Cleo sat on the couch in front of the television. On the screen Janet Jackson told Tupac she was gonna find someone to fuck him up. As much as she lived for Tupac, she barely ran him or Janet's ass any attention. No, her worrisome thoughts had her mental on lock. Non-stop those thoughts replayed the previous day's events on repeat: Her fight with Coco. Seeing C's again for the first time in a year. The altercation that jumped off in front of her building after he brought her home. Ant's demand for space.
Each of those happenings harassed the hell out of her brain. Okay, well maybe not each of those happenings, but most definitely two without question. Which two? The whole Ant and C's of it all, of course. How the hell could she still love C's? Even after everything he'd done to cut her out. And why the hell did Ant's need for space fuck her peace of mind so thoroughly?
Her eyes squeezed shut as Ant's words reiterated themselves on surround sound inside her head...'Yeah I know you love C's, but we both know you feeling the shit out of me too.' Could there be even a gram of truth to that wishing ass assumption? Did she have feelings for Ant? Maybe she did. However, if she bust it open and decided to sell the inner workings of her heart by the pound, no matter what emotions she may feel for Ant and Tech, her ache for C's downplayed them all. Nothing or no one compared to Caesar Gianni. It was an undeniable truth she'd spent the better part of eighteen months attempting to outrun.
A knock at the door pressed pause on her brain wrestling. She left the couch to peep out the front window. A high yellow girl with a baby clutched to her chest stood in front of her door, mugging the hell out the cheap aluminum that perpetrated as a barrier. Her eyes rolled. If this bitch was one of Coco's loud mouth cousins...
Cleo grabbed the tarnished gold knob and yanked open the door. She and the girl glared at each other for a moment before the chick finally discovered her words. "Tech here?" The chick asked in a thick accent that sounded a little like Tech's.
Cleo sucked her teeth. Different day and jumpoff, but same motherfucking problems. Now which one of his bitches was she? "Why the hell do you want to know?"
"He ain't come home last night and his hoe down in J building says you his favorite hoe. Na is he here are not?" The girl shifted her weight from one leg to the other, when the baby started to fuss.
He ain't come home last night—is the only thing she heard. "Wait, what'd you mean he didn't come home last night?" She opened the screen door and stepped out on the cement porch, forcing the girl to back up into the rail. "Are you saying you and him live together?"
"Don't play dumb wit me, jigga boo! Know he's tol' ya 'bout me," she clutched her baby tighter to her chest. "He tells all his lil' pissy tail gurl's 'bout me and the buhbe. We his family."
Despite the cash money shit spurting from the girl's mouth, the scared shitless look on the chick's bright yellow face betrayed the weight and measure of what she was built for. Physical conflict was not a part of her hard knocks training. Cleo's glare drifted to the child clutched to her chest. Tech's hazel eyes stared back. Her spinning world slammed on brakes.
The girl may have been seconds away from pissing up Liberty's dusty ass welcome mat, but the baby in her arms supplied major receipts to her claims. That Haitian bastard had played her! But how the hell could she be mad? She's the dumbass who'd opened herself up to him. Just like she was the same dumbass who gave him full access to all of her buttons and controls. Even after Ant tried to put her up on game.
"You need to get the fuck away from my door. Tech's not here!" She turned to go back in the house.
The girl stepped away from the rail, to rush her from behind. "Wait a damn minute. If he didn't stay here, den where did he stay? Do ya tink a new hoe is beatin' our time or maybe dem people got him?"
This bitch here! Cleo spun around to tower over her by four inches. "What's your name?"
"Evangeline, what's yours?" The baby began to cry. Evangeline shushed and bounced him from side to side, while continuing to shoot units at her.
Each ear splitting wail, shredded Cleo's insides. Her vision blurred, but she refused to drop tears over a bullshit situation of her own making. "It doesn't matter, Evangeline. I'm one less hoe you have to worry about. Now take that damn baby home, before these trifling ass projects make victims out of both of y'all." She allowed the screen door to close behind her.
As the front door shut, Evangeline slapped a palm against the screen glass, "Tech may already be a victim!"
****
"All I'm saying is, I don't know if running that bitch Happy Hills was the right thing to do." Putt tossed another counted stack of twenties on the living room coffee table. He then reached in the duffle bag for another fist full of green backs.
