AN: Sorry for being two days past my promised deadline y'all. This one here twerked each and everyone of my nerves to the point of I couldn't do anything more than throw up my hands.🤷🏾♀️ So whether you flame it or acclaim it, here you go! Enjoy...hopefully!🤦🏾♀️
Everything Cleo wished on over the last eighteen months came to pass. At what price, though? Big Spend came for her sanity and Tech, triple dealing ass, slayed the rest of her trust. Now there she sat in the passenger seat of the Chevy number than a bitch faded on Lidocaine. Residing in the presence of the only home she'd ever really wanted...C's. Such an unwanted truth triggered her mouth to tick worse than a junkie who'd been denied straight drop.
For real, for real! Even an alcoholic surrounded by Old English forties held more control over their thirst than she did. Her dry mouth refused to be denied! Not when her dehydration quencher parlayed only inches away.
Her common sense came for her on a mental check. Don't be a weak bitch! Those words slithered through her mind and ran time back to their fall out. The memories of all the things which flew from his mouth that day still spun wild and reckless on repeat.Taking shots at her self-esteem when she least expected. Yet being the ever contradiction, he'd still showed for her when she needed him most. His present actions blew holes in her recollections of past verbal assaults. Now her resolve and defenses she'd erected against him were in tatters.
C's grip on her hand tightened. Always the one to hold her down, he yanked her from the thoughts which clouded her head. Warming her to the core with just a touch of his hand. Sensual heat infused her with emotions she'd long since reconciled to leave behind. If Tech gave her life support, then C's gave her life. And yes, she wanted to live!
Yet could she choose C's and still love herself? Or was the price of admission for loving him a prison cell that carried a triple digit sentence? Damn, would she ever be free? Lord knows she'd rather be liberated than turn into Liberty.
Cleo allowed her gaze to slip over C's profile. Time had sharpened his cheek bones and given his squared jaws a firmer clench. His whole façade seemed harder, or maybe colder now.
Had he caught hell during their separation? Would she be wrong to hope he'd had? Even if he didn't, she'd bet dollars to no money, that she caught enough hell for them both. Over the last fifty-eleven months, she'd come to realize that Caesar Gianni held sole dominion over the ice-cold chunk lounging in her chest. In the beginning, the misery of his absence nearly swallowed her whole. Yet, regardless of everything he'd put her through, there she sat wishing he'd want her one more time...love her the way he once had...just one more time!
He shifted his focus to gaze at her from the cut of his eye. "I still do, you know?" the raspy edge of his voice rubbed away the harsh roughness of their combined silence. "Real deal Holyfield, I never stopped."
She snatched her gaze from his to glance out the window, looking at him in the face yielded the same effects as attempting to stare directly into the sun. The overwhelmingness of his visual perfection singed her down to the bottom of her soul.
She peeled her thick dry tongue from the roof of her mouth to question him, "Never stopped what?"
"I never stopped loving the shit out of you," his hand drifted to her thigh and squeezed until her gaze met the chocolate browns that always had the ability to cold cock her common senses.
With justified cause, Cleo's eyes rolled. Where the hell had she heard that shit before? "Don't, C's...not now. My chest can't take anymore. I'm done with the empty, I love you's. Especially, when dudes like you and Tech don't even know what the words mean to begin with!"
"Bitch bred Tech! Why the fuck are you comparing me to that refugee?" C's roared before yoking the Chevy to the shoulder of the road. He cocked his head sideways to shoot hatemakers at her from temple to cheek. "Look at me, Cleopatra!"
The demand in his voice vibrated the air around her. Without brushing two thoughts together, she angled her body to face him. What the hell had she been thinking? C's had always been her preferred drug whether by choice or reluctance. No matter his past sins, he was her unshakable addiction. As she stared that well-known monkey in the pupils an old familiar jones flared to life. A jones which should've been laid to rest when she'd leveled up with Tech. The same jones that now rattled and jerked her from teeth to knees. A jones that always compelled her to use and overdose on what she'd craved the most...him. Damn! Why was she here again? Why the hell wasn't she stronger?!
The only thing left for her to do now was beg. Beg for her life, beg for her soul, but above all else, beg for her heart. "Please, C's!" Her plea escaped her lips in a desperate broken whisper. She pushed herself against the passenger door, forcing whatever distance she could between them.
