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

by K'Aliyah Knight

  Never thought I would be warning my own uncle. As a child, I was fucking scared of this dude. I don’t want to believe Moms has a good reason to fight her brah, but it ain’t a fucking problem to handle that.

  Chapter 76

  SANTIAGO.

  The lack of fear in my nephew’s eyes has my veins blazing with hatred, but I hold that all in with a smile. It takes everything in me not to pull out my gun and bust on Lorenzo. See I have more love for my fam than these damn Medina’s. Mi Madre’s familia. Because Rita dropped the Mendoza from her last name then lost her fucking mind! As if being León Mendoza’s child was something to be frowned upon.

  To think my nephew and I were getting along well. He was none the wiser of my plans. This bitch. How did Rita have the audacity to bring her ass up to my spot? How she even thought she could fucking disrespect me? In front of everyone again.

  “I’ve got nothing but love for your madre,” I tell Lorenzo. Our eyes are locked onto each other. This little nigga thinks he has more loyalties than me? I invented levels to this shit. He nods slowly, as if assessing everything about me. Then Lorenzo goes back to his SUV.

  I turn around slowly. My legs are shaking. Nah, I ain't scared of Lorenzo.

  He's my nephew. He takes loyalty too hard. Once you and him good. That shit is for life, 'til dumb hoes like Rita and Toi try to fuck it up. It's okay. I’ma love my nephew all the way to the end. I’ma even get ‘em a good lawyer when they slap on those consecutive life sentences–that rap sheet that will include all the crazy stuff I’ve done too. Just that thought makes me smile.

  I step back inside and remember how much fun I had with Toi earlier. All the tempting she has done in the past. Then pretending to be a virgin. I will say that she had a mediocre, semi-tight pussy before I touched her.

  That she did…

  Chapter 77

  TOI.

  No matter how many times I hate on Lorenzo–nigga taking on daddy status and shit–he always looked out for us. Best brother any bitch could ask for.

  Today that changed to no fault of his own...

  Warm, gooey blood was streaming down my legs as I walked down the street in the worst neighborhood known to man. I thought Hoover Projects in Illinois was dirty when I grew up. I woulda never hated on my mama for taking that janitor hospital job if I knew this was where we came from, after her and Santiago began to hate on each other. Hoover was a fucking come up. We was kings even then.

  These parts are rat and shit infested. I've been walking down the way for hours and night had already claimed the day. As pitiful as I was, nobody in their right mind would help me. Fuck with me, nothing. See in my current situation all bruised and bloody, they knew I was marked. I was a walking plague. Expiration date coming shortly.

  And then there's this one time. A woman comes up to me to pray. I ask for help, alternating in English and Spanish. Evidently her “god” only speaks Spanish. Because first she looks at me confused that I wasn't a tourist. Colombian blood rides through my body and seeps down my legs and the gashes from my knees and arms. So I should know how to speak the dialect perfect. Figuring that I don't, she doesn't help.

  I keep on. Stomach has stopped growling. Feet have stopped hurting from the rocks and glass embedding into my soft, supple flesh. My shoes are somewhere in the back of Santiago’s Rolls Royce, since I had kicked at him and one flew off. He’d snatched the other to keep me from using it as a weapon. My body was numb. Santiago’s beating no longer hurt at all.

  “Ni... Nino?” I shout when I hear a few dudes up the street. One sounds like Nino. They all turn around and peer through the dark.

  “Nino, it's me! Toi.” Instincts motivate me to run to him, but as soon as I start to move quicker the cuts in my feet begin to hurt again. My womb, the jewel that had once been between my thighs is on fire with pain.

  “Toi? Look at you ma,” Nino asks, in a basketball jersey and soiled jeans. He caresses a few tresses from my face.

  “What the fuck happened?” he asks in this angry ass tone.

  I sigh, “My uncle... He hurt me.”

  “Damn, he did,” Nino’s voice is smoother than wine, with concern, “Lemme get you inside.”

  I hold back the sniffles as Nino scoops me up. His partners say something about playing and games and videos. Video games? I try to catch their Spanish but they talk too quickly. Instead of the five guys moving along, they follow as Nino takes me up four flights of stairs. The stench of piss wafts through my nostrils. Though I’ve gotten used to the funk of this neighborhood, this very hallway reek. Nino holds me closely while opening the front door.

