A Favor for a Favor Page 11

  “Awe, shit!” Pop grunted, gritting his teeth as he fought through the pleasure and pain shooting through his dick.

  Princess didn’t waste time getting into a rhythm. She grabbed two handfuls of his beard and rode him like jockey riding Sea Biscuit. The noises she made weren’t all human. She growled, moaned, whimpered, screamed, and cried. The pulling of his beard hurt like nothing Pop had ever felt, but he soldiered on.

  When she came, she lifted her head to the ceiling and screamed, pulling his beard so hard she pulled his mouth open, forcing him to scream with her. He could feel her cum pooling in his dick-hairs and dripping down his balls and ass crack. Princess shook and collapsed on top of him.

  Pop didn’t give her time to recuperate. He pushed her off him and onto her stomach, then he got behind her, grabbing her hips and pulling her onto her knees, doggy style.

  “Oh, Pop! Shit, nigga! Damn!”

  He pulled her dreads and slapped her ass while he fucked her. Princess came again. And again. And again. When she couldn’t take no more, she fell onto her stomach, drained. Pop stayed on top of her, humping away.

  “Okay, Pop! You win! You win!”

  Her words were music to his ears. “Who’s bitch is you?”

  “Yours! Yours!”

  “You my bitch, right? You my bitch?”

  “Yeah, Pop! Yeah!”

  Pop continued to beat it up, loving the power her words made him feel. “Say it. Tell me you my bitch.”

  “I’m yo’ bitch, Pop! I’m yo’ bitch!”

  “Say ‘fuck Pop Squad.’”

  “Okay! Fuck Pop Squad! Fuck them niggas!”

  Chapter 13

  The silver Benz glided into the parking lot of Wells Fargo, parking next to a white Ford Explorer. C-Note pulled out his phone and sent a text. Less than a minute later, Shanice walked out wearing a purple, frilly blouse, tight white skirt, and purple heels. Her hair flowed past her shoulders in long curls, bouncing and swaying as she walked quickly to the Benz.

  “Damn, gurl. e’ery time I see you, you get finer,” C-Note complimented as she sat in the passenger seat.

  “Awe, thanks,” she blushed. “Now hurry up and pull outta here before one of my coworkers see us. I ain’t trynna explain this to nobody or get judged.”

  “Chill, baby. You know I ain’t gon’ do nothin’ to get us knocked. Let cho seat back and relax.”

  After hearing the comforting words, Shanice leaned over and kissed him before reclining in her seat. “So, what do you have planned that is so much a secret you can’t tell me?”

  “I’m not tellin’ you. That’s why it’s called a secret. You’ll see when we get there. You ever heard this song before? Every time I hear it, I think of you.” When he turned up the radio, Dej Loaf and Jacquees’ In The Club filled the car.

  “This my song!” Shanice sang, snapping her fingers.

  Five minutes later they parked in front of a photography studio called Beautiful Images. Shanice looked surprised. “What is this?”

  “A photography studio. I’ma explain why we here in a second, but it’s somethin’ I need to tell you.”

  The seriousness in his tone made Shanice curl her face. “What’s goin’ on, baby? I don’t like the way you sound.”

  He took a deep breath. “I got jammed by the twelve a couple months ago. The feds. My lawyers say they gon’ draw the case out for as long as they can, but I’m prolly not gon’ beat it.”

  Shanice looked like she had been punched in the stomach. Her eyes popped, jaw dropped, and she was speechless.

  “Say somethin’, Shanice. You a’ight?”

  When she found her voice, the questions rushed out like a run-on sentence. “What did you do? You gotta go to jail? For how long?”

  “They caught me wit’ twenty birds.”

  Her eyes threatened to pop out of her head. “Twenty kilos?”

  “Yeah. I think I’m fucked. Look, I ain’t one of them fallin’-in-love-ass niggas, but I care about you. A lot. That’s why I’m tellin’ you this. And I brought you to this studio because you the most perfect woman I ever met. I know you take a lot of pictures on Facebook, but I feel like you need a professional to fully capture yo’ perfection. So I want you to take some professional pictures for me. Somethin’ I can take wit’ me when they lock them doors in my face.”