For the past thirty minutes Putt worked his jaws without rest. C's move to let Killa take over the day to day in the Hills had provoked mad disrupt in his team. None of his people fucked with his choice on the matter and they'd shoved Putt in his face to speak their mind. He, however, would've rather raw dogged a bucket of sand than indulge insecure vatos who cared more about their tender little feelings than his fucking bottom line. He'd made his decision and who the hell were they to demand an explanation from him. Long as he kept them fed, they had no reason to question the moves he made.
"Whether it's right or wrong it's my motherfucking move, Putt," he said, while separating Benjamin's from Grants and Jackson's from Hamilton's. "That punta owes me a grip and until she repays me for everything I lost over the past year, its straight slave labor for her ass. Now unless one of the shit starters from the squad wants to work for free, then none that shit you spitting is making dollars or cents for me."
"It's not just the shit starters, C's. Most of the squad would rather charge the loss than allow a female to run the Hills," Putt paused his count to give him a pointed look over a fan of twenties. "Especially, a female who's been running interference since day one."
"Yeah, and which of the squad is feeling a way? Would it be the same motherfuckers who couldn't buckle the Hills down in the first damn place?" C's loaded a stack of fifties into the cash counter. "If so, then those incompetent fucks can deep throat a dick. Had they been playing their position from jump we wouldn't be going through struggle season right now."
C's exhaled a shit ton of air. He needed to check his temper. Putt was just the messenger—nah, fuck that! To hell with the messenger and the maxi pad wearing message. Putt had willingly placed himself in sparking distance, he had no one else to blame if his shit got blazed.
"Folk, you can't ignore their issues-,"
"Motherfuck their issues!" Tension crept in his shoulders and locked them in place. He had a mind to check his squad for slits, because they were frontin' like a gang of hoes. "I have fifty-eleven problems and there bitch ass issues are in the negative."
Putt's eyes narrowed as he watched him. Almost as if he attempted to peep something in his face that wasn't in his words. "What's up with you? You good?"
"Shit's gravy," he averted his glare back to the skrilla in front of him. The memory of Cleo wrapped tight with Tech flared into focus, compromising the hell out of his mind's eye. His hands shook as he snatched the Benjamin's from the table. Putt watched him for a moment longer, and then went back to counting the twenties still in his hand. A few quiet ass minutes ticked by, before C's decided to desecrate the silence with a question that refused to be ignored. "Did you know Cleo and Tech fucked around?"
Putt shrugged without sparing him a glance. "Think Taz mentioned it a few months back, why?"
"And you didn't think that was something I needed to know?" He shook his head. Putt and Ant should've known better. They were the ones he trusted above all to keep eyes on his back.
Putt paused his count again to meet his glare. Stress and resentment locked and loaded his facial muscles. Certified body dropping units merked C's one after the other. "There's a load of talk about Cleo you needed to be put up on, but you didn't care enough to hear the shit. You benched my folk and moved on to the next. Matter of fact, the last time I mentioned her, you called her your throwback and bitched about Taz not stabbing your leftovers. Now you mad because you hear something you don't like," Putt waved him off with the same stack of twenties he'd been counting for the last thirty minutes, "hombre, get the fuck out of here."
"Putt, how many times do motherfuckers on the outside looking in get it right? I pushed Cleo away because that's where the fuck she needed to be. Away from me and the dirt that spins out around me daily." Everybody and his fucking mama believed he'd avoided the subject of his girl because he'd stopped caring. Fake news. "My enemies went searching for my weakness and found her. That's why Reyes took shots at her, and that's why Estevan's little timid ass put a glock to her dome. Had I kept Cleo in my zone, then my dirt would've eventually buried her." He tossed the stack of Benjamins back on the table, and then ran a palm over his face. "I'd rather cut out my own heart than watch them put her in the ground. And when I sat her to the left, that's exactly what I did."
****
Soon as Cleo placed the cordless phone on the end table it rang. Her lip quirked. About damn time. She'd been paging Tech for over an hour. Snatching the phone up, she pressed the button and placed the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?" She said, her attitude full grown.
"What's goin on, lil' mama? Why ya blowin' me up?" Tech's Haitian accent floated from the ear piece.
