouse. As told to the robbers, behind the door was the key to their futures: over $100,000 in cash and 25 kilos of Columbian cocaine. The only thing that lay between them and their prize was a locked door and a fool with loose lips. Born Ready had been in the house twice and knew the layout. They would enter through the back door into the kitchen. A hallway to the left would take them to the bedroom. The safe was built into the floor, literally hidden beneath the floorboards, welded in place. The vic would have to open it. That was the only way to get the contents inside. One thing in their favor was the house didn’t have the best security system, just an alarm that only got used when the owner was out. Since he didn’t think anyone was bold enough to hit the house while he was in it, M-Dot never turned on the alarm while he was home. Never.

  Born Ready looked to his accomplices, locking eyes with each one. When he was sure they were on the same page, he lifted a hand, using his fingers to count to three.

  The masked men crashed into the door at the same time. Locks snapped and wood splintered as the door caved in. Born Ready led the way, his 9 mm Ruger cocked and ready.

  The loud crash at the back door jarred M-Dot from his sleep. Without being fully awake, he knew what was happening, and instincts kicked in. He shot out of bed, going for the AK-47 underneath the mattress. For fear of the gun going off while he was fucking or sleeping, the chopper was never loaded, but there was a 30-round clip right next to it. He had just locked it in place and was about to load a bullet into the chamber.

  “Put it down, bitch,” Born Ready screamed, the red dot of his beam centering on M-Dot’s chest.

  M-Dot was a big man, 6’2”, 280 pounds, but he wasn’t big enough to stop a bullet. The assault rifle fell to the floor and M-Dot put his hands in the air.

  “You know what it is, nigga!” one of Born Ready’s accomplices spoke up. His name was Mecca. “Open dat safe, fuck-boy! Give dat shit up!”

  “I-I d-don’t know what chu talkin’ ‘bout, mane,” M-Dot stuttered, studying the robbers for a sign of something familiar. It was hard because they were dressed in black and wore masks.

  “That ain’t cho shit, brah,” Born Ready spoke up. “We know this Kareem shit. And we know where the safe at. Pull up the rug and open it.”

  “C’mon, brah. I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout. Ain’t no safe up in here.”

  Born Ready was a few inches shorter than M-Dot and a hundred pounds lighter, but he attacked the bigger man like the roles had been reversed. A couple 9 mm slaps to the face felled the bigger man. “Open that safe, nigga! Give dat shit up!”

  M-Dot balled up on the floor and began screaming. “I don’t know what chu talkin ‘bout!”

  “Pull that rug up,” Born Ready ordered his third accomplice.

  Reese was Born Ready’s little big brother. At 17, he was 6’3”, 175 pounds and still growing. The gangly teen pulled up the colorful throw rug, exposing polished hardwood floors. While Born Ready held M-Dot at gunpoint, Mecca and Reese lifted the removable floorboards, exposing a 4’ x 4’ safe.

  “Oh shit! Look at this, M-Dot. A safe in yo’ muthafuckin’ floor,” Born Ready patronized.

  A welt had formed on M-Dot’s jaw, and another above his eye. He uncurled from the fetal position long enough to look around. The safe was exposed and the robbers stood around watching his next move. That’s when a noise sounded from somewhere in the house, like someone was moving around.

  “Watch ‘im,” Born Ready told Mecca, who pulled a .45 from his waist.

  The brothers crept through the house searching for who or what had made the noise. There was another bedroom at the end of the hall that turned out to be empty. There was another door across the hall. When Born Ready tried the knob, it was locked. After taking a step back, he kicked the door open.

  “Ah!” a woman screamed.

  The goons rushed into the bathroom and found a scantily clad woman trying to pry open a bathroom window that had been painted shut. Born Ready pointed is pistol at her, flashing the beam to get her attention. “Chill. Don’t scream no more or I’ma pop yo’ ass. Who is you?”

  “I-I’m M-Myra,” she stuttered, wrapping her arms across her chest to cover her heaving bosom. Dressed in a pair of purple panties and bra, the brothers seen enough to agree M-Dot had good taste in women. She had honey-colored skin, shoulder-length permed hair, big breasts, thick thighs and an ass that made Reese’s young body lose control.

  “Who is you to M-Dot?” Born Ready asked.

  “I-I’m his fiancée.”

  A light went on in Born Ready’s eyes. “How long y’all been together?”

  “Almost five years. P-Please don’t hurt me. I
don’t got nothin’ to do wit’ whatever he do in the streets.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. Long as M-Dot give us what we want, ain’t nobody gon’ get hurt. C’mon back to the room so we can talk.”

