“Don’t move,” I ordered through grunts.
“I’m cummin’!” she shrieked. Her back hunched tightly.
I leaned forward and pressed her back into the deep arch that I preferred. “Don’t move!” Clamping down on her waist, I brought that ass to me, driving all my width and length in deeper.
“Shiiiiiit!”
My eyes fixated on her plump, juicy ass as it slapped against my lap while I murdered that pussy. Trina was exactly how I liked them, thick like cornbread, real woman curves, with that lil’ stomach pouch that I could grab on while hitting it from behind.
“Gawd damn,” I mumbled. I could see her big titties flying everywhere while I infiltrated her soggy opening with no mercy.
“Ahhhhhh! Fuuuuuck!” she shrilled.
“You bet’ not move,” I grunted.
“Shit, it’s so deep!” she shrieked.
“Don’t… Arrrrrrgh!” I grabbed the base of the condom, jumped out of her, and leaned against her weak arched ass as I released inside of it. “Fuuuuuck!”
With heavy breaths, I pushed off her. She plopped down onto the bed as I sat on the edge of it, taking off the rubber. I leaned forward and tossed it into the trash can. Then I reached for my phone on the cluttered nightstand.
She needs to clean this motherfucker up.
Trina was one of those chicks that always wanted a man over, but she never cleaned up. Good for her, she had some good pussy.
I had a few text messages. As I unlocked my phone, I checked myself for actually looking for one of them to be from True.
Fuck shorty.
Tonight had been the first time I had caught a chick playing me. I had always figured she was sleeping with somebody else. Hell, I figured that all women had a spare dick in their back pocket. But that was why I did what I did and treated them how I treated them. But seeing it for myself was admittedly messing with my ego. I wanted every woman that I messed with to be at home waiting on this dick until I chose to give it to them.
Right or wrong, every man does.
Three of the text messages were from this chick, Regina, that I had sent off earlier that night. I had told her that we were hanging out that night, but Trina had been more persistent than her and True that night. So, Trina had won.
I ignored Regina’s messages and focused on the one from Zell.
Zell: Still no Mac.
I locked the phone and tossed it on the bed. As soon as I reached down on the floor for my jeans, I heard Trina sigh.
“Stay the night with me,” she whined. I could feel her tugging on my elbow. I snatched back and started throwing on my pants.
“Don’t start that shit, man.”
But she kept whining, “You always hitting this and leaving.”
I shrugged as I grabbed my shirt from the dresser I had tossed it on. “So, you should be used to it.”
“You so mean,” she complained.
“And?” I spat, throwing my shirt on. “Stop being clingy. We ain’t together. You know what this is.”
“Urrgh!” she groaned, kicking her feet into the air. “Why do I even fuck with you?”
I laughed, taunting her. “Because I got good dick.” I turned to walk away before she could argue with me. On my way out of the door, I tripped over a shoe. I grimaced and kicked it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud thud.
“Stop kicking my shit!” she yelped.
“You want a nigga to spend the night, try cleaning this bitch up,” I huffed.
“I hate you, Coop!”
I laughed on my way out of her bedroom door. I could hear her still mumbling under her breath. I could imagine what she was saying about me, but she knew better than to let me hear her say it if she still wanted this dick whenever I decided to give it to her again.
I let myself out of her crib and made my way towards my black 2018 BMW. I looked around to make sure no one was around. For a Tuesday night, the neighborhood right off 50th and Cottage Grove was pretty much abandoned.
Once at the back of the car, I popped the trunk open. It looked like the sudden sound had jolted Mac out of his sleep. He was still bound by his ankles and wrists and gagged. Much of the blood on his face had dried up during the hours he had spent in the trunk since that morning. He looked weak, hungry, and dehydrated. I was sure that for a sixty-degree night in April it was hot in that trunk. That was the least he was going to suffer that night, though.
“A’ight. You ready to die for trying to play me?”
Through the gag, he started to breathe heavily, hyperventilating. But every one of the workers on my block knew not to cross me. So, his surprise at his oncoming death was a shock to me. He knew my wrath. He knew I didn't play games when it came to my product or my money. Yet and still, he had been selling dope on my block and coming up short for three weeks, blaming it on other workers and crack heads like I hadn't been selling dope since I was thirteen and knew every trick in the book.
I laughed at the fear in his eyes as I closed the trunk. He may have only stolen a couple thousand from me, compared to the racks I had tucked away, but proving my point was priceless.
As I hopped in the car, I could hear Mac kicking against the trunk and his muffled screams. I laughed as I started the engine, pulled off, and blasted the radio on my way to my destination.
♫ Fuck a shooter I'm my own shooter
All this ice I'm my own jeweler
Six lawyers and they all Jewish
I'm the star bitch this is my movie
Pinky ring two-fifty on it
Guess it's safe to say nigga I spent your budget on it
Ran off on the plug twice ♫
This part of my job was draining. I had been doing this for almost fifteen years. I was thirteen when I sold my first bag of heroin. Back then, I was selling dope to feed myself and keep clothes on my back because no one else was there for me. I had been fending for myself ever since. I was the only person who could feed me, take care of me, and put a roof over my head. I never had a mother or father to do so. So, I didn’t play when it came to my money. I had killed for less, murdered niggas for testing me and thinking I was game. I was street tested and hood approved. This wasn’t no character I was playing. This was me in real life.
