Gunz and Roses (4 page)

“If you don't have challenges in life, then how will you grow?” Gray countered back on point.

“Okay, Gray,”—Sienna arched her eyebrow—“we're going to give this a try. You'll be on probation for ninety days. Kema will fill you in on everything you need to know.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Saint James.” Gray happily hopped up.

“It's
Ms.
”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Saint James.”

“Get it right, dear.” Sienna diverted her attention as if no one else was in the room and began working.

Once again caught off guard by her rudeness, Gray stood dumbfounded.

Sensing her uneasiness, Sienna looked up from her work and said, “That will be all.”

Gray left the room somewhat in a daze. She wasn't sure if she should jump for joy or run for the nearest exit. Sienna was the most unpleasant person she had ever met, but Gray would never quit. She hadn't come this far for nothing. After going over do's and don'ts and signing paperwork with Kema, the rest of the day was a blur. If she wasn't pulling clothes, she was answering phones, picking up purses from Chanel, getting coffee, confirming appointments, or dodging Sienna's smart remarks. By the time she got home, Gray was mentally and physically exhausted.

All she wanted was to take a hot bath and crawl into bed, but Gunz had called twice confirming that he was still stopping by. Beyond tired but excited by the thought of seeing his face, she quickly took a shower. After drying off, she brushed her teeth then massaged scented lotion into her skin. Since they would be in the house, she decided upon wearing a white camisole and leggings.

Once she was dressed, Gray lay across her bed sideways. It felt good to be off of her feet. Grabbing the remote control, she turned on the television. A rerun of one of her favorite television shows,
Harlem Heights
, was on.

Twenty minutes into the episode, her cell phone began to ring. It was Gunz. Happy that he was keeping true to his word, she answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“What's up, Future?”

“Future?” she repeated, confused.

“Yeah, my future wife.”

“That's really how you feel?” She laughed.

Gunz couldn't help but laugh too.

“I'm just fuckin' wit' you. What you doing?”

“What you think I'm doing? I'm waiting on you.”

“Well, look, I'm kinda running late, so give me about an hour and a half, a'ight?”

“Okay, but you need to hurry up, 'cause I gotta be at work in the morning.”

“I'm sure one of your coworkers at McDonalds can cover your shift if you're late,” he joked.

“For your information, I work for
Haute Couture
magazine, thank you very much.”

“You know I'm just fuckin' wit' you, ma. But look, let me handle this business real quick and I'll be there in a minute.”

“A'ight.”

“One.”

 

His family called him Gavin, but to the world he was known as Gunz Marciano, the young, heartless creator of the Marciano Crime Mob, better known as MCM. For the past seven years he'd been the boss, the leader, el capitan, Mr. 17.5 of the largest black crime family the world had ever seen. Gunz's rep in the streets was impeccable. He wasn't to be fucked with. When he talked, niggas listened, and when niggas listened, Gunz made money.

He had a crew of niggas rolling with him, and they all moved like soldiers. The MCM Empire stretched from St. Louis, over to Detroit, past Baltimore, up to Jersey, and across the country to Cali. Everybody was out for the same goal: get money. Their code of ethics was honor, loyalty, and respect, and the one rule they lived by was “D
ON'T
S
NITCH
.”

Dressed in all black with his favorite girl—a nine millimeter—by his side, Gunz sat comfortably with his hat draped low. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a rat scurry across the concrete floor and into a rotted hole in the wall. Glass crackled underneath his feet as his tongue toyed with a toothpick dangling from the side of his lips. His two best friends, Watts and Bishop, held court behind him. They were both strapped with pistols and AKs.

A small portion of his squad stood patiently waiting for him to speak as the stark white florescent lights flickered on and off around the warehouse. Gunz was used to people hanging on to his every word, so he chose them carefully. Niggas had been fucking up, so he studied his squad. Like a dog, he could smell fear.

They all had unsure looks on their faces. Gunz could tell they were wondering why he had called an impromptu meeting at eleven o' clock at night. He could tell that they were concerned.

