Gods & Gangsters 2

by SLMN

  Adonis looked him in the eyes.

  He couldn’t find the words to describe his pain.

  Instead, he kissed Devante like he was trying to suck the life out of him, knowing it was a metaphorical kiss of death.

  But to Devante’s horny mind, it was the kiss of life, a kiss full of such passion that he had never experienced.

  He grabbed at Adonis’ jeans, fumbling with the belt until his long, hard dick popped out, the veins so prominent, it looked like it would explode.

  It took both of Devante’s hands to wrap it around the girth of Adonis’ dick as he guided it to the welcoming wetness of his mouth. He devoured it like a death row inmate, not knowing that it would indeed be his last meal.

  Adonis’ eyes welled, overflowing their banks and spilling tears down his face; tears of pleasure, pain and sadness.

  He needed to feel Devante’s tightness once more, one last time, so turned him around and entered him with such force, his lover who never loved him cried out, “Oh God! Shit, you so deep in me!”

  He shivered with the deliciousness of each thrust, loving the way Devante’s asshole fit him like a glove. “Deeper Daddy, go deeper. Take me there,” Devante begged.

  Adonis pushed balls deep, giving Devante every inch of his last request.

  The tears poured as he pounded Devante relentlessly.

  Devante heard him sobbing, he reached back, trying to run his hand over Adonis’ face.

  “Why are you crying, baby?”

  “Because… I know it was you,” Adonis replied, then before Devante could say another word, wrapped both of his hands around Devante’s throat and began to squeeze so tight his fingers clawed into his windpipe.

  Devante bucked wildly, his last moments trapped in some curious place between life and death, pain and pleasure, confusion and clarity, the cock in his ass taking him to hell and heaven. Adonis continued to ride him, fucking the treacherous bastard unmercifully, pounding him until his asshole was wet with blood.

  His grip was too tight for Devante to loosen. He scratched and clawed desperately at his hands, but couldn’t break his vicelike grip, and all the while his cock raged harder and harder as he was choked of air like some sick bastard asphyxiation dick play. He tore away strips of flesh from the backs of Adonis’ hands, but it was never going to be vital DNA evidence, only a guarantee that his corpse would be burnt, and those burned remains dissolved in acid.

  His fight lost its fire, but he kept taking the dick.

  Choking.

  Right before his lights went out forever, the last thing he heard in this life was Adonis whispering in his fading ear, taking him into hell, “I love you.”

  Which was every bit as fucked up as being fucked to death.

  Devante slumped and he shit all over Adonis’ dick as Adonis came hard and long, spurt after spurt until his whole body sagged with sexual exhaustion on top of the corpse of his last and first love.

  Adonis pulled out, the sound of extraction resembling the sound of removing a spoon from mac and cheese.

  He looked down and the lower half of his six-packed abs and dick covered with shit, cum, blood and death, knowing he’d committed several deadly sins all at once, right up to necrophilia with those last few deep dick strokes.

  He looked down at Devante’s body.

  “How could you betray me? How? What could they offer you that I couldn’t have given you? What power did they have over your soul that you sacrificed your heart? I know what it means to be cold now, to know what it takes to be a gangsta, and you did that to me, D. You and your betrayal. How could you?”

  It wasn’t so much a roar as a wail. Adonis staggered through to the bathroom of their secret place and cleaned himself up thoroughly. Standing under the shower for a full twenty minutes, as he soaped himself, he felt himself getting hard again. Nothing to do with sex, this was all about the thought of the woman filling his mind and how he had sealed himself to her forever in ways that went far beyond blood. Before he realized what he was doing, he bust a nut all over the tiled wall and felt his legs give way.

  He sank to the bottom of the shower stall and curled up there, the cum on his knees and the rope of precum hanging from his dick, washed away by the relentless heat of the shower.

  He didn’t leave until the cold drove him out, and then, naked, he walked through to the lounge and called his mother.

  “It’s done.”

  “Where are you?’

  He told her.

  “The cleaners will be there in an hour.”

