by T. Styles
Before addressing Rasim, Brooklyn pulled Snow into a strong hug, kissed her on the cheek and said, “Thank you for saving my man’s life. Again. I love you.”
She softly touched the side of his face and said, “I love you too.”
When Brooklyn walked around her to check on the welfare of his brother, Chance embraced Snow just as strongly. He also kissed her on the head and she touched him on the face.
When they were finished properly greeting the queen, they walked over to the table to confer with the king. The moment they saw Rasim’s face, the three men enclasped one another as they fought back tears that were rightfully theirs due to the loss of Donald, due to the loss of Rasim’s parents and due to the state of their country.
When they were done, Snow fed the other two men and Mute Candy grabbed plates for herself, the girls and her cousin. Since her work was done, she bid them farewell and left them alone.
After getting her plate, Snow retreated to the living room like she did in the Strawberry Meadows days. With her love being implanted in Rasim’s heart, she knew a real man also needed the connection of his comrades to properly heal.
But when she saw Rasim’s cup was empty she sat her plate on the sofa, hopped up and refilled his juice before doing the same for the fellas.
Back in the day, Chance and Brooklyn thought her behavior was weird but boy did they feel stupid now. They realized that their friend had been blessed with what both of them would kill for. A bitch that embodied the epitome of what it meant to truly hold a nigga down.
When they were done, they left and Snow cleaned up the kitchen and escorted her man to the bed. But she was about her shit. Her work was far from over.
So she showered and covered her damp skin in Rasim’s favorite Chanel body lotion but that was about it. Why bother putting on clothes when they were such frivolous things? Instead, as naked as the day she last fucked him, she slipped into the bed. And yes…Rasim was waiting.
Crouched over top of him like the sun, she lowered her head and placed tiny kisses on his big toes before gracefully moving to his ankles, covering his legs with lip caresses until she somehow found herself on top of his dick.
Rasim was so aroused that he was rock hard and oozing with pre-cum.
His bitch was back!
All hail Snow!
The one woman who was made for him. The woman who was designed in his image had proven why her heart should not have been toyed with in the first and second place.
She was strong. She meant what she said and he realized that although Snow loved him, she would not hesitate to disappear if he didn’t honor their agreement and broke her heart again.
My, my, my, had Snow changed.
Her fuck game was spectacular. Worthy of an award with the prestige of an Oscar.
Snow felt her man trembling like an old car starting up on a cold day. But she wanted to taste him. She wanted his sweet cream down her throat. So she eased up and provided his dick shelter within the walls of her mouth.
Rasim moaned louder than he ever knew was possible. Her tongue circled and traced the base of his stick but he held back. Why was he holding back?
It was time for a conversation.
For if they were going to fuck, then he had better act like it.
So she stopped and looked up at him. “Rasim, I belong to you,” she glared. “You can’t hurt me if you tried. Now stop treating me delicately and fuck me like you know it.”
Shit. Why didn’t she say that at first?
He palmed her head like a hood nigga who was nice with the basketball and fucked her throat as if he were collecting points. Snow didn’t gag once because when they were together he taught her how he liked to be sucked so her throat was relaxed.
She was cool on holding her breath. She could worry about breathing later. Right now it was all about Rasim.
And for her dedication, she was rewarded with a trail of cream down her esophagus.
Poor Rasim.
He couldn’t handle Snow’s new and improved fuck game if he tried. All he wanted was to go to sleep but it was too early. And the whole thing about it was that she was far from done. She crawled on top of him, dripping wet pussy and all. Snow hit the switches on that nigga like a tricked out ride in Cali.
In awe, he gripped at her hips as he felt himself heavy with the desire to cum again. So he did and his semen pushed out of his body as he hollered so loudly and strong that he gave himself a sore throat.
It was the best sex he ever had.
In his life.
Nobody had shit on Snow and that went for freaky Selena too.
Now that her work was done, Snow ran her hands through her damp hair and her titties bounced like paddleballs. It was her time to get off.
“I swear to God you made for me,” he moaned. He looked upon her in amazement.
Snow heard him, no doubt, but Rasim was preaching to the choir. In full fuck mode, she rode that nigga so strong and so hard that at the end of the night, he asked her to be his wife.
****
On Monday, October 1, 2001, Rasim and Snow became husband and wife.
Although they were newlyweds, they were married in an uneventful ceremony. Snow wasn’t interested in a big to do. All she wanted was to be what she always desired… his wife.
After they were joined by the ring, they had a small gathering at their house and Mute Candy, Donald’s daughters, Brooklyn and Chance came over to celebrate. Snow’s parents dropped by too and they were happy for the young couple because, if nothing else, the Bradshaws knew that their love was pure. Even if it didn’t work.
The next day it was honeymoon time. Snow located an all-inclusive resort and they were scheduled to see Jamaica, a place neither of them ventured before.
But something was going on with Rasim that alarmed Snow. It was subtle but she saw it. When she met him in the beginning, he had joy in his heart and laughed and joked a lot. But since she returned to him, he didn’t chuckle once.