  Shanice wrapped her arms around C-Note and cried. “Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you. You the realest nigga I ever met. Damn, I wish we could run away together. I don’t want you to go to jail. I need you. I love you.”

  Hearing those three words left C-Note speechless. He knew she was feeling him, but love was another realm. It made everything more complicated. She had a man. And a baby. And a crazy-ass cousin. They had been stealing time together whenever they could, creeping around for eight months. But the confession had upped the ante. It wasn’t about good sex and a good time anymore. It was about love.

  “Damn, Shanice. Why you have to say that?”

  “Because I want you to know how I feel. I want to be with you. You make me feel how a woman is supposed to feel. Loved. Appreciated. Satisfied. If you leave, I’ma go back to bein’ miserable. My time with you is the highlight of my week. Hearin’ yo’ voice make my day brighter. Seein’ yo’ face makes me smile. I love you.”

  “But you got a man. And what about Pop?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. If you want, we can face them both. I just know I want to spend more time with you.”

  C-Note lay his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. Her words were real. She would face the nigga she built a family with and a stone-cold killer on his behalf. But he knew that would be unfair. He was going to prison, possibly for a long time. Destroying her life and relationships wouldn’t be right. Especially if he couldn’t be there for her. “I can’t let you do that. Not now. I can’t let you destroy yo’ life while I sit locked up.”

  “So, what are we going to do? Do you love me?”

  When C-Note opened his eyes, Shanice was staring at his face, searching. “I do. For real. And because I love you, I won’t let you fuck yo’ life up.”

  “So, again, what are we goin’ to do?” she asked.

  “I know it’s hard, but I think we gotta keep doin’ what we been doin’ until I put this shit behind me. That’s the only way to make sure you’ll be okay.”

  Shanice thought about his words. “You right. I don’t want you to be, but damn, you right. I wish you could be wrong or selfish. That’s what make you a good nigga. Damn, I wish I woulda met you before I got pregnant by Nitty.”

  “You wouldn’t know pleasure without pain. Winter makes you appreciate summer.”

  Shanice laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Whatever, street philosopher. You made me mess up my makeup. I hope they got a makeup artist in here.”

  ***

  C-Note stared out the picture window of his office overlooking Lux. From the second floor window he could see every square foot of the empty strip club, except the back rooms where the girls groomed, showered, and rested. It was four in the morning, and the club was closed. The only people inside were in his office. Beast Mode, Trench, and Pop Somethin’ were sitting around on the couches.

  “Permits, licenses, and a couple safety classes. That should cover us so we can all be strapped,” Beast Mode said. The name fit the big man perfectly. Six feet tall and 300 pounds. He wasn’t muscular, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. At thirty years old, he had jet-black skin, beady eyes, big lips, and hair cut into a Mohawk.

  “I got all my paperwork,” Trench spoke up. “I’m just waitin’ on the green light. My 10-millimeter love takin’ chunks outta niggas,” he laughed. Trench wasn’t as big as Beast Mode, five-foot-ten and 180 pounds, but the bald-headed albino was lethal. Ten years in the military had trained him in firearms and battle tactics. He also studied Jujitsu and Kendo, earning black belts. Now at thirty-six years old, he was a pale-skinned killing machine.

&n
bsp; “A’ight. I already sent my lawyers to holla at the mayor. We should know somethin’ real soon,” C-Note said, still looking out the window.

  “A’ight. Dolla, dolla bill!” Trench crackled. “We gon’ fuck dem country boys up if dey come back in here.”

  “You got Playa’s Club jokes, huh?” C-Note laughed, spinning to face his goons. “Ol’ wombat-lookin’-ass nigga.”

  Beast Mode busted out laughing. “Damn, C-Note! Why you do ‘im like that?”

  Trench turned on Beast Mode. “I know yo’ big ass ain’t laughin’, over there lookin’ like a big-ass mucus ball from the Mucinex commercial.”

  Everybody in the room laughed, even Pop Somethin’.

  “’Bout time you showed yo’ human side, Pop. You way too serious, bruh,” C-Note said.

  “Niggas get killed for playin’ too much, but that shit was funny,” Pop laughed. “You take care of them books yet? I’m ready to go. I got shit to do.”

