Forbidden Fruit

by Nika Michelle

  Forbidden Fruit

  A Street Tale

  Nika Michelle

  www.anexanderbooks.com

  Chapter 1

  Diablo looked at me as he handed his boy the last ten bricks of coke.

  “I hate having you around this,” he said.

  “Go bake these up,” he told Adonnis, also known as Ace.

  The first time I saw him I was fourteen. At the time I was in and out of juvenile detention centers. The case worker the system had assigned to me said that I was just “acting out” for attention. She also claimed that I didn’t know how to interact with people on a social level, because my mother and father were unfit.

  My parents were hardly deserving of the title. My mom was strung out on crack before I was six years old. She never cared one way or another whether me and my little sister Amaya had a bite to eat or clothes on our backs. My father was sentenced to life in prison because of other warrants and the murder of his live in girlfriend. He had caught her and his best friend in their bed and snapped. He had beaten his best friend down with a bat and put him in a coma for months. He was also charged with attempted murder. This all went down when I was twelve.

  By the time I was thirteen I was skipping school to run drugs for my father’s workers. My father was a drug dealer by the way. That’s how my mom ended up strung out. She’d started with a little weed here and there, which stemmed into coke, and later graduated to crack.

  People say that weed is a gateway drug, but to me that’s bullshit. I think it’s all about greed. One high isn’t strong enough and the person wants more, so they try something stronger. Personally, weed is enough for me. That X and shit is not my cup of tea. After my dad got locked up my mom became worst. She was still in love with him and the thought of him being away from her for life drove her over the edge. Next thing I knew, she was shooting up heroin.

  In order to take care of my little sister I had to take on the responsibility early. To get food and clothes for us I stole whatever I could. My other hustle was watching out for my father’s old workers and running drugs for them. They promised my dad that they would take care of me. He had no idea that they were training me to become a criminal.

  The first time I got arrested I was caught stealing at Saks. I was only thirteen and I‘d snatched up a few Gucci bags at Lenox Square Mall. Another hustle I’d picked up was selling stolen merchandise. Back then they didn’t have the expensive bags secured like they do now. Because I was a minor I was ordered to spend time with a foster family after doing thirty days in “juvie”.

  My sister was taken away from my mom and we were separated for about eight months before I saw her again. My foster parents were just in it for the money so I was still in the streets. My sticky fingers got me caught up about two more times, but I wasn’t punished to the point of rehabilitation. I was released two days before my fourteenth birthday. The child protective services sent me and Amaya to live with our cousin Vernice. Vernice was thirty six years old and had a daughter about my age. That’s where the story begins.

  * * *

  Because my mother was also a foster child and my father’s people were all gangsters, me and Amaya didn’t have anybody but Vernice. Although Vernice had a two bedroom house and a decent job, she was not strict on me and her daughter Princess. I thought I was bad, but Princess was worst. She’d never been to “juvie”, but she had her share of issues.

  We would sneak out at night and hang out in Gladstone Projects. Vernice would be laid up with her “Boo” David so she wasn’t concerned with me and Princess. I met Ablo the day after my birthday. Me and Princess had crawled out of the window of the bedroom that we shared with Maya.

  “C’mon bitch,” Princess laughed as I carefully slid the window down. I didn’t want to wake Maya up.

  “I’m coming,” I whispered.

  We ran down the street and then we relaxed. We were away from the house so we were straight.

  “Was you scared when you was in “juvie”? She asked. We hadn’t really talked about my time in “juvie”.

  “Nope, you know I ain’t ‘fraid ‘a shit,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Yeah, I know”.

  See, Princess was no angel. As a matter-of-fact I was still a virgin and she’d already had sex with four boys. So although I’d been in trouble and she hadn’t, she was still bad in other ways. She just hadn’t gotten caught up yet. Her problem was that she couldn’t stay away from the streets, and the street life. I was given the streets, so it was nothing to me. We walked up the block and mad people were out. I know that we were young, but we starved for the nightlife. I had no idea that my life would change that night. If I had known what was to come I would’ve stayed clear of that street corner.

  We were on the block laughing with a few of the high school boys that Princess knew. With me not being from that side of the city I didn’t really know anybody. It was the middle of June and school started in August. I would be starting the eighth grade because I’d flunked out due to bad behavior, and cutting school. Princess was fifteen and would be going to the tenth grade. She was on point with school, until I came along.

  We puffed on some bomb ass weed that had us geeking hard when a black Explorer rolled up screeching tires.

  “There go Ablo,” Princess said looking mesmerized.