But I was tired. I was twenty-eight, which was elderly in drug-game years. I was an “old head.” It was time for me to retire and live my life without looking over my shoulder and worrying who was stealing from me or if I was on the indictment list. It was time to invest my money into something legit and become a regular dude. I just had no idea exactly what I wanted to do.
I drove around until the blocks fell asleep. At four in the morning, the block t I sold most of my product from on the southwest side of the city was vacant. The dope boys had disappeared to fall into something tight and wet. The crack heads were tucked away getting high off my supply. Kids and parents were getting there last few hours of sleep before they woke up and started their day.
And me? I was pulling Mac out of the trunk in an alley.
His eyes jolted open from the sudden movement, but they were too weak to stay wide open. They rode low. Buddy was exhausted and famished. I had driven around all day securing my alibi. Now, tucked away in the darkest corner of an alley where I knew no eyes or cameras could see me, I threw Mac down onto his knees.
“Was it worth it?” I asked as took my blade from my back pocket.
Mac’s weary, heavy eyes peered up at me with so much sorrow. But it was too late to be sorry. He should have thought about that shit before he decided to steal from me. I had clothed this punk and fed him. If it wasn’t for me, he would be some dirty-ass boy on State Street beating buckets for change. And he’d had the nerve to steal from me?
I snatched a handful of his locs and pulled his head back to expose his neck. I saw his Adam’s Apple move up and down slowly, signaling him swallowing hard. He stared into my eyes, and I admired him for at least dying like a man.
In one swift motion, I slit hi
s throat so slowly that it was even more agonizing for him. His muffled screams pierced the night air until the knife slit his vocal cords. Blood splatter against the trash-cluttered pavement where he kneeled. I let his locs go with a jolt that sent him flying to the pavement face first. I heard his teeth crack and facial bones break against the pavement.
Then I left him right there on the block where I’d met him, fed him, and bonded with him on, so everyone else could be reminded not to ever fuck with me.
2
Remi
“Why are you being so picky about this?”
I smiled, but Gigi didn’t even notice. She was busy roaming through the skirt rack. “It’s our anniversary. I gotta be cute for our date.”
“You’ve never been this picky about any other anniversary outfit.”
“Because…” I turned around slowly with this big, goofy grin on my face.
My sister, Gigi, short for her horrible name, Gregoria… I know, right? Her father’s name was Greg. Our mother’s name was Gloria. Ratchet shit… I know. Anyway, Gigi’s head cocked to the side dramatically as her eyes bulged with curiosity. She leaned against the nearest clothing rack. Her mink lashes fluttered repeatedly as she watched me with disbelief. “What?”
I sighed deeply and admitted, “I think Banks is going to propose to me.”
Gigi instantly rolled her eyes to the ceiling of the Sak’s store. My smile vanished as she smacked her lips dismissively. “Girl, bye.” She turned away from me and headed for a nearby rack of jeans.
I followed her, insisting, “I’m for real!”
She waved me off. “It's been like ten years, Remi,” she reminded me.
Unfortunately, and embarrassingly, she was right. I had been with Banks since I was sixteen years old. We had done everything a couple was supposed to do, except two things: have children and get married. That was because I wanted to do it the right way and in the correct order. I preferred to get married and then have children. I had played house for ten years, though. We had been living together. I had taken all his shit. I had supported him through his way up the hustle ladder. I was figuratively his wife, but I refused to have his baby until I was his legal wife. I deserved a ring after all these years of putting up with his lies. That was the one thing all these other chicks could never say. They could say they had his dick and that he’d spent money on them. They could even say he had taken them out of town. Other women could even say he had told them he loved them. But none of those hoes could say they were his wife. I needed that. I deserved that. He owed me that.
When Gigi noticed the solemn expression that had replaced the happiness she had snatched from me, she gave me this sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, sissy. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get your feelings hurt.”
I shrugged and tried to look confident as I said, “It’s okay. I don't blame you.”
I honestly couldn't fault my sister for not having any faith in Banks. For the last five years, I had been anticipating a ring every anniversary, every Christmas, every Valentine's Day, every birthday, and, hell, even every Independence Day. And each time, I was let down. Banks had given me everything—diamonds, cars, clothes, and handbags; everything I did not want.
Gigi huffed, slightly rolling her eyes to the back of her head. “Fine. What makes you think he’s about to propose.”
The simple thought caused my smile to return. “Well, first of all, he made us a reservation at Everest.” I waited for Gigi’s response to Banks taking me to one of the most expensive restaurants in Chicago. When her eyes slightly bucked and she nodded, I went on. “Right. And then he told me to make sure I dressed nice and got my nails done. And he’s been being secretive as hell! I’m telling you, girl, he is going to propose. Sooo, I need a cute outfit.”
Finally, Gigi smiled. “A’ight, fine. C’mon. There isn’t anything in here. Let’s go to the Gucci store.”
