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I laughed at how crazy the bitch sounded. “Mighty funny how what goes around, comes around,” I said, rollin’ my eyes. “Come on, Chanel, get ya shit and let’s bounce before it starts gettin’ hectic out here.”
“Excuse you?” Patrice said to me.
“Don’t,” I warned, givin’ her the evil e
ye. “Not today, boo-boo. Please don’t.”
“No, don’t you, bitch,” she said.
I laughed at her ass, but I knew if she got up I was gonna beat her face in. She kept it cute and kept her ass in her seat.
“What, you ain’t got your aunt’s back if shit kicks off?” Elise asked, lookin’ at me all indignant ’n shit.
“Basically,” I said. “You know me and Patrice don’t get down like that. Besides, a bitch didn’t come out here to be breakin’ up my nails and gettin’ all dirty ’n shit; especially for her ass.”
“Whatever, bitch,” Patrice said, rollin’ her eyes. “You know you can get it, too.”
“Is that so?”
“Both of you stop. No matter what the fuck is goin’ on between the two of you, ya’ll bitches still family, and when shit jumps off ya’ll should be puttin’ that bullshit to the side and have each other’s back. Ya’ll blood, and should never let no fuckin’ nigga come between ya’ll.”
I laughed. “No disrespect, Aunt Elise. It’s a bit too late for that. Any bitch who fucks my man ain’t no damn family of mine. And a bitch like that gets what the fuck she gets.” I looked over at Patrice and stared her down. “It’s called karma, sweetie. Obviously, she didn’t get the memo.”
Aunt Elise’s eyes widened. Patrice glared at me, but the only reason she didn’t try to get at me was because she was too focused on Tiny. Chanel and I stepped off, leavin’ them bitches lookin’ like two fools. And just as we were makin’ our way over toward the liquor, Tiny passed us, headin’ toward where Patrice was sittin’. She offered a smile. Her beef with Patrice had nothin’ to do with me, and she knew it. I smiled back, bouncin’ my ass to Busta Rhymes’s “Touch It” remix. The deejay had that shit pumpin’. When the nigga slipped “Make It Clap” on, bitches were poppin’ them hips and niggas were tryna get they grinds on.
“Oh, shit,” Chanel said suddenly. “Looks like it’s ’bout to get messy out this bitch. Tiny and ya aunt over there beefin’.” I turned around, cranin’ my neck, and sure ’nough Tiny had her hands on her hips, and Patrice had stood up and they were goin’ back ’n forth. Next thing I knew, Tiny slapped the shit outta Patrice. Patrice stumbled backward—and that’s all it took. Tiny was yokin’ Patrice’s ass up, beatin’ her down like a nigga. That’s when my aunts Elise and Rosa set it off on Tiny, pullin’ out razors and slashin’ up her back, chest, and face. Blood was everywhere. Tiny hit the ground and all three of them started stompin’ and kickin’ her. Then Elise set Tiny’s weave on fire. Bitches started screamin and scramblin’, then guns started poppin’ off. By the time my cousins were able to get my aunts off Tiny, the bitch’s hair and scalp was in flames and she was all gashed up. Her blouse was shredded and one of her titties was hangin’ out. Poor thing! It was terrible. They fucked her up somethin’ terrible—all over some sorry-ass nigga and Patrice bein’ the trouble-makin’ bitch that she is.
“Well,” I said, “hopefully they don’t try ’n serve me. But since my moms on her bullshit, I don’t know what might happen. She talkin’ like the next time I’m in BK they gonna swoop down on me and bring it.”
Am I really gonna have to watch my back with them bitches? I tried to imagine how they would come at me. I wondered if they’d wait until the next family gatherin’ and set it off. Would one of ’em try ’n trick me into comin’ over to their spot, while the rest of ’em hid in closets, then when my back was turned jump out and start swingin’ off? Would they corner me, then pull out razors and start slashin’ me up? I decided to keep my heat packed in my bag just in case.
“That’s real fucked up,” Chanel said.
“Oh well. It is what it is. I’m not pressed, trust. So, what shit Tamia done got herself in now?” I asked, changin’ the subject. I really wasn’t feelin’ any of her drama, but I didn’t wanna talk anymore ’bout my fucked-up mother or her crazy-assed sisters either.