  “Who Ablo?” I asked.

  “Only the hardest muthafucka in Atlanta,” she said handing me the blunt.

  By this time the crowd was breaking up.

  “We out man,” one of the boys we kicked it with said.

  “Yeah, ya’ll can smoke the rest of that,” the shortest one added.

  They walked off and I looked at Princess with a confused look on my face. “What just happened?” I asked.

  “This Ablo shit. Most of these niggas work for him. They s’posed to be about business, so when they see Ablo they get to work.”

  “Oh, so Ablo the big man then,” I smiled.

  “Oh, nol Yanna. Ablo ‘bout nineteen. He too old for you,” Princess warned.

  “I didn’t say nothing girl. Damn, why you lookin’ at me like that?”

  “ ‘Cause Yanna. We grew up together and I know you. We might not’ve been around each other for the past year or so, but I know how your mind work,” she said seriously.

  “Oh, c’mon Princess. You the one that’s fuckin’ and shit, not me.”

  “So, ain’t none of ‘em been over eighteen,” she said like it was nothing. I knew that she was lying.

  “Yo’ Ace! C’mere nigga!” Ablo yelled out of the car window. It was ’93 and Explorers were the shit back then. He had chrome rims and a personalized license plate that read 1Blo. I was dying to see his face.

  A short, cute, light-skinned dude ran to Ablo’s side of the SUV. I watched as a bronze colored arm extended out of the vehicle and handed who I assumed to be Ace, a package. I couldn’t help but notice the black cobra tattooed on his arm. It symbolized exactly what the persona of Diablo stood for. He was the well-respected, venomous king of the streets.

  I was only fourteen at the time, but I was very mature looking for my age. I was often mistaken to be a few years older. I was hoping that this Ablo would be easily fooled. My young hormones were raging and Princess’s numerous stories of her sexual escapades had me wondering.

  Princess looked at me and shook her head.

  Finally Mr. Ablo stepped out of the car and my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. If I hadn’t seen fine before, I saw it right then. His smooth bronze skin and naturally curly hair made me feel weak all over. He was about 5’10 and weighed about 185 lbs. He was toned and I could tell that he was cut up with his white wife beater on. His strong jaw line and big clear light brown eyes with the long lashes were all so pe
rfect. I never felt so attracted to the opposite sex before. The fact that he was so much older than me gave me a challenge. He was standing about two feet from me and we locked eyes for a split second. He licked his thick, brown lips and I sighed a heavy sigh.

  “Damn, he’s fine,” I said almost out of breath.

  “Yes he is, but he outta your league,” Princess said with her hands on her hips.

  “I know he is older, but he ain’t outta my league. Shit, I’m fourteen in dog years.”

  He finally broke our eye contact and continued his conversation with Ace.

  “What’s his story?” I asked admiring his neat side burns and thin moustache. His chin was free of hair, and I liked that.

  “He’s the leader of the infamous Cue Boys…” she started.

  “Cue Boys? Damn, so he run shit huh?” I asked. The fact that he was

  gangsta made him even more interesting to me.

  “Anyhow, he run the streets with Ace, Mont, and his cousin Juan. They call Juan “Scarface”, because he got a cut on his cheek from a fight he was in ‘bout four years ago. Shit, niggas don’t use knives no more. They deep. They don’t really call theyselves a gang, but they do have different sets all over Georgia. They not just here in Atlanta. Him and Juan is Cuban and black. Them niggas got more bitches than a lil’ bit.,” she explained.

  “Of course he goin’ have a lotta bitches. He just ain’t met the right bitch yet.”

  “Don’t even think about it Yanna. He too much, even for you.”

  I tuned her out as I watched Ace get inside the Explorer with Diablo.

  “What kinda name is Ablo anyway?” I asked curiously.

  “Short for Diablo. Diablo Perez.”

  “Diablo Perez,” I repeated letting it roll off my tongue. I decided that night that I would concentrate on getting him. He would be mine, and I would be his “main” bitch. He would get me into the game and we would build our own empire. I wanted to be the biggest queen pen that Atlanta had ever seen. That street shit was in my blood and I could feel it brewing even at the tender age of fourteen.

  Diablo started the Explorer up and made an illegal U turn. It didn’t matter because they kept the cops on their payroll. He drove up lowly and stopped in front of me and Princess.

  “Yo, shawty, my nigga wanna holla at you,” Ace said to me.

  I walked around to the driver side and smiled the sexiest smile I could.

  “What’s up?” I asked and licked my lips.

