CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lights out, muhf*cka…don’t you weep…ya moment in life is comin’ to an end…ruthless bitch done reeled you in…silencer cocked and ready to go…now it’s time ta rock you ta sleep…
“Daaaaaamn, baby, you fine…you gotta fat ass…make that shit pop for me…” I got the nigga sprawled out in the middle of the bed in this cheesy-ass, low budget hotel—the Ahoskie Inn—butt-ass naked. As sick and twisted as the shit is, a bitch can’t front. Lookin’ at this muhf*cka’s body gotta bitch’s p-ssy weepin’ for a ride on his dick. The shit is siiick; thick, veiny and a beautiful golden brown. I wanna feel the dick inside’a me. Wanna see what it is ’bout this nigga that had my mother so muthaf*ckin’ dizzy and dick-dumb. But I don’t want this nigga puttin’ his hands on me; don’t want him touchin’ any part’a my body. I can feel a nut slowly buildin’ up inside’a me as I think ’bout ridin’ his cock, then poppin’ his top.
I stick my hands up my skirt, play in my wet p-ssy, dippin’ one finga, then two, into my hole, scoopin’ out my juices. I slowly suck on my fingas. “You wanna taste this p-ssy, nigga?”
He sits up on his forearms. “Yeah, ma. Stop f*ckin’ ’round and take them f*ckin’ clothes off so I get up in that p-ssy.”
I frown, but keep it cute. p-ssy muhf*cka, who da f*ck you think you rushin’, I think, tellin’ the muhf*cka to be easy. I tell the nigga to lay back and enjoy the show. Tell ’im I’ma give ’im sumthin’ he’ll neva forget. He scoots up toward the headboard, proppin’ pillows in back of ’im.
I slowly pull my skirt up ova my hips, turnin’ ’round. “You wanna f*ck this p-ssy, nigga?” I ask ova my shoulder, bendin’ ova and pullin’ open my ass cheeks to give the muhf*cka a backshot view of my goodness.
He strokes his dick. “F*ck yeah, baby…look how hard you got my shit…”
Think, bitch. How you gonna get up on that nigga’s cock wit’out him puttin’ his muthaf*ckin’ hands on you?
Bitch, get ya mind right. You don’t need’a be tryna f*ck Juanita’s trash. Shoot this nigga and bounce the f*ck on.
F*ck that; squat ova da muhf*cka’s face and smear ya p-ssy all ova it. Then pop his top.
This nigga ain’t worthy ta taste ya p-ssy, ho. Body his ass and go!
I decide to do ’im the way I had’a take Grant out, one bullet at a time. I walk ova to my bag, lettin’ da nigga think I’m gettin’ a condom. The whole time I’m in this piece I’m mindful not to touch shit. I open my bag and pull out my nickel-plated nine-millimeter wit’ the silencer attached. The irony in it all is it’s the exact type’a gun I used when I bodied Grant and his brotha. For some reason, Grant’s face pops in my head. I shut my eyes, tryna will ’im outta my head.
“You ready for this heat, muhf*cka?” I ask, slowly turnin’ ’round.
“Hell yeah. I been ready.”
I grin, aimin’ the gun at ’im. “Good.”
His eyes pop open. “Whhhhaaaaat da f*ck?!? Yo listen, I told you, I ain’t got no money, ma.”
I glare at ’im. “Nigga, please. I ain’t pressed for no muthaf*ckin’ money.”
“Whha-whaa-what’s up then?” he stutters, glancin’ round the room.
“You know Juanita, muhf*cka?”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Nigga, don’t play stupid. The bitch you beat up and left for dead in Brooklyn. Why you do it?”
“Yo, who da f*ck are you?” he asks, tryna raise up. This nigga must think I’m some kinda soft bitch. Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in his right shoulder. He grabs his shit and screeches. “Aaaaaah, f*ck, damn, yo!”
“Muthaf*cka, you shut ya trap, or I will blow ya face off, right now.”
The nigga grunts. Bites down on his bottom lip. “Aaah, f*ck. Why da f*ck you shoot me?”