She didn’t take it personally. It was evident how much he adored her by the intensity he used when he gripped her as she stood at his side, as if he were protecting her from the elements of the world. His grief had nothing to do with Snow. He had simply lost his happiness for the rest of his life.
Snow did all she could to persuade him to open up and laugh again but nothing worked. She knew his heart was in pieces from his multiple losses but he refused to speak about those things.
As always, Snow was wise and she would not push him. It was her job to feed and clothe him, so that he would be safe.
Rasim and Snow were at the airport in the line preparing to go through the screening process. As they made their way to the front, people eyed the young couple suspiciously and both figured Rasim’s half open right eye was the attention grabber. But as they continued down the line the stares grew stronger and more intense. Snow wondered what could be wrong?
When they reached the screener, a white man in his mid-thirties sat back in the chair with exaggerated casualness. “Identification please,” he snapped at Rasim.
Rasim quickly handed him his passport. The screener investigated the document looking up at him every so often in the process. It was as if he were reading his dirty diary and learned horrible secrets about him.
“Rasim Nami, huh?” he said in a condescending tone. “What nationality is that?”
“Excuse me, sir?” He leaned in.
“I said what nationality?”
“I’m American,” Rasim said proudly as his chest grew swollen with pride. He loved this country and he didn’t want the screener thinking he had anything to do with the madness that occurred in New York, DC and Pennsylvania or that he stood by the perpetrators, for that matter.
“I’m asking you what is your ethnicity,” the screener shot back, now drawing a crowd. “Not where you were born!”
When Snow turned around and observed the expressions of the people in the line, it was evident that they enjoyed what was occurring.
As if injuring her husband’s feelings would bring back the thousands of people who died in the tragedy. What shocked Snow even more was that a few black people had the nerve to turn up their noses when they knew what their people had been through.
Snow was confused.
Why all the hate for a man who adored America?
Rasim swallowed and wiped the sweat that was brewing on his brow. “Sir, I am…Pakistani,” he said under his breath. “But I was born in America.”
The screener’s brow lowered and he frowned. It was as if he wanted Rasim to lie about his background since he so-called loved America so fucking much. With a stiff finger, he pointed to his right. “Stand over there!”
“Is something wrong?” Rasim asked.
“Either stand over there or you won’t get on that plane,” he yelled. “Now move! There are other customers waiting.”
Rasim and Snow trudged toward the section delegated not too far from the screener. For twenty minutes they endured cold glares from people as they looked upon Rasim with hate.
It was madness. Why were they angry with him? When those planes attacked, Rasim hurt too. And so did she. Couldn’t they see? Why had they so quickly formed opinions based solely on his skin tone?
When two security officers approached, one large African American male and a scraggy white male with a spotted face, Snow reasoned that things weren’t going to get any better.
The men escorted both of them into a room off of the gate and bombarded Rasim with question after question. They wanted to know who he was and where he was going. What had he done before coming to the airport and what were his plans thereafter. They even hinted to wanting to know the relationship he had with Snow. What was next? Demanding to know how he fucked his new wife? If it was proper-like?
Although Snow was forced into the room as well, it was obvious that she was just guilty by association. Their real intended prey was Rasim Nami, her loving husband. She felt helpless as she watched them berate him simply because of his heritage.
To make matters worse, they made him take off his shirt and ran a wand up and down his bare skin. What did they think? That he had a bomb within his chest cavity? The white man produced a pair of latex gloves and put them on his hands. He looked over at a bottle of lubricant and considered using it to perform a thorough investigation.
Rasim looked over at Snow, feeling less than a man. With a heart heavier than a brick. He wasn’t fit to be her husband. He couldn’t even love her in public.
So he lowered his eyes and his body hunched over as his manhood was stomped on for their amusement and pleasure. All he wanted was to take his beautiful wife to an island and he feared that the trip would not happen.
When she saw a single tear hung in the corner of his eye, Snow’s gut rolled. She didn’t want the men to reap the benefits of their harsh behavior by seeing him broke down. For all she cared they could take the island of Jamaica and push it up their funky asses.
In the past Snow chose the soft-spoken route but boy was she tired of that shit. She was tired of biting her tongue and tired of not speaking her mind. In anger she yelled, “You two mothafuckas have taken enough of my husband’s time.”
Snow’s intensity shocked Rasim and made him proud. Suddenly he was given the vigor he needed to be stronger.
The black officer’s cheeks jiggled because Snow’s spirit was so quiet a moment ago that he forgot she was even in the room. Who knew the walls could talk? Her voice possessed so much power. The white officer was just as shocked and his pockmarked skin turned a brilliant shade of blue.
“Baby, put your clothes on,” Snow ordered feeling more empowered. “If they don’t want us on their plane they can take it out back and fuck it! We out of here!”
****
Mr. and Mrs. Rasim Nami did not go out of town for their honeymoon and it wasn’t the last time people held him personally responsible for the 9/11 attacks with their ugly stares and sly remarks.
Even the FBI took jabs by coming to the house asking Rasim a million questions about his parents and the organization that he knew nothing of.
Before long, Rasim’s already hardened heart grew solid and only Snow possessed the recipe to make it soften.