  We step into a living room/bedroom, tiny studio apartment.

  “Lay here.” Nino says. Before I can protest, he places me on a bed with crumpled sheets. Roaches don't scatter. They greet me.

  “Aye, stupido get my girl some water,” Nino barks over his shoulder. Still looking me over. “Damn, mommi, you got a shiner coming.”

  I take the cup of tap water in a cloudy mug and guzzle it down.

  “Be easy, ma,” Nino chuckles, his handsome face clouds. Then his five friends begin to laugh too. Their dark, all Afro Colombians, with nappy hair and hard, dark glares. They have the façade of the type of niggas that ain't never had shit, ain’t never been shit.

  They take.

  My eyes shift from my dude to his homies. Hesitantly I ask, “Nino, can you call my brother?”

  “Ain't got no phone,” he shrugs, standing up as if he's done inspecting me.

  “Lorenzo will pay you...” I say, feeling a little odd at the moment. Like a monkey at the zoo, with all of them standing before me. My body hurts, so I can’t get up from this dirty mattress though I desperately want too.

  After a minute of them glaring, I say, “Lorenzo’s going to be mad at Santiago when he finds out so he will pay you. Give y'all jobs if you need.”

  “Is that so?” Nino asks.

  “What kinda job?” One stops picking his short fro to ask.

  “You know. You heard of Lorenzo. The phantom.”

  “Yes indeed, mommi. We heard,” Another nods, but he nor his friends look interested in helping me.

  Nino reaches down and pats my shoulder. “A muthafucka like me, well, I really appreciate when a bitch looks out for me. Try to fatten my pockets. Get a dude gainfully employed. That's what I liked about you, Toi.”

  “Yeah,” I nod, trying not to gag at a rat scurrying by. “Lorenzo will help all of you get good jobs.”

  “Is that right?” Nino asks again. They all laugh. It starts to piss me off, but I'm in a predicament. “Listen ma. Did you not hear the key word liked. Past tense assuming ya ass ever went to class, then you should presume that I ain't feeling you no more. To make matters worse, that education woulda did you some good the first time you mentioned getting me a fucking gig. The fuck I need some bitch to get me and my goons a job for? Disrespectful ass coming up in here like you the shit. Nah, ma.”

  My lips barely move, “Bu…But–”

  “I told you to keep my pussy under lock and key,” Nino shouts. He licks his lips, then gives a half smile, saying, “Show ain't kept the pussy on lock. Looks like you gave ya uncle the muthafuckin’ key. Got blood coming all down your legs and shit. Nasty hoe, fucking with ya fam.”

  “No...” Tears fall down my eyes faster than I can speak, “I didn't.”

  “So we been watching you all evening. You almost had ya way back home. All you had to do was speak Spanish to that religious bitch! You don’t gotta be so sadity. Don't even know ya muthafuckin’ culture. And then you come in my house disrespecting me. Offer me a job. Throw money at me?” Nino waves me off, “Bitch, who do you think you are!”

  “Nino. I love you. You love me. You said it.” Shit, I don’t believe it, but I need him badly. I start to scramble to my knees. The gashes on my legs hurt, but I declare this love through tears.

  “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. Said that shit to a hundred bitches, so I'm surprised ya pussy a
in't burning yet.” He chuckles. “Well, I hope Santiago was smart enough to use a condom. One more thing, what happens next was not Santiago’s idea. What happens last, now that’s what Santi wanted. If that shit makes sense? You feel me?”

  “Nino baby, I love you.”

  “Good because you finna love me and all these muthafuckas up in there. Yes sir. You let somebody touch my kitty. They all get to pet now…”

  Before Nino passes me around he voices the words that I’d die. He let me know that Santiago need my brah off his game. He need Lorenzo to be just a little bit stressed during the next shipment… Knowing my brother, Lorenzo loves family more than anything. This drug trade is grimy as fuck, but I know Lorenzo would have moved the entire universe to keep me safe. So I was a dead pawn in Santiago’s mind game.

  Anyway, like I said. Lorenzo always saved us in the past. Best big brother. What a shame. By the second round I was strangled unconscious. Third round one of Nino’s friends brought me to with a few slaps while he continued to ram his dick inside of me. Dry, hard, and raw. Thank God I blacked out before he could dump into me.