The smooth calm of his voice aggravated the crack baby rage she attempted to keep in pocket. "You need to come through." She managed to utter without slaying her cool.
"Why wat's wrong, buhbe?" Just the mention of a damn baby set fire to her insides. His double slick lying ass! "Coco and her peoples ridin' ya again?"
Cleo squeezed her eyes shut as her grip tightened on the receiver. She refused to go back and forth with him over the phone. She needed to look him in the eyes when she threw his dirt in his face. "How long are you gonna be?"
His end of the line grew quiet for a moment, and then he finally answered. "I'll be through in 'bout an hour."
"Tech-,"
"It's gon take a minute for me ta get back. I havta ton 'round, I wuz on my way ta N'awlins," he said, before having the damn nerve to sigh. She couldn't wait to put her hands on him.
"Alright, see you in an hour." She pressed the button on the phone, and then dropped it on the couch.
She buried her face in her hands. Her thoughts weighed a ton, and the weight on her chest felt even heavier. Had she brought all of this on herself? It's not like she was exactly faithful herself. Lately, every time she'd turned around Ant had his tongue in her mouth. Maybe she deserved to be treated like a trap star groupie. Oh hell no! Wrong motherfucking answer. In no uncertain terms did her questionable actions birth into existence, Tech's hoeish ways. Hell, she'd bet dollars to no money he was still dicking down Coco too. She can't believe she let him put his nasty ass mouth on her. That's what the hell she got for going against her better judgement, and messing with Tech's trifling ass in the first place.
The front door swung open and Big Spend pimped stepped into the living room. For no other reason than to be an asshole, he allowed the door to slam shut after him. Her top lip curled at the corner as she actively hated his tired ass from the sidelines. The worse thing about being suspended would be dealing with his foot dragging ass all day. What the hell did Liberty see in him? He didn't have a job, didn't pay any bills and his dingy brown eyes undressed her better than his hands ever could.
"Why the hell I don't smell no food cooking?" He demanded, while shooting her a unit. A burp vibrated from his lips as he staggered further into the living room. "Don't tell me you done been here all fuckin' day and ain't did shit."
She wrinkled her nose. The stench of old funk and malt liquor wafted from his pores in a wash of nauseating stink waves. "No that's what you do and can't nobody do your job better than you."
Not wanting to level down to tongue wrestle with him, she stood. The best thing for all involved would be to wait for Tech somewhere else. Without sparing Spend another glance, she moved pass him to go into her room. The alcohol he'd guzzled down, however, must've been pushing buttons. Instead of letting their back and forth ride, he grabbed her by the arm. A tenth of a second later she hurtled in the opposite direction of her destination. Before she could slow the momentum she collided with the side of the refrigerator. Her funny bone to the brunt of the impact.
"Get your black ass in that kitchen and make me something to eat," he yelled as he hemmed her up between his bloated gut and the kitchen counter. The hot garbage on his breath turned her stomach, while dampening the curls at her hairline.
"Spend, you need to back up off of me." She shoved at his chest and he didn't budge. Instead he leaned further into her, while looking at her in the way that made her want to scrub her body with lye and bleach. She swallowed the fear pushing its way up the back of her throat. "If you're hungry then I suggest you grab the pots and make it happen."
His eyes stretched and narrowed as if he had trouble figuring out what the hell she was talking about. Damn, how many quarts did he guzzle down before he decided to bring his crusty ass back? After a moment of struggling he grabbed her face. With a firm grip he squished her cheeks together until her lips puckered. She clawed at his wrist as she fought to free herself from his vice like grasp.
"Oh, so your little young ass think you're grown," he slurred. Without warning or reason, he slammed the palm of his free hand against the wall next to her head. She jumped and immediately cursed herself for doing so. If he sensed weakness then she was done. He ran his nose along her jawline, before yelling in her ear, "Is it because you're fucking that dread?" He laughed and her gut twisted in on itself. She squeezed her eyes shut determined not to scream. "Babygirl, fucking that Haitian don't make you grown. Naw, it just makes you a—cum drinking—hoe like your mama."
