Hood Misfits, Volume 1 (4 page)

“But, Daddy, I'm fucked up.”

“Who the fuck you talking to?”

Dame backhanded her so hard, every woman and even some niggas gasped. I swear her neck was broken in two places. More blood poured from her nose like a faucet.

I remember Daddy hitting Mama like that a couple times.

I almost felt sorry for the bitch as she fell to the floor like a rag doll. Almost.

Dame drew back and smacked her again.

Sasha screamed out then stopped as soon as the noise had left her mouth. It was like Dame had enforced a rule of no screaming when he smacked the shit out of you.

“Get the fuck up! Since you want to talk back like you run shit, stand up and take this ass-whupping like you can run my shit.”

Dame's lips were tight, his eyes narrowed. He'd been embarrassed in front of his house, first by me, the new girl, and then by Sasha, who should have known better.

Her whimpers and the way she was backing away in terror bothered me.

Trigga cut his eyes over at me. It was like he was warning me in some way, but I couldn't tell. His eyes were blank; the boy carried no emotions. It was just the way he slowly turned to look at me that made me feel like he was trying to tell me something.

I didn't have time to think on that though. Gina rushed me from the room so fast, we were almost running. She shoved her way through the crowd, and once we were in the clear, we hightailed it down the hall. The smell of beer, liquor, and weed assaulted my senses. I almost got a contact high just passing down the hall.

Gina took me to another room, closed the door, and locked it. She checked all the doors and windows then the two walk-in closets.

“Damien, be having some fucked-up people in here sometimes. Gotta make sure we safe, is all,” she told me. “Guess you know my name is Gina. Daddy don't like when we fight because he says it fucks with his money—and nobody fucks with Daddy's money.”

I just listened as she talked. I thought she could have potential to help me with my plan when the time came.

She walked into a small closet and then came back out with towels and Dove Body Wash. “You have to wash in this stuff, 'cuz he likes the smell of Dove,” she said. “Never wash yo' pussy in nothing else or he will flip.

“You might as well get ready to get yo' ass whupped for talking to him like that too. He ain't gon' let that shit slide. He never do.”

As she talked she kept grabbing stuff and handing it to me—butter cream lotion, new red lace thongs with the bra to match, and a red dress that looked more like a shirt.

Gina's voice sounded like it had wisdom, but I could tell she was still young in the mind, by the way she acted.

“What's all this stuff?” I asked.

“His favorite color is red. You gon' have to wear red now to show him that, although you pissed him off, you down for the game.”

“
Game
? What game?”

“He put you in that room with Sasha. That means you 'bout to be a new part of his team of elite bitches. We his hoes—We sell pussy and shake ass to make him his money.”

“What the fuck!” I tossed all the shit she had given me to the floor. “I ain't about to sell no pussy for no nigga!”

Gina shook her head. “That's what
you
think, but once Dame has you on his turf, you gon' do what the fuck he wants you to do, by choice or by force. You don't want it by force, trust me. I seen what they do to bitches 'round here. You ain't gotta go that route.”

“No. I'm better than that. My mama didn't raise me to be no ho.”

“Girl, please. Your mama was the biggest ho 'round here. She brought most of us to Dame for a fee. How the hell you think I got here? I been doing this shit since I was sixteen. Yo' mama Shanna the Great, is what they call her 'round here. Why? Because she gave great head, had great pussy, and brought Dame the greatest pussy to sell. There gon' be a lot of niggas lining up too by yo' little tight snatch. Niggas already spreading rumors you a virgin and shit. Dame had been wanting yo' ass for a long time anyway. But your mama would kill a nigga talking 'bout getting yo' little ass. Yo' daddy would too, but not quick as yo' mama would.

“Now that Dame gotchu, ain't no fuckin' turning back. You gon' sell some pussy, or he gon' get one of these niggas, probably Trigga's crazy ass, to leave you stanking. Now, you can sell some pussy and live, or refuse and die.” She started picking the stuff up from the floor.

Sixteen? My mama brought her here when she was only sixteen?
I was sixteen and I just couldn't imagine being forced to sell myself.

Gina extended her arm out to me, but I refused to take the items. I moved away from her and grabbed the bath towel to wipe Sasha's blood from my lips. I went to sit on the bed.

The wind against my nipples reminded me that my bra was gone. I used my arms to cover them.