  Myra, Reese, and Born Ready went back to the room and found M-Dot still on the floor, Mecca watching him at gunpoint. When he seen the honey-skinned beauty, he looked her over. “Who is she?” Mecca asked.

  “Myra. M-Dot’s fiancée,” Born Ready smiled. “She gon’ make him open the safe.”

  “Please, baby. Just give ‘em what they want,” the woman pleaded.

  “Nah, baby,” he refused. “Either they gon’ kill us after they take it or Kareem gon’ kill us if they take it.”

  Mecca lost his patience and put the 45 to M-Dot’s head. “Listen, nigga! I ain’t got time for this shit. Open the safe!”

  M-Dot feared for his life, but not enough to open the safe. “I can’t do it, brah. Just kill me.”

  Mecca pointed the gun at Myra. “Open that safe or yo’ bitch dead.”

  M-Dot looked like he wanted to cry. “C’mon, brah. Just let her go. Let her leave right now and I’ma open the safe. I swear to God.”

  Mecca looked to Born Ready, waiting for an answer.

  “Nah, it don’t work like that. We make the rules. Matter fact, you see how my li’l brotha lookin’ at cho bitch? She don’t want him to pull them pants down. Shit gon’ get real ugly. Unless you want yo’ bitch to piss out her ass for the rest her life, open that safe,” Born Ready said.

  Mecca, Myra and M-Dot looked from Born Ready to the long and lean teen. His eyes were locked on the woman’s body parts like a dog watching food. A noticeable lump was growing in the front of his pants.

  “Awe, c’mon, brah. We ain’t on no rape shit,” Mecca spoke up, looking disgusted.

  Born Ready mugged his friend. “Fuck what chu talkin’ ‘bout. We doin’ what we gotta do to get this money.”

  “Please, y’all. Don’t do this,” Myra begged.

  “It ain’t us. Tell that nigga to give us the money.”

  Myra cried crocodile tears as she faced her fiancé. “Please, baby. Don’t let them do this to me. Give ‘em the money.”

  M-Dot’s eyes watered as he felt his girl’s fear, but that wasn’t enough to make him open the safe, so Born Ready gave his little brother a head nod.

  When Reese released his pants, his dick shot out like a missile. Nothing about the boy’s manhood was average. It was deformed, crooked, with lumps as big as knuckles on the shaft. And it was massive, more than a foot long and wide as a baseball bat.

  Mecca looked horrified. “What the fuck is that?”

  The fear of God was written on Myra’s face as she backed away from Reese like he was about to attack her with a weapon. “No! No! No! Don’t come by me! Get it away from me!”

  “Get her!” Born Ready encouraged.

  The teen lunged for the woman and a struggle ensued. Myra, in fear for her life, had super strength the boy was no match for. She easily overpowered him, forcing Born Ready to help his little brother. After they pinned her down, Reese was able to snatch her panties off. After more struggling, they were able to pry her legs open. That’s when Myra began scratching and screaming.

  “Stop! Stop! Let me go!”

  Born Ready’s pistol across her face made her stop screaming. Reese was about to force his monstrosity inside her when M-Dot caved. “Okay! Okay, mane!”

  All eyes flocked to the wounded fiancé.

  “Okay, mane. Leave her alone. Take this shit. Tell that nigga to put that shit up.”

  Born Ready looked at Reese. “We good, brah.”

  Reese reluctantly crawled from the bed, disappointment and lust swirling in his eyes.

  When the safe was opened, Born Ready gave Reese the pistol to keep an eye on their prisoners while they filled pillowcases with drugs and money. In total they collected $150,000 and 30 kilos. After tying up the terrified lovers, the bandits made for the back door.

  They had just stepped outside when a bright searchlight shone, cutting through the darkness like a laser beam.

  ***

  When the call came over the radio for a possible home invasion in progress, Officer Daniels glanced at his young partner, the thrill of action spreading across his clean-shaven face. “That’s a few blocks away, new booty. Radio in and tell ‘em we’re on our way.”

  The brown-skinned cadet didn’t share his training officer’s excitement for action. His hand visibly trembled as he grabbed the radio from the dash. “Squad 212 is in the area. Will radio when on scene. Out.”

  It took the squad car less than a minute to get on scene. Officer Daniels steered down the block at a slow pace, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for signs of trouble. When he was satisfied all was clear, he turned into the alley, flashing the spotlight on what looked like a broken door. In that same instant, three masked men ran outside. Two of them were carrying white sacks and were armed.

  “Freeze! Police!” the rookie yelled, drawing his weapon as he jumped from the car.

