Gutta Mamis (21 page)

“I wanted to thank you. I got a call from my brother a few weeks ago telling me you paid his debt off months ago. I don't know why he didn't tell me sooner, but then again, it doesn't matter, as long as it's paid off.”

“About that…the debt isn't paid off.” Bobbi turned the page, her reading glasses making the letters appear twice as clear.

“What are you talking about? My brother left me a…”

Cutting him off, Bobbi finished his sentence. “Message saying that I paid the debt off and he is now away on vacation. He's sorry for leaving without you knowing, but after being in hiding for so long, he needed to get away.”

“How did you know that?”

Bobbi removed her glasses, grabbed her bookmark from off the small table, and placed it between chapter fifteen's second and third pages.

“Because I told him to say it, and when he refused, I told him I'd kill you if he didn't.” Bobbi's lifeless stare told him everything he needed to know.

“You set me up.”

“You see, Levi, Ruben was the one who put the hit out on Harvey, but you carried it out. Did you really think everyone would get what they deserved, but
you?”

“What did you do to my brother?” Sweat dropped from Levi's face and he found himself battling to breathe. “What did you do to my brother!” he yelled. His change of behavior didn't startle her, so she drank the last of her juice before answering.

“I killed him. You really should have hid him better.”

Frozen and fighting off a dizzy spell, Levi forced himself to speak. “You planned this all along. You found out everything about me after I killed your boyfriend, didn't you? You would have killed me right then and there if you didn't need information on Ruben first.”

“Of course, anything else wouldn't make sense.”

Levi's body became still, alerting him that his demise was only moments away. A short moment later, he toppled over, his face hitting the ground.

“I assume you don't like GHB in your drink. You should have had fruit punch like me.” Bobbi took her book from off her lap and placed it on the table. Standing up, she grabbed his head and repeatedly bashed it against the ground until she was sure he was dead. When she felt for his pulse and no movements were discovered, she got back up, and with her foot, pushed him into the pool, his body splashing water from out its habitat and onto land.

Bobbi snatched the towel from off the arm of her chair and cleaned the blood coloring her skin. When that was complete, she sat back down, grabbed her book, and set out to finish chapter fifteen.

Born and raised in New York City, Brandie Davis graduated with a Bachelor's degree in English from York College and is the founder of My Urban Books blog and Facebook book club. In 2012 Brandie grabbed readers' attention with her debut novel,
Renee: All Hail the Queen
, and the next year released its se
quel,
Renee 2: The Protégé.
From home she continues to pen drama-filled novels. Contact the author: Twitter:
@AuthorBrandieD
;
www.brandiedavisauthor.com
;
www.facebook.com/brandie.davis.948

“That's right. Suck this, big, python bitch! Ooooh shiiiit,” Keyz groaned. “Do it like that…yeah, spit on it,” he instructed. His head fell back against the butter-soft leather of the maroon-painted, old school Chevy Impala. His bloodshot eyes began to drift involuntarily to the back of his head, denying him of that pornographic presentation. It was like she was sucking the life out of him the way she swallowed his dick whole. He lifted his left hand and wrapped his fingers in all fourteen inches of the prostitute's platinum blonde weave, never breaking her rhythm. He pushed her head farther into his lap until his dick was throwing jabs at the back of her throat and his sweaty nuts were waxing her chin.

“You like that, daddy?” the woman managed in between her oral beatdown.

“Hoe, I said don't talk. Suck!” Keyz commanded while he pumped the hooker's mouth like an oil well. She bottled every inch of him and with the constant swerve of her warm tongue, Keyz could feel his orgasm rising to the occasion. “Oh shit!” he muttered repeatedly, making her work double overtime for her hundred-dollar fee. Keyz outstretched his right hand and grabbed a handful of her round, juicy derriere. He hiked up her dress, stole a peek of her black lace thong, and slid his middle finger down the crack of her ass. He determined instantly that he would fuck her before the night was over.

Keyz was high as a kite and the potent aroma of fresh weed still lingered in his clothing and on his breath. He was the type to stay blazed from sunup to sundown. Weed was his medicine. He was so addicted to that Kush that he would choose a high over a female any day of the week. But like any other medicine, there were side effects, and at that moment, Keyz was so horny and delusional that he thought his anorexic five-inch dick was going to somehow rip out the woman's tonsils and pop out of the back of her head.

As she made sweet love to him orally, Keyz imagined all the freaky things he would do to her later that night—after his drop. He had made plans in his mind to head back over to her post, scoop her up, and take her to his place so that she could get another taste of the python. Judging how desperate she seemed for money, he knew she would hop on the opportunity. Keyz never had a problem paying for sex. He had bank. What he got out of it the most was convenience. He preferred his women the way he preferred his meals—on the go and made-to-order. He was too busy stacking paper to be stuck on a broad. That's why his motto was “Fuck the bitch, pay the bitch, and toss her ass before sunrise.” Never in his life had he ever been caught up.

His tongue began to tingle and trickles of sweat skated down both sides of his chubby face. His erection pulsated in excitement and his heart raced like a turbo engine from the work she was putting in. He still couldn't believe he was getting lip service from a woman this fine. The longer she showered and sucked on his head, the more his curiosity peaked. He couldn't wait to test out that pussy later tonight.

“Oooooh, this a real big nut coming for you, baby,” he warned. He forced his eyes completely open, as weak and tight as they were from lack of sleep. He wanted to watch her finish him off. She
flicked her long tongue across his swollen head. That alone should have been enough to make him bust his load, but he was holding on for as long as he possibly could. He wanted to get every bit of his money's worth. She looked up at him, unlocked her jaws, and shoved him right back down her throat.

Right at the brink of dumping his load into her mouth, his car shook violently, rocking him like a baby, and knocking the hooker into the dashboard.