  “That’s what I wanna ask you,” he said with a hint of a Spanish accent.

  I blushed and looked away. Maybe he was out of my league.

  Anyway, that is how I met Diablo Perez nine years ago. I was determined and by the time I was eighteen, he was mine.

  After that night I snuck out as much as I could just to catch a glimpse of Diablo. He eventually found out how old I was, but still flirted openly with me. He would tell me that I was going be his when I was old enough. Over the years he made sure that I was well taken of. You could say that he kind of put me on lay-away.

  When I was sixteen I dropped out of school and moved in with Shamira, Ace’s sister. She had her own apartment in Gladstone and taught me everything that I know about the drug game. We cooked crack, bagged it and the whole nine. We did everything except hit the streets with it. Mira was a stripper and did private parties on the weekend. She was only nineteen at the time.

  Princess stayed in school, but was barely making it. Aunt Vernice blamed it on me. She wanted to keep me away from Amaya, but my sister looked up to me. She was only thirteen when I moved out.

  Diablo didn’t try to have sex with me until I was seventeen, about three weeks before my eighteenth birthday. Once we became official as a couple he made me leave his product alone. He said that he didn’t want his girl involved in the drug game. My dream of becoming a big queen pen had died. I let him know that I’d been in the drug game before I even met him. He vowed to take care of me for the rest of my life. I believed him because he had become the only family that I had other than my sister and cousin.

  The Present

  “C’mon Ablo. This ain’t the first time I been around crack,” I laughed.

  “I know baby, but damn. I’m s’posed to protect you from the bad shit.” He kissed me softly on the lips.

  “You do,” I whispered, thinking about how he had been taking care of me over the years.

  My cell phone rang and I glanced at the number. It was Princess, so I answered it.

  “Yanna, this Princess. What’s the deal?” She was laughing.

  I could tell that she was fucked up. “What’s up girl? I’m chillin’.”

  “You with Ablo?” she asked.

  “You already know.”

  “Yep, shoulda known. Well, I need you to do sumthin’ for me.”

  “What’s up?” I asked hearing the desperation in her voice.

  “I’m at D. crib, and I need some back-up,” she said quickly.

  D-Roc lived in a hood ass apartment complex in College Park. Any and everything went down out there.

  “Back up? For what?”

  “You know D-Roc girl La La right?”

  “Yeah.”

  D-Roc was one of Princess’s many sex partners.

  “Well, anyhow, that bitch outside talkin’ cash shit. I would fuck her up myself, but she ‘bout six deep.” She sounded shook.

  Princess was hard to a certain extent. When it came down to it she didn’t really have the fight in her.

  Don’t get the wrong impression. I may be one of those “bout it” bitches, but I would never consider myself to be too hardcore. I was feminine and classy at 5’3, 130 lbs with caramel skin, and hazel eyes. My small waist and tight body were two of my best assets. I kept my jet black; shoulder length hair with honey blonde highlights cut in layers, and was always laced up in some fly shit. I loved to floss, courtesy of my man.

  Diablo cupped one of my C-cup breasts in his hand and sighed. “Let’s go in the back,” he said.

  “Hold up baby,” I said and pushed his hand away.

  “I’m sayin’ tho’, what the bitch tryin’ to do?” I asked ready for some shit to pop off.

  “She talkin’ ‘bout killin’ a bitch, so hurry the fuck up,” she said in panic. She wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “Killin’ you? That bitch don’t know who she fuckin’ wit.”

  “Who goin’ kill somebody? Huh ? What’s goin’ on?” Ablo asked. I put my hand up. “Hold up Boo.”

  Diablo looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “I don’t know Yanna, but you need to get over here,” she said and hung up.

  “Baby, I need a gun,” I said sweetly.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Some bitches messin’ wit’ Princess and I gotta go handle it.”

  “Hell mufuckin’ nol. She the one who be fuckin’ everybody man, not you. Why you always fightin’ her battles?” He asked.

  “The same reason you always runnin’ to help your so called “brothers”. She family. Give me a nina or sumthin.” I dialed Shamira’s number.

  Shamira answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

  “What’s up Mira?”

  “Shit. What’s the deal?” she asked.

  “Round the girls up. We gotta hit D. crib deep as shit.”

  “Bet. Gimme fifteen. Hold up. What’s goin’ on?”

  “P. caught some heat fuckin’ wit’ D-Roc. Bitch outside talkin’ shit. We gotta back her up,” I said.

  “A’ight. You at the crib?” she asked.