"Please C's what? Don't make you feel me!" His fist slammed down on the dashboard. "Nah, fuck your, Please C's!" He wrapped a palm around the back of her neck and guided her to him. When her breasts pressed against the hard rise and fall of his chest his amber fire stare buckled her the fuck down. "There's a lot of shit falling down around me that fucks my understanding dry. Shit, that straight up doesn't make any sense. Not you and me, though. Never you and me, bae. Caesar and Cleopatra will always make sense." His voice lowered to a deep treble which aggravated the rapidly dampening center at the apex of her twitching thighs. "So, how're you gonna fix your mouth and beg me not to speak what's in my soul?" His other hand snaked up between them to rest over the pounding at her sternum bone. "Especially, when it's my heart beating down your fucking chest?"
The hell! His heart?! Was he in denial or just dumb?!! He no longer had any claims on her heart. Her heart stopped beating for him the moment he ripped it from her chest almost two years ago! His audacity stretched her eyes wide and reminded her why they could never again be an us.
"Fuck that Waiting to Exhale shit you on, Trouble. This," he caressed the skin between her breasts, while his assessing stare wandered over her face setting blaze to each feature it touched, "will always be mine. No matter how many dudes and females get between us. I'm in your bloodstream, bae," she turned to look away, but the grip at the nape of her neck forced their eyes to stay connected, "...and that's cool 'cause you're in mine. It's been that way since the moment my mom stood you in front of me."
"And that all stopped mattering to me when your actions made lies out of your words." She broke the grip on her neck to turn and face the windshield. "Now when I look at you, all I remember is how dead and cold your eyes were when you told me I wasn't good enough for-,"
"Bae-,"
She sliced his next words from his tongue with a hatemaker forged in the darkest pit of her personal hell. "You know what the craziest thing is, though? Five hundred and forty-six days later and I can still taste the smoke I choked on from your exhaust pipes. You made a fool out of me that day," he opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a raised hand, "But you also made me stronger...harder. Because of you, I no longer mistake bullshit for truth or game for love."
"Bae, my reasons for leaving-,"
"Doesn't matter anymore, C's," she brushed his hand from her chest. The last thing she needed was to fall victim to the prettiness of his lies. "Look, my jaw hurts and I can't see anything but spots out this damn eye. Instead of bustin open, could of's, would of's, or should of's how about you bust me open a bottle of Tylenol?"
He reached up and tucked one of her fly-away curls behind her ear. His fingers lingered to stroke the swelling on her cheek. "My love for you is not a game, Cleopatra."
"Just...drive, Caesar," she uttered, closing her eyes against the wet burn which threatened to put the ache in her chest on blast, "please, just drive."
****
C's opened his mouth to press his cause. He had to make her understand the motivation behind his madness eighteen months ago. Her! She'd always been his madness. Didn't she know she ordered every step he took. She was his religion. The little faith that remained with him, he placed in her. Each beat of his filthy heart synced with the rhythm of hers. Yeah, the block knew him as game ready. And okay, he'd ran a couple of plays on her in the past, but how the hell couldn't she feel the real in his love? She fucked him up almost to the point of embarrassment.
"Bae-," his pager vibrated against his hip.
The muscle in his jaw locked and imprisoned his words behind his teeth. He snatched the pager from the waist band of his jeans. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from Cleo to glare down at the number flashing across the screen. The crib. Shit! Putt must've already made it back to the Circle and gave his moms the word. Everything he wanted to say to her would have to wait until the dumb shit slowed down. Done for now with the theatrics, he shifted in drive and pulled the car back on the road.
Ten minutes later he pulled the Chevy into the driveway. His moms and Ant waited in the yard, while Putt and Taz sat on the hood of the El Camino parked alongside the curb in front of his house. Each of the looks on their faces ranged from pissed to stressed. Everybody was turned to ten, and he could tell his moms and Ant expected the worse. Shit, one look at Cleo and their expectations wouldn't be disappointed. With all the bruises and swelling on her face, his girl was barely recognizable. Spend might as well had beat her like a man because he'd doubted the ending results would've been far from the actual outcome.
C's leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. A quiver rocked her frame. The knowledge his touch still dictated her body's reactions made him want to beat his chest in king of the fucking jungle fashion. The tell testified there was still a chance for them. Such a thought sparked life to his dick. A smirk crept across his grill as he pushed open the driver's door and slid out.
"What went down in those janky ass bricks today? Is Cleo ten?" Ant questioned, while trying to look over his shoulder into the car.
"Language, Mark Anthony." His moms elbowed Ant in the side without sparing him a glance. "Putt refused to tell us anything other than you had to go to Messalina to help Cleo. What happened out there? Where is she? Is she okay?"
