“C’mon Tia,” is all he will say. Chuey doesn’t want no problems, never did. But I know this nigga is the smartest in the family. I kid you not. When he was so young, he could just sense the tension between me and Santiago every time his stupid ass daddy would try to come apologize to me.
I roll my eyes. It's on the tip of my tongue to agree that he needs to bury his sickly ass mom Mayté first. Mayté has a little while longer. He went to help out in Hoover. A’ight, that was nice and all. But I knew it wouldn’t be too soon before he came home. Even Sean has given up on Mayté living. We all have. Yet, Chuey is the good son. It’s the first son’s duty to take care of a sickly parent. However, Mayté has a fleet of nurses.
So, why is he here? He hates Santi just as much as me. I got time to find out, so instead of asking, I keep it pushing back into the house where Blu and Phillip are getting comfortable with Lorenzo Junior and Rocky on the couch. Both boys are giving the babies their bottle.
“Mama Rita,” Rockwell says, with tears in her eyes. “Every day I feel like this shit is my fault. First, I wanted to tell Lorenzo not to go. Tell him that Santiago needs to have somebody else do his dirty work, but I’m the cause of this mess. Those fucking Ganzas did this.”
“No mommi, shhh.” I come to sit with her as Blu and Lakitha helps the boys take the babies out of the room. Then Blu comes back and sits on Rocky’s other side and we have a nice long motivational chat.
Chuey walks by. I'm tempted to kick him out the house just because...
Me and Blu exchange glances. Rocky has been going through the motions these days with the babies. I know she's having esteem issues, and she was even doing better after getting those stomach stretch marks surgically removed. But she wants to be skinnier. Won’t get liposuction. Will only work out harder. But fear of not being enough is still too much. We live in a world where niggas rule. Something tells me that soon as she finds out about the other Lorenzo Junior that the bitch Olivia had, shit is going to pop the fuck off!
Chapter 38
BLU.
When Popeye is away, I miss him with every piece of me. Damn, I want to kiss him. But that only leads to wanting to fuck him. And y'all know pretty boy, Popeye. He's made it clear that we should be together. Won't be no fucking but making love. I used to get lost to him when we make love. But the thought of not being able to have him for life…?
Waiting on these HIV results has me somewhere between psychotic and wanting to cry like a bitch. Rocky falls asleep on Moms’ shoulder, so I go to the pool house. The boys are sleep in Phillip’s bed.
I climb into my own bed, remembering nights when Popeye used to work for Lorenzo in the past. Least I could breathe in his scent. Now that we have been in different rooms for the duration of being in Colombia, I don’t even have that to remind me.
Right after he went to tell Lorenzo to get ready, I started to pack his duffel bag, knowing my husband can’t live without enough fresh pairs of socks. Mind you, he could forgo a shower for a few days, but always wanted his feet clean. I almost smile at that thought. While I was making sure he had enough magazine clips for his gat, Popeye came up on me from behind.
He wrapped his arms around me, and his hard dick crashed against my ass. “When I get back, Blu, I'ma push that little ass to the brink, have you screaming my name so loud everybody in the main house will hear. Undastand?”
I was shocked. Popeye hasn’t tried anything with me in a while; I was half expecting the nigga wouldn’t come back. But for his son so… With no words to say, I nodded.
He kissed my neck and let me go.
“Nigga, just be safe and buck up on the dudes that need it.”
“Nah ma. Look at me.” He had snatched my cheek like back when I was feigning for the dick but pretending not to want it. He looked me dead in the eye and my pussy walls began to moisten. I kissed his lips and told him something stupid. Blame it on the Blu that liked to talk head…
I told him I would be ready and waiting for him.
Popeye had given me a smile to die for. As I take a shower, I can still see that smile of his. And I pray to God that he stays safe. I love him with every inch of my heart. Even though I know I can't be with him, not unless I'm 100% clean.
Chapter 39
LORENZO
When I arrived in the set, I expected to see that these muthafuckin’ Italians went hard. Nah, they wasn’t about the business. They attempted to get back the north side. Had to have been a few of them. Too damn afraid to really try to strong-arm my spots because half my trap houses weren’t hardly hit. It almost makes a nigga shake his head. I coulda stayed at home with my baby mama instead of dealing with this bullshit.