He hated that he had to take them out of their comfort zone because when they were comfortable, they worked harder; but there were some issues at hand that needed to be discussed. The feds had been nosing around too much. Every other week someone from his crew was being knocked. Suddenly, the police knew when and where drops were being made.

Weapons and bricks of cocaine and heroin were confiscated. In Gunz's mind, this meant one thing: somebody from his crew was breaking the rules. This put Gunz in a predicament because being the go-to nigga meant he had to be feared yet respected without being too giving, too strict, or too friendly. It was fucked up that he had to do one of his men in, but a point had to be made. Nothing got past Gunz Marciano. Nothing.

“It's a beautiful night, huh?” He gave his men a slight smile as he toyed with the lighter in his hand, flicking it on and off.

“Not a cloud in sight . . . but y'all niggas didn't know I could make it rain.” Gunz's upper lip curled as his head cocked to the side. “Young Gunna, what's the one thing MCM niggas hate the most?”

“Snitches,” the devoted young soldier responded with conviction.

“And what happens when niggas snitch?”

“They get wet up.”

“Exactly. So, tell me . . .”—Gunz rubbed his chin—“why somebody from our crew has been working with the feds.”

Surprised faces filled the room as everyone stood in shock—except for one. One member had his head down low and was shuffling his feet.

“Rich? What you got ya head down for, man?”

“Wh–wh–what you talkin' about, boss?” he asked nervously.

“You stuttering now, nigga?”

“I–I–I–I'm just saying—”

“Nah, nigga, you ain't saying shit! Yo, Bishop, shut this muthafucka up! I'm tired of listening to this bitch-ass nigga talk!”

Without hesitation and with pure joy written all over his face, Bishop walked over to Rich, reared his hand back, and slapped him in the mouth with the butt of his gun. Like Sylvester Stallone in a
Rocky
movie, blood spewed from Rich's mouth and into the dust-filled air. Pissed, Rich clutched his jaw in agony and decided it was best to keep his mouth shut and listen.

“Now, that's better.” Gunz eyed Rich and his crew. “It's fucked up 'cause I thought you could go far in this game, but you ain't built for this shit. You's a weak nigga. You chose to fuck wit' my life and work wit' the feds over riding wit' your man, so you know what?” He stood up and placed the hood of his jacket over his head. “I'ma see you in hell, muthafucka. Yo, Bishop.”

“What's good, fam?”

“Make it rain.”

Fear rested in Rich's eyes as the realization that his life was about to end became clear. Gunz knew that look like he knew the back of his hand. He'd seen it too many times before. This was the part of the game that he hated. He was tired of going to funerals and wakes, faking condolences while mothers screamed why.

He was sick of waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares of the men he'd killed or had members of his crew kill. Gunz didn't want to hear another man beg for his life as if he were God. Something had to give, he thought, as his driver, Lorenzo, opened the back door to his Phantom. Gunz got inside and rested his head back up against the seat. He couldn't continue to live life this way, but just as he came to that conclusion, the sound of a gun pop brought an end to yet another life.

 

The central air in Gray's loft hummed softly as she lay stretched out, asleep underneath the covers. The atmosphere was still and serene, even though on the inside, Gray's emotions were stirring. She tried to stay up, but after watching television, gossiping on the telephone, and dozing off twice, she'd had enough of waiting on Gunz. He must have had her confused with the next chick.

Gray was heated, and she refused to be duped into playing silly cat and mouse games with Gunz or any other man. After her last serious relationship, she set a couple of rules for herself. The first was not to be so readily available for a man. She would be the one to keep them waiting and wanting more. She wouldn't answer the phone every time the guy called. She'd always say what she meant and not beat around the bush about how she felt. And most importantly, she wouldn't put all of her eggs in one basket by just dating one man.

She was done with falling so quickly only to be disappointed in the end, and the way things were going with Gunz, it looked like he was feeding her the same ol' lines she'd heard a million times before. His excuses sounded too familiar. He was just like all the other dudes she'd met, full of broken promises and excuses.