  Othello’s connect had hit him with some of the best product in the game. It was so good, it didn’t take more than a week for word to spread and Othello’s spots to become the biggest ones booming through The Commission’s territory.

  Everyone was copping from Othello.

  His numbers were doubling damn near by the day.

  He made so much bank, he might as well have been printing the shit.

  Joe Hamlet had been watching his son-in-law steadily grow in power, but it wasn’t all roses. He watched the boy with a skeptical eye. He had yet to name his successor, despite his word. And if he didn’t retire from the game he’d have to retire him, which wasn’t a pleasant thought, as much as Joe enjoyed that side of the life.

  So he called him out to the estate, intending to have a little heart to heart with Othello. Drop some home truths on the boy. Remind him.

  “Relax O, what are you drinking?”

  “Henny on the rocks,” Othello told him.

  “A man of decent tastes,” Joe brought Othello a drink, then sat down across from him on the patio, watching the sun set. “I love sunsets, O. Ever since I was a little kid, I used to love to watch the sun go down from the roof of my building. We may’ve been poor, but that sunset, that beauty, it was something else. It let me know there was more to life, put simply, there was beauty and money could never buy that. You didn’t need the cash to enjoy it, all you needed to do was reach out and go for it,” Joe said, making Othello wonder if there was some sort of allegory in his story, some deeper meaning.

  “Yeah, I feel you. I always wondered how you could tell the difference between a sunrise and a sunset if you didn’t know what time it was, you know? You ask me, they look exactly alike at that one moment in time when the horizon is purple and ready to go either way.”

  Joe nodded.

  “You're not wrong, O. It’s that twilight, that time when truth and falsehood are so intertwined you can’t tell one from the other. It’s like life, in those moments when the next thing you say, the next decision you make, will determine what happens forever.”

  Othello sipped his drink.

  Joe lit a cigar. Sucked on it. Blew smoke. Sighed.

  “It’s been a while since we had a chance to talk.”

  “Shit been hectic, Joe,” Othello explained.

  “True, but you gave your word. So I gotta ask, O, and believe me when I say I hate that you’ve put me where I have to, but when can I expect you to keep it?”

  Othello thought about what he said. Truth was, he knew he should’ve already retired, but the situation with Mona and Cash had preoccupied his mind, and that made him second guess whether he was making a mistake to give the connect to Cash. Didn’t help that Cash had been acting strangely lately. They both had. Mona was still trying to put in his head he should give Cash the connect. She never came right out and said it, but her words all pointed in the same direction, which only made Othello wonder why she wanted to see Cash as the new boss?

  The bitch love that gangsta shit. Her father was a gangsta and she married a gangsta. Now you want to retire? Nigga, gangsta is the only thing you got going for your ugly ass. Without that, who are you? What are you except a stovepipe black nigga with a little dough. But Cash… he got it all, no surprise she want it too, then sees herself with him. Power power power.

  “I just need a little more time, Joe.”

  “Time does run out, O. How much are we talking? Days? Weeks? Mont
hs?”

  Joe Hamlet had eyes to see, and they saw how much money Othello was making and how his power in the streets was consolidating. He was good at the game, and that was a problem, because it wouldn’t be long before the whole Commission would be beholden to him. Months? By that time he’d literally choke them out of the street life, which was something Joe Hamlet was not about to accept, even from his son-in-law.

  “Joe, look at me, I don’t like pressure, okay? I said I would do it, and I will. But in my own time,” Othello replied, his tone neutral but his meaning firm and non-negotiable.

  But Joe Hamlet wasn’t a man to be told that there were boundaries.

  He leaned in, blowing more smoke. “Look O, I’ve been patient, more than patient with you, but you need to grasp this truth, son. I’m not the one to be kept on no goddamn leash. Now, I expect you to keep your word, and I expect it to happen soon,” Joe spat, tossing down the gauntlet.

  “Or what, Joe? Tell me. Or what?” Othello answered, his voice low and menacing.

  “Am I interrupting anything?”

  Both Othello and Joe looked back to see Adonis come out onto the patio.

