Gods & Gangsters 2

by SLMN

Every time Othello disappeared, he knew where he was going, who he was with, and the thought burned him up.

  If he could just get Mona alone he could convince her to…

  To what?

  His better half, the loyal Cash, chided his desirous side, reminding him what was right. Othello was his childhood friend. Sure, Mona was beautiful, but how many beautiful women threw themselves at Cash on a daily basis? He was young, fine, gangsta and paid. With that combination, he knew he could have any woman he wanted…every woman he wanted, except the one he truly burned for.

  Hey u! Of course I remember u. I hope u are well.

  I haven’t heard from u in a while. R u ok?

  Pinged back.

  Cash thought of the irony of her words.

  Remember him? Not even close. If she knew the real man behind the messages on the screen, how would she react then?

  The worst thing she could do was reject him. So instead of owning up to who he was, he hid in anonymity and tried to just enjoy sharing these few words every now and then.

  Just trying to get my head together.

  I can’t stop thinking about her

  He had almost typed the word you, instead of her, which would have been bad. True, but so, so bad.

  I can’t stop thinking about you, he thought to himself wistfully.

  Let her go, Black Love. If it’s meant to be, u will have her. B patient.

  He smile, and messaged back.

  I’m not the most attractive guy in the world. No one wants to

  love a loser.

  The three dots told him she was thinking about her answer. He watched the screen for what felt like ages before her message finally appeared.

  U seem like a nice guy 2 me. Love over looks. Looks fade, true love doesn’t.

  God, if only she knew…

  I hope u r right.

  Her answer came back faster this time.

  I’m always right! LOL I have to go. On my way 2 Vegas.

  Vegas? Cash thought, Othello hadn’t said anything about Vegas.

  Regardless, he was determined to go on that trip.

  If only to be close to Mona, and maybe get a chance to talk to her…

  Get lucky…

  “Look, I’ma need you to stay here and finalize everything with Joe,” Othello told Mac, as he drove toward the Eastside of town.

  Cash sat in the back seat, puffing a blunt.

  “No problem. Unless you’re expectin’ one,” Mac answered.

  “Naw, everything’s a go. I’m just going to go out to Vegas to relax, and when the moment’s right, love is in the air and all that shit, I’ll give Mona this,” Othello smirked, holding out the ring box.

  Mac took the box and laughed as he opened it.

  “Get the fuck outta here! You gonna marry shortie?” Mac asked.

  Othello shrugged.

  “Yeah, well, she still has to say yes.”

  “Of course she gonna say yes, brah, especially with all these karats making her feel like a fuckin’ rabbit! Cash, you hear this ol’ sucka for love ass nigga? How sweet it is, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Cash deadpanned, unenthusiastically.

  Othello chuckled.

  “Call it what you want, but when you got that good shit, you don’t let it go.”

  Mac gave him dap.

  “Congratulations, big brah,” Mac said, but words were cheap, like loyalty. In his heart he was thinking of a master plan.

  “Thanks. Just keep Joe on ice for me. When I get back, we move into the driver’s seat.”

  They dropped Mac off on the corner. They were three streets away before Othello told Cash, “I need you to go with me, okay?”

  Cash perked up. “No doubt.”

  “I’ve got somethings on bubble, so I’ma need you around to watch my back. Mac don’t need to know about this until we get back. Ain’t nothin’ assured, got me?” Othello explained.

  “Say no mo’ brah, I got you,” Cash replied, smiling from ear to ear.

  Mona looked out the window at The Vegas Strip.

  It was something.

  Like an alien world.

  She and Othello rode in the back of the limo.

  She eyed her own Chanel-shaded reflection in the window, watching the dilemma pass over her like the city over her reflection. When Othello had told her Cash was coming with them, her heart leapt with anticipation, but her soul made it abate. Her attraction for Cash fought constantly with her love for Othello. There was only ever gonna be one loser in that fight: her.

  “You okay, babygirl?” Othello questioned.

  She glanced back at him, offering a little smile, and gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m fine. Jet lag,” she demurred.