  “Like fuck them fine-ass twins!” Beast Mode said. “Damn, Pop. How you get both of ‘em? I seen a lot of crazy shit in these clubs, but I ain’t neva seen a nigga fuckin’ sisters. What the secret is?”

  “Ain’t no secret, big homie. I’m just me. Bitches love a real nigga,”

  “I’m as real as they come, and I can’t even get two bitches to live wit’ me, let alone sisters.”

  “’Cause you ain’t me,” Pop laughed. “You ready, Note?”

  “Yeah, we can ride. I just wanna know if they freaky. Do they fuck each other?”

  “Hell yeah!” Beast Mode jumped in.

  Pop shook his head. “Nah, not that I know. But I wouldn’t tell you niggas if they did.”

  Beast Mode, Trench, Pop Somethin’, and C-Note walked across the deserted parking lot toward their cars. Nobody noticed the dark-colored sedan parked across the street, blending in with its surroundings. As the Lux staff climbed into their cars, four people climbed out of the sedan. Two had assault rifles, one had a shotgun, and the other held two pistols. They took aim at their unsuspecting victims and unleashed hell.

  Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!

  Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!

  Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!

  When the first shot was fired, Pop Somethin’s instincts kicked in. He flinched, ducked, and dove as a bullet hit him in the chest. A burning pain singed his pectoral, but he ignored it, executing a perfect tuck-roll and grabbing both 45s from his shoulder holsters. Before finishing the role, he had already identified the ambushers. Four gunmen stood next to a car about a hundred feet away. All were firing weapons. Pop came out of the roll with both guns blazing, taking aim at his attackers as he sought cover behind his truck.

  Beast Mode was the first casualty. The big man’s instincts were too slow. A 12-gauge slug hit him in the stomach, making him stumble backward. The second slug hit him in the chest, felling the big fella.

  Trench heard the loud pops as hot metal pierced his stomach. Being in Iraq had honed his survival training, so he allowed his body to go with the momentum the bullet to his gut had created. He twirled and crouched, pulling the 10 mm as he hit the ground. It only took a split second for him to assess the situation. The machine guns got his attention. Gunfire spattered the ground around him, but he remained calm. He had been trained for war. The 10 mm was his best friend. He took aim at one of the machine gun holders and fired. The ambusher’s head snapped back and his body crumpled. The second machine gun shooter got a lock on Trench. The high-powered rifle bullets tore through his body, making him tremble like he was doing the Harlem Shake.

  C-Note had just climbed into the Benz when the shooting started. Bullets slammed into the car, shattering windows and sending glass flying. It sounded like they were being ambushed by a small army. The gunfire was loud and rapid. Through the chaos and panic, C-Note managed to pull the Glock from his waist, crawl out of the car, and take cover. He lay on the ground, looking underneath the car to find the shooters. All he could see was their legs. He took aim and fired. Screams filled the night air as two of the ambushers went down. C-Note kept shooting, filling their fallen bodies with hot shit.

  Pop Somethin’ peeked from behind the Infinity just in time to see C-Note take out two shooters. The last man standing had the shotgun. Pop timed the moment perfectly. When he fired a slug and cocked the pump again, Pop came out from behind the truck squeezing both triggers. The 45 bullets exploded into the man’s chest, making him stumble backward, dropping the shotgun as his arms flailed wildly. Bullets laced him from his face to nut sack. Pop looked around, taking in the scene. Bodies covered the ground. He cursed when he seen Beast Mode and Trench.

  “Fuck. C-Note, where you at? C-Note?”

  “I’m right here,” he said, crawling from under the Benz.

  “You a’ight, nigga?” Pop asked, rubbing his chest to find the bullet lodged in the Kevlar vest.

  “Yeah. I’m good. Is Beast Mode and Trench still alive?”

  Pop had a good view of both men. Blood pooled around them and they weren’t moving. “Nah, they gone. Let’s go look at these niggas’ faces.”

  “You already know who they is. That’s ABLE Team.”

  “I know. I wanna see if Franco or Radar on the ground.”

  After checking the bodies and not finding the ABLE Team leaders, they went back to their cars.

  “You know we gotta go on offense now?” Pop asked.

  “What’s understood need not be spoken.”

  “Get the fuck outta here. Find an alibi and lay low. I’ma get at you in a minute.