Now I’m sitting in one of the trap spots in North Hoover, with this Italian dude name Guido. His suit is drenched in blood. I’m mean mugging the fuck outta this lame, even though it’s really a funny situation. His pathetic ass is crawling toward the screen door at a last attempt to escape. One kneecap busted so bad that half the bone is gone. Yup, I always like to bring a muthafucka down to his knees before chopping off his head. He continues to crawl around, ten or so other dead Italian dudes, his trail of blood mixing in with even more puddles of stick red.
“Gimme Tamms and you’ll survive,” I tell Guido as my crew backs up just to give him more space.
“Fuck you, nigger!” he spits the words with his own blood as Pookie’s Timberlands goes dead to his mouth.
“Nah, Guido, I guess you thought this was some good cop, bad cop shit.” Pookie says flashing his detective police badge from within his gray suit. “But I promise you, no matter how ‘good’ I do you, Lorenzo ain’t even begin to be bad yet. You feel me?”
Guido opens his mouth slowly. I lean forward in my chair. Everybody is waiting for him to snitch. Damn, even I’m trying to control myself from murking Guido. I need to find Tamms. Rocky has been tryna keep me from the hustle. Our last shipment went so hard, that I could afford to take a vacation without Santi harping. Besides we just had the kids. This bullshit ass attempt to take the north side is good enough reason to keep me from the love of my life and kids. As long as Tamms gets it.
Guido spits out a few teeth. One of my goons leans down to grab his collar, but my hand comes up. The goon falls back in line. Guido’s head hits the wooden floor with a thud. He groans.
I spout off his address, even providing the addresses, dates of birth and names for his parents and his two younger sisters and their families. This is the information that Pookie provided from the state system before we decided to let Guido live. He’s the only one of these other Italian dudes that had the most family.
He looks over at me, realizing that I’ve memorized almost twenty names of the people he loves.
“Tamms…” he sighs.
“Sal Ganza too.”
It takes effort but Guido reaches up and places a shaky hand on his forehead. He repeats, “Ganza too?”
“Sabrina Sinatra, two years old…” I mention his youngest daughter’s name, not feeling shit.
Our eyes connect. If he thinks I’m above murking some little ass kid. Well, this muthafucka put his child’s life in jeopardy taking the occupation that he leads. Besides, I would go on a killing rampage for my Rocky.
After Guido gives up the location I stand up and squeeze two to his dome with my Beretta. I nod, finally respecting the fact that he saw death coming and didn’t beg like a bitch.
My Caprice fits into the scheme of things where Tamms and Sal Ganza have been hiding. Damn, I thought they would at least go out with class.
“These muthafuckas don’t even have no heat,” Popeye says looking around the tiny one story home while he takes off his seatbelt. “You think Guido lied?”
“Nah, he ain’t never been more truthful in his life ,realizing I knew all about the people that mean so much to him.”
We get out. My Teflon is beneath my thermal, but with the way things are going, I probably won’t even need it. We go through the side door with a few of my goons going through t
he front and back entrance. Popeye and I enter the kitchen, our shoes squeaking over the dirty vinyl floor. There’s roaches feasting down on old packages of food on the counters and crawling over the floor don’t even get ghost. There’s a dude with his hand on a bottle of Wild Turkey and his head on the kitchen table. He slowly looks up, drunk out of his mind.
“It’s the motherfucking Phantom,” Sal slurs the words. “I knew you would come… You think you have it all made don’t you. But you don’t. Trust me, Phantom. They’re going to want you… They’re always going to want something from you…”
“Man, I didn’t drop by for a social visit,” I tell him.
He chugs down more alcohol then grits his teeth to the burn. “One day, maybe not soon, you’re going to wish you had listened. Me and you, we’re one in the same–”
“The fuck,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “Man, you Italians just keep getting more pathetic by the second.”
“Listen to me! You might think I’m senile. Nah, I’m old. I have brain cancer and its eating me up, so fucking bad. But we are alike. We’re little fish in a big pond, a fucking sea. Do you want to know who owns the sea? Who is god of the drug trade?”