  Lorenzo isn't here tho. He can't help. Never again.

  I'm dead. Nothing can save me.

  Chapter 77

  LORENZO.

  Three days later…

  “Rocky!!!” I shout. My girl comes running to me as I stand outside, yelling her name for the umpteenth time. The dust from driving up the hill hasn't settled before she's outside in the dark and in my arms.

  “Renzo, talk to me, bae.” Rocky starts crying on key.

  I hold her tightly. Maybe I'm crushing her. Maybe I’m killing my lady but I'm off. Everything has shut the fuck down. Heart stopped. Finger on the trigger ready to murder any muthafuckin’ body. Popeye threw haymakers my way when we had gone to the coroner earlier tonight.

  How the fuck do I identify...

  The porch light comes on. “Lorenzo?” Moms comes out the towering doors slowly, with a robe on, arms wrapped around herself. “Noooooooo.”

  I can't look at Rita. Somehow Rockwell ain't in my arms, she’s just standing there crying, hugging herself now.

  “You ain't shit.” Moms slaps me. I see the hits, but I don’t feel them. “I hate you, Lorenzo. You ain't my son. I swear to god, if Toi… C'mon Lorenzo. C'mon son, tell me what Toi did?” She slaps me again. “Nigga, tell me the stupid shit ya little sister did.” She cried and laughs. “Toi dumb ass is stupid just like you, Lorenzo. Where she at? Some no good nigga house? Been there for 3 nights. I'm sure she wanna come home now.”

  “Ms. Rita,” Popeye begins.

  “Both y’all no good muthafuckas wanna be cartel but can’t even get Toi to come home from a dude’s house!”

  “Moms...” I begin.

  “No. No. Stop.” Rita doesn’t even want to hear the words. She doesn’t want to believe her instincts.

  “Lorenzo, what happened?” Rockwell asks, voice trembling as she wipes tears from her eyes.

  Rita grabs me again by the collar, “Look nigga, just go get her. Tell Toi I won’t even whoop her little black ass! Just go get her!”

  Blu is coming out the house. She puts Lila on Lakitha’s other hip, with baby Lisa.

  “Aye, what the fuck? Dude. You hear Moms acting all kindsa foolish.” Blu looks at Popeye. He leans against the trunk. We both ain’t even in this world. I know he still sees Toi in his head.

  My 16-year-old baby sister. Black and blue. Both eyes swollen shut. Lip busted. Nose crooked. It wasn’t even her face. But she has a birthmark on her shoulder, it was mixed in with all the scars and bruises all over her body.

  Man, my sister was pretty. All my sisters are super beautiful so nah that dead bitch lying on the table couldn’t be Antonietta Medina. Violated. That ain't my little, innocent ass sister.

  Fuck it. I shout, “Moms, Toi is dead.”

  She slaps me again. “You a lie!”

  “She’s gone,” Again I say in Spanish.

  “My baby?” Rita stops, and stumbles to the asphalt. She slaps my attempt to help her up. “Nigga, you telling me, you… you’re fucking saying that my little girl… My child… Born at eight pounds and seven ounces, twenty-one and a half muthafuckin’ inches. I carried her for forty-two weeks. Almost had a Caesarian because she didn't want…. to come home. That’s her problem. My bad ass Antoinetta is somewhere not wanting to come home.”

  “Toi ain’t fucking coming home, man!” I look down at my mom. Rita thinks she the only one that supposed to feel that shit.

  I start for the car. “Keys nigga!”

  Popeye tosses them.

  “Lorenzo wait!” Rocky calls to me. Blu starts for the back seat, but I thump her in the forehead, while getting in the car. “You a muthafuckin’ broad, go sit the fuck down and do bitch shit!”

  “Fuck that!” Blu grabs her gat from her waistband. But Popeye just hopped into the passenger seat, so I’m mashing on the gas before he can even slam the door.

  Chapter 78

  CHUEY.

  Word spreads quickly. To hear my lil’ cuzzo got capped, nah fuck that muthafuckin’ mutilated, has me on one. My little bro Sean had called me all the way from Hoover. He knew too. I couldn’t even believe when I came home from seeing my mom. Rocky and Blu, and the entire house were holding each other crying as they sat on the couches in the living room. All but my tia Rita, an imaginary brick wall was around her. She just stared into oblivion. I looked around the large mansion for Lorenzo and them.

