Dream Weaver

by Nene Capri

  Hey little mama,

  I guess if you’re reading this then I am in a pretty fucked up situation. First let me say I am sorry for whatever pain I have caused you. I love you baby and all I wanted was to keep my little Kenyatta safe. Every day tell my son that I love him. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met mind, body, and soul. Take my love and make it last forever.

  Love always,

  Your King, Derrick

  Kenyatta swallowed her spit hard as she digested the words on the page. She balled the letter up, threw it against the wall, and started to cry uncontrollably until her breaths shortened. She covered her mouth so as not to wake up the baby. She jumped up and closed the bathroom door, then sat back on the edge of the tub. She bawled and bawled, crying about everything she had gone through. She cried for Li’l Derrick and how he came into the world, she cried about losing everyone, and then she cried for herself. She was alone, no friends or plans, things had just gotten more than real.

  After a little over a half an hour, she managed to run some more hot water and climb into the tub. She turned on the Jacuzzi jets, exhaled, and prayed for peace for her soul, but the demons that lived there would not let her feel any relief.

  Kenyatta dipped her cloth into the hot water, drizzled it over her face and neck, put her head back, and closed her eyes. She hopped into the shower and dressed. She walked back into the room and poured herself another drink. With each sip she made a vow to herself. She promised herself that this would be the last time she cried. She quickly began devising a plan to make her and her son’s lives as comfortable as possible. Every choice she made from there forward would be for her son, and nothing or no one was going to stop her.

  The next day Kenyatta secured an apartment and picked out and paid for furniture. On the way back to the hotel, she held her son tight and whispered in his ear, “We will be all right.”

  Chapter 17 - Settle the Score

  Larue stood in Leena’s kitchen, watching her count the stacks of money with a gleam in her eye. He just shook his head in disgust at how chicks could be so greedy, selling ass and soul for a few dollars.

  “So you sure about the time and date?” he asked, standing there in his crisp, light-blue jeans and fresh, red t-shirt.

  “Yes, and I hope y’all get his ass. That nigga is holding the whole bank, and that bitch Kenyatta got the whole stash. She is the one,” she said, licking her finger and counting the next stack.

  “Word,” Larue feigned ignorance.

  “Hell yeah. He loves Chyna, and that bitch makes him weak. So when he finds out she is in Atlanta, he will come. He knows she can fold, so my bet is on Kenyatta. She will die for that dumb nigga, he trusts her with that loot.” She paused and looked up.

  “And what’s your roll? Why you cross the team?”

  “Fuck the team. They yell team, and then those niggas turn on you and rob your pocket at the same time.”

  “I see you lacing your pocket too,” Larue spat, looking at her with contempt in his eyes.

  “I earned this.”

  “You earned this too.” He pulled out his gun and shot her in the back of the head.

  Leena’s head hit the table hard and blood seeped out onto the dirty money. Larue smiled at the sight of the snitch laid out, thinking, a sneaky tongue is only good buried.

  * * * * *

  Dream stood in the shower, thinking about he how he had been up for the last twenty-four hours sorting out the shit storm that was left behind after the doors to several of his gaming houses were kicked in by the boys in blue. He burned inside at the treachery Derrick and his team were still able to pull off. Dream emerged from the shower and entered the bedroom. He looked over at Chyna, who moved around the room as if she was oblivious to what was about to go down. Dream busted all of her bubbles with his next statement.

  “Pack your bag,” Dream said, pulling on his pants.

  “Why, for what?” Chyna asked, standing next to the bed and rubbing lotion on her skin.

  “Bitch, don’t play with me. We going to meet that nigga.”

  Chyna froze in place, looking at Dream for any sign of a joke.

  “Hurry up, we have a plane to catch,” he ordered as he pulled his shirt over his head.

  Knots filled Chyna’s belly as she thought about being the one that was going to lead Dream right to Derrick’s door. She watched Dream get himself together for the trip, then she went about doing the same. Everything was about to come to an end.

