Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 2 (Loving a Columbian Cartel Thug)

by K'Aliyah Knight

  LOVING a Colombian Cartel THUG II

  By K’Aliyah Knight

  Copyright © 2014 (Niggas With Motive) by K’Aliyah Knight

  Published by Shan Presents

  www.shanpresents.com

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales or, is entirely coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without writer permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  Chapter 1

  ROCKWELL

  “Bae…damn…ya dick is all up in my rib.” I'm four months pregnant, barely showing and Lorenzo still hasn’t chosen to take it easy on me. This long stroke tho, it got my pussy wetter than the Atlantic Ocean as I lay on a huge bed in our Miami mansion.

  “But you like that.” He gives a cocky grin, his hands pulling on the headboard as he keeps fucking me oh so sweetly and passionately. My eyes gaze at his sexy abdominals as they crunch and flex. I grab a feather pillow and bite down, instead of feeling on his golden, rock hard abs.

  “Nah mommi.” Lorenzo removes the pillow. “Gimme that sexy ass fuck face and moan.”

  My nigga has always owned every inch of my honey walls. Fuck that, my entire body. But damn! He can put it down in a way that makes me delirious and question how I can't just get dick 24/7. Shit, if he didn’t have to hustle, I know his horny ass would be up to it.

  So I say the words I've been telling Lorenzo since we were 12. Mind you, this nigga only been saying them for the past few months. “Lorenzoooo, I love you!” And scream as I cum. It's heaven to me each time he repeats them in his own way.

  “Mi amor,” Lorenzo says, tongue rolling around in my ear, “Eres mia por siempre–you are mine forever…”

  “Renzo, what you saying,” I ask, smile reaching from ear to ear.

  “That pussy feels like Cinnabons,” he says, kissing me softly on the lips as I catch my breath. “Damn, ma, breathe.”

  “Fuck you.” I roll my eyes, still grinning while I try to punch him. “Nah, you ain’t say that bullshit about my love-box.”

  “Love-box, the fuck? We ain’t kids no more,” he says. Lorenzo’s laughter makes my pussy cry for more.

  “But at least be sexy with it; like mi amor, and then in Spanish say I love you till the moon and back.”

  “Puedo comer tu toda la noche–I can eat you all night,” he replies while licking his lips.

  “Now, why do I already know your ass didn’t say nothing about loving me. Plus, the moon in Spanish is ‘la luna’.”

  We lay in each other’s arms for a cool minute. His thick, ropy, tatted arms keep me safe as always. After a while, we get up to take a quick shower since today we have a lot going on. As I get out, Lorenzo is all wet and sexy with water dripping off his tattoos and that big-ass caramel dick of his saluting me. His jet-black hair has low cut waves and a fresh line-up as usual. And I’m gifted with his beautiful eyelashes. Instead of narrowed and angry as usual, they’re narrowed in a way that only makes my pussy cream because of how thick and dark they are.

  But my eyes cut at him. “Nigga, you got me walking bow-legged before breakfast. Why you staring at me?” My belly is just starting to round, but I’m feeling so fat. At 5-feet even, I can’t gain any weight. Before I can disappear out of the luxurious bathroom Lorenzo grabs my wrist, pulls me back and kisses me.

  “Renzo, move! We got stuff to do.”

  “Damn, I can’t look at my beautiful lady?”

  “Nah, you’re staring at my belly.” I roll my eyes and decide to get dressed. I start putting on a new, bright yellow Dior sundress.

  “You and ya belly is so muthafuckin' beautiful, Rocky. Stop with that shit,” he says, grabbing my ass.

  I swat away his hand and look for the right pair of Mui Mui sandals.

  “Nah, ma, you carrying my seed. No hands over your head, doctor’s orders,” Lorenzo says, grabbing the very box of sandals I've been looking for from the top shelf as I stand on my tippy toes. It sucks being so short. He looks down t me, wanting all my attention. “Ain't never seen a chick beautiful as you.”

  Now I'm all smiley and giddy again, with my hormones on a roller coaster. No matter how ugly I feel at this moment, I can only believe him. I lift up to my tippy toes again. Lorenzo bends down to help me out, and then I kiss his lips. Mmmm. Kissing him is all that I ever want to do.

  KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

  “The fuck outta here!” Lorenzo shouts. This nigga has been super horny since I've been pregnant. He was even tryna fuck while waiting for the doctor to do a checkup just yesterday. Shit, I am too. So, I’m ready for his big strong hands to be all over me again, but nope.

  “Brah,” Toi shouts. “It's that muthafuckin' yardie, Keandre!”

  This master suite is humongous, but at six feet, it takes seconds for Lorenzo to reach the bedroom door. The air swooshes as he angrily whips it open.

  He grabs the phone from his 16-year-old sister, Toi. Lorenzo has four younger sisters in all. The second oldest, Blu, was kidnapped 2 months ago by a Jamaican psycho that's aiming to pit the Colombians against the Italians; as if my baby and his crew need help starting ish.

  I try to follow him onto the balcony since I'm worried about my Bestie Blu. But Lorenzo gives that look he’s been giving me half my life. It has me scared and ready to cry. Bottom lip trembling, I sit my ass down on the silk chaise next to the bed.

  Toi comes to hug me. She cries and fuck it, I do too. I push back her thick black hair, compliments of her Colombian and Black genes, and listen as Toi says, “I miss my sis so much. I just wanna get a gun and murk all those crazy Jamaican muthafuckas!”

  Damn, I’m feeling it all. Blu is like my sister, half a year younger than me; we’ve been close since forever. So, I try to stop my tears and show support. “I know baby, I know,” I hold her tightly, remembering Toi as an innocent toddler always watching Disney movies. She ain’t used to this shit.

  “They called you?” I ask after Toi’s tears stop.

  “Yeah! I was talking...” Toi looks down and bites her lip. “My dude at Hoover High. You ain't gon’ tell Lorenzo or my moms?” Toi hesitates, as she mentions their home in Hoover, Illinois. Lorenzo’s family came from Colombia to Hoover when he was 12, in order to reconnect with their black father; so, that’s where we all met.

  “No…” I shake my head, feeling bad. I'm the reason we in this shit. Was married to Raphael Bell, an Italian with family connections to the Sica/Ganza Mafia, when Lorenzo came back into town a while back. Seems like Lorenzo and me had been in love with each other off and on for a lifetime. I first gave my nigga some play in high school. Hell, I had been crushing on Lorenzo, but he was my best friend, and I was scared of his roughneck ass. Then Lorenzo came back when I went to college. He’s that type of dude that you put everything aside–including your own needs–because loving Lorenzo is intense. It’s everything. But being Colombian, Renzo can love hard, but he can also break a chick’s heart so bad…

  Currently, Lorenzo’s been going back and forth from Hoover, Illinois to Miami fighting the Italians and tryna keep his fam out of harm’s way. Now the Jamaicans want in since they kidnapped Blu just to add fuel to the fire.

&nbs
p; “Thanks, Rocky. I can’t wait till we murk all those muthafuckin' Italians, fuck the Sicas and Ganzas. We can body that punk ass Keandre–fuck a ransom. I wanna go home. See my Blu. And see my boo," Toi says, bringing me back to the present.

  “Lorenzo will get them.” I nod, more sure than anything in the world. When we was little, and shit popped off: Go tell Lorenzo. Ain’t nothing changed. My nigga will handle that. But, I am worried about the fact that the Jamaican’s called Toi personally…

  “Rocky, how are the dreams?”

  I shake my head, wanting to cry even harder, but won’t let it happen. The picture of death is fresh in my mind. It’s the only thing Lorenzo can’t save me from. The evil in my dreams…

  Chapter 2

  LORENZO.

  Leaning on the wrought iron balcony, I listen as Keandre makes demands. I'm heated, imagining torturing this pussy muthafucka' in the worst ways before all is said and done.

  “You want you sista? Me don't think so,” Keandre says. This Jamaican nigga got a way of making shit sound like a fucking joke.

  “I ain't finna sit on the phone with you, man, like no bitch. Blu better be safe when we catch up with you.”