  Othello ran his fingers over her cheek, eyeing her with that look. Any other time, she adored that look, like a devout soul at worship. “You sure? You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

  “I was just thinking about my uncle. He used to love Vegas,” she lied. It was an easy lie. The secret was to keep it close to true. Even so, her answer was like a slap in the face to Othello, because it brought him back to the reality of what he had done to her like a truck slamming into roadkill.

  Othello pulled her close to him.

  “Well, babe, I hope this trip helps you relax. Who knows, maybe a surprise or two might even put a smile on your face.”

  She wrapped her arms around his frame and nuzzled up against his chest.

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “Baby, the word was surprise. Ain’t no surprise if you already know.”

  She giggled, climbing up into his lap.

  “Oh, believe me, I have ways of making you talk if I want you to,” she said, leaning in to share a delicious kiss.

  She was right, he would talk if she played him right, but she was happy to be surprised.

  The limo pulled up out the bright lights of the Bellagio hotel. It was a horseshoe of elegance and ostentation with its dancing fountains and faux-Italian lake out front. To Othello, it looked exactly like what it was: a place of worship.

  Cash was already waiting for them, leaning back against the fountain wall, the light show making him look like some sort of Disney character, larger than life.

  They climbed out of the car.

  Cash and Mona’s eyes met for a fleeting, painful second.

  She looked away—like she’d looked through him, like he wasn’t even there—then turned and gave the smile he wanted so badly to Othello. Othello greeted it with a kiss. The whole thing turned Cash’s stomach.

  The bellhop took their luggage, transferring the cases to the golden trolley.

  Cash gave Othello dap.

  “See? I told you flying ain’t shit!” Cash chuckled, barely able to keep his eyes off Mona.

  “Yeah well, if I ain’t had babygirl to hold onto, I mighta not made it,” he grinned back at his man, giving Mona a squeeze for emphasis.

  “What’s up, Mona?” Cash greeted, keep his voice as neutral as possible.

  “Hi,” she replied, blandly.

  “Soon as we check in, I’ma take a nap. I promised Mona I’d teach her how to shoot dice.”

  “You mean lose money,” Cash cracked.

  Othello threw a playful punch.

  “Oh you got jokes. But yo, tomorrow we need to talk, okay?”

  “No doubt. I’m just gonna cruise the strip, bag about three broads and see about making something to stay in Vegas, if you feel me,” Cash bragged.

  Mona shook her head, just slightly, then rolled her eyes.

  “You ready, baby?” she asked Othello.

  Cash smirked to himself, knowing he’d gotten under her skin. Too easy.

  “Yeah yeah. Yo, Cash. Enjoy, man. Show ‘em the legend of Brooklyn in the flesh.”

  He watched Othello and Mona walk inside through the huge portico. He couldn’t help but follow her sashaying stride, thinking she was putting a little something extra in it because she knew he was watching. Who couldn’t love a bitch like that?


  He spent the day in a haze of drinking, gambling and playing the bad boy for the bad bitches of all races, all swagger and style, trying to drown the one thought on his mind.

  Meanwhile, Othello and Mona were doing much of the same, but focused on one another’s company and enjoying the intimacy this shared time brought. There was no such thing as time in this place. No windows. Pumped-in oxygen to keep the mind sharp. All sorts of tricks to part a fool and his money. Othello didn’t mind. He’d come to make memories, whatever the cost. They’d been alone a while when she saw the craps table.

  “You wanna learn?”

  “Is it hard?”

  “Not yet, baby.”

  “Funny boy. The game?

  “None of the games in here are hard, if they were people wouldn’t be so willing and eager to part with the green. The idea is you think they’re easy, but you know the saying, the house always wins.”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, that’s the truth. If it didn’t they wouldn’t be here. They hate losin’ money.

  “So why play?”

  “Fun. And because it ain’t about the individual, it’s about the day, see. If you got one hundred players and 50 lose some, 40 win some, 5 lose big and 5 win big, the house is still up. The trick is bein’ one of the five who win big. Do you feel lucky?”

