Love and a Gangsta

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I endured some trials and tribulations that made me bend, but not break, that made me bruised, but not broken, that made me frown, but with faith, I always come around. And without a strong mind, and strong support from some outstanding people in my life (They know who they are) Thank you.

 

First off, I got to thank the Lord my personal savior for all that he has done for me. I know that without Him that I am nothing and I give all glory to Him.

 

But I have to thank all my readers, fans, family, and my fellow authors who supported me all these years. Those that know me know that I’ve been through some hard times—

The road would have been much unsteady and challenging. I stumbled a few times, but always caught my grip and stood tall and say to myself no rest till I reach my success.

 

It doesn’t get easier, we only get stronger.

 

I would love to have y’all comment me on my book, so get at me by email
[email protected]

Is it truly better to be feared than loved…?

Good judgment comes from experience.
A lot of that comes from bad judgment…

Prologue
2002

Soul reclined on the tattered green couch with Alexis crushed against him. Clad in a black thong and skimpy white shirt, her curvaceous figure was barely covered. Soul was staring at Alexis’s D size jugs but his mind was on America, who had been his wifey for five years. Their relationship was supposed to be going strong. Soul quickly glanced at his Rolex, five in the morning. He was tired but knew he had to finish packing up the work that was on the coffee table in front of him. Two keys of uncut cocaine, three keys of Ecstasy, and a loaded .9mm were on the cluttered table in front of Soul.

It had been Soul’s world since he sold his first vial of crack when he was ten, and got his first piece of ass when he was eleven. Hustling had been all he knew and loved. America was the only other love.
Another half-hour and I’ll get back to work
, Soul thought, closing his eyes. It was five-thirty. Alexis was nestled against him and suddenly he felt her tugging at his zipper.

“You don’t get enough?” he asked.

“Go ahead and sleep. Let me do me, baby,” Alexis replied, tugging at his thick piece of meat while stroking him hard again.

Soul didn’t resist. He positioned his hands behind his head and allowed Alexis to pull his dick and watched as she began sucking it. With her moistened lips wrapped tightly around his member, she took him deep down her throat.

“Hmm, hmm… Damn shit… Oh… Goddamn!”

He grabbed her thick weave and pushed her face further down on his lap. In a few minutes, Soul was in bliss and ready to explode. Suddenly loud knocking on the door interrupted her head game.

Soul reacted quickly, pushing Alexis to the carpet. Frantically pulling up his jeans, he quickly began packing up the work.

Bang—Bang—Bang.

“Police, open up now!”

The apartment door had heavy-duty security. The reinforced steel doors would give Soul time before the police barged in. Alexis helped him snatched up the drugs off the table and ran for the bathroom. They started flushing the works.

The banging against the door could be heard above the flushing of the toilet. Three keys washed away into the sink and bathtub. Alexis watched sweating, her fingers covered with residue. Soul in a flash tore open the bag of pills and tossed it down the drain.

Soul dashed to recover the gun still on the table. It was too late. Police pounded the door in and had already rushed in with their guns drawn. The small living room became even tinier with strange faces, flashing badges, papers and a sea of blue vests with NYPD markings.

“Get down! Get the fuck down, now!” One of the men in blue ordered.

Swarming Soul, they forced him to the floor. Restraining him with his arms behind, he was handcuffed forcefully and led out. They dragged Alexis, kicking and screaming from the bathroom.

Within minutes, both Alexis and Soul were in police custody. They watched as police ransacked the apartment. The only thing left for them to
seize was the loaded 9mm and the ecstasy Alexis wasn’t able to flush.

A beady-eyed sergeant looked at Soul, “You going to jail now, muthafucka! You fuck with us, we fuck with you… Get this nigger out of my sight and book him for gun possession and drugs.”

It was a sticky situation and Soul sighed. Watching the cops hauled Alexis butt-ass naked out the door, Soul knew he had fucked up. They shackled him in iron bracelets and led him away. Soul was busy thinking how he was going to explain it all to America.

Life is not always a matter
of holding good cards.

But sometimes playing a
poor hand well…

 

 

2006 Jamaica, Queens

 

Finally the day I thought about for four long years was here. In the shower, the water cascading off my brown skin, thinking about his touch made my nipples swell in anticipation. I remember his hands caressing me night after night. My thoughts left my thighs shaking in excitement

I wanted to be oh so fresh for him. I kept myself pure for years just because I love him. My girlfriends thought that I was crazy, going without dick for so long. When you’re strongly in love with a man why fuck another. I was longing for only one to be inside me. The thought of him coming back to me soon was sexual satisfying. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex, but if it wasn’t with Omar, then I was cool and did without until he returned.

Omar captured my heart the very first time we met. He was from the streets, but had a strong aura and I accepted him. Soon afterwards, he took my virginity and I wanted to have his babies.

On the streets, he was known as Soul. He rapped, played the piano, and the guitar. His musical gifts were phenomenal and he was a great dancer. Soul played basketball like he belonged in the pros. Most of all, he was a gentlemen. Despite his street reputation, my baby knew how to take care of me inside and outside the bedroom.

Omar wasn’t perfect. Like every other man on this planet, he had flaws. The streets possessed him, and sometimes hustling and hanging with his homeboys got in the way of his talents.

Soul was a crack dealer. He got into too many fights. He drank too much. A rumor was floating around the hood that he was cheating on me. I looked beyond his bad qualities and wanted us to be together forever. Soul was my first, and I wanted him to be my last.

I met him when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. Back then he’d hangout with his boys in front of the bodega on the corner of Supthin and South Road. Soul was hustling and getting into trouble like all the youths on the corner.

He was cute and his style was different from his peers. They wore their pants low and sagging off their butts, but Omar rocked khakis and wore his jeans with a belt. They sported Timberlands, but you would catch my baby in Gucci loafers or soft bottom shoes, sometimes he would wear a suit and wing tips. While his friends wore cornrows, Omar took a trip to the barbershop once a week and kept his low shadow in style. His boys wore jewelry like they took advice from Mr. T. Omar sported a thin gold chain and a small cross his mother had given him.

One cool summer day, Omar bumped into me as I was coming out of the bodega carrying groceries for my aunt. We locked eyes briefly. I remained silent and walked passed the same group of boys who lingered in front of the store on the daily. I was walking down the block and heard someone running behind me. Startled, I spun around and saw Omar jogging up to me.

“Hey hold up, youngin’.”

“Youngin’?” I snapped. “Please, you’re barely older than me.”

“Yo, let me carry that for you,” he chuckled.

“Why?” I answered reluctantly.

“It would be the polite thing to do. Besides, you’re too small to be carrying that huge bag.”

“I was doing fine for half a block without your help. Does it look like I’m struggling?”

“Yo, you got some mouth. How old are you?” He smiled.

“Old enough.”

“You feisty, girl. I like that,” he countered.

“Whateva!” I said, walking away.

Omar was persistent. He then said, “Being a man, I’m not going to let you carry these bags to your crib by yourself. My mama raised me better than that.”