  “How you don't know I ain't given my Pit Blu to ya baby mama's mother-in-law? See, I know my shit. That fine ass Rockwell is still linked to Tamara Bell-Sica. See, Tamms asking for our pretty Blu. She's mad that you killed her pretty baby boy, Raphael. Raphael was Rocky’s husband, right? Tamms tryna make the deal so sweet. But me wanna hold out for you. Me know fam is so muthafuckin’ important. Raphael dead already, Blu… that bitch holdin’ on. You got me money?”

  As I look down below at the few mansions on my street, I notice a white van parked a few doors away and across the street. Something ain't right. Ever since we went blow-for-blow with the Italians, I’ve noticed unmarked white vans all over the place. Santiago ain’t gon’ like that. “Hit me back later.” I hang up, without replying to Keandre.

  Soon as I step back inside, Rockwell and Toi are sitting on the chaise. My moms is seated at the chair by the door, looking pissed.

  “You speak with Blu?” Rita asks.

  “Nah. Moms, we leaving today,” I tell her. I know me and Rita haven’t been all that tight for a while. Ever since I started this fucking drug trade with the rest of our family. I stare at her. There is no choice for Rita; she has to go back. Besides, since we’ve been away from Hoover, I’ve taken my mom on a few mother-son dates; strengthened our bond like it was when I was younger. We love hard as Colombian’s and get angry to the max when shit goes south. But right now, we’re in this place. “Mi amor, it’s time to go,” I tell Rita again, knowing but not fully understanding her hatred of our homeland.

  Rita shakes her head. She ain’t in this shit, but I need her to buck the fuck up. She gives me a hug. I give her a beso on the cheek. Shit, it ain’t even the time for joking, but I say, “Full blooded Colombian but yo’ ass don’t want to go back home. Oh fucking well, you going.”

  She bucks up on me with a smile. Before Rita can retort, my little sister gets all hysterical.

  “But,” Toi says, “I wanna go back to The H. My friends and–”

  “Y’all ain't going back to Hoover!” I shout. “FYI ya nigga dead Toi–esta muerto! Keandre just called on lil’ dude phone. Why don't you think? I told you not to fucking contact your friends. Shit, you safe,” I shake my head. “I ain’t letting anybody touch you, but ol’ boy just got bodied all over some pussy he bet’ not have ever sampled.”

  Toi starts sobbing again.

  “Lorenzo you don’t have to be an asshole,” Rockwell snaps, hugging Toi.

  “Nah, ma. You can be on that peace and love-tip later. Lil’ dude just lost his life over Toi young ass. Pack up. And Moms, I don't wanna hear no lip. You going to Hoover to join the cause? You finna pull out that heat or you wanna go to Colombia?”

  One, my moms would pick Hoover first. She’s a beast with a burner any day of the week. But with Rockwell pregnant, she knows what it is. Rita’s gon’ take her ass straight home like I just said.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Rita stands up. I got her by half a foot, but she looks ready to pull off her utility belt that’s holding up her baggy cargo pants. “Nigga, check yaself, first and foremost. I'm in this shit no matter what.”

  Yup. Just as I suspected.

  When we get downstairs my baby sister, ten-year-old Lakitha, is watching cartoons with Junior. Oh soon as we left Illinois, I had my child's name legally changed to Lorenzo Junior. Fuck a Raphael Junior, my son is my don.

  I bend down in front of my mini me, “Look lil’ dude, remember that talk we had? Time for you to be a man. A’ight?”

  Junior nods. He has a caramel skin tone just like me and a little darker than Rocky’s, but he narrows his eyes, making his long curly lashes disappear. My son looks hard as me at age five. I know he gon’ be a beast one day. I pat the top of his faded haircut.

  “Yup!” Junior says.

  “Love you lil’ nigga,” I tell him proudly.

  “Excuse me, what talk?” Rockwell asks.