“See, I'm trying to help you. Don't get fucked up like most these bitches 'round here. I'm only eighteen and I done been doped up, raped, beat up, and all. They brought two new girls in here after me, and I tried to help 'em because them other bitches ain't gon' help you. Them bitches like Sasha jealous as fuck, and they gon' do whatever to keep you down. 'Cuz them hoes don't be wanting you getting they bread. Daddy be a dick most times, but he take real good care of us in here. We get money, trips, cars, clothes, shoes, the best of everything—as long as we do what he says. But them last two bitches they brought in here didn't make it. One OD'd and the other one got missing. This nigga named Micah—he be getting rid of bodies for Dame—took her out of here, and we ain't seen her since. We all know what the fuck that mean. Don't get missing, because you can't close your eyes and pretend you somewhere else while letting a nigga fuck you.”

I heard her, but I didn't care what she said. I knew that I'd rather die than let random niggas fuck me for money. Money that I couldn't even fuckin' keep? No way in hell. I couldn't imagine having to suck indiscriminate dick just because another nigga said you had to. I didn't care about none of that shit. All I had on my mind was how to kill the niggas that killed my parents.

Gotdamn broads are fuckin' crazy. This shit always happened with new pussy. Naw, shit like this always happened with
any
pussy, period. Broads turning on each other, acting like chickens, cluck-clucking and shit, being disrespectful and shit.

Damn, that new broad was stupid as fuck. You wanted to live, then you had to act like you did—Get in the game. I didn't get broads at all.

A nigga knew immediately what to do. I ain't have not one fuckin' person there to hold my hand as soon as I hit the streets and ended up in foster homes with trill-ass goons. Niggas got it all twisted. You fight smart, not stupid as fuck.

Now I was standing with my arms over my chest in front of some Latin Kings trying to explain why some chickens interrupted the deal, two big tall-ass machete-looking goons eyeing me, trying to shake a nigga down.

Check it, I may have been young, but no nigga of any race, creed, or ethnicity could make me fear a damn thing. Not anymore. So I wasn't fazed by it as I stared at those cats eye to eye. I was a tall nigga too. Now what?

“My bad. We had some shit to take care of, but we're not tryin'a take up your time, sirs,” I calmly stated in Spanish.

See, only reason I was there was to communicate, because I knew their dialect, and to put bullets in their skulls if they fucked up. I'd had a Spanish foster mom who'd adopted me into her world for a while, until she died, so it wasn't shit for me to sit down and break bread with these niggas. Now because of tricks getting catty, Dame was on some other shit and not there. So I had to take care of business for him until he got back.

“No problemo, kid. We see you gentlemen like to waste time. Let's go, family. Don't contact us, we'll contact you,” their leader nonchalantly spoke up to me in Spanish. His dark eyes assessed me before he stood and brushed his Italian suit to the side and snuffed out his Cuban.

From head to toe, dude had on all black. From the black diamonds in his ears to the blacked-out diamond watch on his wrist, the nigga was on some designer dope shit. I wasn't into labels, but his style was cold. Nigga probably would have every bitch in the place tryin'a hit. He was always smiling and running his hands over his low waves.

Dude looked like he was a nigga and Latino, so he had an almond-brown complexion with dark eyes that almost matched mine. His jaw was covered in a goatee that ran up into his fade, and he wore black designer glasses that framed his angular face. Nigga looked like he was some NFL player too, so I knew this cat was getting pussy left and right.

Immediately my jaw clenched in anger as they were leaving.
Fuckin' bitches messing with my gwap. I need to fix this shit pronto.

Stepping forward, I held up my hands and signaled Janky, one of the house niggas, to bring in some of the product. “Trust me, time is of the essence, but you also know patience can be rewarding.”

I watched the Latin Kings study me to see if I was bullshitting while I spoke to them in Spanish. I knew any other day this would have worked, but fuck, big bosses had shit to do, money to make, and they didn't have time to play around.

The leader said, “I like you, Trigga, so let me school you—When you are about your money, you don't let your money sit and stall. Do you want business with us?”

I knew Dame would be pissed if I didn't try to save this deal anyway I could. “Yes, we invited you in and mean you nothing but respect.”

“Then answer me one more question. You stand here bullshitting me, my friend, while you have us standing waiting for product we know you don't have?”

Inwardly, a nigga was tilting his head to the side.
Is he for real?
All I could do was stand there with a blank face and not reveal my hand.