"Ma, slow down. Cleo's fine." He glanced over his shoulder to eyeball his girl only to realize she still sat in the car.
Now what? He rounded the Chevy and yanked open the passenger door. Cleo stared up at him. Unshed tears glossed her sticky green irises. The expression on her face gnawed at his calm. The look of embarrassment and shame beat down her already battered features. Her countenance wrecked the thug shit out of him. Shame and embarrassment? Those were the last two things that should be fucking her up right now. She'd endured a situation that had turned many into a statistic. The hard knocks she'd bogarded her way through that day had proved her to be something he'd already knew her to be. A survivor. He refused to let her crumble after the fact.
"Get out!" He held out a hand to her.
The look of defeat bled from her features as she mugged the hell out of his hand. A sigh crawled from her mouth. She then placed her hand in his. The mind destroying shock of her warm palm in his took shots at everything that spoke with thug passion about him being a man. His dick stood in retaliation and he mentally checked himself. She wasn't there to get wet up, and then split up by him. His girl needed him to hold her down. Period.
Once he had her under his arm, his moms rushed them. "Oh, Dios mio. Your face...your beautiful face." His mom's saltwater drenched browns crash landed on him and detonated, "who did this to her? Was it that girl and her mother?"
"No," Cleo shook her head and lowered her gaze to eyeball her sneakers, "Spend did...he tried to take...to tak-," her tongue slammed on brakes and her words skidded to a stop. With no further warning, her body folded. He caught her before she hit the ground, lifting her into his arms. "P-put me down, C's. I'ma little dizzy, that's all...I'm alright."
He ignored her nonsense and looked to Angela for an answer. "Ma?"
"She more than likely has a concussion," Angela moved around him to rush over to the Chevy and open the back door. "Here, put her back in the car. We should get her to the ER."
"No! I don't need to go to the hospital," Cleo yelled, while trying to squirm her way out of his arms.
"Man, girl! Shut your lil' crazy ass up. Your shit is split. You should be the first one ready to go get that empty head fixed," Ant crowded his side to fire hatemakers at her from point blank range.
She returned shots with a hellified unit of her own. "Forget you, Ant! You might as well shut the hell up, because ain't nobody over here listening to you. I'm not going anywhere."
A look...something bordering a little over the lines of blatant disloyalty percolated between them. Nah, he was tripping over shit not there. He forced his mental to shake off thoughts of familial fuck ups and blades to the back. Cleo and Ant didn't have enough sheist in them to try him. Not like that...never like that!
His moms slapped the back of Ant's head.
"Ow, shi-," Ant groaned from behind him.
His moms pointed a finger in Ant's face. "Next one will be in your filthy mouth."
Ignoring his mom's and Ant's stunts, his gaze fell to his girl. "You're right, you don't have to listen to him. Since you dealing with me though, you know better. If moms say you have to take a ride to make sure you ten, then you better strap in," he said before dumping her in the back seat.
"Why are we still discussing this? You're going, Cleo, and there's nothing left to say about it." Angela stepped around him and slammed the back door to cement her point.
Once satisfied Cleo wouldn't leave the car, his moms hurried around to climb into the passenger seat. When he moved to jump back into the driver's seat, Putt slid from the hood of his car and held up a hand to stop him.
Irritation mother fucked his cool. "Que pasa?"
"My folk just told me that bitch from Happy Hills been blowing up beepers and my line to get at-," a money green Chevy Cavalier pulled to stop in front of Putt's car.
Trap soldiers' PTSD drove all hands under shirts to the waist bands of jeans. The last time an off-brand car pulled up, the hood bled red. Never again would anyone of them be caught slipping and sliding on assumptions based on how the next motherfucker would decide to flex. Once upon of time C's had known that block bleeder commandment better than a pimp knew which one of his hoes' pussy popped the best. Now, because of all the blood that baptized the streets of his hood, he'd never again forget.
Giving zero shits about how his moms would later trip, he snatched his nine free of his waist band and aimed it at the passenger window of the Cavalier. More cautious than a king pin under indictment, he approached the car with his index finger caressing the trigger. Taz's, snake ass, did the same on the driver's side of the car. His eyes slitted as his glare penetrated the lightly tinted windows of the creep mobile. The outline of two females with their hands raised met his calculating glare. Gripping the gun tighter, the muscles in his face locked. What the hell did these hoes want?
He gestured with his nine for the bald-headed bitch in the passenger seat to lower her window. When she did recognition fucked his mind proper. Killa.
