Hood Misfits, Volume 1 (6 page)

Right then I decided I wasn't going to the underworld.
Fuck that!

I started kicking and bucking again. Managed to free one of my hands. I reached into my mouth and grabbed the blade. First thing I did was slice at the nigga's face who was holding my left side, Pookie. I sliced right down the side of his face.

He yelped out, “Ahhh, fuck! Shit! This bitch cut me!” He fell against the wall, hands trying to stop the bleeding.

That caused him to drop his hold on me, and the other niggas to drop me to the floor. I hit with a hard thud.

I jumped up and sliced at another nigga, catching his face. I swung wildly with the blade, not giving a fuck about cutting myself in the process. That didn't stop the others from grabbing at me though. I screamed out as I swung, but they kept coming.

I started praying. I ain't ever prayed a day before in my life, but I did then.

Next thing I knew, I heard Dame's booming voice. “Can't none of you niggas handle this little bitch?”

Blood was everywhere, on the floor, on the walls. I'd cut up at least four niggas.

By now, most of the girls had run off.

Dame's cold gaze turned my way. I knew I was fucked. I knew that, because he charged at me.

I got my footing and then tried to run away, but his big hand in the back of my hair stopped me. My blade fell to the floor, but I couldn't run no more, so I had to fight.

He jerked my body around, and my fists started flying. I already knew I'd made a mistake as soon as my fists connected with his face.

“No, no, Ray-Ray. You never hit Daddy.”

I knew it was Gina's voice, without even seeing her.

Dame let my hair go, and because I was trying to pull away anyway, it caused me to fly backwards, but I didn't fall.

His upper lip twitched, and his hazel eyes turned to ice. He drew back and punched me square in the jaw, and I felt teeth loosen and fall out, saw the blood leap from my mouth, and felt my world come to a halt, all before crashing to the floor. I was halfway dead in my head.

I was being moved. I knew I was going to the basement for sure now.
I tried, Mama,
I thought.
I tried.
My head was heavy; I couldn't even hold that shit up.

“Put that bitch in my room!” Dame ordered. “I need a whole new set of fuckin' niggas. Is Trigga the only son of a bitch I count on around this muthafucka? How has one bitch been able to fuck up half my team in three fuckin' days? I should have Trigga body all you muthafuckas! And clean my muthafuckin' hall! Clean the fuck up! Clean this shit! Now!”

My body was tossed on the floor at the foot of a colossal bed. I was in and out of consciousness. Didn't know how long I would live after that hit. All I knew was, I didn't want to be hit again.

“Muthafuckin' fuckin' up my shit I paid my hard-earned money for. I'ma show you, bitch,” I heard Dame say as he slammed the door to his room. Then I heard his belt buckle loosen.

I started to moan as I tried to crawl away. It was going to happen. I was going to be raped. I heard the light swoosh of the belt leaving the loops of his pants.

I closed my eyes. I would have tried to talk if my mouth could function. But, I swear, that nigga had broken my jaw. When he yanked the sweats I had on down to my ankles, and then my underwear, I just laid there, accepting what was about to happen.

However, I was wrong about being raped. I was about to be beaten.

The first lash of the belt came down on my back, and I found my voice. What was left of it, I used it to cry out.

“That's what the fuck wrong with yo' ass—Your daddy didn't ever beat the fuck outta you! Got you walking around my shit thinking you run some shit, bitch.”

The belt pounded my back, butt, and thighs.

“Fuckin' up my walls and shit like you done made me some fuckin' money to cover the shit.”

I shrieked as each hit tore into my skin. It felt like electricity was shooting up my spine. Anyone within a twenty-mile radius could have probably heard me crying.

Dame was right. My daddy had never put a hand on me. Neither had my mama. I was a good kid. I listened to them. They didn't have to hit me ever.

One hit came across the back of my head.
WACK!

Another one to the side of my face.
WACK!