  Welcoming the interruption, Joe rose, smiled and shook his son’s hand. “Adonis, how are you, son? O and I were just discussing business.”

  Adonis and Othello shook hands.

  “How’s my sister?”

  “Never better,” Othello smiled, as he stood up, then looked at his watch. “I’m sorry I ain’t got more time to kick it with you, Adonis. We need to have lunch though, soon.”

  “Whenever, just give me the word when,” Adonis replied.

  “Later, Joe,” Othello walked out, leaving Joe and Adonis to watch him leave.

  “Everything okay, Dad?”

  “It will be,” Joe Hamlet assured him.

  “I think he knows, Joe,” Aphrodite read between the lines. She and Joe relaxed in the Jacuzzi in their suite.

  “I don’t think so, baby. He would’ve been made his move,” Joe countered.

  “I dunno. I’m beginning to think maybe Black Sam wasn’t his only backer.”

  Joe looked at her, his shift in expression betraying the fact he hadn’t considered that angle.

  “Think about it,” she reasoned. “He didn’t kill Don. Why? Because he wanted to keep him on ice? Then Don comes out of hiding, he doesn’t even try to move on Othello after he kidnapped him? It doesn’t make sense. Don ain’t ever been a pretty boy’s bitch.”

  “Othello isn’t pretty,” Joe said, and sat back and pondered her words.

  He could see her point, but he shook his head.

  “No. Don ain’t a planner. He’s a doer, and I’ve known him long enough and well enough to know he’s a secret coward. He talks big, but he ain’t no killer. He knows he’s exposed, especially after Othello eliminated his heavy hitters. He may be licking his wounds, but he wasn’t down from the beginning, that I can tell you.”

  “Maybe you’re right baby, but what if you’re wrong?”

  Mona, Celeste and Kandi made their way over to the table. The restaurant was crowded. And loud. Five star or not, whether it took weeks to get a table or you could walk in off the street, none of that changed the acoustics. It was loud. And while most of the diners had to wait weeks for their seat, it was different for the wives of the top gangstas in the city. They got a table the same afternoon, like they was on some reality show. Real Housewives of the Underworld, or something.

  They had all gone shopping. It had been Kandi’s idea, saying she wanted to get to know Mona better. Despite Mona’s misgivings, she was wanted it to work, their men were closer than blood so life would be easier if they all just got along. She decided to invite Celeste along. To Mona’s surprise, she had a good time. Kandi was funny and had an intoxicating personality. Mona was won over.

  By the time they got to lunch, they were like old friends.

  “Girl, I’m tellin’ you, did you see that white bitch’s face when you whipped out that black card on her ass? Priceless,” Kandi laughed.

  “I thought the bitch’s head was gonna explode!” Celeste chimed in, enjoying it every bit as much.

  They all laughed as the waiter approached, drinking him in slow, not expecting a white man to be so fine.

  “Damn, boy, are you a waiter or a Calvin Klein model?” Kandi half-joked.

  He smirked.

  No doubt he got that type of reaction all the time. He had a look that most women wanted to worship; dark Grecian features reminiscent of the noblest of ancient blood, square jaw and Mediterranean olive oil skin with eyes the color of the sky. Yeah, they loved him.

  “You flatter me. Thanks. Can I take your orders?”

  “I’ll have you, half an hour, I’ll change your world,” Celeste blurted out, then gave Kandi a high five.

  He took it in stride, smiling along until they finally gave him their orders, then walked away.

  “Damn, now that was a fine ass white boy,” Kandi remarked.

  “Can’t disagree with you there,” Mona seconded.

  “And did you see that print? Shit, I’d definitely give him this pussy,” Kandi commented.

  Mona looked at her.

  “And Mac would kill him.”

  “Shit, what Mac don’t know…”

  Mona shook her head. “I could never do O like that.”

  Kandi looked at her out the corner of her eye, skeptically. “Come on, Mona. You sayin’ that for a hundred million you wouldn’t give another muhfucka the pussy?”