"Yo, let me holla at you for a minute," when she still found herself eye to barrel with his glock, her eyes rolled. "It's about the shit you wanted me to look into...you know, the ghost problem." Her glare sharpened and became pointed.
"Why the fuck didn't you hit me on the hip?" Putt demanded from next to him with enough bass in his voice to knock the trunk of the Chevy.
Ant came to a stop on the other side of him. "Hell yeah, you can't be pulling up around here like your ass is Teflon and Kevlar blessed."
"Yeah well, what I gotta say ain't for everybody ears, jit," she dismissed Ant and Putt with a wave of a hand. Her big muddy brown eyes swung back to him. "Shit's critical. Think I'd be here like this if it weren't?"
His ghost problem? El Fantasma. He lowered his gun, but his unit remained in place. If she had word on the snake roaming his blocks, then he had to run this bitch some time. He looked to Ant, "go ahead, drive ma and Cleo where they need to go. I'll have Putt, drop me off after I'm done here." Ant hit him with a dirty look, and then split his lips to say something. He must've thought better of it because his mouth snapped closed just as quick as it opened. When he moved to leave, C's grabbed his arm to hold him in place, "hit me if this shit with Trouble is serious."
Ant nodded before pulling away to head over to the Chevy. Knowing he needed to explain to Cleo, he followed and stopped at the back window of the car. Seconds later the blackout tint lowered.
"What?" Attitude dripped from both sides of her mouth.
Shoving her bullshit to the left, he reached in and ran a thumb over the swelling under her eye. "Give me a minute to square things here and I'll be right behind you."
Cleo's lip quirked in a, I don't believe that shit, fashion. Her gaze then darted to the Cavalier parked at the curb. "Humph, reruns don't ever change around here, do they?"
He shook his head. "Bae, that's not what you-," She waved his words back at him before he had a chance to spit them out.
"Look don't worry about following behind me, you got more than enough females dictating your steps already. Besides, I've learned to carry myself since we fell off. It's not like I had a choice. Shoot, you taught me in the end all I have is me," she said, before raising the window.
He clamped his back teeth together to lock the slick shit he wanted to say in place. Damn, he loved his fucking girl, but all her frontin' violated his nerves. You'd think she would've grown out of her insecurities since they'd chilled apart, yet there she sat still being guided by the same tossed up frame of mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head and spun away.
By the time Ant backed the Chevy out of the driveway, Putt and Killa waited for him at his front door. His eyes swept the boyish chick from dome to sneakers. Nothing about her hook body frame enticed his dick to even twitch. She'd might as well had been one of his homeboys by the lack of affect she inspired in his ever need to fuck.
Once inside, he waved a hand at the love seat before sitting in the leathered armchair across from her. After he placed his nine in his lap, he trained a stare on Killa. "Holla at me,"
"Dude, can you get at me," Her gaze cut to Putt for two splits of a second, and then darted back to him, "one on one? The shit you need to hear is for your ears only."
"Nah, he's the eyes in the back my of head and the reason I can hear everything ranging out here in these streets. Facts, I think of him as me and I don't hide shit from me. So, say whatever you came here to say."
She sucked in a shit ton of air, and then her flat chest caved when she exhaled. Settling her forearms on her knees, she bobbed her head once. "Alright, bet. Last night I came to town to chill at the Dollhouse until my peoples got off work." She paused a moment to eye stalk his face for a reaction, but he had no stunts or fronts to give. When he only dead eyed her in return she continued. "While there, a dude I use to fuck off with in juvie got at me. You see, we were in for-,"
"Puta, please tell me this shit you spittin is going somewhere?" Putt growled from his spot on the sofa. "Nobody here has time to entertain bullshit that's not even worth a nickel and dime conversation."
"I'm getting to that, damn," Killa's face balled in on itself. Her beady stare penetrated Putt's, "but if you don't have time, cool. Run your fat burrito inhaling ass out of here and let grown folks get back to talking."
Without saying a word, Putt left the couch. He crossed the living room in a blur of red and blue. Vato moved with a purpose so swift, C's would've sworn the motherfucker teleported to the girl's side. In a move too smooth for the bullshit fashion, Putt pulled his heat and shoved it into Killa's mouth.
"I don't know who you used to dealing with, but what I can tell is you're not use to fucking with a motherfucker like me." He grabbed the back of her head and pushed the barrel of his .380 further down her throat. "If you were, you'd know respect is what will keep your bull dagging ass breathing. Specifically, when you step in firing distance of a hijo de puta loco like me. Now you can either llegar al puto punto or you can deep throat my glock until it bust hollow points."