“There’s only one Dios,” I say pointing a finger up to the heavens.
He begins to shout, “Emerald–”
I bust one straight in the middle of his eyes. Sal slumps back in his chair at the same time that I hear a female shouting from down the hallway. I look over. Popeye is ready with his Glock in hand. But the noise gets closer. One of my goons has Tamms held about the waist. Her legs and arms are thrashing around, with her pussy flying everywhere. Her hair is wet like they must have pulled her straight out of the shower. Tamms disrespectful ass continues to talk shit as she’s flung onto a chair across from Salvatore Ganza.
She looks over at the dead Italian and sobs. “No! No,” Tamms quickly goes to Sal and tries to wake him up. “You’ve taken everything from us. They tried to fucking take over… Sal’s stupid son Mikey tried to take over. They burned down those spots a few days ago. Can’t you just leave us alone?”
“FYI, ma, Mikey or whatever the fuck his name is, didn’t burn down much. So no worries, I won’t hold it against you.” I step closer to her.
“Just leave me alone, you won. My husband left me. You just murdered my lover. My son, my beautiful Raphael is dead. My grandbaby,” she says slapping a hand to her chest, “My grandbaby has been abducted. You won’t let me see Raphael Junior. Just let me go.”
Those green eyes cry a river for me.
“Get on your knees.”
“What more do you want? You want me to blow you off?”
I shake my head no. Somebody hands over my Mossburg.
BOOOSH…
Her right knee gives away, then her left.
A cry so hard cuts Tamms so muthafuckin’ deep that she can’t even make a sound. Her mouth opens wide as she lays on the ground.
“Tamms, you was a bad bitch a while back huh? You murked my girl’s moms. I would thank you if that shit didn’t bring Rocky pain.” I give a slight laugh. Then my face is dead serious again. “My son, my don, my muthafuckin’ son, his NAME is LORENZO HENRY MEDINA Junior. He shares no blood with you. Lo entiendes–You understand? Mi hijo no es su sangre–My son is not your blood!”
I take a deep breath as she continues to silently sob, “Now, you must know, I’m all about my fam. You brought the woman I plan to marry to tears. You put her in distress while pregnant with my beautiful baby girls. Shit, I can’t even apologize to them enough for the pain that they had to endure because of you,” I say. Then I look at one of my goons, he hands over my machete.
Tamara Sica Bell’s eyes widen–
Chapter 40
ROCKWELL.
“Lorenzo!” I shout as the plane door begins to creep open. God have I missed him.
“Girl, what are you doing?” Chuey asks as I begin to sprint down the runway. “Aye Rocky, it ain't safe.”
I smile with every step I take. Me and Chuey have been working out every morning for two weeks. Chuey is a fucking beast when it comes to lunges, squats, and planks. So I’m at the top of my game, in shape and feeling like Superwoman while running toward my man.
Lorenzo has on a new pair of jeans, a thermal that snuggles against his ropy arms. His diamonds twinkle as he turns my way.
Lorenzo drops the duffel bag in his hands. He gives this smile, knowing my ass is acting like this is one of the ends of those love stories gone wrong, and the lovers finally get it right by running toward each other. Then I jump in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist.
Lorenzo kisses me all on my neck, biting and making me laugh.
“Renzo I missed you!” I reply in between laughing, as his bites and kisses tickle me all over.
Popeye steps out and looks past us. “Y’all a fucking trip.”
My smile fades. My homie is pissed that Blu didn’t come with us. I feel sorry for Popeye, until Lorenzo grabs my ass and says, “Now that's what the fuck I'm talking about mommi. You happy to see me?”
“Yeah papi...” I transform into a happy and nervous and a jittery ball of mess, realizing that when we get home, I am finally going to make love with my man for the first time in months. This nigga has me feeling all kindsa new emotions like if this was a new love.
So tell me why less than 30 minutes later I want to kill this nigga...
Chuey and Popeye ride up front. In the backseat, Lorenzo is in my ear telling me the nastiest stuff in the world. He laces together words that have my honeybox milking for his dick. I’m smiling all giddily and reminding myself that he’s going to enjoy sex with me. Yes, I have been back and forth wondering if he’s going to think it feels the same, taste the same. All that crazy shit has been swarming through my brain after having two babies at the same damn time!
