“Jaz, it’s me. I wanna see my niece.”
“You can’t come in, Uncle Gary. I’m getting dressed.” Baby smiled at the sound of her uncle’s voice.
“Okay, baby girl. I’ll see you when you get downstairs.”
“Okay,” Baby yelled back as she smiled.
Once she was completely dressed and her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, Jaz and Baby headed down the stairs, parting ways at the bottom of the staircase. The house was buzzing with the entire clan. It was the day before Thanksgiving and two days before Baby’s eleventh birthday.
As Baby entered the living room, she spotted her father. The sight of him made her smile inside and out. Baby adored her father more than anyone else in the world. To her, he was a hero. He was standing to the left of her favorite window. She ran over to him and bolted into his arms.
“Baby, you’re gonna have to stop jumping on me like that. You are getting too big for me to be catching you. Don’t you think?”
“Does that mean I’m not your baby girl anymore?” Baby smiled at her father.
“You’ll always be my baby girl,” he said, hugging Baby again.
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Baby’s emotional scene came to a halt at the sound of Treacherous’s voice.
“Tell him what?” Baby replied, returning to the present. She rose up.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean? Didn’t you hear me? I didn’t know my damn self.” Baby was angry now. “I was only ten. How the fuck was I supposed to know what she was doing?”
“My fault, babe. You’re right. You couldn’t have known,” Treacherous consoled her. He felt stupid for saying what he had said. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin what he believed to be one of the best days of his life.
“That shit is a thing of the past,” he added. “Nobody’s never gonna hurt you ever again, not while I’m livin’!” Treacherous boldly stated. “’Til death do us part.”
“’Til death do us part,” Baby repeated.
Baby lay back down on Treacherous and stared up into his eyes. “I didn’t mean to snap on you like that. It’s just—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t thinking,” Treacherous cut her off. “Forget about all of that for now, though. Let’s not worry about all the fucked-up shit that we done been through,” Treacherous told her. “We need to focus on getting some money, so we can survive ’cause we’re just about out. Trust me. After that, we can deal with all the other shit.”
Treacherous looked down at her to make sure she had heard him.
Baby shook her head in agreement. “I know a way we can get some quick money,” she said.
“How?”
Baby smiled and began to share her idea with Treacherous, who was all ears.
Chapter 29
Jazmyne Love had spent the last two hours in the kitchen preparing one of her signature meals. First, she had separated the corn from the cob. Then, she fried the corn with onions. The seasoned red potatoes were boiling. They would be made into mashed potatoes. She had let the meat marinate before putting it in the oven to bake. She set the table for two. Then, she dimmed the lights and pulled out one of her favorite CDs to set the mood.
“How was your day, honey?” Jazmyne asked her husband who had just arrived home.
“It was okay. What did you cook?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.
He patiently waited for his wife to place his meal in front of him. He was deep in thought and knew that she would pick up on it. He was not in the mood to talk, though. He just wanted to eat and go to bed. Arthur Love tried to conceal his day from his wife knowing it would just cause tension, but his body language gave him away.
As Jazmyne prepared her husband’s plate, she couldn’t help but notice the disturbed look written all over his face. She hoped it wasn’t anything that would kill the evening she intended to enjoy with him.
“Barbequed turkey wings,” Jazmyne replied, coming out of the kitchen with a hot, steamy plate. She set the plate in front of him.
“Thank you,” Arthur Love said before he bowed his head and said grace.
Jazmyne observed her husband from where she sat as he devoured his food and glass of Pepsi within a matter of minutes.
“Honey, you okay?” Jazmyne studied her husband.
Arthur Love just nodded his head. Jazmyne had been with her husband long enough to know all of his emotional sides. Complete silence only meant one of two things: he was either annoyed by something or someone, or he was simply exhausted.
Jazmyne rose from her seat and strolled over to her husband. She took his face in her hands and kissed his lips. She could almost feel the stress in his exchange. She opened her eyes to find his deep brown ones staring back at her. She tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away.