The muscle in C's jaw ticked. They were getting nowhere fast as fuck. Between Killa's greasy ass mouth and Putt's zero tolerance for slick bitches with slippery tongues, his enemies would be at the gate in no time ready to facilitate his fall. Putt was right! He had no time for this. Shit, he had no time for none of this unnecessary extra shit, Putt and Killa called themselves doing. Cleo needed him. His familia depended on him. And his block would never thrive without him. His load was too heavy to stop and bear the weight. He refused to squander hours, minutes, or even seconds on trivial back and forth that had nothing to do with his bottom line.
"Vato, get that heat out her mouth so she can give me the word." C's snatched his glare from Putt and trained it on Killa. "And you better have some cash money shit to say or I guarantee you won't say nothing else."
Putt snatched the barrel of the gun from Killa's mouth.
"Really? I'm here doing y'all a favor." A frown crumpled her features as she used the pads of her index finger and thumb to caress the corners of her mouth. "If not for me you'd never see El Fantasma coming, nigga." She waved a hand at random shit in the living room while her voice climbed in volume. "All this shit would be his by the end of the summer."
"Hombre, her mouth is running but she still not saying a damn thing that'll give her a pass on coming through without being told." Putt sniffed the barrel of his .380, his nose wrinkled. He then proceeded to use the front of Killa's shirt to blot away the beads of saliva from his piece.
Opening and closing her lips, Killa fired a succession of hatemakers at Putt. After committing visual homicide her eyes swung to him. "Word is old boy is set to take it off your shoulders at the end of July. Let my peoples tell it, by then everything will be in position for a smooth criminal take over."
"Yeah?" A brow rose as his stare attempted to penetrate her skull. Since he'd chopped up Happy Hill, him and Killa had come to an agreement. She'd hold shit down in Pritchard and he'd allow her to continue milking those bricks on his behalf. So far things had ran like tic-tok since she'd taken over. He, however, could throw this bitch further than he trusted her. Given the opportunity Killa would shove a blade in his back with no guilt-ridden problem. That's why he needed more than her shit stained word. What he needed was facts that hit harder than a crack head just out of rehab. "Why the end of July?"
Putt mugged the hell out of Killa. "Why not now?"
"Because the shipment won't make it to your stash house in Shamuckla until the end of July," The tension in Killa's face eased as a smirk set up shop on her thin lips.
So, this freak bitch did know something. He lifted his nine from his lap and placed it on the marble coffee table. Sliding to the edge of his seat, he stared Killa in the pupils. "Holla at me! Why put me up on this? Why not rock with El Fantasma to level up your position."
"Because you're the devil I know, and I don't trust his tatted-up silver cap wearing ass. Not after how he switched out on me last time. Look, real talk, somebody in your squad," she tore her eyes from his to flick a glance over at Putt before looking back to him, "has jumped teams and is running their damn mouth. How you think old boy knows about the drop at the end of July?"
"Somebody from the squad?" Disbelief chopped and screwed Putt's features, "mierda de toro!"
Disregarding Putt, her gaze remained locked on his. "Peep this here, dude's not even worried about kicking up shit with the connect. Some nigga named Beeze or Sleaze says he can get him an introduction with Maldonado. That way El Fantasma can slide into position without retaliation once they put you in the ground."
C's eyes locked with Putt. Beeze or Sleaze, huh? Et tu, Ese? No respect...not until you made a bitch bred soplon bleed. Fuck, another variable!
****
Cleo allowed C's to help her from the backseat of the Chevy. She ignored the wildfire his touch always set to her senses. Instead, she concentrated on the pounding in her head and sharp throb behind her eye. It had swollen shut sometime during the fifty-eleven hours she'd spent in Sacred Angels' ER. During which time they discovered she had a slight concussion, a sub-something hemorrhage in her left eye, and a few bruised ribs.
Yep, Spend had Bishop Don Juan-ed her ass. If she hadn't known any better, she would've sworn on a pile of bibles that she owed his bad doing ass several stacks.
Because of the nature of her injuries, she'd lost count of all the lies she had sold about being jumped by a gang of unknown bitches. Her story received more than a few side-eyes, but since Angela worked there, the doctors and nurses accepted her bullshit tale with very few questions.
