Finding Forever (9 page)

“Yeah.”

“Mmm hmm, then what I just say?”

“I don’t know. Quit askin’ me so many questions.” He laughed.

“I knew yo’ ass wasn’t listening.” She playfully hit his chest before wrapping her arms around his neck. “What you got your mind on?”

“You.”

“Oh, really?” She licked her bottom lip.

“Yeah, I wanna see what you got on underneath this little bitty ass dress.” Koran slid his hand up her thigh.

“Absolutely nothing,” she answered with a look of lust in her eyes.

“You must be tryin’ to get fucked.” He stepped forward so her back could rest against the wall.

“You ain’t know?”

“Oh, I see . . . somebody wanna be grown. You wanna be a big girl today, huh?”

“I’ve been grown, sweetie,” Whitney challenged.

“Let’s see how grown you are when I pull my dick out and stick it up in you.”

“Koran, please.”

“What, you think I won’t?”

“I know you won’t.”

Before Whitney knew it she had been spun around. Her breasts and hands were firmly pressed up against the wall causing her back to arch and her butt to stick out. Koran had never seen anything sexier. The expression on her face was priceless. Whitney had a look of fear, surprise and anticipation on her face. Stepping up behind her, Koran ran his hand through the hair at the back of her head.

He knew she could feel his hard on. Whitney, being the freak she was, adjusted her butt so his dick was in line with her pussy. Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a look that said, “I dare you.”

Koran never backed down from a challenge. Without hesitation, he surveyed the club to make sure no one was looking and unzipped his pants. Whitney released a startled gasp when she felt his hard dick slap the skin between her thighs and hit the lips of her pussy. Immediately, she became wet.

“Koran, what are you doing?” Her voice quivered as he played with her clit.

“Shhhhhhhh,” he ordered. “You only get five strokes, okay?”

“Okay.” Whitney closed her eyes and relished the sensation of his dick entering the slit of her wet pussy.

“And when I’m done don’t be beggin’ for more.”

“Alright,” she moaned.

“One.” Koran moved his hips as if they were slow grinding.

“Two.”

“Three,” Whitney joined in, enjoying their freaky game.

“You wanna play?” he questioned, stepping back and then pounding into her hard. “Four.”

“Koran,” she squealed, ready to cum.

“Be quiet. Five.” He gripped her waist tightly and pumped even harder.

“Just one more stroke, daddy, please?” Whitney begged.

“Nope.” Koran grinned, placing his dick back into his pants. “Wait until we get home.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t believe you gon’ play me like that. I was just about to cum.”

“Deal wit it. I told you, you was only gettin’ five strokes.”

“I can’t stand you. Now I’ma be walkin’ around wit a wet ass all night.”

“You wanna go home?” Koran pulled out a Black N’ Mild and lit it.

“Nah, I’ll be back.”

“Where you going?”

“To the bathroom, so I can freshen up.”

“Hurry back.”

“I will.”

While he waited for Whitney to come back, Koran inhaled smoke from the Black N’ Mild and surveyed the crowd. The party was crunk. People were enjoying themselves as they drank, danced or mingled. He could see O upstairs, leaning up against the rail with a salty look on his face. His man was whispering something in his ear, making him even madder as they both mean mugged Koran. Koran wanted his pot’nah to amp him up to do something drastic. If he jumped Koran was sure to put something in him that he’d never forget.

“You cool?” Sheek came over and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. “You straight?”

“I’m good. You enjoying yourself, birthday boy?”

“Yeah, I’m about to cut this cake in a minute, but before I do I’ma pop that bottle of Perrier Jouet you gave me. I know you gon’ take a sip.”

“Hell yeah, I’ma get a glass. You know how much that bottle cost me?” Koran joked.

“Well, bring yo’ punk pussy ass on then.”

“Give me a second. I’m waiting on Whitney to come back from the bathroom.”

“A’ight, we up top.” Sheek walked off.

As Sheek disappeared into the crowd, Koran scanned the club for Whitney. He couldn’t spot her anywhere. Where is this girl at? he wondered, checking his watch. She’d been gone over ten minutes. It didn’t take that long to use the bathroom. Koran made his way through the club in search of her. Halfway across the room, he noticed that O was no longer standing where he once was. This set off an alarm in Koran’s head. Instantly, he knew something foul was up. Koran walked even faster. Pushing his way through the mob of people, he spotted O with his arm around Whitney’s waist. His hand cupped her chin as he tried his best to force her to kiss him. Whitney struggled to get away, but his grip was too tight.

“O, get off of me,” she yelled.

“Why you trippin’? We was just chillin’ a minute ago. Just give me one kiss. I know you want to.”

“I don’t want to do shit! Get the fuck off of me before I scream and if I scream Koran gon’ come over here and whoop yo’ ass!”

“FUCK KORAN! SCREAM! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK! THAT NIGGA AIN’T GON’ DO SHIT!”

Koran could feel his blood pressure rise. This was the last straw. Grabbing a hold to the back of O’s shirt, Koran spun him around. A look of bewilderment filled O’s face as Koran’s fist slammed repeatedly into his face. O never even had a chance to fight back. All of the rage and frustration Koran had kept pent-up inside was being released on him. Whitney had never seen Koran in such a state. She wanted to scream for him to stop, but she was too scared. Koran’s punches were coming at lightening speed. Before O knew it, he was on the floor, curled up in a fetal position and begging for help.

“Get yo’ bitch ass up,” Koran barked, kicking him in the face.