His shit talking about Liberty snatched all the common sense from her mental and crammed her head with bloody red rage. Not thinking only acting, she spit in Spend's face. A growl rumbled from his chest right before he yanked her forward, and then slammed her head back against the wall. Fifty-eleven stars flooded her field of vision.
"Okay," his head bobbed as he wiped the spit from his face, "So you don't wanna listen, huh? I see you still want to be grown. Okay since you wanna be grown, I'ma fuck you like you're grown."
He brought her face to his and slobbered the entire outside of her mouth as he tried to kiss her. At this point she realized she'd fumbled. The whole tilted situation had spun out of her control. With nothing else left to do, she opened her mouth to scream. He shoved his tongue in her mouth. The sting of acid and vomit burned the back of her throat.
When he began to grind his lower half into her stomach she bit down on his tongue and didn't let go even when she tasted blood. She brought her hands up between them to drag her nails down his face. Layers of skin peeled away from his forehead, eyelids, and cheeks.
He brought his hand up to touch his face. His eyes flared when he drew back and discovered blood coated the pads of his fingers. "You lil' young ass slut."
A back hand to the jaw sent her flying sideways. She stumbled to her feet and shook off the dizzying effects of the blow. Taking the opportunity of the few feet of distance between them, she lunged for the door. Just as her fingertips grazed the cool metal of the knob, Spend yanked her backwards by the ponytail. She screamed, hoping Ms. Lucy's nosey ass was home.
Spend grabbed her by throat and damn near crushed her vocal chords. Her cry for help dwindled to a croak. He spun her around to face him. The bastard wore a champion's expression, like he'd just won a fucking gold medal. Fury tore through her. The red-hot vengeful emotion demanded Spend's filthy flesh by the pound. Her hand crumpled into a fist, and smashed into his nose.
The sound of crunching bones met her ears just before throbbing agony exploded in her hand and a fist slammed into her eye. Everything went black. For how long? She couldn't be sure. However when awareness reinstated itself, Spend's heavy body weighed down on her as something hot and wet covered her bare nipple. Her eyes opened. The sight of Spend gnawing on her breast, threatened to bring back up the Tuna Helper she had for lunch. She suppressed the urge to vomit when he began fumbling with the button on her jeans.
Fight or flight rocked her in motion. With not one, should she or shouldn't she, grazing the brain, she snatched the wrought iron lamp from the end table and cracked him over the head. He went limp, stunned out of his fucking skull. She took advantage of his semi-conscious state and pushed him off of her. It damn near took everything in her to stand, but stand she did.
When it looked as if Spend would recover too, she slammed the lamp down on his head over and over again until his wide frame slumped face first into the sofa. After that, she almost ripped the door off the hinges as she tore from the apartment. She half walked and fell down the cement steps, almost breaking her neck twice. When she reached the bottom, she stumbled to Ms. Pat's door and began to bang on it.
"Wait a damn minute," a deep voice yelled from inside. Seconds later the door open. "Cleo?" The shock on Ms. Pat's expression snitched like a pretender faced with triple digit FED time.
Spend probably pounded her face until it resembled raw hamburger meat. It didn't shock her, though. She could only see out of one eye, and the other throbbed like it had a heartbeat.
Cleo rushed inside. "C-can I u-use the phone," her voice shook as her good eye flicked from Ms. Pat to the door and back. Spend could come busting in at any moment for round two. And based on the broke down state she was in, he'd win.
"Y-yeah," Ms. Pat bobbed her head as her bulging eyes remained fastened on her. Without looking she grabbed the cordless phone from the entertainment center and placed the receiver into her visibly trembling hands. She then moved to the hall closet and snatched out a member's only jacket. As she dropped the coat on Cleo's sagging shoulders she asked, "Baby, what happened? Who did this to you?"
Cleo ignored Ms. Pat's question. She couldn't even think about it, so how the hell could anyone expect her to put words to what almost jumped off. A cringe stiffened her muscles. The smell of unbathed musk and Colt 45 violated her nostrils. His scent was all over skin. Oh god she needed hot scalding shower, and several bars of soap.