Once out of the car, she allowed C's to lead her through the darkness across the yard to the front door. Angela fell in step next to her, while Ant followed closely behind. When they reached the bottom of the steps, Liberty stepped from the shadows wearing a Popeyes uniform doused in flour. The scent of fried chicken wafted from her like a stereotype come true. Cleo paused mid-step, one foot actually dangling inches from the ground.
"Liberty?" She questioned unable to trust the figure standing before her. Didn't the doctors say something about concussions causing delusions?
C's arm threaded itself around her waist and pulled her closer into his side. "Why the fuck are you here?"
"Language, Caesar," Angela moved closer to her side, effectively wedging Cleo between her and C's body.
Running the Giannis', no attention, Liberty stepped forward with all of hades blazing supernova bright in her penetrating irises. With a face void of emotion, she violated the five feet of Cleo's personal space. When they were close enough to recycle each other's air supply, Liberty lifted a finger to her face. Cleo flinched, and then her mother's hand dropped.
"What happened to your face?" Liberty questioned in a voice that had even less life than a three-day old corpse.
"Bitch, guess," Ant barked from behind.
Liberty's head jerked back like she'd been fired on. "Angela, you better get your little creep baby, before I tell him some shit that'll fuck up his whole world." Angela's bottom lip hit the pavement and her face turned Michelle Pfeiffer white. "What, you didn't think anybody knew? Oh, I get it, you didn't think Mateo knew."
"Ay, who the fuck are you talking-," C's began.
"Who the fuck she call a creep-," Ant started.
Everybody started yelling at once. All pressed to be heard over the other. Each bass driven word nailed scorching heat through Cleo's brain. She crumpled over and her hands shot to fist themselves in the curls at the sides of her head. "OH, MY FUCKING GAWD, STOP!" Cleo hissed
"Bae?"
"Ay, Girl!"
A hand gripped her arm. "What's wrong with her?" Liberty demanded.
"She has a concussion," Angela slipped an arm her around Cleo's shoulders, "let's go inside and talk. None of this is the neighbors' business."
Angela looked at C's and jerked her head towards the door. Once inside he led Cleo over to the couch. Ant dropped down on the armchair, while Angela excused herself to run upstairs.
Liberty took the cushion next to hers. With a tooted lip, her gaze flicked over the downstairs, before she rolled her eyes back. "Now run this shit back to me and don't leave out nothing."
In a monotone soundtrack Cleo retold the worse hour of her life. When everything was said and there were no more words left to relay her fear, the inside of the house sounded like the bottom of a grave. Without a word to the first, Liberty stood and headed toward the door.
Moving faster than a sack of hard during a drought, Angela jumped in front of the door with a stack of papers attached to a clip board. "Before you go, you should read and sign these."
For a minute and a half, Liberty and Angela glared at each other. Both appeared to be ready for whatever. After a few more awkward seconds, Liberty snatched the forms from Angela's grasp and began to flip through the pages.
"Hmph." With a slow shake of the head, Liberty's nut-brown stare rediscovered Angela's. "Where the hell did you get these?"
Angela's shoulders squared as she lifted her chin. "Where do you think?"
Liberty released a laugh that spit major shit about not a damn thing being funny. "If his switch out ass would've come off the side lines years ago...maybe, just maybe...this wouldn't be our position." Liberty's glassy eyed stare swung to meet hers, and something flickered in the depths of her pupils. It was an emotion she never thought Liberty capable of. However, just as fast as it surfaced it disappeared. After regarding her for a moment or three, Liberty released a sigh drenched in a lifetime of guilt and regret. She then held out a hand palm up. "Motherfuck would've, should've, and could've. Give me a pen so I can get the hell out of here."
Angela placed a pen in Liberty's hand, and she proceeded to scribble her name all over the paperwork. Once done, she dropped the clipboard at Angela's feet and the papers glided in all directions. She then shoved Angela from the door, ripped it open and stomped from the house. Not understanding a damn thing happening, Cleo snatched a page near to her foot from the floor. The heading on the paper read, Termination of Parental Rights. Her accusing stare met Angela's.
"Cleo I'm-," Angela bit out.
Not wasting time on explanations or lack luster apologies, Cleo jumped from her seat and raced from the house. By the time she'd made it outside Liberty was already half-way down the block.
"Liberty!" Upon hearing her voice, Liberty's steps slowed to a stop. Yet, she refused to turn around and face her. "So, what...after everything...you throwing me away now. You choosing your man over me?"
Without turning around Liberty answered, "Yes."
A burden Cleo had carried for as long as she could remember, doubled in size and weakened her knees. "Why?"
