Boss Bitch Swag Page 5

  “Find out what?!” she yelled so loud, I wanted to smack the taste out of her mouth. “You got something to ask me, then why don’t you just be a man and ask.”

  To make shit fair, I rose to my feet as well. She wasn’t about to keep talking over me like I was a little kid. Fuck that shit. She wanted war - but little did she know, I’d been plotting my attack all night.

  “You fuckin’ somebody else, Jazz?”

  “Nigga, I can’t even believe you.” She squeezed out two tears for dramatic effect. “Are you serious?” Her hands reached out for me, but I pushed them away. “Malcolm, I’m carryin' yo child.”

  She only called me Malcolm when she wanted something. Not this time. I was done being her sucker; let the next nigga keep her in Fendi purses and Gucci heels.

  “I think you should go back and stay with yo moms.” That was the last thing I said to her that entire night. My mind was fucked up. If we would have kept on arguing, I would have ended up hurting her ass. I never wanted to be the type of nigga that put his hands on a female, so I walked away. I went into my bedroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

  I couldn’t sleep that night; Jasmine’s cries wouldn’t let me. They went on and on until finally around five that morning they just stopped; she’d cried herself to sleep. I lay alone in my big bed, coming down off my high, wondering what the hell happened. I knew I fucked up. I didn’t have any proof Jazz was cheating on me, but I ran with it anyway. I let that nigga Ren get inside my head when I saw the way he looked at Jazz. I knew he wanted to fuck her, and I let that nigga turn me against her anyway. I had to apologize to my baby. As soon as she woke up, I was going to tell her I was sorry and beg her to forgive me. All I had to do was wait.

  I got a call on my cell early that morning from Gina. She was with some cats from New York who were only in town for a couple days and wanted to party while they were here. They were talking about spending some major dollars, so I hurried up and got dressed. Jazz was still asleep when I passed her on the couch. My plan was to drive to the hotel where they were staying, make that money, then get back home before Jazz even knew I was gone. That was the plan - but as I was starting to learn, shit rarely works out how you plan it.

  It took me damn near an hour to drive to the hotel, which was all the way out by the fucking airport. When I finally got there, they were acting all nervous and shit, so I got the hell out of there; I knew a setup when I smelled one. That dirty hoe Gina was probably trying to pay me back for what went down between the two of us, but I wasn’t taking the fall for that shit. I pushed my jacket back just enough so that every eye in the room could see the handle of my 9mm peeking out from my waistband. Nobody moved but me. I backed up slowly until I was out the door, and I kept moving the same way down the hall until I got to the elevators. I knew muthafuckas would try to take me out as long as I was in the game, but I wasn’t about to make it easy for them.

  As soon as I pulled up in front of the apartment, I got a bad feeling. I pulled out my gun and began to prepare myself for the worst. When I got to the front door, I put my key in - but it was already unlocked. I tried to ease it open quietly. If someone was inside, I wanted to catch them off guard; that was the only way for me to get the upper hand. The door wouldn’t move. I placed my shoulder up against it and pushed it gently. As soon as I got it open, I saw her: Jasmine was on the floor, lying in a puddle of her own blood.

  I fell to my knees. “Baby, what happened? Who the fuck did this to you?” I asked, trying desperately to wake her, but I got no response. “Come on, Jazz, wake up.” I put my head on her chest and listened for her heartbeat; she was out cold, but she was still alive. I looked down at her panties around her ankles and knew what time it was: there was blood everywhere; she’d been raped.

  I went clean off on the 911 dispatcher for asking me way too many stupid questions when my baby could have been dying. It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive. I sat in the back with Jazz and held her hand the entire ride. Once we got to the hospital, they rushed her into the ER, but they wouldn’t let me come. I had to sit in the waiting room all alone for two hours with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I was starting to think the worst when the doctor finally came out and told me I could see Jasmine.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked as soon as I laid eyes on her swollen, bruised and battered face. I couldn’t ever remember being that angry in my life. Somebody had to pay; I didn’t care who it was. Whoever beat and raped my pregnant girlfriend was about to experience pain like they never had before.

  “It was Ren.” Jazz managed to choke out those three words. “Ren raped me, Malcolm.”

  To say I was shocked would have been the understatement of the century. I knew something wasn't right with the nigga - but I never in a million years thought he would do something so vicious. We were supposed to be boys; that nigga was supposed to be my family.

  “I lost the baby,” Jasmine whimpered in-between cries. “They said there was nothin’ they could do.”

  She was a mess, both inside and out. Her right eye was purple from blows delivered by his massive fists, and her left one was completely swollen shut. My eyes traveled down to the red handprint he left around her neck; I pictured that nigga choking her, and I wanted him dead. You don’t do that to a woman that’s loved and not lose your life - not on my block.

  I spent the entire day and night searching for Ren. Word on the streets was that he’d skipped town. If only I would have been smart enough to realize that nigga was gamming me to get at my girl. Not only did he rape her, he caused her to lose our baby. I’d never be able to forgive myself for not trusting Jasmine – and in my heart, I knew she’d never be able to forgive me either.