I grabbed a hold of his pant leg, trying to wrap myself between them, to get away from the belt, but he kept hitting me, beating me like he had a mission to engrave the holes of the leather belt into my skin.

I caught a glimpse of his face, and it was twisted in a demonic kind of way. That nigga looked like the devil to me at that point. He was as crazy as Gina said he was.

I didn't know how long he beat me. Eventually, I blacked out.

Two days had passed, and a nigga was tired as fuck. Bossman Dame had me running the streets hard, after taking down Janky and Slammer. I wasn't sure what was up with him, outside of being pissed that his rep was fucked up with the LKs, as well as his money. But I was good with it, because I was out of the madhouse. Yeah, that's what I called it.

Ever since that new broad came into the place and shook up the crazy, every nigga and bitch in there, except for the ones who I know had minds like mine, had been on edge, mean-mugging everyone and causing some shit, especially Sasha. The old bitch, thinking she was the head bitch in charge, was popping off at the mouth at any chance she could when Dame wasn't around.

After the party, and after I had dumped those two niggas, I had heard through my sources, Gina and Big Jake, that Dame had fucked up the new broad. But it was how he did it that made me laugh. Chick stayed fighting, which I could respect in some sense, and she cut up all the niggas Dame had put on her. Of course that pissed off Dame more, especially since he didn't get to take her to the basement, or what some niggas called the underworld.

Like I said, I had my dealing in there. Naw, I ain't ever in my young life rape not one chick. I wasn't even being about that shit, but the way Dame had that shit set up, even niggas could get fucked up by getting branded, beat the fuck up or, for some of those prison niggas that were about the life down there, fucked in the ass and the mouth.

Me, I just got strung up and beat. It happened when I was mad young and still learning how to run for Dame. Got shortchanged some
dinero
, and it ended up falling back on me.

Yeah, I saw bitches raped, beat, burned, cut, pipes up pussy and asshole, all kinds of shit. At thirteen, I knew already not to fuck up to the point of being handed to some prison niggas. Was I scared? Fuck, nah. But I like shitting normal, so I knew not to ever have to go down there. Feel me?

Anyway, like I was saying, my ears and eyes stayed in the street, so everyone was talking about my party and everything that had been going down after that.

Two days, I went in and out of the house doing me, running product, trying to speak to the Latin Kings again, watching Dame's right hand, Dough Boy, move money around. I was a killer, but after having Dame's back and snuffing out those two niggas, Dame fucked around and told me to shadow Dough Boy, learn how to move the money and shit. Yeah, I was a happy nigga, and I was a watchful nigga.

Gina hit me up in our own slick way, letting me know what went down with that new crazy broad. She handed me one of those small Mickey D's Happy Meal fry containers that had two blades in it and a blunt. In code that meant, a nigga got cut up, but li'l shawty survived. The rest of the details, I learned from Big Jake the next day while we were out fuckin' around grabbing some shit for the Bossman in the streets.

The thing about Big Jake was, homie was like twenty-one and should have been in the NFL but got shot right before his big tryouts. Any other nigga would be hating life, but not Big Jake. He took that shit and used it to get him where he was now.

Homie had me laughing and rolling when he told me how Bossman sounded when he saw all those niggas on the ground cut up, grabbing their faces and shit. Said nigga sounded like a cat hitting scalding water. Yo, I died laughing right then and there. He said niggas were heated like bitches, crying and shit over gashes, at the way li'l shawty busted their faces.

The scar under my eye twitched, reminding me that li'l shawty was something like a jaguar. My mom's words came back to me, and I had to respect that.

We shit-talked for a bit, and I let him know that li'l shawty was crazy, seemed to be a lot like her moms.

I remembered Shanna. She was nice to me when I came into the house. Used to make these bomb reverse chocolate chip cookies—caramel-based with chocolate chips in it. I didn't know how she did that shit, but it was
fiyah
. She would also bring me some Trinidadian and Jamaican food to the house and make sure I got a big plate, saying I needed to get some muscles and shit, and learn about my people.