“Art, honey, what’s wrong?” Jazmyne was becoming agitated.
Arthur Love rolled his eyes at his wife. Then, he got up and took his plate and glass into the kitchen. The sight of him sidestepping past her and leaving her hanging made the hairs stand up on Jazmyne’s arms. She spun around and followed behind him. When she entered the kitchen, she spotted him posted up on the counter. The look on his face caused her anger to subside.
“You had a bad day?”
He turned to her. Jazmyne stepped in front of him. She stood on her tippy toes in order to kiss him directly on the forehead. He returned the gesture with crossed arms and a deep breath. Jazmyne dismissed his reaction. Instead, she ran her hand across his face and kissed his left cheek. In the background, Glenn Lewis’s “It’s Not Fair” bellowed in the air. She gave him tiny kisses on his lips and his neck. Simultaneously, her left hand traveled down the center of his chest while her right hand headed for his belt buckle. Jazmyne closed her eyes, bent her knees, and followed her hands. She had thought that if she could take her husband’s mental to another place, for even a moment, it might help things.
“Are you serious? Tsk,” he said and jerked her hand from his waist and walked away.
“What the fuck?” she shrieked, following him. “What the hell is your problem? It better not be what I think it is.”
Arthur Love headed up the stairs. He wasn’t in the mood to fight or to have sex.
“Art! I’m talking to you! Come here!” She was pissed, and she didn’t want to leave it alone. She knew that it had something to do with Baby, and it had her on fire.
As Arthur Love disappeared into the bedroom, Jazmyne followed him.
“I don’t want to talk. I already know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard it all before,” he stated.
“You don’t want to talk. You leave me downstairs on my fucking knees, and you don’t want to talk?”
Jazmyne was fuming. She rarely used profanity toward her husband. For the most part, she never even raised her voice at him. He would have had to bring her to a breaking point for her to even think about speaking to him in such a manner. In all the years they’d been together, they had rarely had big fights. However, during the few altercation that they did have, it was Jazmyne who always held her tongue and tried to keep the peace; but the few times that she was unable to always caught Art off guard, and this time was no different.
Arthur Love turned to his wife. “Who are you talking to like that?”
“You! Really? Are we going to start this shit again?” she said and moved in to close the gap between them. “I thought we had agreed that you weren’t going to bring your work home. You promised me that you’d leave that shit at the door, no matter what it was.”
Arthur Love attempted to leave the room.
“No. You’re not going anywhere until you either tell me what’s wrong or you put a fucking smile on your face.”
“Jazmyne, you better move,” he said, stepping to the side again.
Jazmyne stood firm with her hands on her hips. Arthur Love shook his head. Then, he scooped her off her feet, threw her over his shoulder, and slammed her roughly
onto the bed. The impact of her body hitting the king-sized bed nearly knocked the wind out of her.
“I told you to get the hell out of my way,” were his final words before he walked away from the bed. Arthur Love stormed out of his bedroom, leaving Jazmyne Love gasping for air and staring up at the ceiling.
Chapter 30
As usual, Treacherous couldn’t help but admire the three customized, chromed-out bikes that were lined up on the lawn of the Glen Allen home. For weeks, he had been seeing the beautiful machines and couldn’t wait until he made one of them his own. Although all of them were equally a work of art in his eyes, from the Hayabusa down to the BMW S1000RR, the Yamaha R1 stood out to Treacherous above all.
“See you later, girl,” he whispered as he maneuvered his way to the front door, stealth-like. He admired how the chrome engine and dual pipes complemented the bike. He became aroused at the site and made a mental note to himself to return to it after he finished taking care of business.
As he reached the door, Treacherous pulled out his black .40-caliber and cocked it. The brisk fall air felt good to him and seemed to heighten all of his senses. Regardless of the fact that he was a solid 225 pounds and an even six feet tall, the black hoodie sweat suit and Timberlands he wore made him nearly invisible, blending in with the darkness.
