Page 9 of Forbidden Love

“I’m a nice nigga, more understanding than that nigga.” He pointed his gun my way then lowered it.

“Don’t fuck with me when I’m eating. Niggas get killed for shit like that. There was times I couldn’t eat, and?—”

“Fatz, enough entertainment for the day.” I gritted out.

I had to reel him back in because Fatz didn’t have it all together upstairs. Tracy really fucked my brother up; it didn’t matter because I would always have him and understood the impulsive mood swings that he went through.

I walked forward, slow and calm, still holding my Glock in my right hand. Nobody, except Fatz, looked me in the eyes.

“Let me make this clear right now. Raft ain’t here no more, his rules and regulations no longer stand. This shit is mine, and every nigga breathing in this room will respect it or starve.” I eyed every nigga with a pulse.

“Fatz is my brother, my blood, my right hand. If a nigga get bold enough to laugh at him again, you won’t make it to sunrise.Every nigga in this room need to gather around the table and sit the fuck down and listen.”

I stepped back and waited as they quickly gathered around the table to sit. The room smelled like gunpowder and soon would smell like death. I told Fatz to use his burner phone to get a clean-up crew to take out the bodies. I stepped forward with my hands behind my back and looked around the table.

“From this moment forward, this shit moves different. No more sloppy shit and pillow talking. Niggas that get big work from Fatz is supposed to control every breath that moves through the East Side.” I pointed to a nigga named Smiley, who was an OG nigga from South Central. He had a lazy eye and was fast with his hands.

“Territories need to stay clean. Y’all corner boys shouldn’t be selling shit unless its stamped with my approval. Anybody that had pushed weight on our turf and ain’t blessed by me, you all better have their name, mama name, and shoe size by sundown. Smiley is who all of y’all should be reporting to and contacting when you need to re-up. If money come up short, you get to chop it up with Fatz. Don’t come to me with petty shit or excuses because my patience is thin. Every nigga in here grown, and I’m not here to micromanage. I’m here to collect my money and provide you all with quality shit that will keep ya belly’s full.”

Smiley nodded his head before I turned to Drex. He was young but a certified hitta. He was a good attribute as well; I did my homework on him. He was one of Raft’s top hit men. He had a small killa crew that moved in on shit with precision. Drex also had a bunch of corner boys moving work at a rapid pace; there was never an issue with money coming up short either. His resume bled loyalty, so he was good in my book, for now.

“You and your crew gon’ run pick-ups from Compton to Watts. Light runs only, cash and dope. Keep ya hittas on standby in case a nigga need that.”

“Done.” Drex tapped his chest twice.

“Fatz, I want eyes on everyone who was close to the niggas that got capped in here. Anybody with a smirk or side eye when we pulled the trigger run they name and pull they phones. I wanna know who’s loyal and who’s playing smart.”

“Bet.” Fatz agreed.

“We ain’t just trappin’. We building infrastructure ’round this bitch. Real moves, routes, and leverage. Raft ruled the streets like a soldier. I’m ruling it like a businessman with a body count. Y’all niggas can call me whatever the fuck you want, just say that shit with respect. Meeting over. Y’all niggas stay dangerous.” I turned to walk out.

Chapter 5

Yeremy

Six months later

“Twirl on the dick (Shake that ass hoe!) It ain’t my fault that I fuck better than yo bitch! I’m so fuckin’ sexy, you can’t even fake it!”

The bass was heavy in the club play Sexyy Red ‘Looking For The Hoes’ song. My knees felt heavier, I had both of them bent, hands planted firm right above them as I popped my ass like I didn’t have a single ounce of responsibility in the world.

I was feeling it, and the liquor had me warm and giggly. Strands of hair stuck to my forehead from all the dancing I was doing. Although my thighs was sore, all eyes was on me, and I planned on giving everybody in the club a show from my VIP section.

I had just survived back-to-back shifts at the hospital, dealing with blood, screams, and death codes. Two weeks off felt like God himself opened up the sky and handed me peace. I practically threw myself into work after I moved back in with Casper. I enjoyed being a nurse, my coworkers was cool, but I was drained. It was how I coped through the heartbreak that I felt from Ramsey. I finally felt like I could breathe again, and a vacation was the perfect way to go about it all.

“Shake that ass bitch, make them hoes mad! Show me how you fuck her baby daddy!”

The words to the song was raunchy as hell, but somehow made me want to throw my ass harder.

“Go friend!! Shake that big ol booty!” Bianca screamed over the music while recording me on her phone.

Shardae sat on the cushion laughing super hard. I arched my back and made my ass clap to the beat. My white mini dress was ruched and short; it rose high with each bounce. I felt free, sexy, bad as hell until the Dj got on the microphone announcing that the Eastie boyz was in the building. Bianca quickly nudged me as if the song hadn’t changed and I didn’t hear what the Dj just stated.

“That fine ass nigga, Sol, just walked in along with the rest of them fine ass Eastie niggas.” She leaned in close, fanning herself.

I blinked a couple of times trying to ground myself through the dizzy haze of Patron and all the flashing club lights. I turned around and plopped down on the couch along with Bianca. My eyes landed on Sol. He didn’t smile or even blink much. From across the club, he looked at me, slow and thick like honey dripping from a spoon.

I crossed paths with Sol once at home. He was talking business with Casper. I said bye to my dad without Sol even acknowledging or looking my way. Tonight, he looked fine as hell, and all the bitches inside of the club knew it. Their eyes was glued on him. Sol was dark-skinned and tatted under a black tee that clung to his chest like it was custom stitched.

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