  “Don’t worry about men business, Rocky.” I shake my head. Lil' mama had my baby acting like a simp before I even found out she had a child. Her hazel eyes narrow. I’ma have to hear her mouth but not right now.

  ~~~

  Soon as we get to the jet and everybody is settled, I go up to the cockpit and pay the pilot all cash as usual.

  Like a simp, I save goodbyes with Rockwell for last. My 19-year-old sister, Lakitha, is already got her head in a college textbook. Lakitha is so damn book smart, but too stupid to know she ain’t going to no universities in The States. Toi still mad at me about her dude’s death. She had been talking about going to the prom with that nigga, and so many times I told her she wasn’t. So, I let her cut her eyes at me and move along to Rita.

  . Moms already know what's up and has two .9millimeters loaded for anybody that wants to get it. So, I hand Rockwell my favorite gun. “Hold on to this for me, ma.”

  “Bae, you hold it… but... No, Renzo, no.” Rockwell's light brown eyes water for the second time today. She is so beautiful and so damn scary it’s a shame. “You ain’t coming with us?”

  “I’ma go see about those bad dreams of yours.” I try to kiss her lips, but she pouts and turns.

  “If you wanna keep me safe…” She begins with a shaky sad voice, “if you wanna make sure I don't cry at night, you'd be by my side.” Rockwell folds her arms.

  “Okay, Rocky. Act like that. Your nightmares make our babies suffer too. So, I’ma do this for them then. Okay…? I'ma be back soon.”

  “Bye,” she rolls her eyes. After I wait a second for Rocky to get her mind right, she just has a full out tantrum, shouting, “Fuck you, Lorenzo!” She shoos me away.

  This is some bullshit. Try to be a good dude. She dismissed me on day one of us meeting. So, I decide to let Rockwell have her moment. I step over to the aisle where Lorenza is sitting with Junior. She’s the little fat one, like Lakitha, and always babying somebody. “Listen to your auntie,” I tell him and finish with them then start for the plane exit.

  “So you just gon’ leave us?” Rockwell asks, looking meaner than a rattlesnake.

  Fuck. Rockwell’s ass is evil while pregnant. I'm finna go to war and she got a muthafuckin’ attitude? Well fuck that, I yank her up, hold her tight it takes a second but my girl starts tonguing me down just right.

  Chapter 3

  RITA

  After the plane takes flight, I head into the bathroom, pool some water into my hands and wash my face. I'm just on the other side of 40, but have kept my body trim with Taebo and Beach Body videos. I’m at the top of my game as far as health goes.

  So I didn't keep my first vow, never come back to my beautiful homeland. It’s been almost twenty-five years.

  On to plan B. As soon as I touchdown in Colombia, I’ma put two nice clean slugs into my lil’ brah’s forehead. Fuck Santiago Mendoza.

&n
bsp; ~1989 Los Angeles~

  I was barely twenty. People thought I was Rosie Perez stepping off the airplane, because the actress was just on the come up with a Spike Lee joint. Didn’t know the bitch. So, instead of going to prepare for the next day, I shamefully rented and watched ‘Do the Right Thing’ late last night, even though I always made sure to keep my work first. But being in Los Angeles on “vacation”, I wanted to see what all the hype was about. Now I had gone to bed with Rosie’s annoying voice in my brain. My dreams, which were usually about sharpening my favorite knife or loading and reloading my Glock, were inundated with that trick. Anyway, I was agitated as always.

  “Aye Santiago, Santi.” I knocked on my brother’s villa with the butt of my gat. Run DMC is blaring from his hotel room and I know he's fucking some Mexican hoes from San Pedro that he just met. Mi padre, León, was the leader of Mendoza De Dios Cartel–yeah, we Colombian’s are super religious, super Catholic but mi papi was likened to God. Don’t ask how we could compare our sins to being blessed by God, but it’s just how things went. León was blessed! Now mi padre was up in age, and old in his ways doesn't see me as the best thing for our way of life. I was his first-born, but he couldn’t see past his son. Super religious, super old fashion. First borns rule. But a baby boy, a son was everything.

  I banged on the door again and it finally opened. Santiago looked at me like I've lost my mind. With yellow teeth, he puffed on the cigar in his mouth and blew the smoke in my face. “Don't fucking come to me like this, Margarita. Show me some respect!”

  Seven inches of stainless steel, curved with a gutted edge went straight to his cheek in less than a second. That frown was gone because fear has surpassed it. My pussy ass little brother had nothing to say, so I slid my combat knife back into my utility belt buckle. That was enough for him to recall that I ain’t that type of bitch.

  Respect me.