“Nigga, don’t test my patience. And don’t insult my intelligence. Now, I’ma ask you one more time. Why da f*ck you do that shit to Juanita when you knew she was pregnant? And before you open ya mouth to hit me wit’ some bullshit, you betta take’a deep breath and think ’bout what da f*ck you gonna say.”
He starts stutterin’ again. “I-I-I…yo, listen. I ain’t do that shit, ma; on e’erything.”
Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in his left knee. “Aaaaaaah, f*ck, yo! What kinda crazy bitch are you? Aaaah, fuuuuck! Who da f*ck are you?” The nigga is rockin’ back and forth in pain, tryna grab his shoulder and his knee.
“You shoulda listened to ya mammy when she told you growin’ up not ta eva get in da car wit’ strangers.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. The nigga’s sweatin’ bullets. Fear is pasted up on his face, and it makes my p-ssy drip wit’ excitement. “I’m da kinda bitch you don’t eva get in da car wit’. And I’m da bitch you don’t wanna piss off, that’s who da f*ck I am. Now, again…why da f*ck you beat up Juanita?”
“Yo, I swear to you, I don’t know…” I point the gun at ’im again. Warn ’im that I’ma put some heat to his balls if he keeps up wit’ the lies. The nigga quickly switches up his story; tries to give me some weak-ass song and dance ’bout he didn’t mean to hurt ’er. That he was tryna leave ’er but she wouldn’t let ’im. That she kept beggin’ ’im to stay, then started fightin’ ’im. That he pushed ’er off’a ’im and she fell and hit ’er head on the edge of the table.
“Nigga, shut da f*ck up; I don’t wanna hear no more ’bout this shit. You still lyin’. Her face was beat da f*ck up, nigga. Did you know she was pregnant?” He nods. Tells me that’s what they were beefin’ ’bout. That he didn’t want anotha baby; wanted her to abort it. “So you tried to beat it outta ’er instead.”
“No. Things got outta hand.”
“And then you fled da state, like that was gonna fix shit. Nigga, because of you, Juanita”—I pull off my wig—“is dead.” His eyes widen. “You remember me, muhf*cka? Let me refresh ya memory. I’m Katrina, ’er daughter.”
“Yo, I swear—”
“Muhf*cka, don’t swear shit. Because of you, there’s a lil’ boy layin’ up in’a incubator fightin’ for his life; because of you, there’s a baby I gotta raise now ’cause ya stupid ass had’a kill its mother. And now, muthaf*cka I gotta kill you.”
“No-no…listen. You don’t gotta do this, ma…”
“So you think I should just let you go, is that it?”
“Yo, ma…don’t do this; don’t…”
I stare at the nigga. Take in the blood oozin’ outta his shoulder and knee. Glance at his dick. A sly grin forms on my lips. “You wanna live, nigga? Then I tell you what. Lay back and let me see you bust that dick.”
He frowns. Looks at me confused. “Whaat?! You want me to play wit’ my shit, ma? Are you f*ckin’ serious? I’m in f*ckin’ pain.”
“Bitch-ass nigga,” I hiss through clenched teeth. I walk up on ’im, keepin’ my gun aimed at his head. “I don’t give’a f*ck ’bout ya muthaf*ckin’ pain; I’ve been pained all my life. Now you eitha start yankin’ ya dick or get ya balls blown off. Now which is it gonna be, pain or pleasure?”
The nigga looks shook. And he’s definitely in pain. But I wanna see this nigga nut before I shut his lights. The nigga stalls. And it starts to piss me off. “Muthaf*cka, I ain’t gonna tell you again, you eitha bust ya nut, or get da nut bust outta ya.”
He takes his bloody hand and starts pullin’ at his dick. “Yo, ma, I thought you hated ya moms. Ya’ll was always beefin’ and shit.”
Before I know it, a bitch backhands this muthaf*cka wit’ the back of my gun. “Nigga, what da f*ck that got ta do wit’ how you beat ’er ass? Or how you ran da bitch crazy? Get that dick hard, or I swear on e’erything I stand for, I will torture ya ass, slowly all muthaf*ckin’ night.”
The nigga has tears in his eyes. “Ma, please…can’t you see, I’m bleedin’ all over the place. Aaaaaah…this shit hurts.”