Stepping forward, the leader held his hand up, telling his guards to step back. He dropped his voice as he said to me, “I like you. You're about your honor, kid. If you survive this game, you come to us, we'll take care of you. But right now, I'm giving you some drop, because you all have twenty-four hours before you give us our shit, or it's lights out.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept talking.

“Tell me why your nigga behind you is sweating bullets. I tell you why—I think you have a problem with your family, my friend. And it's a bad look. Especially since the streets are talking about our stash being stolen. We found our boys dead, the ones who were going to exchange with you. Just the fact that we are still invited here lets me know your boss ain't know shit, but he's not here to talk business. No good. So step back and shake my hand. Tell your family we are good, and tell your boss you have twenty-four hours to make shit right, or we're gunning for you.”

I stepped back and reached for his tattooed almond-colored hand, and he gripped mine as he flipped to English. Smiling, he tucked a Cuban in my jacket.

The night had turned out to be lame as fuck. Like he'd told me, it looked like niggas was playing games in house, clearly since that broad's pops use to be Dame's right hand. He knew all the close intel. Something more was going on.

The leader coolly walked out with his goons.

I kicked the table over as Drake's music blared.

“Ey yo, Trigga, why the fuck they leaving, man?” Janky nervously asked.

I didn't have time for that shaken-ass nigga's questions, so I walked out, heading to Dame to tell him what up. As I walked up the stairs, I realized that I needed to snatch up Janky so he could relay what he watched. Taking the stairs back down, I heard voices in the back of the kitchen.

“Yo, I'm telling you,” Janky's voice rushed out. “Them Mexican-ass niggas know it was us. They know, man, and I think they told Trigga, homie.”

My eyes narrowed as I listened quietly from a shadowed nook of the hallway, my arms crossed.

“Those fuckas don't know shit, trust me,” Slammer said. “You know how we handled that shit for Ray and Shanna. They died with our truth, so we good, man. Now chill the fuck out and quit shaking, nigga.”

As I continued listening, some drunk-ass nigga came thriller-walking into the hallway outta nowhere. OG was leaning to the side, dragging his left foot, ticking and shit, swiping at his nose as he sang to the music and drowned out the rest of what was being said. I almost punched the drunk-ass old head in his throat.

The niggas were foul. Turned on the family and caused this shit. Immediately, my fingers started twitching. Everything in me was ready to pop those niggas, but since it was my birthday, I thought,
Why not do that shit in style?

Listening in, I quickly moved back to the stairway and hollered for Janky. Nigga came in the blink of an eye, and I almost spat on the fool.

“Ey, yo, just letting you know, we did good with them Kings. Everything is good, just need to tell Bossman. You good?” I watched that shaky-ass nigga walk on the side of me. I never let a nigga walk behind me. You never knew what a nigga was capable of. Feel me?

“Damn! For real? That's chill, man. I need to learn some of that Spanglish or some shit, so I can be better ears.”

Chuckling low, I just kept walking. Bitches strolled by trying to get our attention, but my focus was on this lame-ass nigga.

“You know what, homie, since you cool and shit, I got you. I'll teach you some shit. You know you got to know the streets, all levels of them. Feel me? Otherwise, grimy niggas start taking and playing in ya shit.” I cut my eyes low at him.

He laughed nervously. “Yeah, bro. You know that shit would be 'ppreciated.”

“Oh yeah, you know I'm down for my fam. Ey yo, I couldn't find Slammer. Hit that nigga on his cell and tell him to come here. Bossman is gonna need you both to help handle that new bird.”

Janky glanced at me for a moment and then hit his cell. Right as we stood outside of Bossman's door, Slammer walked up nodding, his eyes red as fuck from the many blunts he had hit. In one hand he had a cup of what I knew was some 'yurp, and in the other hand, nigga was smashing a piece of chicken.

Cutting my eyes at him, I played the game, reaching out to give him dap, as we all walked into Dame's office. The sound of my brown Tims hitting the mahogany floor filled the room. Nigga one and nigga two started cutting up, laughing, as they shared the blunt that Slammer had tucked behind his ear.

Dame stood outside on his iron balcony, his hands sprawled out over the railing as he looked down at the front of his massive digs.

I scanned the decked-out office. I knew he had watched the Latin Kings leave out, and due to the fact that nigga was already pissed over pussy, their leaving was about to turn the rest of my party and the deal sour.