Nausea provoked her mouth to water. The taste of cigarettes and sour breath still lingered in on tongue. She dashed to the kitchen and barely made it to the trash before she vomited. For several minutes she gagged and wretched as she emptied herself of everything she'd eaten in the last several hours. When nothing else but air came up, Ms. Pat handed her a glass of water to wash out her mouth. Once she had her shit somewhat back in pocket, she punched in Angela's house number. She said a silent prayer Ant would be home, because she wasn't sure if he'd answer a page from a number he didn't know.
"Hello?" C's answered on the second ring. The raspy edge of his voice blurred her vision.
"I-is Ant th-there, C's?" She stammered into the phone.
A moment of silence fell from his end of the line. "Cleo? What's wrong, are you crying?"
"N-no," she lied even as tears rolled one after the other down her cheek. "W-where's Ant, C-c's? I-its i-imp-p-port-," a memory of Spend gnawing on her breast jugged at the walls of her mind. She lost hold of her crazy and dropped to her knees. Her fractured soul buck the damn system and professed its ache in the form of body shaking wails and diaphragm driven sobs.
Ms. Pat pried the phone from her grip and began to talk. "I'm her neighbor Pat... no, I don't know what happened...she won't say, but..." he gave her a reassuring smile before turning away, "it's not good...I'm not sure, but I think she may have been...look, you should just get here as soon as you can...alright...um hm, bye."
****
After C's pressed the end button on the phone, he stood there for several seconds with the phone clutched in his hand. Cleo's wails still echoed inside his head and resonated deep in his soul. 'I'm not sure, but I think she may have been...' What?! He think she may have been what?!! Did the rats in those motherfuckin' bricks jump her? Did Tech put his hands on her? One question after another jumped from the darkest grimiest part of his mind where he locked down his fears. Tired of standing around with his dick in hand tossing up what if's, he snatched his glock from the cushion and cocked it, ready to handle whatever.
"Pack this shit up," He waved the barrel of the gun at the cash stretched out across the coffee table. "I need to run off for a minute."
Putt stood with stretched wide eyes. "Was that Cleo on the phone? What the fuck happened?"
"Don't know, dude didn't say," he tossed over his shoulder as headed for the door.
"Hold up, hombre," Putt said as he swept all counted and uncounted cash into the Gucci duffle bag, "I'm riding too."
"Nah, Putt," C's shook his head. He didn't know how off the leash he planned to get. The last thing he wanted was for his people to get caught up in his hell raiser ways. Especially, if his off the chain stunts weren't over money or territory. "You stay here and hold down the block. I got this."
"The fuck ever, holmes," Putt snapped. He strolled towards the door, chest bucked and eyes focused. "If this involves my motherfuckin' fam, then I'm coming. Period."
C's shook his head, while gritting his teeth through his frustration. Was everyone in his squad going deaf? Could any of them understand the words that came out of his got damn mouth? He didn't have time for this shit! "What the fuck I said, Putt? Depending on what's happened to my girl over there in those hot ass projects, it may be hell or a jail cell for your boy. And if I fall that leaves you to pick up where I left off." He stepped in Putt's space and got in his grill. "Now I know you think of Cleo as family-,"
"Nah, see I don't think of Cleo as family, she is my family," Putt stood toe to toe with him staring straight into his pupils. "She's Juan Alejandro's daughter, which makes her my first cousin. I'm riding for her," he shook his head, "not you."
Soon as the words left Putt's mouth, all of the demands from Juan Alejandro in regards to Cleo, centered and burst with clarity. 'You better ask Bruno and Alejandro how the fuck I get down.' Liberty's words exploded in his head and rung his fucking bell. The god of cocaine was Cleo's padre. Why the hell didn't he see the shit sooner? The resemblance between the two of them was fucking bananas! She even had his eyes for fucks sake.
The slamming of his front door snatched him from the climax of his yearlong mind fuck. Now was not the time to reflect on his stupidity and short sightedness. His girl needed him. He yanked open the front door and followed Putt out.
"Ay, bring my iron," Putt yelled across the street to Taz who sat on the hood of his supra watching the dice game that had broken out in the yard.
Taz's snake ass slid from the car and nodded once before striking out across the grass to Putt's front door. The muscles in C's face locked. Family or not, he didn't have minutes or even seconds to wait on Putt to pull his shit together. He crossed the yard to the Neon parked at the curb and climbed into the driver's seat. As he shoved the key into the ignition, the passenger door opened and Putt climbed in. A second later, Taz knocked on the window. He hit the switch to lower it.