For a minute she thought about calling to see what the holdup was, but Gray wasn't the sweating type. No man was that important, or at least that's what she wanted to believe. Instead of going the desperate route, she would just play him to the left, or better yet, turn her phone off. Yeah, that's what she would do.

But Gray was too open for that, so she kept her phone on and prayed that he called with some kind of excuse so she could cuss him out. It was 3
AM
when Gray got her wish. She was just turning over when her cell phone began to ring.

“Hello?” she answered groggily.

“Yoooooo, ma, don't be mad. A nigga got caught up.”

“Mm-hmm, tell me anything.”

“Straight up. I wouldn't even do you like that.”

“It don't even matter. I'm 'sleep.”

“Well, it matter to me, 'cause I still wanna see you. Now, you gon' get up and open the door?”

“Gunz, I'm not fuckin' wit' you.” she huffed, hating the fact that she still wanted to see him too.

“Yo, for real, my fault. Don't do me like that. You got me standing outside your building lookin' all good, wanting to see you and shit. Come on, yo, for real, don't do me like that. Open the door.”

Gray knew that she was bending all of her rules for Gunz, but there was something about him that had her past intrigued.

“Don't think I'ma be doing this all the time.” She rolled her eyes before hanging up.

A minute later, they were standing face to face, basking in the essence of one another. Gunz didn't utter a word as he wrapped his strong arms around her waist. His fingertips massaged the fabric of her shirt. She was instantly taken in. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating and spellbinding. Gray never knew an attraction to someone could be so strong.

Her tongue wanted to explore his skin; he was so sexy. Diamond studs were in each of his ears. They weren't big or gaudy; they were just the right size. Black aviator shades shielded his eyes, while a black hoodie and jeans draped tailor made over his body. Gunz was a ghetto Adonis.

His height and masculinity overpowered her. She felt so small in his embrace. Lost in his touch, she allowed her hands to roam freely over his muscular back as he whispered in her ear how much he missed her. From that moment on, she knew he had her.

Pulling back from their embrace, Gunz noticed for the first time how rare of a beauty Gray was. He'd never seen anything like her before. Her features were so exotic they were mesmerizing. Even with no makeup, she was still as beautiful as he remembered. He had to taste her. Hugging her just wasn't enough.

Before Gray knew it, his lips were pressed against hers. She missed his touch. She couldn't fight it. Her mouth welcomed his kisses.

“You know I missed you, right?”

“Yeah, you missed me so much it took you all night to get here.” Gray stood back and rolled her eyes.

“Man, please. We already discussed that, so dead all that noise, ma.”

“Whateva. Look, I'm tired, so let me go and get you a pillow and blanket.”

“A pillow and blanket?” Gunz repeated, looking at her crazy.

“Yeah, a pillow and blanket.” Gray retrieved the items from the linen closet and handed them to him. “I know you didn't think you were sleeping in the bed with me.”

“It's cool, ma. I got you. I can ride the dog house for the night. As long as you promise to ride my dick in the morning.” He cracked a smile while taking off his hoodie.

“You are so nasty.”

“You like it.” Gunz grabbed her waist and gave her one more kiss, this time adding a little tongue.

“Baby, I gotta go to bed,” Gray pleaded, knowing if she stayed a minute longer she would be on her back instead of upstairs asleep.

“A'ight, but just give me one more kiss.”

Rolling her eyes but loving every second of being in his presence, Gray stood on her tiptoes and did what she was asked.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“So, what are you, one of those artsy types or something?” He looked around her place with a skeptical eye.

“Why you say that?” She followed his gaze.

“'Cause of the way you got your place decorated. It's a lot of color up in this muthafucka.”

“No, it's not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What, you don't like it?”

“Nah, the shit look hot. I was just wondering.”

“I wouldn't call myself artsy. I just don't like being like everybody else.”

“I feel you.”

“Anything else you want to make a comment on before I go upstairs?”