He’d completely blacked out and gone to another place. Koran kind of liked the state he was in. Each kick that connected with O’s ribs lifted Koran’s spirit more and more. He was tired of trying to do right by everybody. What did being good get you, anyway? The people in his life that he tried to treat right in turn treated him like shit, including Whitney.

She’d left without so much as a goodbye when he needed her most. His mother preferred shooting up over taking care of him. For four years Trina had played with his love and money for her own selfish needs. O mistook his guidance and friendship as a sign of weakness. Wherever Koran turned, evil haunted him, so instead of running from it he now embraced it.

Whitney’s eyes bulged at the sight of blood spewing from O’s nose and mouth. Something had taken over Koran. She could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t the same. A dark cloud hovered over him and Whitney didn’t want any part of it. Slowly, she stepped back.
Out of the corner of his eye, Koran could see her about to walk away. This enraged him even more. Just as he was about to pull his gun and finish the job, Sheek and three security guards approached. It took all three of them to pull him off of O. Security had to drag Koran out of the club, he was so riled up. Once he’d calmed down security finally let him go.

“What the fuck is wrong wit you?” Sheek questioned. “You been wildin’ out since you got here.”

“Cuz, that nigga had his hands all over Whitney!”

“For real?”

“Yeah, up there talkin’ about fuck Koran! On everything I love I will kill that nigga!” Koran paced back and forth.

“All of that ain’t even necessary. His ass just off the payroll, plain and simple, but where is Whitney?” Sheek looked around.

“I guess her ass left!”

“Why she leave?”

“Shit if I know. Where the fuck is my phone?” Koran patted his jacket pockets. “Give me a second, cuz,” he said, walking away.

After locating his phone, he dialed Whitney’s number.

“Hello?” she answered after several rings.

“Where the fuck you at?”

“Koran, don’t call my phone talkin’ crazy.”

“So that’s how it is? I get into it wit a nigga and you bounce?”

“You damn right!” she spat. “I ain’t got time for that ghetto bullshit and neither should you! You’re twenty-five years old and still fightin’ in the club! That shit ain’t cool! You know how wack you look?”

“I’m far from wack and I was protecting yo’ ass!”

“Okay, Koran, but did you have to beat him like that? You were about to kill him.”

“So? He shouldn’t have been disrespecting me.”

“Listen to how you sound right now. You sound like a fuckin’ idiot! If this the type of shit you gon’ be on I swear to god I will go down to the muthafuckin’ clinic tomorrow and terminate this pregnancy! ’Cause I don’t have the time, nor the patience to be worried about you out here in these streets beefin’ wit some nigga over some bullshit! I expect more from you and I most definitely expect more from my child’s father!” she yelled before hanging up.

Koran was speechless. For a minute he stood and gazed at the ground in a daze. Whitney was pregnant with his baby. Nothing in life could be better. He wanted to jump for joy, but the fact that she still didn’t know about Malik and Trina loomed in the air. Shit was getting more and more complicated by the minute. Koran had to confess and soon.

“Nothin’ make a women feel better . . . then Berettas, and Amarettos, button leathers and mad cheddars . . . chillin’ in the Benz wit my amigos . . . tryin’ to stick a nigga for his pesos,” Trina sang as she exited the highway in a cherry red CLK. There was no stopping her hustle. She was determined to stay fresher than the next bitch. Like vinegar and oil, she and females didn’t mix. Chicks were too conniving. The first chance a ho got she would try to crack for Koran’s bank, so fuck a friend. The 380 inside her Prada bag was all the company she needed.

Trina was determined to stay laced in diamonds and pearls. And, yeah, she could work a nine-to-five, but fuck a job. She cashed checks on a regular at the bank of Koran. After her mental breakdown, Koran felt more sorrier than ever for her. Every other day he was stopping by to check up on her and Malik. They’d even spent some time together without arguing. Things were finally going Trina’s way. It was just a matter of time before they were back together.

After parking her car in the garage, Trina made her way inside West County Mall. Her first stop was Nordstrom’s. A pair of pink Salvatore Ferragamo heels was screaming her name. It didn’t matter that she’d already spent well over three grand. Trina had money to burn. Switching her hips like a top model, she entered the shoe section like the diva she was. A sales attendant instantly rushed her way.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, can I see those pink Ferragamo heels in a size nine?” Trina pointed to the shoes she was talking about.

“Sure, anything else?”

“Umm, yes, let me . . . also see . . . those brown Marc Jacob Gladiator sandals and those logo Coach sneakers.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Trina removed her shades and took a seat. While she waited she saw O and a girl browsing around.

“O,” she called out.

“What’s up, T? Hold up, babe, give me a minute,” O told the girl he was with.

“How you doing, baby girl? You look good.” He hugged Trina.

“I’m good. I haven’t seen you in a minute. How’s everything been going?”

“You tell me?” O took off his Gucci glasses.

“What happened to your eye?”

“Oh, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Me and ya man got into it last night at the club.”

“Got into for what? From what I knew you and Koran were cool.”

“I thought so too, but I guess ya man didn’t like the fact that I was callin’ him out on his shit.”

“What you call him out on?”

“Yo, this ain’t none of my business or nothing, but ya boy been doing you mad wrong, T, and just on the strength that me and you came up together I feel as if you should know.”

“Know what?”

“I mean, you probably already know that nigga be out here doing his thing. But shit wit him and this new chick is crazy. Every time we go out she around. Yo, on the real I think the nigga might be in love.”

“Oh, really? What’s her name?”

“Whitney.”

“Whitney,” Trina repeated as her heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure?”