  * * * * *

  Kenyatta stood in line at the cleaners, sorting her shirts out. She handed each piece to the attendant and waited for her pay slip. Kenyatta was looking through her purse for a stick of gum when she felt a shadow come up on her right side. She looked over and was pleased with the handsome, well-dressed gentleman standing next to her. As he placed each pair of jeans on the counter, she glanced back and forth. She watched him in her peripheral. He was tall, slim, and well put together. She turned to checkout his full features and got caught up in his hypnotic gaze. Kenyatta quickly turned forward.

  “Damn, good looking, you just made a brother’s heart stop. I might need some CPR,” he said jokingly and waited for her response.

  “Wow. Do you get dates saying corny shit like that?” Kenyatta rolled her eyes and then turned her attention back on the small, Asian guy. She took the yellow slip of paper from his hand.

  Tate grabbed his chest. “That was a low. You’re way to pretty to be so mean,” he spat, looking at the side of her face intensely.

  Kenyatta bent her lips into a slight curve.

  “Oh, you can smile?” he asked, moving a little closer. “Hi, my name is Tate.” He extended his hand.

  “Hello, Mr. Tate. My name is Kenyatta.” She put her hand out.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said and kissed the back of her hand.

  Kenyatta giggled, and the door opened for Tate to step right in. He quickly handled his business, then stood off to the side and chatted for a few minutes.

  “Can I take you to lunch?” Tate was forward about what he wanted.

  “I don’t know, can you?” she replied slickly.

  “I am going to enjoy every second of getting to know you.” He gave her that sexy smile. “This is what we’ll do: I’ll pick you up on Friday, and you get to choose anywhere you want to go, and everything is on me.” He took out his phone and handed it to her.

  Kenyatta looked up at him with her lips twisted as she tried to decipher his angle. “Yeah, okay,” she said as she punched in her digits.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” he stated, taking back his phone. He texted her before placing it in his pocket.

  When she looked and read, “See you, Friday, beautiful,” her heart jumped. She was missing the affection of a man, and he was doing and saying things she needed to hear and see. “What, you thought I gave you the wrong number?” she tried to act as if she wasn’t affected.

  “Nah, nothing like that. I wanted them to be the last words you saw on my way out the door,” he said. He winked at her and walked off.

  Kenyatta crossed her feet at the ankles. She needed to control the tingling between her thighs that was dominating her thoughts.

  Friday came quick, and Kenyatta was a bundle of nerves. She walked into the restaurant in a light-pink pants suit that hugged her curves in all the right places. Tate watched the space between her legs as she approaches the table. His dick whispered at his zipper. “Damn,” he mumbled under his breath as he stood.

  “I’m sorry I am a little late. I got tied up,” she said, leaning in for a quick hug.

  “No problem. You are definitely worth the wait.” He pulled back and handed her a dozen yellow roses.

  “Aww, that is so sweet. Thank you.”

  Tate pulled out her chair, and they sat down and ordered their meal.

  “So where are you from?” Tate asked, placing some fried shrimp in his mouth.

  Kenyatta sat silent for a minute and then responded with, “Virgin
ia.”

  “Oh, okay, what part? I have people up there,” he looked in her eyes.

  “Boykins,” she said, then looked down at her chicken and pasta.

  “Oh, okay. What brings you to Atlanta?”

  Kenyatta again paused. She lifted her head slowly and forced a smile. “I just needed a change,” the words left her lips, and the reality of the situation she was forced into caused a lump to form in her throat.

  Tate reached out and took her free hand. “I hope I can be a big part of that change,” he squeezed her hand and looked deeply into her eyes.

  “We will see,” she responded, sliding her hand away from him.

  “Don’t worry. I’m a very patient man, and I’ll go slow.” He flirted with his eyes, drawing her in.

  “As I said, we will see,” she smiled and continued to eat her meal.

  Once they were done eating, they just sat and talked. Kenyatta chose all her answers carefully so she wouldn’t tell too much. Tate picked up on it and only asked what he thought she would be comfortable answering. Kenyatta let her hair down and enjoyed his company, and the fact that he was pleasant on the eyes didn’t hurt either.