"Que pasa, primo? You good?" Taz asked as he passed Putt the forty-four.
Putt shook his head. "Nah, something's going down with Cleo in the Ninth. We're gonna go check on her."
"Alright, homey," Taz bobbed his head, before slapping his hand on the roof of the car. "I'm right behind you."
****
"Now make sure you keep that meat pressed to your eye, baby. It's gonna help with the swelling," Ms. Pat said as she took the seat next to her.
Cleo nodded, while holding the raw frozen meat over her swollen closed eye. She wished she had something to put on her body, because there wasn't an inch of her that didn't ache. Even her mind throbbed from all the flashing memories of her and Spend's tussle. Play by dirty play in precise detail, she remembered every blow, touch, filthy kiss. Every piece and part of it spun in her head on an unending loop. For the first time ever in her life she hated Liberty for putting her in the position to be like one of those chicks crying in the shower from one of them corny ass Lifetime movies.
A banging on Ms. Pat's front door drove Cleo from thoughts.
"I'll get it." Ms. Pat rose from the couch to answer the knock. "That must be your friend."
Moments later C's bogarded his way into the house. "Where the fuck is she?" She heard him yell, seconds before he appeared in her sight line.
He slammed to a stop when he finally put eyes on her. His hands fisted at his sides as his expression crumpled. For a hint of a moment she thought he would cry, but then his face turned three different shades of red. Each color darker than the last. Before she could say anything he closed the distance between them. A blink later she was in his arms drowning him with her swamping emotions and a flood of tears.
"Shh, I'm here, bae," he whispered, while tangling his fingers in her curls. "I got you now. Nobody's ever gonna lay finger on you again. You hear me? I put that on blood and freedom." He pulled away to run an assessing stare over her battered face. When his chocolate browns reached the huge jacket draped over her, he reached up and opened the front. The muscle in his jaw twitched when his gaze took in her ripped to hell bra and shirt. Shame devoured her as she watched his eyes catalogue the array of bruises, scratches and bite marks on her breasts. "Tell me what happened, Cleopatra," he said in a quiet voice, which scared her more than his yelling at the top his lungs in Spanish.
She swallowed. "M-my m-mama's b-boyfriend t-tried t-t-to t-take it."
Ms. Pat sucked in a shit ton of air. C's leaned forward, while grabbing the sides of her face. He rested his forehead on hers, and then squeezed his eyes closed. This time a tear did slip from the corner of his eye before he pressed a kiss to her temple.
"Where's he now?" He asked in that same soul disturbingly calm voice. Cleo refused to say anything because she knew what came next. Hell, even Ms. Pat knew.
"He's still upstairs," Ms. Pat said in a deep voice that carried more bass than C's.
C's nodded, and then stood. Without another word he spun on his heel and headed back out the front door. Cleo jumped from the couch and rushed after him. She had to stop him. If he body rocked Spend in broad daylight with the police officer right at the front gate they'd run his ass straight to jail with no bail.
Soon as she ran out of Ms. Pat's, she headed for the stairs only to be yanked back into a hard chest. "Let him handle this," Taz's lightly accented voice greeted her ears.
"He's gonna kill him and I can't let that happen. I won't lose him again." More salt water rushed from her good eye. Where the hell did it keep coming from? Her tear ducts should've been drier than the Ninth during FED season by now. "You have to let me go, Taz."
"Putt's up there with him," his grip on her tightened. "And C's know better. Respect his mind, mami. Let him do what he can right now."
Cleo stopped struggling and relaxed in his hold. She prayed Taz knew what the hell he was talking about and Putt could ease C's homicidal tendencies.
****
C's kicked the door of Liberty's apartment. The cheap aluminum caved, and then clattered open.
Inside, the mountain of shit impersonating as a man waited for him with a butcher knife in hand. "This ain't what you want, Pimpin'." C's ears bled. The cabrone actually thought he could reason and flex his way out of a body bag. Nah, by the time shit was whipped, chopped, and flipped, the corners would be toe tagging him. "S-she was getting way too greasy in the mouth. Had to teach her a lesson. It wasn't gonna go any further. Swear to god it wasn't. Matter of fact, I'm in love with her mama."