  Chapter 14

  Two Days Later

  Street hustlers and drug dealers were out in full force, moving up and down the block like worker ants. It was a little past seven at night. Kids ran around playing tag and chasing each other with water guns while old folks sat on their porches block-watching. The sight of the dark-skinned beauty made everybody stop what they were doin’ and take a look. The hustlers, kids, and old folks ogled the woman who had mastered the art of seduction.

  Queenie strolled down the sidewalk like she was the ghetto version of Tyra Banks. She wore a snug white t-shirt that hugged her breasts and showed her toned arms and slim waist. ‘Slay’ was printed in big letters across the chest. The tight-fitting, super-flare denim bell-bottoms hugged her hips and thighs, showing her hourglass figure. Her sandals slapped against the pavement as she walked, her long dreads swaying with the switch of her hips.

  Two dope boys stepped in her path, cutting her off. “Damn, shawty! Where you goin’? Need some help carryin’ all dat ass?” one of them asked. He was tall and light-skinned with a mouth filled with gold teeth. His cornrows looked two weeks old, and his clothes were wrinkled like he slept in them.

  Queenie smacked her lips and rolled her eyes. “Boy, please!”

  “Don’t be like dat, baby,” the other one spoke. He was short and chubby. He also paid better attention to his appearance because his clothes were fitted, squeaky clean, and hair cut low with a crisp lining. “What my partna meant to say is ‘can we help you find where you goin’?’”

  Queenie lost some of her attitude, smiling at hustler number two. “I don’t know where I am. I’m from Houston. I just got into a fight with my man and he kicked me out the car. Bitch-ass nigga! I hope he die.”

  “Damn, baby. What wrong wit’ da nigga, lettin’ someone as bad as you get away? If you was mine, you’d have yo’ own shit. E’rythang foreign,” he bragged, pointing to a green Jaguar parked at the curb.

  Queenie looked at the car like it was a Bentley. “Ooh, I like that car! Is it yours? What kind is it?”

  “That’s that new Jag, baby. Seventy thousand dollars cash and dey let me drive right off da lot.”

  “Is you wit’ ABLE Team? I heard them niggas be eatin’. They talkin’ ‘bout ch’all all the way in H-Town.”

  The chubby baller poked out his chest, ego forcing his lips to speak without thinking. “Hell yeah! Fuck up a check just to have a good time. Fuck dat bum-ass
nigga you came wit’. I’m who you should leave wit’.”

  Queenie smiled, showing all thirty-two teeth as she did a little bounce. “Hey! That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! My name Baby Girl. Who is you?”

  “I’m Fats. Dis my block. I run all dis shit.”

  “And I’m D.G.,” the tall one spoke.

  Queenie looked at D.G. like he was getting on her nerves before turning back to Fats. “Since I don’t know where I’m at, can you help me? I promise I’ma find a way to pay you back for all the trouble.”

  “It ain’t nothin’, baby. What chu need? A ride?”

  “Yeah. That would be cool. Can you drop me off at my hotel? I’m at the Best Western.”

  “I got chu, shawty,” he said before turning to D.G. “I’m ‘bout to roll with shawty. Hit me if you need me.”

  “Fo’ sho, bruh. See if she got a sista or somethin’.”

  Queenie ignored D.G.’s comment as she sashayed to the passenger side of the Jaguar. Fats hit the alarm on the keychain, popping the locks as he got in the driver’s seat. Amazement showed on Queenie’s face as she sat in the luxury car’s leather seats. “Dayum! This is nice.”

  “Hand-sewn seats, baby. Shit, this muthafucka can talk and damn near drive by itself. I’ma cut dis air on so yo’ fine ass can cool off. You ain’t neva been in nothin’ foreign, huh?”

  Queenie sighed. “Nah. My man don’t got no money. He a bum. Drive a old-ass Fusion. I don’t know why I still fuck wit’ his bum-ass.”

  “Listen, shawty. I know we just met, but why don’t chu fuck wit’ cho boy? I treat chu real good. Me and my niggas fuckin’ up Dallas. ABLE Team gon’ take over the whole o’ Texas. Ride wit’ me, baby. Fuck yo’ nigga. Look at me.”

  “Damn, Fats. I like the way you talk to me. It get my pussy wet.”