crack craze was bad enough,” she said, shaking her head. “But now them fools is out there chasing that crystal meth too. That’s even worse.”
“You ain’t lying,” Skeet agreed quickly as he followed Trey to the back of the shop. “Check this out,” he said once they were behind the closed doors of Trey’s office. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small vial and held it in his pale, outstretched palm. “Fizz said he recognized them dudes, and one of them dropped this shit on his way out.”
Trey peered into his manz hand. The small vial held icy-looking crystals and had the words Divine Nine stamped on the outside.
A hot ball of rage jumped in his chest and his dark, piercing eyes narrowed and became even darker.
“That little muh’fucka,” he said. “That’s Flex and his crew.”
“Flex? That young boy who used to run around with your brother Cooter? I thought he got popped?”
Trey nodded. “He did. But them fools messed around and got him in the gut when they shoulda crashed his dome. I had a talk with that youngsta right after my brother got killed, man. Him and Cooter was scheming on bagging the drug trade all over Harlem. I told him if he ever brought his little ass anywhere near here he would regret it. That niggah’s testing us, man. Inching his fucking toe over the line.”
“Yeah, you right. He sent them boys,” Skeet agreed as he studied the vial. “This is definitely his work. Fizz said it was Rome, Boog, and that lil cat Maleek you be sonnin’. He was ridin’ with ’em too.”
Trey froze and grilled the white boy. “You sure about that? You sure Fizz said it was Maleek? Little Leek?”
“Yep,” Skeet nodded. “That’s who I’m talking about. That cat might be young, but he’s real twisted. So what we gonna do about this shit?” he asked. “Call the cops?”
Trey chuckled and shook his head like Skeet was crazy. He touched his front pocket and felt the cold slice of metal that was resting against his thigh.
“Nah, we don’t call no cops when a faded niggah like Flex pulls a lick on us, homey. We assemble us a war council, dude. And then we get ours in.”
“Cool,” Skeet said with a nod of satisfaction. “Them lil cats is prolly up on the Ave right now styling my shit! Rome and Boog are gonna get served, but whattup witcha boy, Maleek? We gonna get in his ass too?”
An unreadable look washed over Trey’s face.
“Nah,” he said. “Don’t fuck with Leek. Don’t even think about touching him. Maleek is mine. I’ll handle that lil cat.”
CHAPTER 9
Money-making Monique was busy fake-moaning her ass off, when in reality she was steady scheming and her pussy was numb and couldn’t feel a goddamn thing.
“Yeah, Daddy!” she screamed as she bounced up and down on Pluto’s lap. “Gimme that good dick, baby. Ooooh , yeah, fuck this shit up!”
She was facing away from him and impaled on his wood, and behind her Pluto was gripping her small waist and raising and lowering her on his pole. Babbling sexual gibberish, Mo arched her spine and thrust her bold chocolate cake way out so he could really get up in it. Smirking as she worked her ass-cheeks, she rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling and gripped Pluto’s fat thighs to brace herself upright.
Trying her best to get him to blow his load, Monique started shuddering and stuttering like she was turned on to the max and just about to cum. She made her pussy muscles get soft and loose, and then she contracted her pelvis and grinded down real hard, making her coochie walls suck him in deep and tight as shit. Performing like a mothafucka, Mo moaned and yelped like Pluto’s slimy dick was a stiff, delicious bomb-pop, but every bit of it was just part of her professional hoe-act because Monique knew she couldn’t get off on this niggah’s wood if she tried.
While he was back there grunting and humping and waxing her ass, she was busy thinking about the slick one that she had
“You ain’t lying,” Skeet agreed quickly as he followed Trey to the back of the shop. “Check this out,” he said once they were behind the closed doors of Trey’s office. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small vial and held it in his pale, outstretched palm. “Fizz said he recognized them dudes, and one of them dropped this shit on his way out.”
Trey peered into his manz hand. The small vial held icy-looking crystals and had the words Divine Nine stamped on the outside.
A hot ball of rage jumped in his chest and his dark, piercing eyes narrowed and became even darker.
“That little muh’fucka,” he said. “That’s Flex and his crew.”
“Flex? That young boy who used to run around with your brother Cooter? I thought he got popped?”
Trey nodded. “He did. But them fools messed around and got him in the gut when they shoulda crashed his dome. I had a talk with that youngsta right after my brother got killed, man. Him and Cooter was scheming on bagging the drug trade all over Harlem. I told him if he ever brought his little ass anywhere near here he would regret it. That niggah’s testing us, man. Inching his fucking toe over the line.”
“Yeah, you right. He sent them boys,” Skeet agreed as he studied the vial. “This is definitely his work. Fizz said it was Rome, Boog, and that lil cat Maleek you be sonnin’. He was ridin’ with ’em too.”
Trey froze and grilled the white boy. “You sure about that? You sure Fizz said it was Maleek? Little Leek?”
“Yep,” Skeet nodded. “That’s who I’m talking about. That cat might be young, but he’s real twisted. So what we gonna do about this shit?” he asked. “Call the cops?”
Trey chuckled and shook his head like Skeet was crazy. He touched his front pocket and felt the cold slice of metal that was resting against his thigh.
“Nah, we don’t call no cops when a faded niggah like Flex pulls a lick on us, homey. We assemble us a war council, dude. And then we get ours in.”
“Cool,” Skeet said with a nod of satisfaction. “Them lil cats is prolly up on the Ave right now styling my shit! Rome and Boog are gonna get served, but whattup witcha boy, Maleek? We gonna get in his ass too?”
An unreadable look washed over Trey’s face.
“Nah,” he said. “Don’t fuck with Leek. Don’t even think about touching him. Maleek is mine. I’ll handle that lil cat.”
CHAPTER 9
Money-making Monique was busy fake-moaning her ass off, when in reality she was steady scheming and her pussy was numb and couldn’t feel a goddamn thing.
“Yeah, Daddy!” she screamed as she bounced up and down on Pluto’s lap. “Gimme that good dick, baby. Ooooh , yeah, fuck this shit up!”
She was facing away from him and impaled on his wood, and behind her Pluto was gripping her small waist and raising and lowering her on his pole. Babbling sexual gibberish, Mo arched her spine and thrust her bold chocolate cake way out so he could really get up in it. Smirking as she worked her ass-cheeks, she rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling and gripped Pluto’s fat thighs to brace herself upright.
Trying her best to get him to blow his load, Monique started shuddering and stuttering like she was turned on to the max and just about to cum. She made her pussy muscles get soft and loose, and then she contracted her pelvis and grinded down real hard, making her coochie walls suck him in deep and tight as shit. Performing like a mothafucka, Mo moaned and yelped like Pluto’s slimy dick was a stiff, delicious bomb-pop, but every bit of it was just part of her professional hoe-act because Monique knew she couldn’t get off on this niggah’s wood if she tried.
While he was back there grunting and humping and waxing her ass, she was busy thinking about the slick one that she had
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