C's snatched the glock from the waist band of his jeans. "Nah, puto. You're the pendejo who needs to learn a lesson."
"Look, hombre," the butcher knife slipped from his hand and struck the frayed carpet. "I was drunk and s-she's a pretty-,"
Unable to stomach hearing the rest, C's slapped him on the side of the head with the gun. Blood and slob flew from his mouth as he dropped to his knees. "You like teaching young girls lessons motherfucker, well I dig kicking knowledge to bitches without slits." For emphasis he kicked him in the face. The pussyless bitch fell backwards on his legs, effectively folding his huge frame into a deflated back bend.
Spend opened his mouth to more than likely beg, because that's what hoes do. They beg for the means to exist. He, however, never had love for hoes or their fucking sob stories. Powered by all the rage and hate surging inside of him, he bashed Spend's hoe ass in the mouth with the base of the gun. Dude spit out two of his front teeth.
Cleo's bruised swollen face flashed before C's eyes, and everything outside his field of vision bled solid red. The project wall cowering at his feet became his focus. His mission, stop the motherfucker from breathing. He used everything within reach to force progress. His glock, his fists, and his Jordan's, he spared nothing in his efforts to stomp Spend's wide ass to the blackest part of hell.
C's raised his foot over the bastardo's neck with the sole intention of crushing the air from his trachea, before he could check mate the end game someone grabbed him from behind. "C's, enough! Nine is at the front gate."
Nine? He didn't give two dry fucks about Nine! Where the fuck was Nine when this perverted puto thought he could put his grimy hands on what belonged to him? C's drove another well-aimed kick into his ribs.
He attempted shake of Putt's hold. "Get your motherfuckin' hands off me, Putt. Because I swear on the mother Mary, I'm deadin' anybody who gets between me and him."
"Don't do this shit, Folk. Not here, not like this," Putt's grip tightened as he backed them towards the door. "If you care about my Prima the way you say do, then you'll hold this here down."
"Hold this here down?" Putt might as well had spoken Aramaic to him, because his understanding was zero for the shit flying out of his mouth at present. "Have you seen her motherfucking face. Did you see what this slimy pendejo did to her? Do you have any idea what he wanted to do? I'm not letting this shit ride, Putt." He growled through gritted teeth.
"Nobody's asking you to. We'll snatch him up at a later date and hide his ass somewhere even god want hear his screams," Putt assured as he pulled him from Liberty's apartment. Outside he broke free of Putt's hold. When he swung around to peep the gutter made view of the Ninth, his gaze locked with Cleo's. "Go see about your girl."
Not needing to be told a damn thing, especially no shit like that, he descended the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, Cleo broke free of Taz's hold and launched herself at his chest. When he caught her, he buried his face into the curve of her neck while his arms wound around her waist to hold her as close as her slim frame would allow.
For one hustling minute, he ran himself a moment to just breathe her. All the noise from the shots and bullshit he'd suffered over the past year lost its volume. The chaotic madness spinning the hell out in his head leveled down and for the first time since they'd broke, his mental perspective became VVS clear. Being around her focused him. She always did that shit for him.
"Please tell me you didn't kill him, C's," she whispered next to his ear. "I 'on't think I can survive losing you again."
"His pussy ass is still breathing," he pulled back to look into her eye. "For now." She held his stare for a moment as she processed shit unsaid. When worry crept into her sticky green eyes, he switched topics. "Come on, let's go home so moms can take a look at you."
"Home?" She whispered. Tears brimmed the lower lid of her open eye.
"Yeah, bae," he shot a unit at her mom's apartment. How could he have been so fucking stupid? The safest place for Cleo was under his arm. "You're not coming back here. The time of you staying in this bullshit ass trap is done."
"What about my clothes," she lowered her voice as she glanced from side to side, "and my stash? I have close to nine g's put up."
His eyes narrowed. What the fuck could she have done to make Tech kick out nine stacks? Putt had dry snitched a mouth full. There was a load of shit about Cleo he needed to know, but now was not the time to rip things apart. And there was no way in a nun's orgy he'd let her go back in that apartment. Not while Spend's wide ass still lay stretched out on the carpet.