Yeah, she was a boss bitch, but when no one was really checking for her, she always took care of me. She said, since I ain't have no momma, she'd be that 'cuz I was so young and cute to her. I ain't ever tell no one that, but Big Jake knew 'cuz she treated him the same way. We was Shanna's house sons, and she took care of us good.

That was why I was eager to go to her house that day. Shit fucked with my mental that she was in the mix like that. Ain't wanna see her go like that, on some real shit, but it was whatever. People do what they gotta. I just got no love for them once loyalty is broken.

The slamming of my car door had me turning off my iPod as I listened to
The Art of War
by Sun Tzu.

“A'ight, li'l nigga,” Dough Boy said to me. “Take us to the LKs. That's the next drop.”

Nigga quickly pulled out a blunt that smelled as if it had lived in a piece of dead ass that baked in the ATL heat for four months and two days. Shit pissed me off. Disrespectful muthafucka right there. Especially when he spilled his Four Loko on my seats.

See, I always took care of my shit. The day I got enough paper from Dame to get me a ride, I got me one and made sure to take care of that shit and only use it for drops. The moment this punk-ass nigga got in my ride was the moment I realized how he thought about me. I was gonna fuck him up over the disrespect he was throwing at me.

We rolled through Dame's territory, pausing to check on some drops, and hit up the niggas that were our eyes in the street. We turned out of the west side of the Trap, so we could hit that highway.

Dough Boy rolled down his window and hollered at me to slow down the ride. “Ey yo. little nigga, you see that?” he literally screamed. “You see all one, two, three, four of those jiggly asses? Damn, son, slow this shit down.”

Now what did I say about niggas making pussy priority before money? Fuck niggas.

I sat there listening as he tried to spit some lame-ass game, asking one of the shawties, “'S up, mama? Where you from?”

Some kinda cute mixed ghetto-booty chick rolled her eyes as her other cute girls laughed, iggin' that coon-ass nigga.

“Yo, you know you hear a nigga. I said, What it is, yo? So wassup? Can a nigga just beat dem guts?”

Right there I almost slammed the brakes on my ride. Was that nigga for real? Did he really just quote some trap music? Fuck outta here.

I turned to look at the back of this nigga's fitted cap. This motherfucka was leaning out of the window of my Escalade, slamming his hands on the side of the door to get attention. I leaned forward to grab his whack ass, but the sound of the chicks going off on him then pausing to smile, lean down to look past him and giggle, made him sit back and glare at me.

“Oh my God! Girl, is that Trigga?”

“When this fine nigga get a ride like this?”

“Heyyyyyy, Trigga!!”

I nodded at each dime.

I almost laughed my ass off when Dough Boy glared at me and growled, “Fuck them bitches! We ain't got time for some weak-ass pussy. Let's go, li'l nigga.”

Rolling out of Zone 1 was my main priority, but busting this nigga's ego made this trip even better.

It took nothing to get to the Kings' location. I was ready for Dough Boy's lame ass to get out my ride, so I quickly parked and brushed out my ride.

“Ey, li'l nigga, you still pissed about me pissing in that bottle in your ride and spilling it? I said my bad.” He laughed then went to the door where I stood.

“Fuck you, nigga! You did that shit to be funny. I shoulda made your lame ass drink that shit,” I purposely mumbled, keeping my hoodie low while I looked down at my feet. I knew that would irritate him, so I ignored him as he got in my face.

“What you say, li'l dumb nigga? You don't talk much, do you? Fuck is wrong with you? Like you on some special-ed shit.” He laughed. “Only good for being a goon, huh? 'Cuz I'm not getting why Dame brought you in anyway. Any nigga can shoot.” He threw his blunt on the ground before banging on the door with his fist.

I really was about hating this nigga right here.