  When Reese heard the voice and seen the spotlight, his instincts took over and he began shooting. The rookie took cover behind the car door, firing four shots in retaliation. Two of them hit Reese, one in the leg, the other in the stomach. During the commotion, Mecca let off a few shots, hitting the rookie in the ankle before he ran away. Born Ready had taken a few steps toward freedom when he seen his little brother go down. Anger and guilt hit him in the same instant, causing him to pause. The indecision gave the training officer the time he needed to get out of the car and take aim. Six pops sounded. Three bullets to the chest and stomach put the older brother on the ground next to his sibling. Mecca never broke stride, fleeing with a pillowcase full of goodies.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  Three black Suburbans coasted along the highway in a small envoy, ninety percent tint making it hard to see who was inside. All the trucks held heavily armed men, but there was something special about the middle truck. Five people were inside: two in the driver and passenger seats, one in the middle row, and two more in the back seats. Everyone in the truck was Mexican except the man in the middle seat. He was big, 6’4”, 260 pounds and a muscular physique. His skin was dark as chocolate, combined with shoulder-length dreadlocks, and a full beard. The brown-skinned men in the back row whispered in Spanish about the stranger’s bloody clothes and the blood-soaked package in his hands. Even though Pop Somethin’ was unarmed and at their mercy, the cartel members were uncomfortable in the bigger man’s presence, as they should have been. Their passenger was a real life boogeyman and legend.

  The convoy of trucks drove into a small airport, parking in one of the hangars. Twenty members of the Gonzalez Cartel stood around a Lear Jet, armed to the teeth with machine guns.

  “Let’s go, Shooter,” called the man in the passenger seat as he exited the truck. His name was Marco, a high-ranking bodyguard in the cartel. He stood average height with a slim build and short, dark hair. A white dress shirt, fitted denim jeans, and cowboy boots gave him a conservative look. In one hand he held a .44 Magnum. In the other was Pop Somethin’s machete.

  “You owe me an apology for disrespectin’ me,” Pop Somethin’ told Marco as he stepped from the SUV.

  “I don’t apologize to dead people,” Marco sneered, gesturing toward the million-dollar jet.

  “You will,” the killer promised.

  Marco and two gunmen escorted Pop Somethin’ to the plane. When he stepped into the cabin, Gonzo let out a snort. The Cartel boss was seated in a reclining chair, dressed similarly to Marco. A cowboy hat, black dress shirt, dark jeans, and hand-sown shoes. He stroked his thick mustache, looking Pop Somethin’ from head to toe. “Looks like you been busy,” he commented, noticing the bloody package.

  “I didn’t snitch on you, boss. I ain’t wit’ that fuck-shit. I believe in codes and laws in the streets. I ain’t no bitch or snitch.”

  Gonzo studied Pop Some
thin’ for a few moments, searching for a sign of deceit or fakeness. Pop stared back, his posture and facial expression matching his words.

  “What is that?” Gonzo asked, nodding toward the bloody package.

  Pop Somethin’ unwrapped the package, palming the severed head in his massive hand. “I brought C-Note.”

  Gonzo’s eyes bulged and he looked at Marco, questioning him silently.

  “He wouldn’t let us touch it. Wouldn’t even tell us what it was. Said it was for you.”

  “Get rid of it,” he told Marco. “Shooter, have a seat.”

  A small table separated Gonzo and Pop Somethin’. On it was a bottle of tequila and half a kilo of cocaine.

  “Tequila?” the boss offered.

  Pop declined. “I’m good on the drink.

  Gonzo poured two shots and pushed one in front of Pop Somethin’. “In Mexico, when someone offers you something, even if you don’t want it, you must accept. To deny an offering is a sign of disrespect. Drink up. I insist.”

  Pop eyed Gonzo as he took the glass and downed the shot. When he slammed the glass on the table, Gonzo filled it again. Pop gave him a sideways look. Gonzo nodded. After a irritated deep breath, Pop took another drink. When he sat the shot glass down, Gonzo filled it again. He kept at it until Pop had downed fifteen shots. Since he didn’t drink, the liquor took effect quickly. The jet’s cabin began swirling and tilting as Pop’s equilibrium tilted.

  “How do you feel, Shooter?” Gonzo asked, his thick mustache lifting at the corners as he smiled.

  “I’m fucked up,” Pop slurred, his head lolling from side-to-side as his vision doubled.

  “Good. That’s how I feel. Fucked up. Federales up my ass. I lose millions of dollars and thousands of kilos. My farm in Tijuana is gone. I thought you and Note mi amigos. I took you in despite what my people say and how I feel about blacks. I know you didn’t snitch, Shooter. I recognize what you are. But you and the headless guy were a team. A package. You came together. When I have a problem, I erase the whole thing and start over. Why should this time be different?”