  When I made it back to the hospital, Jasmine’s mother and her new boyfriend were there. They all froze when I walked in the room. I was surprised to see Jazz up and out of bed, but it was a good surprise. Her bruises looked even worse than they did when I saw her earlier.

  She didn’t look happy to see me; none of them did. I knew what time it was. I also knew that the only person I had to blame was myself.

  “I wish you could have just trusted me,” Jasmine said, beginning to cry. “Why couldn’t you trust me?”

  Her tears ripped my heart in two. She deserved an answer to her question, but I didn’t have one. I should have trusted her; she never gave me any reason not to. I kept her at arm’s length the same way I did everyone else - and look where that got us. Everything that was special about us became common. We weren’t the exception anymore; we were just another statistic.

  When Jasmine walked out that door, I knew it was really was over. I couldn’t change what happened to her. I couldn’t even make it better. All I could do was respect her decision and try my best not to make things harder on her than they already were. Jazz was my first love, and losing her was like losing a piece of myself. I felt like I didn’t have a future anymore. The one I wanted so bad, the one with my girl and our baby, was gone. I didn’t care if it took my entire life, I was going to track Ren down and make sure that mine was the last face he ever saw...I wasn’t a killer - but that nigga pushed me.

  Chapter 12

  The next few years of my life were a blur; I bounced around from one chick to the next, never getting too close or too attached to any of them. There was Denise, Kelly, Yolanda, Olivia, Brianna, Jessica, a couple of Tasha’s, three Keisha’s, and a handful of strippers whose names I didn’t even bother to learn. There was no point. I never let them stick around for too long. Once they served their purpose, it was time to go. Fuck spending the night. I wasn’t trying to repeat my past with Jazz. I wasn’t even trying to repeat the one I had with Gina.

  Instead of wasting my time and energy on shit that didn’t matter, I poured myself into my work. By the time I turned twenty-one, I was one of the biggest hustlers in the entire city. The only organization that was bigger than mine in St. Louis was The Black Mafia, which was run by two legendary old school gangste
rs: Hershey Aaron and Maurice “Big Moe” Darrin. They were my idols. I watched everything they did - and I especially kept my eye on Hershey’s daughter, Queen.

  Queen Aaron was striking. Her eyes were the brightest shade of turquoise found anywhere in the world. Shorty was more than fine. She was so physically perfect, it was frightening. She was also linked to a few made men. There was no getting close to her; very few were brave enough to even try.

  My cousin Pee-Wee did get that scholarship to play college ball, and he was there for almost three years - when he tore up his knee during a big game. Because of that, he lost his scholarship and had to leave school. That’s when he decided he wanted to come work for me. I couldn’t turn the nigga down; he was family.

  Pee-Wee became my lieutenant. He watched my back from the time I got out of bed in the morning until I went to bed at night. I trusted him with my life and with my livelihood; almost every business decision went through him before it got to me. I even had him check out real estate agents when I decided it was time to invest in my first piece of land.

  I knew the five bedroom, seven bathroom mini mansion overlooking Lake St. Louis was going to be mine when Pee-Wee brought it to my attention. The pictures in the brochure didn’t do it justice; you had to see it in person to truly appreciate the craftsmanship. The attention to detail was incredible. The bad muthafucka cost me half a million dollars, but it was well worth it. My home was a reflection of me, and I had an image to uphold. My driveway looked like a luxury car dealership: I had the Lambo, the Benz, the Beamer, the Jag, and every model of Escalade they made, including the basic, the EXT, and the ESV. My life was good.

  Jasmine vowed never to let another nigga touch her, and for the last five years she’d been living her life as a lesbian. Her mother was killed a few months back in a horrific car accident. She was so fucked up after her dude left her for another woman that she started back drinking. The night of the accident, she was driving drunk in an ice storm and wrapped her car around a tree; she died instantly. I attended the funeral out of respect. Jazz was there with her live-in girlfriend. If you didn’t know Bootsie, you’d have thought she was a man - but you’d have been wrong. The chick wasn't much to look at, but she made Jasmine happy. I respected her for that.

  Gina was now the mother of three small children - none of which were in her care. She had become her mother: addicted to crack and sucking dick to support her habit. She was a joke in the hood. Niggas clowned her, and hoes she used to call her friends turned their backs on her. It hurt my heart to see her like that; even though we went through some rough shit, I still had love for her. Whenever I was in the hood, I’d break her off with a rock or two simply because I didn’t want her out there selling herself, chasing that high. She always offered to give me some head in return, but I never let her. I couldn't. Her problems weren’t funny to me anymore...I guess I was growing up.

  Chapter 13

  As we got dressed for our cousin Marco’s funeral, Pee-Wee and I both moved in silence. At only twenty-four years old, he fell for the wrong man’s wife and was shot twice in the chest with a sawed-off shotgun. I was devastated when I got the news; I’d always looked up to my big cuz. Whenever he gave me advice, I listened. Even when he told me to watch Ren and Jasmine, I took him seriously - I just didn't follow through the way I should have. Marco left behind four children, two boys and two little girls, and all of his kids had the same mother. Marco and Jayla met in junior high and started having babies soon after that. Jayla was the kind of girl that everybody liked, including me. I had the utmost respect for her. Not too many women would put up with Marco’s cheating and late nights out with the fellas, but Jayla hung in there like a soldier.