  “A hundred million?” It was such an outrageous sum. “Shit the right muhfucka could get it for a hundred dollars!” Celeste joked and they all laughed.

  Mona shook her head again. “Y’all are too crazy, but no, I’ve never been a cheater. Shit, if I’m gonna cheat, might as well leave, you know?”

  “I hear you,” Kandi replied, sipping her glass of zinfandel, thinking, Bitch, please. If your celebrity crush comes walking through the door, you’d fuck him on the table and we all know it.

  Mona was wearing her scarf, the one O had custom made from her memories. When Kandi saw it wrapped around her neck she said, “Oh my god, that scarf is so beautiful.”

  Her mind went back to her conversation with Mac.

  “The whole purpose of you hanging out with Mona is to get something of hers,” Mac had explained.

  “What you mean something?”

  “An article of clothing, some kind of personal item, something he’ll recognize. I don’t give a fuck what, just make sure it’s recognizable.”

  “You like it? O got it for me on our honeymoon in Italy. It’s just like one my grandmother used to have,” Mona told her.

  Perfect, Kandi thought.

  “Please please please, don’t get mad but I have this skirt that would beautiful with that. I’d kill to wear it, just once,” Kandi begged.

  “No, I couldn’t,” Mona tried to protest, but Kandi was all in.

  “I promise I’ll take good care of it. Please.”

  And being the kind of person who hated to tell someone no, Mona finally sighed, half-smiled and replied, “Sure, but only this time, and you have to swear to look after it.”

  She untied it from around her neck and handed it to Kandi.

  The other woman eyed it greedily. “I can’t wait to see how this looks,” Kandi finished the sentence in her mind: when O sees where we put it.

  The three girls continued to kick it.

  In the bathroom a little while late, Kandi took a moment to text Mac.

  I got it! A blue scarf.

  Othello woke up with a start.

  He had that dream again.

  The dream about Cash and Mona fucking.

  It was the exact same dream, in the exact same place.

  He sat up and rubbed his face, shaking his head, trying to dislodge it, and unable to get Mona’s cum-face out of his mind, the way she looked, that secret look, the intimacy of the ecstasy, on her face when Cash was inside of her.

 
“Fuck man, it can’t be,” he mumbled to himself, but then his phone rang and his mind was really blown…

  Mac had been planning his move slowly and methodically. He knew each piece and how they built on the last. He was good at this. Better than good. He was a master at putting it all together, in tearing down a man’s mind, step by step.

  Now, he was about to throw Othello over the edge.

  He had gone over Cash’s house and found Milk there with him.

  Since Othello had gotten married, he had stopped fucking Milk, which left her running back to the superior dick game of Cash.

  She lay in the bed knocked out, while Mac and Cash sat in the living room, smoking a blunt.

  “Ay yo, that bitch’s ass is fat as a muhfucka,” Mac remarked.

  Cash chuckled.

  “Fattest ass on a white girl I’ve ever seen.” Mac inhaled the blunt.

  “What up with that thing with you and Mona?”

  Cash shrugged.

  “I hollered at her a few times. She said she’s working on it and to be patient.”

  Mac secretly hit the send button on his phone, which was already set up with Othello’s number.

  Othello saw it was Mac’s number and picked up.

  “Hello?” He answered, but got no response, so he repeated, “Hello? Mac?”

  Mac didn’t say anything, at least not to him, but Othello could hear Mac and Cash in the background shooting the shit.

  He heard Mona’s name and got real quiet so that he could hear every word.

  “That bitch love to fuck, yo,” Cash laughed, then hit the blunt. “She like a goddamn nympho or somethin!”

  “You blowin’ her back out though, huh?” Mac goosed Cash on.

  “Shit, you think I ain’t?”

  “Better not let O find out,” Mac warned playfully.

  “Ay, pussy pussy, we don’t love these hoes,” Cash laughed.

  Othello threw up in his mouth.

  Hearing his heart’s name mentioned so flippantly, like a common whore, thinking they were talking about how Cash was fucking her, it was like he had the sight, his dream come true.