"Because your being around is starting to mess up my..." Liberty's shoulders rose and fell on the heels of an exhale, "relationship and business. The last thing I need is those white folks popping up at my door checking on you. So, you might as well stay your black ass here with your Puerto Rican family."
"But, I...," Cleo's vision blurred, "but, I...," Liberty began to walk again. "I wanna go with you! I don't want another family. Liberty, please!" Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked, leaving her face drenched in a salty mess. Sobs bucked her frame from head to toe. "Please...I love you, m-ma." The words wrenched themselves free before she could swallow them.
"Shut up! Just close your motherfucking mouth." Liberty rubbed at her face with the heels of her palms, and then turned around. She stalked back towards her with a fierceness only appropriate for a New York catwalk. Once she stood nose to nose with Cleo, Liberty grabbed the sides of her face and pressed her forehead against hers. "You still don't get it do you? You're better than me, you're better than those fucking bricks, and you're better than what almost-," Liberty broke off and took in a few gasps of air as she stared into Cleo's eyes with a watery glare that damn near sunk her soul, "You are the best damn thing I've ever done and I'll slit my own throat before I allow my dumb ass issues to fuck you up beyond the point of repair or worse...turn you into me. You need to forget about that grown ass Haitian boy, but not before you forget about me."
Liberty tore herself away from Cleo and when she walked away this time she kept going.
****
POV: Liberty Bella James ^^
"What the fuck was that?" Liberty chortled through blood and saliva. After nearly an hour of this brand of torture pain licked every piece and part of her. Yet, her self-inflicted punishment was nowhere near close to deserving absolution. "Hate to tell you this, Pat, but your bitch is a bitch. What the hell is your hands made of, tissue and cotton? Again!"
"Naw, now, hun," Pat's sugary than molasses tone sounded somewhere to the left of her, "You've had enough to serve your purpose. If Larry does it again your gonna be stretched out on a table in the county morgue before day tomorrow."
"Fuck you, Pat. You think I'm scared of not breathing? What my next breath brings is what I fear most. What almost happened to my girl is the shit I fear most." Her glare swung back to Larry. "It's enough when I say it is! Do it again, and this time hit me like you have a dick."
She braced herself and seconds later a fist slammed into her midsection. A blinding cramp took root in her stomach. A mushroom cloud of pain resonated throughout her entire body. Old grease, steroid dosed chicken, and the metallic taste of iron forced its way back up her esophagus. Bile and blood shot from her mouth and coated Pat's wine-colored lace curtains in chunks of vomit.
Pat wailed. "Larry!"
Flashes of Cleo's punch swollen face shimmered into focus in her mind's eye. "A-again."
Larry raised his blood drenched fists and prepared for the next blow.
Bass vibrated through Pat's normally sugar and spice tone. "Larry, you hit her again and I swear on your snaggle toothed mama you'll be going in the ground tonight. Liberty, I didn't tell you about Spend so you could use it as an excuse to commit suicide." He then moved in and out of her tunnel vision until he swayed in front of her. Are was it her who swayed? The chilling bite of metal met the palm of her hand. "If your still bent on doing this then it's a motherfucking go. There's no way in hell anybody will be able to look at you and not believe you were in a fight for your life."
A nod bobbed her head. He was right. Nothing more could be done there. She needed to finish setting the scene. In order to do so, she'd have to climb the stairs to hell and tango with another bitch made pussy perpetrating as the devil. Slowly, she limped towards the front door. When her hand grazed the doorknob, she paused. "Wait sixty seconds after you hear the first shot, then call." With nothing left to say, she let herself out of Pat's apartment.
Ignoring the pain, Liberty put on a performance for all the old biddies and nosey project lifers watching. One step after the other, she willed herself through shooting aches to climb the stairs as she did always. At the top, she took a deep breath. A deliberate burn incinerated her lungs. Larry had damn neared her, but every punch and kick she deserved. After what almost happened to her baby girl, being left for dead in a puddle of her own filth would've still been too good for her. Mercy and she may not have a damn thing in common, but atonement could make it right. And she would make it right, even if she had to give up her freedom to do so. Who the hell was she bullshitting, though? She was pushed into this shitty world shackled down in chains.
After a few more shallow breaths, Liberty let herself in to her apartment. Inside, Spend reclined on the sofa with a dish cloth full of ice over his eye. Just the sight of him had her finger itching to squeeze a trigger. The sound of the closing door brought his swollen slitted gaze to hers, and then the motherfucker had the nerve to smile. The front tooth laced in gold was now missing. After taking in her face his smile shriveled.