  “Boss, I can’t take yo money.” Jayla tried to pass the large envelope full of cash that I’d placed in her hand back to me. “There has to be ten or fifteen thousand dollas in here.”

  “It’s twenty grand, and it’s for you and the kids. Marco was my cousin; that makes ya’ll my family - and I take care of my family.”

  “I don’t know how I’m gonna raise four kids by myself.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed tight. “What am I gonna do without him?”

  The church was empty except for me, Jayla, the kids, Pee-Wee, and my cousin’s body. Everybody else had long gone. All that remained were lost souls. We didn’t know how to move on. It was like being stuck inside a bad dream, one we were never waking up from.

  “Jayla, you know my number,” I said, finally allowing myself to squeeze her back. “If you need anything, I got you. My cousin loved you. I know he fucked up sometimes, but you were his heart.” I tried my damndest to hold back my tears, but I lost the battle. It finally hit me: my nigga was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Jayla continued to hold on to me as I cried for the cousin I lost.

  After the funeral, Pee-Wee and I headed up the block to Kitty's with the majority of the people who were at the service. Kitty’s was a local bar owned by one of the baddest bitches alive. Katrina Jacobs was twenty-eight years old with the face of an angel and a body created to make grown men cry. She was a half-black, half-Dominican beauty born in the city of Santo Domingo. She moved to the United States with her family when she was just four years old. Over the years, they moved from Miami to Atlanta, then to Memphis, before eventually settling in St. Louis, which had been Kitty’s home for more than twenty years of her life.

  “Kitty, when you gon’ let me wife you up?” I toyed with the sexy vixen while she stood before me, refilling my shot glass with Patron.

  “I don’t know.” She put her free hand up on her bangin’ hips. “Maybe when you quit fuckin’ with all these other hoes and come at me like you got some sense.”

  Pee-Wee laughed so hard, he damn near fell off his barstool. My cousin knew I’d been wanting Kitty every since the first time I saw her. Her dark bronze skin and slinky black hair looked so good together. She was about five-foot-nine and somewhere around a hundred and sixty pounds. I studied her silhouette. She was thick as hell; just the way I liked. Her breasts sat perfect, and her round ass looked soft enough to bite. Everything about her drove me crazy – and it had been a while since I felt like that.

  “At least come over to my place tonight and have a glass of Moet with a nigga.” I came at her like I never came at any chick before. “I know you can appreciate a nice bottle of champagne.”

  “I prefer Cristal.”

  “I thought you might.”

  She was hard to get, but she wasn’t playing. In the all the years I’d been coming to Kitty’s, I never once saw a nigga get so much as a cell number. She owned her own business, dressed to kill, drove a hot ride, and always looked her best. She was a Boss Bitch, and she belonged with a Boss Nigga.

  “I don’t close ‘til two,” she reminded me. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til then.”

  And neither was I. I waited patiently for her for damn near six hours; for Kitty, I think I would have waited a lifetime. I recognized the hustler in her. She had enough workers there that night to cover her, so she could have left anytime she was ready - and I knew it. She just wanted to see if I would actually sit there and wait all that time; it was a game I would have played myself. Kitty was in a whole other league than the broads I was used to bangin’. She had class and a bank account big enough to support that classy lifestyle without having to come up off of some nigga. It was time for me to step up my game.

  It was a quarter to three when we finally stepped out into the cool night air. I opened the passenger side door to my carbon black metallic BMW 750 Li, but she wasn’t having it. Kitty was the type of chick that had her own and liked showing it off. So, I did the gentlemanly thing and walked her to her ride. Her two-door Aston Martin coupe was killing the parking lot. Watching her slide behind the steering wheel in those tight curve-hugging jeans was torture to my dick. It was time to get up.

  We were both doing at least ninety on the highway. There was no traffic out at that time in the morning, so the highways flow
ed smooth all the way from the riverfront to the lake area. It didn't take long to make it back to my place. Kitty couldn’t believe my house, and it did my pride some good to finally have something that impressed her. That was my opening.

  As I began to give Kitty a tour of my kingdom, I popped a bottle of Cristal and handed her a glass. She went in and out of every room but one: my bedroom. I couldn’t even get her to step one foot inside the door. She was going to be a bigger challenge than I first thought. If I didn’t think she was worth it, I wouldn’t even have bothered - but I knew she was my Boss Bitch...all I had to do now was get her to realize it as well.

  After the tour, I poured us a second glass of champagne and led my guest to the dining room, where the Italian feast I’d ordered earlier that night was waiting. I knew the owner of Mariono’s well; I scratched his back, and he scratched mine. He never kept his kitchen open past eleven and rarely delivered his fine cuisine - but this was a personal favor. He owed me one; actually, he owed me a few - but if this went the way I saw it going, I’d be sure to invite him to our Boss wedding. A nigga was just that sprung; I hadn’t even gotten the pussy yet, and I was already trying to wife her up.