  “Lunch was great. I needed to get out. Thank you,” she said.

  “I enjoyed it myself. Maybe we can go out again,” he suggested.

  “Maybe we can.” Kenyatta paused and then said, “Let me share something with you before we go any further. I have a little king at home. He is the most important person in my life, and if anything or anyone stands in the way of that, then I can’t be involved with them. So let’s take it real slow and see where we end up.”

  “I respect that, and whenever you’re ready, let me know. You are a beautiful woman and not just your looks. I can tell you are a rare breed, and I would be a fool to let you get away from me.”

  “I know your tongue is slippery if nothing else.”

  “Yup, real slippery, and I make every place I put it even slipperier.” He rose to his feet.

  Kenyatta looked up as he towered over her, and her coochie tingled again.

  “You ready?” he asked, placing money on the table.

  “Yes,” she stood and grabbed her purse.

  Tate walked her to her car, then jumped in his car and watched her pull off. He reached for his cell and called Sherm.

  “Hello.”

  “Yeah, we on point. She is going to lead us to that money. I’ll see you later at the game room.”

  “A’ight,” Sherm hung up and placed a stack of bills in the adding machine. He placed them on the table, knowing he was closer to getting his revenge.

  Chapter 18 - On that Ass

  “Sup, my nigga?” Dream’s voice boomed through the phone, causing Derrick to lose all feeling in his legs. Derrick leaned up against the wall, listening attentively. “I got this bitch with me. I need you to meet me at that old club out in Lithonia at 10:00. Have my shit or your sons will bury their mother, and then you will bury them,” he growled into the phone.

  “Look, I got you. I will be there.”

  “And be on time, because I will not hesitate to give this bitch plastic surgery.” He hung up and sat the phone on the console of the car. “You did good.” He looked over at Chyna, who was perched in her seat, looking out of the window at the passing vehicles.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll still love you from beyond the grave,” Dream stated coldly.

  Chyna didn’t respond, she just stared out the window and prayed it would all be over soon.

  * * * * *

  Kenyatta dropped Li’l Derrick off at an old friend’s house in Marietta. She kissed his little cheeks and hugged him tightly.

  “Be a good boy,” she said into his tiny ear.

  “Girl, go ahead. He will be fine. All these kids to play with, he is gonna have a ball. You have fun,” Carmen said, trying to get Kenyatta out of there.

  “Okay. I’ll call you when I am on my way back.” Kenyatta kissed him one more time and headed to her car.

  Kenyatta drove to the restaurant to meet Tate, nervous like she was on her way to prom. He pulled into the lot, parked, and sat for a while. After applying lip gloss and perfume and a swallowing Listerine strip, she stepped out of the car. She wore a pair of dark-orange, linen Capris; a linen, strapless tank top; and matching, six-inch heels.

  Kenyatta’s hair and booty bounced to the beat of every stride. She walked through the doors, put her head high in the air, and looked around for Tate. He was seated off to the side in a dimly-lit corner, looking tasty. He waved her over. Tate stood up and gave her a firm hug. When Kenyatta took a seat, she wore a big, pretty smile on her face.

  “How was your day?” Tate asked, taking a swig of his drink.

  “It was well. How about yours?”

  “It was good because I thought about you all day,” he said looking into her eyes.

  “You are so full of it,” she busted out laughing, breaking the ice for the rest of the night.

  Tate and Kenyatta talked and laughed over dinner. By the end of the night, between the flirting and the good feelings, Kenyatta was ready to see what Tate was working with. She invited him to her hotel for a couple of drinks, and he of course accepted.

  Kenyatta watched him stay close behind as they traveled separately to her hotel.

  Tate had adrenaline pumping through his veins as they pulled into the parking lot.

  “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea with bringing you to a hotel. I’m just staying here until my apartment is ready,” she said as they walked to the elevator.