“Damn ma, I’ma have yo’ little ambidextrous ass tooted in the air, legs wide…”
“Lorenzo, shhh,” I know he’s whispering as he kisses and speaks in my ear but damn, my cheeks have swirled like peaches with embarrassment as he gets out the backseat.
Then there's this dark skin girl with super long, curly hair–fucking shampoo model type– standing at her bucket she drove up the hill in. A skinny baby, that’s maybe three months old, looks uncomfortable on her hip.
“Rocky, stay in the car,” Lorenzo doesn’t even wait for me to reply.
“Um no...” My heart feels a little off as I get out and say hello. My eyes won’t stop connecting to the child. He’s handsome just like my Lorenzo was as a baby. Thick black eyelashes just as curly as my Junior’s!
“Hi, I'm Olivia and this is Lorenzo Junior,” homegirl says, sticking out her hand.
“Come again?” I snatch my hand back. Fuck feeling some type of way. I look back and forth from Lorenzo to Popeye to Chuey. All three won’t look at me. Except, Lorenzo looks at Olivia, with murder in his eyes. Yeah, I can see him putting that bitch down right now if she didn’t have his son in her hands. Then she says something that cannot be mistaken . While I was almost dying in the hospital after giving this nigga two babies, he was chilling with her?
You know, every time my nigga steps out the house, I muthafuckin’ pray for him. I love him with all of me. My body is shaking, how do I fucking deal?
How did this trick just thank Lorenzo for the money and coming to see their child at the hospital!
While.
I.
Lay.
Dying…
Chapter 41
LORENZO.
“Man, Olivia, you need to get the fuck off my property, I said I ain't ya kid’s daddy. I'm not taking no test.” She flinches as my pimp hand comes up. Yeah I know a bitch like her expects that, but I'm not finna hit Olivia while she's holding her fucking child. Not to be twisted with the fact that I’ll put a bitch down for fucking shit up with my girl. And I’m low-key trying to be easy with this girl so she can see that kid grow up.
My goons stay posted at th
e gates on rotation. I know Olivia’s pretty ass face stopped them from getting active when she pulled up here before me. I had previously given them orders not to fuck with this trick on account that she needs to be about her son. Right now ol’ girl is trying me. Olivia laughs, feeling confident and safe while holding her baby boy on her hip.
“Lorenzo, is this your child?” Rockwell asks in her tiny voice. “You know what, handle your bitch.” She storms toward the house.
My boys start into the crib also.
“You really gon’ come by my place, pulling some foul ass move like that, Oli? Really?” I shake my head. I can’t be that kid’s daddy, I don’t barely remember sampling the fucking pussy. I start into the house as Olivia stands at her busted ass car, shouting for me to come take care of my kid. Saying he is always sick. She needs help!
“Nigga, you in trouble, trouble, trouble,” Toi sings out with her hand on her hip. In the background, the babies are crying, Junior too, and Rockwell is throwing down luggage. I push Toi’s stupid ass out the way, since she’s so busy tryna fuck with me and doesn’t see luggage coming down the stairs with full force. Her stupid ass finna get knocked the fuck out with a damn Burberry bag!
“It’s going to be okay,” Lakitha says, bouncing Lila on her hip, as she looks up–but at a safe distance from inside the dining room. “Let’s all just have a chat. See a Marriage and Family Therapist. I’m sure a MFT can–”
“Rocky stop!” I shout.
“Bitch, you muthafuckin’ pussy ass bitch!” she snaps. Rocky tryna use every cuss word under the sun as she points down at me. Rita comes from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. My ten-year-old sister, Lorenza peeks around the corner as Chuey tries to get them to follow Junior and Popeye back into the playroom. There's a crowd around now.
Rockwell comes back to the top of the landing with another piece of luggage as Moms says, “What the fuck is going on?”
“Mama Rita, so you wasn’t going to tell me your son was fucking some other hoe while I lay in the hospital dying?”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 2 (Loving a Columbian Cartel Thug) Page 10