“Owwww!” The woman rubbed the right side of her head.

“Got damn!” Keyz hollered. He practically pushed the prostitute away from him. He twisted his body to look behind them. “This motherfucker done hit my shit!” The only thing he was able to see through the limo tint on his car's windows were bright headlights. Vexed, he turned back around, huffing and puffing like he'd run a marathon. He was barely able to lift his large body off the seat to slide his boxers and jeans back up, let alone conceal his erection. A murderous rage ripped through him and he was ready to beat a cat's head wide open to a bloody pulp for ramming into his whip.

He hopped out of the car looking madder than a Bulldog. He yelled obscenities, but before approaching the midnight-black Cadillac Escalade that had rear-ended him, he stopped to survey the damage on his car. He became even more heated the second he saw that his bumper was dented and his paint severely scratched. The mug plastered on his face didn't come close to revealing how ham he was about to go on that no-driving son-of-a-bitch.

Without the five carats sparkling in his ears, Keyz's tar-black skin seemingly allowed him to camouflage in the darkness. In many instances, it worked to his advantage. To those that didn't know him personally, he looked like an ordinary overweight black
man. However, the six teardrops underneath both his eyes, which were almost invisible to the human eye because of his dark pigmentation, weren't there for the hell of it. They were the stripes that he'd earned for getting his hands dirty. The rewards for putting in work. Those tattoo tears weren't simply cosmetic. They were his street credentials for the bodies he had caught carrying out hood justice.

“Ugghh!” he fumed. With his fists balled at his sides, Keyz stormed toward the SUV. “Muhfucka, you ain't see my shit parked right there?” he barked at the hooded individual slumped over the stirring wheel. He paused. “Say my nigga, is you deaf or something? You fucked up my ride, cuz.” He was ready to knock this fool's block off.

At only five-six with a three-hundred-thirty-five-pound body frame of mostly fat and very little muscle, he intimidated the hardest of them all. He was notorious for beating heads to the white meat singlehandedly. He was a head-buster, bone crusher, and somebody that nobody wanted to have beef with.

When Keyz didn't receive a response, he took a single step forward. Merely inches away.

“Say, podna! You hear me talking to you?” he seethed. Keyz spoke a lot louder this time. He was so infuriated the steam coming out of his nose felt like tear gas. He looked around him. Before he could breathe another word or make a false move, the hooded figure rose up, and in one swift move, pressed the rose-pink nine-millimeter firmly underneath his chin. He flinched the instant that cold piece of metal osculated his Adam's apple.

Shinette dropped her hoodie, displaying long and bouncy jet-black curls that fell evenly over her shoulders. Her round, charcoal, beady eyes were reduced to slits.

“You say something, motherfucker?”

Keyz slowly raised his hands in defeat. He was certain he'd never seen her before, because
that
face, he would have definitely remembered. The entire left side of it was covered with a tribal snake tattoo. The king cobra had a 3-D effect and appeared to be coming out of her skin. While going for her throat was his first thought, he trusted his instincts that if she was as crazy as she looked, he'd be rotting by morning. It was a chance he didn't want to take. Not tonight. Not when he still had five kilos of cocaine in the back of his trunk to unload.

“Look, before this gets outta hand, why don't you go ahead and put—”

“You fat, black, cockeyed fuck, did we ask you to speak?” Tierra retorted, her .45 leveled at the back of Keyz's head.

He took slow, deep breaths, clenched his jaws, and bit down hard on his bottom lip. “I can't believe this shit,” he muttered.

Reality finally settled in and he grasped the fact that he had been set up. The young and sexy amazon he had picked up tonight was incognito. She was only posing as a hooker to throw him off and her strategy had worked. As she lured him into a dark alley, it had never crossed Keyz's mind that the plan all along was to rob him. For the full fifteen minutes that Tierra had seduced him, she had caused him to lose sight of everything, including the trade he was due to make in a half hour. Now he was in a no-win situation. Two bitches, two guns, but only one Keyz.

“Feeling froggy, motherfucker?” Shinette smiled sinisterly as she stared him dead in the eyes, reading his every thought. She repositioned the gun and aimed right between his sockets.

“Man, just take what the fuck y'all want and be out.”

Shinette's deceiving smile faded and that menacing glare returned.
Like a terrible yeast infection, her trigger finger itched to pull back and let go. She wanted to pop his ass so bad, her pussy started throbbing from the rush. She stroked the belly of the gun, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“Better yet, how about y'all take the three hundred in my pocket, ride out, and I'll pretend that none of this shit ever happened,” Keyz lied, hoping to strike a bargain. He knew that if nothing else was certain in this world, payback was. He never would have allowed them to get away with this. Plus, he had a photographic memory so they didn't stand a chance at making it out of Dallas alive. He was going to make sure they paid with not only their lives, but the lives of their loved ones. He almost felt sorry for them because it was apparent to Keyz that they obviously didn't know who they had set out to rob. He was convinced they were amateurs who would soon learn the hard way that they weren't about the life.

Shinette tossed Tierra the duct tape.

“Come on,” Keyz bribed. “It ain't even gotta go down like this. If it's money you want, I can help you with that. These guns are unnecessary,” he carried on, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Shinette didn't budge, only stared at him crazy, telepathically delivering confirmation that he had been their target. This wasn't a fly-by-night-stickup or an unplanned heist. Not by far. She was way too smart for that. He had failed to realize that one of the most cunning, ruthless, diabolical she-devils from the Greedy Grove had sought him out. Keyz was a transporter. That was why they had been tracking him for months, waiting for the right time to strike. His sweet tooth for trashy pussy turned out to work in their favor. But what really got him marked was that he was too sloppy and arrogant for his own good. Thought he couldn't be touched. Thought he had the triple D sewed up.