  “Nah it’s all good. I’ll tell them I let you take advantage of me.”

  “Whatever,” she giggled as they stepped inside.

  Kenyatta opened the door to her suite and hit the light. She set her keys down, walked over to the satellite radio, and pumped some old school R&B.

  Tate looked around the suite and watched as Kenyatta moved about the room, setting her traps.

  “What you want to drink?” she asked, stepping out of her shoes.

  “Whatever you’re having,” he said, watching her booty shake as she walked away.

  “I got you,” Kenyatta said as she mixed two drinks and walked back over to where he stood. “You can sit down, I promise not to bite you,” she said, passing him the drink.

  “I know, but I got work to do,” he stated, taking the glass into his hand.

  “Work? What kind of work,” she giggled and then took a sip of her drink.

  “This kind of work.” Tate punched her in the face as soon as she lowered the glass, knocking her to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Kenyatta looked up in horror, wiping the blood from her nose.

  “Look, bitch, I ain’t about to play with you. Where the fuck is that money?” he asked, walking over to her and grabbing her by the collar.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she cried out.

  Tate hit her again and then again. “Do you know now?” he asked, ready to take his interrogation to the next level.

  “Please, stop, I don’t have your money!” she screamed, holding her hands in front of her face.

  “Okay,” he said and punched her two more times, knocking her out cold. He dragged her to the bathroom and threw her on the cold, marble floor. Tate stopped up the tub and filled it with ice-cold water.

  “Let’s see if we can jog your memory.” He slapped her face, jolting her back to the here and now.

  “Please, I don’t know,” she cried barely coherent.

  “You will know.” Tate picked her up by the back of her shirt and dunked her head and chest down in the water.

  Kenyatta kicked, trying to get free. Tate pulled her up and asked her again, and one more time she denied. He dunked her again, this time pulling her up just before she stopped moving. Kenyatta came out of the water gasping for air and pleading for her life.

  Tate punched her in the mouth and yelled, “Lie to me again!”

  Kenyatta put her hands up and yel
led, “Okay! Okay.” She cried and shook, feeling like she was going to pass out.

  “Where is it? And don’t make me act the fuck up,” he spoke through a tight jaw.

  “It’s in the safe,” she pointed out of the bathroom.

  “Let’s go.” He dragged her out to the living room. “Where?!” he yelled again.

  Kenyatta pointed at the wall, and Tate dragged her to it. She nervously fidgeted with the buttons, and the safe came open.

  “That’s all you had to do in the first place.” He glared down at her, knocked her out, and threw her against the wall. He moved to the bedroom, grabbed a bag, dumped out her clothing, and filled it with the money.

  Tate watched her, laid out cold, and he gave his parting words. “Never put your life on the line for a nigga who don’t even give a fuck about himself.” He put the bag on his shoulder and moved out.

  Chapter 19 - A Living Nightmare

  Dream pulled up to the back of the old club and parked in between the two trucks, just as instructed. He jumped out and popped the trunk. He stared down at Chyna. She was in the fetal position, hands tied in front of her back, with a bandana tied around her eyes and mouth. Dream reached in, pulled her from the trunk, and stood her up.

  “Sorry, but I gotta throw you to the wolves so I can eat.” Dream smirked as the words left his lips.

  “Just let me go. Derrick ain’t built like that. He will give you whatever you want. I don’t want to die,” she cried as he walked her to the entrance.

  “Me either, but I will have to. However, today belongs to somebody else,” he said, tapping lightly on the glass and placing Chyna in front of him. He reached in the back of his shirt, pulled out his gun, and pressed it into the middle of her back.

  Dream squinted his eyes when he saw a figure coming toward the door. He stepped back and watched every movement. Tate pushed the door open and Dream led Chyna inside. Chyna stumbled along, looking down and trying to see out of the bottom of her blindfold. She could feel the sweat running between her breasts and down the crack of her ass. Fear sent hot flashes through her body as she was dragged along what had to be a garage, and she could smell gasoline and rubber.