He pulled the black mask he was formerly wearing on top of his head down over his face, then flipped the hood of his sweatshirt over top of it and drew in the strings, until only his eyes and mouth could be seen.
Treacherous could hear the loud music thumping in the house, but he couldn’t decide which one was louder, his heartbeat or the bass line. He had the usual butterflies in his stomach. No matter how many robberies he pulled off, they would always show up and float around in his belly. He thought about his parents, wondering how they had felt when they were in similar situations.
Treacherous slowly opened the screen door and put the key inside the lock. He gently twisted it back and forth, but to no avail. Treacherous cursed, realizing that he might have had to force himself into the house, which was not a part of his plan. He was sure that the key, because it was brand new, had something to do with it. Despite his immediate frustration, Treacherous continued to jiggle the key gently inside the lock, but he received the same results. He looked up in the air as he always did when something seemed to be going wrong. That was when he saw that familiar face smiling down at him. Treacherous focused back on the key and closed his eyes.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered, right before trying the key again.
Finally, he felt the lock turning. Let’s get this money, was his final thought as he eased the door open and slid inside.
As soon as he entered the house, he spotted a young kid nearly his age rolling up a blunt. He had his back turned to Treacherous and was oblivious to the imminent danger that was creeping up on him. The loud music had drowned out any noise that Treacherous might have made, but the sudden gust of cold air that followed him inside had hit the back of the kid’s neck and alarmed him, making him aware of Treacherous’s presence.
His eyes widened in shock and fear when he saw Treacherous, who quickly closed the distance between them. Wasting no time, Treacherous viciously brought the gun down on the hustler’s head. The butt of the hammer crashed into the kid’s forehead, instantly knocking him out. He hit the ground with a thud. Treacherous prayed that nobody else had heard it.
He quickly dug into the young boy’s pockets until he found what he was looking for: a nice thick wad of money. He then relieved him of the jewelry he wore around his neck and wrist along with the kid’s gun tucked in his belt and tossed them in a drawstring bag. Treacherous was thankful of the loud music despite it being nerve-racking. As gangsta as he was, he despised gangsta rap. He believed that gangsta rappers profited off of a type of lifestyle they really knew nothing about and one he felt he was forced to live. He had a problem with the fact that, while gangsta rappers received millions of dollars for rapping about “thug life” and “ballin,” the people who really lived it received millions of years in prison or a life sentence in the cemetery.
As he crept down the hallway, he could hear the music blaring through the surround sound. Treacherous silently eased himself next to the bedroom. He could hear several voices in there and was in the process of trying to figure out exactly how many people were in the room when a voice yelled, “Where the fuck Red at wit’ dat blunt? Li’l greasy-ass muthafucka probably trying to take it to the head.”
Treacherous heard footsteps approaching. He quickly slipped into the room, surprising a heavyset, dark-skinned man with cornrows who was about to walk out. Before anybody could react, Treacherous savagely swung his pistol and delivered a riveting blow to the heavyset man’s face, while also shoving him backward. The man scrambled to get up, but his brain moved in slow motion. It hadn’t registered in his mind yet what had just happened to him. The weed and liquor had him stuck.
The combination of the blood that was now pouring out of the gash the gun had created on his upper lip and the pain that had set in caused him to collapse on his back. His dazed, intoxicated eyes stared up at Treacherous. There was complete silence in the room until Treacherous calmly spoke, saying, “All I want is the money.”
He did a quick head count. Not including the young kid at the door, there was a total of six people: three men and three women.
Two women—one caramel toned, and the other with a high-yellow complexion—sat there in boy shorts and wife beaters. Both had large breasts. Right next to them was a medium-build, brown-skinned man with shoulder-length dreadlocks. On the other side of him was a dark chocolate beauty wearing only a thong and a baby tee. Her chest was big, but it was not as big as the other two chicks’. She, however, made up for it with her lower half. Her thighs were thick and solid. She is built like a stallion, thought Treacherous.