  Then my iPhone rings and I answer, “Bro-bro?”

  “Got ya burner?” Lorenzo asks.

  “Yeah buddy.”

  “Meet me at the Tortilla joint off Quintero Place.” He hangs up.

  When I get there, I hop into the SUV. Lorenzo is puffing on a blunt, saying “... See my problem is tryna make Rocky happy. Tryna keep them trap houses straight while I'm out here and need to be back out there in Hoover.”

  “Sean helping?” I ask. I think back, if Sean hadn’t called me today about Toi, then we wouldn’t have spoken. It’s always a while before me and my little brother connect.

  “Nah, your lil’ brah in Hoover making babies,” Popeye says. Shit even I know that’s the only thing Sean is good for.

  I don't want to go back, but offer.

  “Nah. Tia Mayté ain't got much time. First born’s job is to be there. Lil’ cuz you always there.” Lorenzo points the bud at me. “You a good dude.”

  My eyes don’t even blink as I say, “Yeah.”

  “Back to my muthafuckin’ problems. So while I'm tryna work these different angles I ain't keep my eyes on these streets. Ears either.”

  I silently listen. This really isn’t Lorenzo’s territory. Santiago always had Miami. Lorenzo had helped him get the Bronx. But all of Illinois either fears or respects Lorenzo. But I’m guessing dude just wants to make sense of everything.

  “Toi dead,” Lorenzo tosses that out there. And the way he says it so cool like it's nothing. Shit I am a little surprised, but then realize he probably hasn’t come to terms with it yet.

  Finally my mouth opens, shock waves over allowing me to speak, “Damn. I heard. What happened?”

  “That's for me and you to find out.”

  “You and Popeye is a nigga’s right hand; right?” Lorenzo asks us.

  “Fasho’,” Popeye says.

  “Yeah,” I reply. Lorenzo was always my closest cuzzo so yeah, I’ma be there for him, all the way to the grave that has his name on it.

  ~~~

  We drive inland. Further from the beach the uglier shit gets by the second. Lorenzo pushes this bitch to the limit like he already knows his target. The SUV riding over potholes and all kindsa raggedy ass shit on the street. This nigga is driving like we’re all invincible.

  We get out in the median, right in the middle of the lowest poverty level and Lorenzo opens the trunk to his car. It’s dark outside, and this hood doesn’t have street lamps. So I squint to see him grab AK 47s. I had assumed one was for the eac
h of us, but nah, he pulls out more. We each get two. He closes the trunk, puffs his blunt. Eyes red. Either blazed or having been crying.

  The bullets go off riddling the walls and a few dudes walking by. Everybody, human, bird, cat, rat, starts running. Ducking and dodging and into their homes.

  “Okay okay, so I got y'all muthafuckin’ attention?” Lorenzo shouts. Through these paper-thin walls, I know these poor bastards can hear it all. A dude spazzing on the ground from being shot, begins to struggle to crawl away. Lorenzo helps him out. Two caps to the skull and the guy ain't trying no more.

  “Todos ustedes–All of you out!” he shouts.

  Popeye and I look at each other, wondering if this is going to become a slaughtering of the lambs.

  Colombians from ninety years old to infants on their mother’s hips, tiptoe to line the sidewalk. Some half naked, in tattered pajamas, and some in work clothes. All with a look of fear.

  “So y'all know something. I know y’all muthafuckas know something. First person out here to speak is the muthafuckin’ hero because I will come into each one of y'all cribs and burn that bitch down!” Lorenzo shouts like he’s auditioning for ‘Training Day Two.’ He chuckles and says, “I got more than enough heat. Believe that.”

  After a minute of silence his guns go off again. TATA-TATATAT-TATATA, the bullets spray so loud that I can't even hear myself think. A line of people from all ages fall to the ground.

  “Aye!” somebody shouts. “Hold up!”

  A buff, babyfaced dude comes out the top stairs real slow. Little dude rubs his hand through fresh cornrows, looking anxious and scary as fuck.

  “So Youngblood, what you know?” I ask, glaring hard, this lil’ nigga looks… so very familiar. My AK47 is trained at his mouth, and I look down at the guy since he’s much shorter.