“Then let me add ta ya hurt,” I tell ’im, backin’ away from ’im. I walk ova to my bag, and pull out maskin’ tape. “Tonight, muhf*cka, you gonna wish you neva laid eyes on my mother.” I tear off a large piece, then tell ’im to put it ova his mouth. He refuses ’til I cock my gun and prepare to shoot ’im in his otha knee. “The sooner you bust off, the sooner you can get to where you need to be.”
He keeps beggin’ and whimperin’ like a lil’ bitch and the shit’s gettin’ on my muthaf*ckin’ nerves. The p-ssy nigga has no shame.
Oh, how I wanna f*ck! I pull up my skirt, show ’im my p-ssy. “You wanna smell this p-ssy, muhf*cka? You wanna taste this p-ssy?” I place one foot up on the bed, stroke my *, rubbin’ my gun along the front’a my p-ssy. “Look how wet shootin’ ya bum-ass got my p-ssy, nigga.” He shifts his eyes away from me. “Muthaf*cka, look at me ’fore I blow ya muthaf*ckin eyeballs out.”
He looks back at me. I tell ’im to look at my wet p-ssy. I pull open my lips. The nigga is cryin’ and sweatin’ and bleedin’ all ova the place. “Look at that wet, creamy p-ssy, bitch…you scared’a this p-ssy, nigga…”
I press harder on my *, makin’ fast circles over it wit’ my two fingas. “Mmmm…you beat up and killed da wrong bitch, nigga… Uhhh…”
I got the muhf*cka lookin’ at a bitch like she’s f*ckin’ nuts. I help ease his mind. “Nigga, I ain’t crazy,” I say, dippin’ at the knees as my nut builds up inside’a me. “I’m muthaf*ckin’ dangerous, bitch-ass…uhhhh…and you…mmmm…you was a fool…aaaah…to think ya ass was gonna up ’n bounce…oooohhh…and not get got.”
“I knew ya ass wasn’t no good from da dip, snake-ass muhf*cka. You shoulda got that dick hard for me…p-ssy-ass nigga…mmmm… dick can’t even get hard…uhhh…”
Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in the left shoulder. The muhf*cka starts howlin’ and growlin’ like a wounded animal. He’s losin’ a lotta blood and startin’ to look pale in the face. A bitch is startin’ to feel pressed ’cause I don’t want the nigga passin’ out on me before I get my nut off. I speed jack my * ’til I cum, then run my fingas in and outta my p-ssy. I pull ’em out and suck off my juice.
I stare at this nigga. “Yeah, nigga…don’t worry. You gonna die. I’ma take you outta ya misery.” I slip the gun back between my legs, rub it in between my p-ssy lips, then lick the silencer. “Shootin’ ya ass got my p-ssy so hot, nigga. You don’t know how bad I wanna f*ck…oh, well. This party’s ova.”
I spin off, walkin’ back ova to my bag. I pull out a travel pack of mango wipes, then wipe between my legs. “You know, Juanita may not have been shit. And the bitch mighta been stupid when it came to bitch-ass niggas like you. But guess what? She was still my mother, and you had no muthaf*ckin’ right puttin’ ya hands on ’er. I don’t give’a f*ck how f*cked up she was.”
The nigga is groanin’ and shakin’ his head.
I walk back ova to the bed. “Lights out, muhf*cka. Thanks for the nut.” I press the silencer to his temple and pull the trigger again—Therrrssp!—blowin’ a hole in his skull. “This is for killin’ my mother, bitch.”
Next I shoot ’im in his dick and balls. “And this one’s for da son you left motherless, you f*ckin’ bastard!”
I walk into the bathroom, glancin’ at my reflection in the mirror. A bitch has tears runnin’ down ’er face. I swipe ’em wit’ my hand, pullin’ out my phone. I call Cash, tell ’im what’s what, then fix my face and wig piece. I put back on my glasses, then quietly ease myself on out the room, slidin’ outta the hotel. I hop in my rental and pull off, neva lookin’ back. I take a deep breath, ready to get back home, anxious to finally be free.