Treacherous’s eyes came to rest on the one known as Dre, a coal black slim brother with a low brush cut. He wore a wife beater and baggy jeans. He clutched a half gallon of Grey Goose in one hand and the TV remote in the other. Unlike everybody else in this room, there is no fear in dude’s eyes, thought Treacherous. He knew that could be a problem, one that he was prepared to handle if need be.
The wounded man on the floor moaned in pain.
“You a’ight, Bo?” Dre asked, never taking his eyes off Treacherous.
“Nah, man. I think this nigga broke my shit,” Bo mumbled, spitting a glob of blood on the floor.
“Fuck all dat,” Treacherous said, matching Dre’s stare with one that confirmed he meant business. “Where the paper at?”
Dre ignored his question and asked one of his own. “How the fuck you get in here?”
“Ya boy Red lemme in.”
Treacherous’s answer got a reaction out of Dre. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “That li’l faggot mu’fucka set—”
“He dead now,” Treacherous calmly stated, cutting Dre off.
That comment struck home as Dre’s mouth hung open in disbelief, while Bo, forgetting about his own pains, pounded his fists into the floor. Both chicks gasped, covering their mouths. The brown-skinned dread’s face never changed, but he balled his hands up into tight fists, and the chocolate beauty sat there, wide-eyed, but she did not know what to say or do. Each person in the room had love for Red. They were a team, and, up until his demise, he was a part of it. The heavy, pungent aroma of marijuana hung heavily in the room while the sounds of hip-hop continued to blare through the speakers.
Treacherous felt like the rapper was personally talking to him. He decided to take things into his own hands.
“You,” he barked, pointing the gun at the caramel chick. “Get cha ass over here.”
She slowly got off the sofa and walked toward Treacherous, who pulled out the drawstring bag and handed it to her.
“I want you to walk around to each one of these niggas and run their pockets. I want their money, jewels, drugs, cell phones, and guns. I wa
nt everything. You understand me? Put it all in this bag. If you try anything stupid, I’ma shoot you in ya fuckin’ face, a’ight?”
She dumbly nodded her head.
“Starting with you. Put all ya jewelry in the bag,” Treacherous ordered.
“Not my bracelet. My mother gave me this,” she protested.
“Bitch!” Treacherous snapped. He backhanded the girl. It sounded like a firecracker had exploded. He roughly grabbed the back of her head by her hair, while keeping his eyes glued on Dre and the others.
Then, he said menacingly, “Put every muthafuckin’ thing in the bag, you hear me?”
Afterward, she complied with his order, removing all of her jewelry and placing it in the bag. She then walked over to Bo and repeated the process with him.
“C’mere, light skin,” Treacherous ordered.
Unafraid, she headed over to him. She was actually turned on by his presence. She knew the big man in front of her meant business, and she was attracted to that. All her life she had dealt with thorough street guys in Virginia, so she could spot one a mile away. He had killed Red, pistol whipped Bo, smacked the fire out of her peoples Ke-Ke, and, if he was crazy enough to rob her boo Dre, then, in her book, that meant he was as thorough as they came, or he just didn’t have it all.
For the average man, the girl’s body would have been a distraction, but not for Treacherous. He paid her physical no mind because he was focused on one thing. As she approached him, Treacherous could see that her nipples were erect. They looked as if they would poke through the fabric at any minute.
“Listen. I want you to follow her and strip all these chump asses naked. Can you handle that, sweetheart?” Treacherous spoke in a gentle voice.
She nodded her head and whispered, “Yes.”
“Good,” Treacherous stated. He noticed the seductive look in the girl’s eyes and decided to use it to his advantage. “Thanks, sexy,” he said as a half smile formed through the mask.
Despite the situation, the light-skinned girl, whose name was Shay, found herself extremely horny. Maybe it was the fact that Treacherous was a dangerous man in the middle of doing dangerous things but he still took time out to compliment her. That was something Dre hadn’t done in quite some time. Whatever it was, Shay’s pussy was soaking wet, and she prayed that everybody lived through this, so maybe she, Dre, and her homegirl could engage in a threesome. The thought put a smile on her face.
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