Diva (Urban)

Betrayal

Donte's POV

    I honestly don't know why even loved Shorty. Maybe it was her flirtatious dimpled smile, or her curvaceous body, or her goofy ways. Nah, Shorty ain't have the biggest boobs or ass but she was like a puzzle piece that connected to me.

    Shorty was the finest I've ever seen in a long time and it was like a breath of fresh air to even be in her circle.

    At the beginning, I was only out to get in her pants.

    But she made me wait.

    And wait.

    And wait.

    Under all of that frustration with her, I had a deep respect for that. She wasn't no attention whore or skank.

    She was Shorty. Diva.

    There is a thin-ass line between loving someone and being in love with someone. I was both when it came to my girl.

    I murked every guy who walked up on her in public. I bought her nice things (which she took when she walked out of my life). I screwed her like no other.

    I was her dream guy!

    If I ain't never met Deadra and gave her a child, I wonder if Shorty would still be with me. I don't think I went wrong nowhere.

    It was as if all the anger came flooding out of her last night and in walked a new Shorty I ain't never encountered.

    I remembered feeling the icy chill sweeping over me as my girl looked at me with so much hatred in her eyes.

    But I don't regret telling the truth. Never.

    I was at the Trap the next day in my office trying to count some money when the new guy, Angelo came in. He had a gun in his waistband and his muscles tightened every time I moved like I was going to pop a bullet in his ass any second.

    I was ready to if he didn't chill out.

    Angelo was a young nigga from outside of town. He had the worst temper.

    We had to calm him down when some girl smacked him for walking up on her like an animal. Angelo was about ready to pop off.

    I didn't deal with that shit. I had him in check faster than you can say, "in check".

    "Yo, wassup?" I asked, irritated that he made me lose my spot in counting.

    And just then, I heard gunshots outside. I stood up from my chair, about to grab the gun sitting there but Angelo lifted his heavy leg and kicked me into the wall.

    The pain was excruciating and I fell to the floor knocking down empty shelves.

    "The fu–" I managed to say. But Angelo who we all thought was some stupid teenage boy whipped me with his gun.

    I felt blood gathering in my mouth and I spit it out, still not registering the fact that this nigga was a traitor.

    Angelo flashed that familiar gang sign that we all knew so well and Shorty's image flashed through my mind.

    If I died today, that'd be cool. I just wanted her back.

    Just then, another round of gunshots—more than the first—shattered the office window and everything else. Angelo ducked but I knew he got hit.

    There were more shots and shouting and more shots.

    Angelo was our rival. The ones who kept going at us till death did us part.

    And people wondered why I had trust issues!

    I pushed myself up off the floor and hurried to my gun.

    When I turned around ready to shoot, Angelo had one pointed back at me, an evil smile plastered on his face.

    "I ain't got shit to lose." He admitted. I did.

    I do. Marc and momma and Shorty. And my money all day.

    One of my own boys, Rich hurried in. "Drop it, man!" He ordered. Rich was slightly crazy; I didn't know what was going on in that head.

    I was just praying that I didn't end up in no body bag.

    "You wish. Y'all ain't comin' out of here alive." He said, his eyes still on me.

    Rich suddenly pummeled into Angelo at full speed. Somebody's gun went off and it hit the ceiling.

    I heard a crack.

    And I looked at Angelo. His neck was tilted at a weird angle and was smashed into a thick nail on the shelf board.

    Blood slowly trickled to me and I paid no attention to that. Me and Rich were out of the door before the cops came, taking all the money we could get.

    "Where the fuck is everybody else?"

    Boss hurried in, his afro was dirty. He had a bruise on his cheek and a cut on his chest.

    We were all hauling money and dope into the backseats and trunks of our trucks.

    And then I passed Jamar's body, lying lifeless on the grass.

    My heart dropped as I pulled him into the house and covered him with a tarp sullenly. I wouldn't let myself get close to nobody else ever again.

    "Thanks man..." I said, my voice cracking. Next to Patrick, Jamar was my nigga. He was so loyal. And always gave the best advise.

    I couldn't let that get me down.

    "Let's head out to Chamblee."

    "Nah, Dunwoody." I interjected. They both looked at me and nodded. And we were gone after cleaning some of the mess and wiping our fingerprints.