"I'll replace it."
The corners of her mouth tugged south in a disbelieving frown. "All of it?"
He straight faced her for a moment before saying, "Let's go, bae."
After he helped her into the passenger seat of the Neon, he moved around the car to slide into the driver's side. He took a deep breath to calm the beast inside that demanded retribution and blood on sight. Tremors shot down his arms and bottomed out in his hands. The other keys jingled as he attempted to push the car key into the ignition.
Cleo reached over and placed her hand on his. The twitching in his hand stilled. He lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of hers. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Regardless of everything she'd went through a small smile blossomed on her mouth. It was like watching a flower grow straight out of concrete, and then thrive despite the sea of cement which surrounded it. Damn Pac knew his shit, just like he knew this girl owned his ass. She always had and she always would.
****
When C's backed the car out of the parking lot and whipped it around a pearl Cadillac yoked in front of the Neon, blocking them in. C's leaned down to pull his gun from under his seat.
She placed a hand on the wrist, reaching for the glock. "Give me a minute to talk to him." C's started to shake his head. "Just a minute," she said once more before opening the passenger door and climbing out.
She walked around to the front of the car, where Tech stood shooting hatemakers at C's through the windshield. He then turned to stare her down. His hazel eyes damn near leaped from their sockets. "Wat da fuck happened ta ya eye?" Rage twisted his face into a demonic version of itself. Veins bulged from his neck and one ran diagonally across his forehead. "Who did dis ta ya?" His glare swung back to C's as he slammed his fist down on the hood of the Neon. "Wuz it him?"
"N-no, it was S-spend," her voice left her mouth in a hoarse stutter. "C's came through to make sure I was alright."
"Na he can go," Tech's mouth twisted into a sneer as he turned to grill C's. "Put dis beetch back on da highway. Her man got it from here."
C's opened the driver's door. She shook her head at him, while raising a finger. The muscle in his clenched jaw twitched, but he nodded. After he shut the driver's door back, she turned to face Tech. "My man and who else's?"
"Wat ya talkin'? How hard did he hit ya?" He reached up to touch her eye and she jerked her face out of his reach.
"Not hard enough to make me forget about Evangeline or your baby," she snapped. For a hot second he stood staring at her like someone had kicked him in his over friendly dick. "Oh so you don't have anything to say, huh?"
"Da only reason I'm wit her is because of da buhbe," he insisted, but the word liar might as well had been stamped across his forehead. He couldn't even look her in the damn eye.
"Yeah and what about Coco?" She questioned, deciding to toss some shit out to see what came back.
His chest bucked and his chin rose. "She say it's mine, but I'm not claimin' no buhbe witout a paternity test."
Before she could think better of her actions, she fired on him. Pain flared back to life in her hand but she ignored the ache and welcomed the sight of watching slob fly from his double slick mouth.
"A paternity test?!" She screamed. Tech grabbed the side of his mouth, while looking at her like she'd just told him she was the reincarnate of Marie Laveau. "So you were still fucking that bitch! I can't believe you got me out her looking like a fucking clown. My dumb ass around here fighting over a nigga who can't be kept, because he was never mine to keep in the first damn place."
"Dem udder hoes means nuttin' ta me. Ya da one, da only one," he tried to grab her again and she shoved him away.
C's jumped out the driver's seat. "Get that raggedy ass Lac out the way."
"Nah, ha 'bout ya take ya ass back ta da circle. Leave me and mine be," Tech bucked his chest and moved towards C's, but Cleo stepped in his path.
"No, you need to be trying to put that car on two wheels to go see about baby mama number one," Her words snaked his attention. "Yeah, because she came over here earlier, with your baby and got her little feelings hurt." He opened his mouth and she held up her hand to stop whatever nonsense he thought to spew next. "She talked to Coco first and by the time she made it over here to me, your girl was shook."
Tech stood staring at her for a moment longer before spinning around and heading back to his car. "We're na done, Cleopatra." He tossed over his shoulder.
"Oh this thing is a wrap, Toussaint," she hurled after him.
And she meant it too. Never again would she play the fool to a fool or be made to play the victim for someone mentally weaker than her. She'd get her weight up and learn to stand for herself, even if it meant she had to stand alone.