  She nodded.

  Watching a player at the table, he taught her the game, and when a space freed up, she picked up the dice.

  She was a natural.

  Roll after roll, her hot hand ending up winning close to fifty thousand dollars amid cheers, giggles, deep kisses and congratulations. It was a movie moment. Perfect.

  “I can’t believe it,” Mona said, throwing the cash on the bed. “Look at it! I want to go back right now!”

  Othello laughed. “Like the K-man said, you got to know when to fold em’, too. Remember, the house always wins.”

  Mona came up and got on her tippy toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

  “How about we fuck in it then? Roll around on that cash while you deep dick me, honey?”

  They kissed, and it was everything; her taste, his need, coming together, long and passionate.

  When they broke it, Othello stared into her eyes for so long, Mona asked, “Baby, are you okay?”

  “More than okay,” Othello sighed then sat down. “You know, I never knew my father. I barely knew my mom, too, because she spent all her life chasing that next high. So growing up, I didn’t know what love was. Fuck, I didn’t even believe in love. It was shit peddled by TV. I wasn’t the best looking dude in school, so when I was growing up, I grew up hard. I learned to stop the teasing with these,” he said, holding up his fists. “I was never a bully, not my scene, but niggas knew I would bring the smoke to they ass, so they respected me. Anyway, I gotta be real. I had planned on living my life inside of that pain, that anger, and I was okay with that. Until I met you. You showed me so much love and sensitivity, that since I’ve had you in my life, everything I thought I was has changed, everything I expected to be is changing. I truly know what love means, and it ain’t TV shit. Babygirl, you mean the world to me, more, you are the world, the moon, the sun, all of those stars in the sky. And if I had to I would trade my whole life just for the chance to love you totally for five minutes. Bottom line, I ain’t no Shakespeare,” he chuckled, “but I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you as my wife.” He pulled out the ring box, and slipped off the edge of the bed and got down on one knee.

  He opened the box.

  “Will you?”

  He looked up into Mona’s face. There were tears on her cheek, and for a moment he thought he’d done something wrong.

  She looked at him through the prism of the tears.

  “Yes, Othello, yes, yes, yes,” she gasped, her voice clipped with the exhilarating rush of love taking flight.

  She crouched down beside him, into his arms, and covered his face with kisses. He lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Othello palmed her ass with his hands, kissing her neck, cleavage and the top of her breasts until he laid her back on the bed and the scattered bank notes, and kissed down the length of her body.

  Her dress was so tight, she didn’t want to wear panties or a bra underneath because the line would show, so as he pushed the material up her thighs her chocolate goodness spread before him like a feast fit for a king.

  He put her legs on his shoulder and sucked on her clit, until she her back arched so deeply she damn near bent doubly with pleasure, gasping and moaning, toes curling and cumming. Othello devoured her pussy until she begged him to enter her sloppy wetness.

  He turned her over and slid inside of her tight, wet center, stroking her.

  “Damn, you fuck me so good,” she creamed, groaning as deep as a growl, as her hands clenched around the money.

  She threw it up in the air, over his naked back.

  Cash.

  “Damn nigga, you look like you been drinkin’ all night,” Othello commented the next morning. “Drinkin’ and fuckin’.” He was with Cash, having breakfast on the balcony of Cash’s suite. Mona was back in their room, beautifying.

  Cash sipped on his Bloody Mary. His head was on fire. “Don’t remind me, yo. Shit was crazy last night.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Othello grinned, “I asked Mona to marry me.”

  Cash looked at him. “What she say?”

  “Nigga, what you think she said? Look at me, of course she said yes. I’m gonna be a married man.” Othello held up his orange juice for a toast.

  Cash’s hangover doubled in the thump, but he held his glass up and met the toast.

  “Congratulations, brah.”

  “Thank you. Truthfully, life is good, brah, better than good,” Othello replied, sipping his juice, then digging into steak and eggs. “We almost there. Everything we ever worked for, murdered, hustled and bled for, baby. It’s in touchin’ distance. So close I can taste it like pussy juice on my tongue. It’s about to be ours. Yours and mine.”

