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spin, ’til e’ey last nut spurts outta me, and a bitch’s ready to collapse.
AT EXACTLY TWO P.M. I AM WALKIN’ INTO THE SPOT I HAD HOPED I’d neva have’ta see again. I keep it real cute in a black Stella McCartney mini and a pair of black Christian Louboutin flannel, over-the-knee boots wit’ gold military buttons runnin’ all’a way to the knee. I have my bubble-gum pink lambskin Balenciaga work bag wit’ the chunky gold studs hangin’ in the crook of my arm, holdin’ the satchel filled wit’ the fetti for the job in my right hand. Muhfuckas do double-takes as I walk through.
On the surface the shit looks like a reputable auto body ’n detail spot. And on the real, it is. Cash owns two shops and has clients from all ova comin’ through to get their cars piped out ’n customized. So anyone comin’ from off the streets walkin’ in would have no idea that down in the basement, or the dungeon—as it’s called, the real dirty work pops off. This is where Cash manages his hire-to-kill organization. This is where a bitch has collected stacks of paper, literally hundreds ’n thousands of dollas for bodyin’ muhfuckas. Yeah, blood money.
I take a deep breath, walkin’ through an office that has a reception area. The yella-crayon lookin’ bitch sittin’ at the desk, looks up from the book she’s readin’ ’n eyes me.
“Ummm, ’scuse me, can I help you?”
“No, I’m here to see Cash,” I tell ’er, walkin’ by the desk. “He’s expectin’ me.”
She jumps up. “Well, you can’t just walk into—”
“Sweetie, beat it. I do what da fuck I want.” I push open the door to Cash’s office, shuttin’ it in ’er face. This nasty muhfucka has porn playin’ on the 46-inch flat-screen hangin’ on the wall. And he’s stretched back in his leather chair wit’ his big-ass feet stuffed in a pair of white Gucci sneakers propped up on his desk. It looks like the nigga has his hands down his sweats. I suck my teeth. “Nigga, you nasty. Turn that shit off.”
He laughs, sittin’ up in his chair. “Only you will walk up in a muhfucka’s office wit’out knockin’.”
“Nigga, whateva. You knew what time I was comin’ through.” He eyes me, lickin’ his lips. I roll my eyes. “For real; turn that shit off, nigga.”
He grabs the remote and puts the shit on mute. “Yo, check this shit out, ma…you still fine ’n shit, and a muhfucka missed ya evil ass. But, on some real shit, da only reason I haven’t broken ya fuckin’ jaw for slick-talkin’ a muhfucka is ’cause I dig ya mean ass. And you da only bitch that keeps a nigga’s dick hard e’ery time he sees ya sexy-ass. But don’t get da shit twisted. You ain’t runnin’ shit, ya heard? This is my muhfuckin’ office. You don’t wanna see da shit I’m watchin’, don’t look at it.”
“Nigga, that shit you talkin’ don’t move me. It’s whateva, muhfucka. And you know this.”
He smiles, shakin’ his head. “Yo, you still a crazy-ass bitch.” He smirks. “But you got my shit hard as hell, poppin’ that extra shit.”
“Nigga, yuck. You so fuckin’ nasty.”
He laughs. “Yo, a muhfucka missed fuckin’ wit’ you on some real shit, Kat.”
“Well, I ain’t missed fuckin’ wit’ ya ass.”
“Yeah, aiight. What you got for me?” I slide ’im the info, along wit’ a pic of Rosa. I tell ’em I want this shit handled the minute that ho bails outta jail. Yeah, her ass is locked the fuck up for comin’ up to my spot tryna bring the noise. I got that bitch for trespassin’ ’n smashin’ in my window. And for a bonus, I got to knock that ho’s fronts out. He stares at the photo, then looks up at me. “Yo, what’s good wit’ this? I thought you weren’t down wit’ hits out on bitches ’n shit.”
“No, I’m not down wit’ bodyin’ ’em myself. But I ain’t eva say shit ’bout not havin’ a bitch bodied if da ho tries to serve me. So this particular bitch needs ta go.” I open up my satchel and dump out the money onto his desk. “And here’s payment for da service.”
He looks at the stacks, then back at me, shakin’ his head. “I told you, it’s on da house.” I tell the nigga no thank you. Tell ’im I ain’t eva gonna be a bitch that owes his ass shit, or be made to feel like I do. He stands up, straightenin’ out his wears. Looks like he’s lost some pounds. I peep the Gucci emblem on the nigga’s sweats, and the thick-ass lump in the front of his pants. Ohmiiiiiigod, this nigga gotta big-ass dick. I shift my eyes, actin’ like I ain’t peep the shit. Nasty muhfucka probably stood up on purpose so I can can get’a eyeful of cock. This nigga’s dipped ’n paid ’n got dick for days, but that damn face…ugh! It hurts a bitch’s eyes.
I blink.
He grins, shiftin’ his dick in his sweats. I frown. He starts laughin’. “Yo, cut that shit out, ma. I see you lookin’ at all this dick.”
I ain’t gonna front. A bitch wants to see the shit live and direct. The freak nasty me wants to fuck wit’ the nigga. Watch ’im beat his shit off. I decide to keep the shit a hunnid. If the opportunity presents itself, I’m get the muhfucka to pull the shit out.
“So what if I was? Nigga, I’m sittin’ down. And you standin’ up wit’ ya crotch all in my face, of course I’ma look. And?”
He smirks. “Yo, don’t play. You already know what it is wit’ this big-ass dick.”
“Yeah, that a big dick don’t mean shit, muhfucka.”
He walks ’round his desk and goes ova to the door and locks it. A bitch ain’t stressin’ it. Although I don’t think the nigga would actually try ’n rape me up in this bitch, I slide my hand down in handbag; just in case.
“Yo, you a real problem for muhfuckas,” he says, walkin’ back ova to his desk. He sits on the edge of it. “You know that, right?”
I tilt my head, raisin’ my brow. “Why you say that?”
“C’mon, ma. You da muthafuckin’ truth. You fine as fuck, mad sexy, and ruthless as hell. That shit is a problem. You could have a muhfucka’s head all twisted up in da game.”
I shrug. “Then I guess muhfuckas should stay away from me.”