He struggled in to a sitting position. "The hell happened to your face, baby?"
"What the hell happened to yours?" She demanded as she walked over to the television, never taking her wide-eyed stare from his. Flashbacks of her own rape and Cleo's would be attack merged together in her mind.
"Um," his eyes dropped from hers to search for the perfect lie in his lap, "it was that fast ass daughter of yours."
A brow shot to her hairline and the top corner of her lip curled into a sneer which masqueraded as a smile. "Oh, so, Cleo fucked over your face. And here I was believing I didn't teach her a damn thing." Liberty placed a hand on the T.V. as she regarded the mountain size pile of shit kicked back on her couch. "What happened, Spend?"
"I-I," He slid to the edge of his seat as his gaze zipped between her and the door. "I told her to get up, wash the dishes and cook. T-told her you'd be tired and hungry when you got here. T-that it needed to be done before you came home."
"Hmm." Lies! She pushed the television off the entertainment center. The carpet was so threadbare and worn the screen shattered on impact. "So, she stepped to you like Tyson, 'cause you told her to wash the dishes and cook?"
His eyes bulged from their sockets as he stared at the broken television on the floor. "Naw, she called those lil' Puerto Rican boys she run with." He waved a hand at his face. "They came here and did this to me. If a nigga wasn't so street, them lil' motherfuckers would be in jail right now!"
A smirk did the nasty with her mouth, before she allowed a scream to split her lips. "No, Spend don't! Please stop, Spend!" She lifted her leg and kicked over the coffee table. The glass top exploded.
Spend leaped from the couch, but not before a jagged piece of glass sliced his shin. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Uncertainty played duck and dodge with his features, while he attempted to inch his way towards the door.
Liberty limped over to the entertainment center and let adrenaline take the wheel. With strength given to her by every violated black woman who came before her, she shoved the massive wooden structure. The furniture crashed to the floor, effectively cutting off Spend's escape route through the front door. He jumped back in time to avoid being crushed by an avalanche of lacquered wood, glass figurines, and metal knick-knacks. "Tell me what happened, Big Spend."
"W-what you mean, what happened? Baby, I-I-,"
Liberty stalked forward, snatching the lamp from the end table as she went. "Please don't hit me ag-," she broke off and released a scream that came damn close to shredding her vocal chords. "You're gonna kill me, Spend!"
Spend backed away, steady and slow. "Calm down, baby. You just jonesin. Daddy got a lil' butter stashed away for bad weather days like these. Don't you worry, you just wait here, and I'll go get it."
When Spend tried to turn, she threw the lamp and it slammed into his bad knee. He stumbled. Hell raised fury decimated his well-meaning negro mask. "You glass dick sucking bitch! I'ma kill your-," He lunged for her and came forehead to barrel with a rusty but functional twenty-two.
"Back the fuck up," she said, bringing her other hand up to support her wrist. After he took several steps back, she repeated herself. "What happened, Spend?" He opened his mouth. "And if you lie to me again," She lowered the gun to the front of his saggy boxers, "I'll blow away the tiny piece of you that allows your pussy ass to call yourself a man."
He raised his hands in front of him, palms out. "It ain't my bad. How many times have I told you about her walking around here in that lil' bitty shit she loves to wear? Tossing her ass around in my face like she grown. Well, I'm a motherfuckin' man!" He bang his fist into his chest. "What the hell did you expect-,"
"OH MY GOD DON'T SHOOT, PLEASE DON'T SHOOT! PUT THE GUN DOWN, SPEND!" She pulled the trigger twice. One bullet tore through his chest, while the other penetrated his skull. He died before his body hit the carpet.
On autopilot, Liberty limped over to Spend's body and wrapped his hands around the gun. If her story was to be believed, then his prints needed to be on the weapon as well. Once satisfied, she hobbled over to the end table which held her mother's bible. She snatched it up and thumbed through the pages until she came across a business card. After picking up the cordless phone from the floor, she punched in the number. The phone rung twice, before someone answered.
"Hola," A raspy baritone cracked over the line.
An electric pulse shot through her ear drum and radiated throughout her body. She exhaled a sigh born of heartache and resentment. Motherfuck this man! "Hello, J-Al."
"Liberty." His exaltation of her name provoked her eyes to roll.
Swallowing down everything left unsaid, she forced herself to say the words she'd promised to never say. "Alejandro, I need your help."
"For you, Cosa Salvaje, anything."