  Cash mustered a smile. None of that mattered anymore. Everything they had hustled for, every risk they had taken, all the bloodshed, none of it mattered. “No doubt,” he answered.

  “But look, I have a meeting this afternoon.”

  “What up?”

  “I’ll let you know when I get back. But Mona won her a grip last night, and it’s burning a hole in her pocket. Do me a solid, brah, take her out, show her the delights this place has to offer.” Othello had no idea he was sending the fox to guard the henhouse.

  Cash’s heart thumped in his chest. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll take her shopping. No problem.”

  “You sure? I know all that pocketbook holding shit ain’t you,” Othello chuckled.

  Cash grinned. “Call it your weddin’ gift.”

  Othello wiped his mouth, then stood up.

  “Cool. Ay yo, once I put this thing in place, the sky’s the limit,” Othello winked.

  He left Cash, taking his hangover with him.

  “This brandy is older than you, Mac,” Joe chuckled as he poured himself and Mac two fingers full. It clung to the sides of the glass as it went down, forming a little lake of fire.

  He handed the glass to Mac.

  “You guys pulled off one helluva a strategy. I raise my glass to you,” Joe toasted.

  Clink!

  Mac took a sip and nodded. “Tastes like success.”

  They both laughed, warmly and friendly. It sounded like victory.

  They were in the study of Joe Hamlet’s mansion, reclining in leather chesterfield armchairs that cost more than the tenement Mac had grown up in. Three of the walls were covered with bookshelves, leather spines, gilt lettering, proper expensive books, first editions, rare and probably in some cases as expensive as the original Monet gracing the wall behind Joe’s desk.

  Out through the windows, the view of the sprawling estate’s acreage served as a panorama.

  “Othello surprised me with the appearance
of Don. I’ve got to admit, I thought for sure he was already dead,” Joe remarked.

  “I told O that Don was worth more to us alive than dead,” Mac lied. There was an advantage in the lie. It made him look like the long-thinker.

  Joe’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, that was your idea?”

  Mac shrugged.

  “We’re a team.”

  Joe nodded.

  The two men sat back enjoying the taste of the ancient grapes and savoring the sweet smoke of their thick Cuban cigars. Joe always joked the richer he got, the thicker his Cubans became. Mac believed him. Right now, he was sucking on a fuckin’ dick of a cigar, thicker than most white boys. The only word he could think of to describe the room was opulent. Well, not the only word. It was ostentatious, too. He marked the painting on the wall, Mona and Adonis, and almost spat out his drink. It took every ounce of his composure not to.

  Joe didn’t even notice that Mac had scoped the picture.

  Mona? Goddamn, he realized she must be his daughter. What the fuck! The gears ground in his mind. Wait a minute… Why didn’t Othello ever mention that Mona was Joe Hamlet’s daughter? And when Joe was going at us, why didn’t he come at us through his girl? The second realization hit him like a freight train. They don’t know!

  Everything became clear to him, right then and there.

  The whole time Othello was fucking with Mona, he never knew she was the daughter of the man they were gunning for. And Joe never knew they were right under his nose, balls deep in his daughter.

  Mac couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Amuse me,” Joe said.

  “I’m sorry, I just… I gotta be real. Never expected this to happen. Life definitely comes full circle,” Mac replied, enjoying the double meaning of his words.

  Joe chuckled.

  “Very true, I—” Joe began, but a light knock on the door interrupted his flow. “Come on in, sweetheart,” the Commissioner called out.

  When the door opened, Mac couldn’t believe his eyes. She wasn’t a cougar, she was a fuckin’ panther. Pure blood. Her whole body growled through the sensually styled silk dress. She moved with the grace of a Nubian Queen, firmly in command of her Queendom. He had never been into older chicks, but Aphrodite was pure sex and he couldn’t help but fight back an erection watching her move and imagining her riding his dick into slavery.