See, every hood nigga thought he was invincible, me included, but unlike them, I didn't believe it. This nigga right here was going to get his real soon, and it might be by me.

Iggin' that coon-face nigga, I peeped the same twin machete-looking cats as they stood in the middle of two oak-carved Spanish doors. Each one looked us over, and we held our arms out to be searched before being let in.

Inside the place was pretty dope. The head of the LKs lived decked-out in a mansion in Sandy Springs, which was why we were using my ride. I didn't have a hood-nigga car. Had me a simple all-black Escalade with tinted window and normal rims, so I could blend in wherever I went in the
A
and not be trailed by five-O.

All around us was some regal rich-nigga shit. Shit that said, “I'm new to this money game, so I had to have everything and all.” I laughed to myself, looking around, expecting to see some Scarface shit with the motto “The world is mine” etched in glass somewhere, but I didn't.

What I did see was a set of pretty broads from all backgrounds walking down the grand staircase. Each one had a dress on so tight, I could see their nipples poking out for show. Their dresses were so short, at the angle I was, all I saw were pretty slits. Some had those smiling slits—you know, the type that said come suck and lick me—just poking out.

Damn! Those broads were bad bitches, each and everyone one of them. Hair looked real, so I could tell he wasn't down with some fake-ass weave. Each broad's breasts jiggled when they moved, right along with their asses, so I knew that shit was real too.

“
Amigos
, come follow my dolls, and we'll discuss some things.” Armando, the head of the LKs, walked down the stairs, stopping in the middle of his broads, which he named dolls.

Today, he was wearing a black Italian suit with a teal button-down. I could tell that nigga was strapped up, by the way his jacket moved. Following his broads—although each one had only a drop of clothes and was almost bare-ass naked—as my eyes watched the plentiful asses in front of me, I could tell they also had Glocks strapped in smart ways on their bodies.

I respected that a lot. Get your tricks familiar with a Glock and no nigga could ever tell if your goons were niggas or bitches. Bossman Dame needed to get on that, but his pride was too fucked up because he knew his broads would smoke his ass the moment they got a Glock in their hands. If I had some bad bitches, they'd be like Armando's.

Each exit in the place was burned in my mind as we walked through the mansion. Paintings covered the walls, all better than that half-dog, half-bike painting Dame had on his wall. The shit was better, but I knew the leader was about his rich tip. Which, to me, meant he still wasn't shit. Hiding behind money just to look good.

I listened and then sat down in the middle of a sexy chocolate broad, who had her hair up in a ponytail that sat on the top of her head, and a caramel-brown chick, her hair down with bangs that cut close to covering her eyes. These two were some sexy-ass broads, who I wouldn't mind getting my dick wet with.

When the broad with the ponytail sat on my lap, I watched as her teal dress slid up to show me her thick thighs. My dick got hard at the feel of her cushion on top of me. Yeah, Armando was trying to distract me with pussy, and it was kind of working, but not totally. I was very much paying attention to everything and memorizing everyone and everything in the room with us as Dough Boy spoke with him.

Something was going down that wasn't feeling right with me. I smirked when the caramel drop began kissing on the side of my neck. Yeah, she was in a white minidress, her thighs, ass, and creamy titties asking to be kissed on.

Armando and Dough Boy seemed to be having some private conversation of the minds. Dough Boy brought out a stash of ducats and handed it to him. Told him that Dame had his back.

But if you weren't used to watching for small shit, like I was, you wouldn't have seen Armando slipping Dough Boy additional money.

Both niggas turned my way.

Armando glanced at me then smiled. “You like my dolls,
amigo
? Remember what we spoke on? Any time, you are welcome. I've been watching you in the streets, my man, and your word is bond. Anyway, sit back, enjoy yourselves, and tell Dame we'll speak again later, to get this problem fixed. We appreciate the drop, Trigga, we really do.
Adiós
, I have other important manners to take care of.
Mamacitas
, take care of them.”