I felt good having my sister finally in my corner. I had been waiting for this for so long. I honestly didn’t care if Banks proposed to me in an expensive restaurant with a half-a-million-dollar ring or if he asked me on the block with a toy ring. No matter what we had been through and no matter how long I had waited, I wanted to marry that man by any means.
I was standing in the middle of me and Banks’ bedroom floor in the thirty-five-hundred-dollar embroidered Gucci dress I had purchased a few hours ago. My curves looked so good in it. I was a thick, curvy girl, standing at 5’7” and two-hundred and eighty pounds. I had curves in places I didn’t want them, but with the help of a good waist cincher and Spanx, this dress was hugging every last one of them while giving me an hourglass shape.
I didn’t too particularly like all of my curves. I had always been a curvy chick, but over the years, as I fought constant heartache from Banks, I ate my feelings until I was fifty pounds heavier. He never complained about my weight gain to my face. But I knew he didn’t like it because he always said that I was so pretty in the face. He loved my pouty mouth, dark skin, high cheekbones, and slanted eyes with heavy, natural lashes. I had a “pretty face” was what he always said, but it was evident that he preferred smaller chicks since every woman that he had cheated on me with was smaller and tighter. I wanted to lose the weight, but I wasn’t over the pain caused by Banks’ past indiscretions. So, I still ate to mask it.
However, with the help of a good girdle, I looked like a chocolate stallion standing in the Gucci pumps that jolted me to up to a regal 5’11” height.
I looked good.
But, to my mother, I guess I looked like a fool.
She lounged in a chaise in my room staring at the price tag in her hand in disbelief. “It’s cute, but why did you spend so much on this dress just for your anniversary? Y’all been together forever.”
“I think he’s going to propose tomorrow.” I held my breath, hoping she would be as happy for me as I was.
She slowly looked from the Gucci receipt to me. She blinked slowly and then asked, “You what?”
My heart sank, watching my mother chuckle as she waited for me to answer.
“She thinks he’s going to propose tomorrow,” Gigi repeated for me from my bed.
My mother snickered and shook her head. “Giiiiirl…”
“Mama!” I whined over Gigi’s muffled chuckles. “Wooow,” I groaned under my breath.
Shaking my head, I started to take the dress off.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Much like my sister, my mother had very little faith in Banks. I had made the mistake of sharing with my mother and sister every time Banks cheated and every time another woman called my phone. So now, even though I had forgiven him, they hadn't.
“I don’t know what you expected me to say to that,” Mama said, still chuckling.
At least my sister had stopped laughing, but the sympathetic look she was giving me wasn’t helping either.
I kept quiet and started to change back into the clothes I had worn shopping.
My mother didn’t keep quiet, however. “It’s been ten years. He can’t even commit to being a faithful boyfriend. Why the hell would he commit to being in a faithful marriage? I—”
“I get it, Mama,” I spat.
Her voice raised a little as she pressed, “Don’t get mad at me. I’m just saying.”
“Mama, let’s go,” Gigi thankfully said.
Confusion etched her face. “Now, why are we leaving? Because she can’t take the truth?”
Gigi’s eyes bucked, and she kept trying to press their exit. “Because I gotta go. I’ve been gone all day. I gotta go get the kids.”
I walked out, tuning my mother out. I walked into the en-suite bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. I sat on the ledge of my jacuzzi. I took deep breaths, trying to fight the urge to cry.
This was my fault. I had done this by telling my sister and mother everything. I should have had friends that I told Banks’ dirt to so that when I took him back, my family would still accept him. But I didn’t have friends. I
had known Banks since I was sixteen. He was my best and only friend. If I wasn’t with my sister or mother or both, I was at work, spending my time with him, or cooking or cleaning while waiting for him to come home.
I noticed my cell phone sitting on the sink next to the toilet where I’d left it. I reached for it and unlocked it. I could hear my sister rushing my mother to get her things so they could leave, and I was so grateful. I sat there waiting until they were damn near out of the door before I left out. I started scrolling through my notifications to see if I had missed any calls or text messages from Banks, but he hadn’t said anything since we talked in the Gucci store when I was letting him know I was about to make such a big purchase on our credit card.
To pass the time, I scrolled through Instagram and then Facebook. Because my mother and sister had Banks’ past infidelities on my mind, I went to his most recent side chicks’ page. Her name was Shandra. Though we weren’t friends on Facebook, she had always made sure to make every post public since I’d found out about her two years ago. Supposedly, as of a year ago, Banks’ had left her alone for good.
My heart started to skip beats when it seemed as if that wasn’t the case, however. My breathing got sporadic as I read the last few posts that she had made within the last hour, referring to spending time with an old dip, getting that old thang back, and when the pussy is good that it can take a man away from his main chick. I bit my bottom lip so hard that I could taste blood. I shot up from my seat on the ledge and raced towards the bathroom door. I threw it open and charged out, damn near running Gigi down as she stood close on the other side.
“Oh!” I shrieked as she scared me. “Sorry.”
She stared at me strangely, seeing the anxiety all in my face. “You okay?”
When My Soul Met A Thug Page 3