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The only things YB knew were drugs and violence. He earned his respect by hurting and sometimes killing others to survive.
Rufus was the opposite when it came to his looks; he was shorter and stockier than YB. His stomach was big, matching his arms and chest. He sported close-cropped hair and was dark like his cousin, but not as attractive. His lips were black from the weed he smoked constantly, and his eyes were dark and beady as if he were always squinting into the sun.
Both men were clad in Eagles football jerseys, Timberlands, and baggy jeans, but Rufus was the one concealing the .357 tucked in his waistband, snug under his gut. He was the one ready for anything, and seeing Crown in his presence made him more eager to use the gun.
“Crown, I don’t need to trouble in here tonight, please,” Angel pleaded.
“Nigga, you better check them niggas if you don’t want no trouble. Fuck I look like to you?” Crown angrily replied.
Angel shook his head and went about his business. Crown glanced over at YB and shot him a resentful look.
YB paid the nigga no mind and moved through the seedy and dimly lit joint like he owned the place. Rufus was right behind him, being his number two and watching his cousin’s back.
YB looked around for Chaos; she was the only bitch he had an eye for, and Crown knew it. YB felt something for her that was unexplainable. He loved Chaos’s demeanor—the way she moved, hustled, and talked.
Even though YB hated niggas from New York, Chaos was something different. He knew she came from the Bronx, but that didn’t stop him from having a thing for her. In his mind, Chaos was a down-ass bitch, and he could never figure how Crown got her to do what she did for him.
YB and Chaos met a few months ago, which was around the same time the beef between YB and Crown started. Crown was jealous. He noticed the way Chaos would look at YB, and he felt his bitches should have eyes like that only for him. Crown was furious with Chaos and would beat her just for laying eyes on the nigga.
YB hated a man who beat on women. He was a thug, but he lived by a code that you don’t harm women or children. Crown lived by no code, treated his women like products, and made money off their blood, sweat, and tears. YB never respected that type of behavior. He always felt that a true hustler earned his own way through his own sweat and pain. To him, a pimp was a pussy nigga who was scared to get his own hands dirty in the game of life.
YB spotted Sweet, giving a nigga a lap dance in the corner. Crown turned and noticed YB approaching Sweet. His face stiffened and he felt anger and rage growing in his heart.
Sweet had a young nigga in a darkened corner, with her tits pressed against his young face. She grinded on the nigga with fervor and moved her body in tune with a Chris Brown song. She felt his dick hardening through his jeans and wrapped her arms around him, then whispered in his ear, “I can take care of that for you for the right price.”
The young nigga smiled. He was tempted by her offer and had had pussy on his mind since he walked into the club. Sweet felt his hands grabbing her ass sternly and knew it was only a matter of time before she enticed him for a private party in the VIP room.
“Sweet, what’s good wit’ you?” YB asked as he approached from behind.
Sweet turned and a warm smiled curved from her lips. It was always a pleasure to see YB around.
“Hey YB,” she greeted with a joyous tune.
“You seen Chaos?” he then asked.
“Yeah, she went to do a VIP in the room,” Sweet said.
“Oh word?” YB replied, not really thrilled about it.
“Yeah, she should be back out soon. It’s been a while already.”
“A’ight.”
Sweet’s eyes rested on YB longer than they should have, and then she focused her attention back on having the young man fondle her and feeling his hard-on growing bigger.
“You gonna wait around for that bitch, YB?” Rufus asked.
Rufus wasn’t too thrilled about his cousin having feelings for one of Crown’s hoes. To Rufus, they were all bitches and hoes. They were only good for one thing—being down on their knees or lying on their backs and giving him some pussy.
“Rufus, chill. I’m gonna see what’s up,” YB said.
“Nigga, fuck that bitch, yo! You got me in here waitin’ around for that ho, when we need to be out there gettin’ that fuckin’ money. And I’m waiting for that bitch-ass nigga Crown to step to me. I’m gonna show that nigga what time it is, fo’ real; early, my nigga,” Rufus exclaimed.
He tapped the firearm that was tucked snuggly against his gut and continued. “That bitch in the next room, fuckin’ a nigga for some bread for that sorry-ass nigga, and you got feelings.”
“Chill, Rufus. It’s my business, a’ight, nigga?” YB snapped. “You need some pussy or sumthin,’ nigga?”
Rufus sucked his teeth. “Nigga, I don’t fuckin’ pay for pussy. I’ll take that shit from these bitches if I want it. Fuckin’ bitches don’t get none of my fuckin’ bread, you hear me, nigga?”