In order to relieve stress, Rasim took to bodybuilding. He grew stronger and bigger and never spoke about the 9/11 attacks or the loss of his people again. Even though there were more Americans who didn’t hold Rasim accountable for what happened in the country, for some odd reason, he could only remember the faces of the many who did.
Things were bad but the devil made them worse the day Rasim received a frantic call from Chance. “You gotta come to the block, man! The nigga Levi set up shop and bragging to niggas that he killed Donald.”
Rage.
Strong, unfettered rage, gripped Rasim’s heart like a migraine headache. “Meet me at the liquor store,” Rasim responded, breathing slowly through his nostrils. “I’m on my way.”
From the kitchen, Snow heard the phone call and she could see the word “revenge” bling in both of Rasim’s eyes. He wanted somebody to pay for his parents’ suicide. He wanted somebody to pay for the racism he experienced as of late. And lastly he wanted the nigga responsible for Donald’s death to glisten in his own blood.
When Rasim hung up the phone he moved with the gait of a zombie to the bathroom. His body was tense as he stepped in front of the mirror.
From the opened doorway Snow witnessed Rasim eyeing himself as he transformed to something dark and sinister in the mirror.
Rasim removed the Kufi from his pocket and pressed it on his head. If they wanted to make him a monster for being Pakistani and Muslim, then he would feed on their fear and turn it into power. He observed his right eye, which was permanently closed in the corner. He observed his body, which was free of flaws and tattoos. He didn’t look like he felt inside but soon all that would change.
He knew what needed to be done and he was about to exit the bathroom when Snow stood in front of him. She knew what he was about to do; it was written all over his body as if she were reading a newspaper.
Her dear husband, her beautiful Rasim, was about to commit cold-blooded murder.
Rasim looked down at her, hoping that she wouldn’t ask him to do something he couldn’t…deny his friends help. Instead she touched the side of his face and said, “When you kill the nigga, make sure you’re sick with it.”
That was all that needed to be said.
****
When Rasim pulled up at the liquor store, Brooklyn and Chance were already standing out front with their hands stuffed in their jean pockets. Worry covered their faces as they paced the ground before them. It was cool though, Rasim held enough strength for the both of them.
Rasim hopped out of the car draped in an all black hoodie. The white Kufi on his head stood out for several reasons. For one, they never saw him wear it and for two, the contrast between the black and the white was so strong, a cop could see him from miles away. But he didn’t give a fuck. It wasn’t coming off.
“Where he at?” Rasim interrogated as he approached his brothers.
Both Brooklyn and Chance were taken aback by Rasim’s stance. The jokester kid had vanished and in his place stood the man who whispered warrior.
Rasim was about that life.
“In front of the building,” Brooklyn said trying to appear as hard as Rasim.
“Who over there with him?”
“His crew,” Chance said. “The same ‘ole hating ass niggas.”
Rasim reached behind him and touched the handle of his gun.
“What you gonna do?” Brooklyn asked. Rasim didn’t rock in this arena.
“Stay right here,” he said seriously. “I’m gonna handle it.”
“Naw, man, we called you for backup in case we need Phantom, but we got it,” Chance said as he touched Rasim’s arm.
When Rasim looked down at him as if he had violated and butt fucked his wife, Chance removed his hand.
“I sai
d I’ll handle it.”
And that’s exactly what he did.
Rasim didn’t hop in his ride, roll down the window and blast Levi where he stood like in so many dope boy movies. He didn’t hide in a corner of his apartment, jump out and shoot him either.
As cool as a fall evening, as cool as a summer rain, Rasim Nami walked methodically toward Levi as he stood on the block. In the same place he and Donald used to pump every day.
When Rasim got within a stone’s throw of the niggas, he pulled his weapon, tugged the trigger and pierced Levi’s beating heart. Eyes open, Levi gripped his chest and fell to the ground.
The nigga was over.
Ironically, had it been Brooklyn or Chance, Levi and his boys would not have been so lackadaisical. In fact, they would’ve reached for their hammers and cut them down where they stood. But the gunman was Rasim, the funny kid of Pakistani descent. What could he possibly do to them?
Now it was too late. In an attempt to save their own lives, Levi’s friends bolted up the street and Washington, DC had made it known that a new killer was born.
Terry took one look back, not believing it was him and continued his sprint home.
In full killer mode, Rasim stood over Levi’s corpse with the barrel stretched as if it were an extension of his body and placed a hot spot ever so lightly in the middle of his forehead.
Aw. That’s just right.
When he was done he removed his switchblade and gave Levi a Glasgow smile. It was a shoddy job, no doubt, but he would get better with time.
When his work was done, and only when it was done, he wiped his knife on Levi’s shirt and slid off as smoothly as oil on a stiff dick.
PART THREE
CHAPTER 13
RASIM
MAY 2012
Rasim Nami, acclaimed drug lord, sat in a wooden chair large enough to hold his naked muscular frame with Snow Nami in his lap. His chiseled biceps and torso were completely tatted and his most prized work of art, Snow’s name, was etched across his heart with an iron gate in front of it. It symbolized not only that Rasim was a married man but also that he would protect her.