“You handle that shit, Trigga?” he asked, his back still turned away from us. Nigga knew we were there without ever turning around.

“No doubt, Bossman, I handled it. Tried to get them to stay for you, but you know how they do?” I calmly responded, moving to sit on the arm of the couch in his office.

Behind me was some crazy-ass artwork. A lot of it I dug. Some of it was just lame as fuck, like the picture of the dog man fuckin' some chair made to look like a bitch pussy. Crazy fuckin' shit, I tell you.

I casually brushed off my Tims, while Janky and Slammer kept cracking simple-ass jokes about some shit at the party. Bossman was silent as death. I knew he was thinking about all the shit that went down.

Janky choked out, “And when those bitches fucked up the top level, that shit was crackin'. Bossman put them paws on Sasha. Shit was fuckin' hilarious.”

“Yo, yeah, he did. Didn't you, Dame? How you gonna show that new pussy you boss?” Slammer took a deep drink of his 'yurp.

I kept quiet just watching. I knew it was some shit you could say around Bossman and other shit you just couldn't. While they thought they were pumpin' Dame's ego, niggas couldn't even see that they were pissing him off more. I sat back ready to see shit go down.

“That's why you two motherfuckas are here. That new pussy you two so into right now is about to learn whose fuckin' roof this is.” Dame cracked his knuckles as he strolled in, heading to his desk. He picked up the two Cubans I had sat on his desk. Rubbing the cigar between his hands, he looked at me.

Janky said, “Ey, Bossman, I'm down with whatever. What you need? Need us to stomp that ho?”

“Yeah, man, we can take care of that bitch in more ways than one. 'Bout time to drag her bitch ass through the house and introduce her to everyone. Right, man?” Slammer laughed, giving Janky dap.

Through it all, Dame just rested against his desk. Crossing his arms over his white beater, he glanced at the two brothers.

“Good looking out. Just reminded me of some shit. Yeah, drag that bitch through the house and introduce her to the basement,” Dame stated.

Adjusting my jacket, I inwardly shook my head.
Damn! Li'l shawty fucked up that bad?
She was about to get herself into some shit. No one—no female, no nigga—wanted to go to the basement.

I couldn't give two shits if I went again. To get my spot, I had to experience that shit myself anyway, so it wasn't shit for me but a cakewalk to prove my worth. Now li'l shawty was about to experience some shit that her young virginal pussy was never going to probably make it through without breaking. I saw that shit firsthand with Gina. Shawty was something slick, until she was forced down there. Then she came out broken to the point that she sometimes was like a kid still. Fucked-up shit, but that was the streets.

“Oh shit. Yeah, Dame, man! The basement. Fuck that little trick up just right,” Janky spat.

Dame took slow puffs off his cigar then reached for his shot of Rémy, an evil grin spread across his face. He gave a jagged laugh. “You know my rules—you don't fuck with Daddy unless I'm fuckin' you. Feel me?”

Everyone laughed except me. I just sat back and listened.

“You two niggas will take that bitch down below, introduce her to the game, and get her ready for me like I fuckin' been saying all night. See, loyalty is bond. I don't fuck with cats that can't get with that shit, and right now that bitch is about to learn that law,” Dame growled, throwing his glass at the wall.

Everyone watched it shatter on the floor and then murmured in agreement. Music droned on from the Geto Boys, hitting me with my theme song, while Slammer and Janky spoke with Bossman.

Janky started talking again, his chest all poked out, flossing his pride. “Yeah, man, loyalty is bond. We got you always, Bossman.”

This nigga.
My fingers began to itch, aching to get the feel of cold steel in my palm as I bobbed my head to the track.

I tried to play the shit out, to bust them out in front of boss man, but when Slammer's ol' greasy-chicken, grinning ass started flapping at the gums, talking about, “Right, and that bitch is gonna learn,” it only pissed me the fuck off more and had a nigga doing like he was at that moment.

Running a hand over my short locks, I pushed off the arm of the couch, playing like I really was into all the shit they were saying, and then all I heard was, “Trigga, yo! The fuck!”

Two bullets each from my nine landed in the middle of their skulls, and my knife slashed out to run across their throats. A nigga moved like a panther that got loose in the streets. Fast and quiet. No emotions and no need to get my hands dirty. I was what I was made to be, a killer. All day, every day, taking down niggas like those two made my mental hard.