“Some chick stepped to her about some nigga when she was downtown last week and threatened to whoop her ass the next time she called her man’s cell…” Okay, this is where I started zonin’ out. I was so sick of these bitches fightin’ and arguin’ over their half-assed niggas. I had no interest in entertainin’ this shit. Been there, done that. And I had no desire to ever have to whoop another bitch’s ass over a piece of dick. I swore after bangin’ Patrice’s face up that I’d never go there again. And I meant it.
About a year after I bounced on Naheem, I started fuckin’ with this nigga who everybody called B-Love ’cause he was from Bed-Stuy and got mad love from the streets for stayin’ on his grind. The nigga was pushin’ bricks and keys and had shops set up in different sections of his hood as well as in other sections of BK. He was the type of cat who knew how to get money and didn’t give a fuck ’bout rollin’ up his sleeves, puttin’ in work and gettin’ dirty. He didn’t fuck with lightweight niggas. If you wanted him to build with ya ass, you had better come at him with some major paper and be talkin’ ’bout makin’ major moves, otherwise you’d either get laughed at or get ya wig pushed back for tryna waste his time. And he didn’t slouch when it came to takin’ what he wanted, includin’ pussy.
He was six foot two, brown-skinned, well built, and had beautiful brown eyes that sparkled whenever he smiled or laughed. The nigga stayed rockin’ a fresh, low fade cut with spinnin’ waves, crisp sideburns, and a neatly trimmed mustache. Yeah, the nigga was finer than a muhfucka, with a big, long, thick, juicy dick that he knew how to use all night long. But the nigga was ruthless and didn’t give a fuck who he pissed on. It was his arrogance and aggressive nature, along with his persistence, that made my pussy nut in my panties every time he looked at me.
With Naheem on lock and the money train runnin’ low, a bitch had to get back on her grind, so I went back to boostin’ to keep my shit right and keep a few dollars in my pockets at the same time. There was no way I was ever gonna pawn or sell all the jewels ’n shit Naheem had laced me with. I was still lampin’ in his spot over in Crown Heights, but that shit was gonna fold in another two months. I didn’t wanna go back to the projects and have to be up under my moms again. A bitch was feelin’ real pressed ’bout her situation. So when Patrice and I walked up into this Jamaican spot on Atlantic Avenue, I spotted the nigga, B-Love, sitting in a corner booth with two other niggas, checkin’ me out in my fly wears as we approached the counter to place our orders. I knew then I had hit the jackpot. But Patrice was already tryna get her digs in. The bitch was salivatin’, tryna get her shine on. So I played it cute, stepped aside and let her bounce her ass around, click-clackin’ and poppin’ her gum like a real hoodrat.
“You see that nigga right there,” she had whispered. I glanced his way. “That nigga is getting paid out the ass. And word is he got a dick like a horse.”
I shrugged like I wasn’t fazed. But I already knew who he was and had heard how he was movin’. Naheem would mention his name and talk about how he wanted to cut into his pockets by takin’ over some of his spots. Besides, I had bumped into him several times at a few VIP parties, and once down in AC. He’d always have some cute chick on his arm, but the bitch wasn’t no real winner like me. And I was always on Naheem’s arm, and he loved showin’ his hood beauty off. So when B-Love kept starin’ at me instead of Patrice, I knew he knew I was that bitch, so I gave him somethin’ to look at. I slowly twisted my body a taste so he could get a clear view of how my jeans wrapped around my apple-bottom ass like a glove.
“Okay,” I said, frownin’, “And?”
“And I’m tryna ride that shit and run his pockets.”
I rolled my eyes. I doubt it, ho, I thought, cuttin’ my eye over at him, but if you say so. The nigga winked at me, then blew a kiss. I rolled my eyes again, this time at him. He said somethin’ to his boys, then I heard him start laughin’. His boys looked over at us, grinnin’.
Patrice peeped them lookin’ over at us and got all agitated ’n shit. “What the fuck they laughin’ at?” she asked, gettin’ ready to turn it up.
/> I shrugged. “Girl, ignore them niggas. It ain’t that serious. They want some attention. Somethin’ a bitch like me don’t give.”
She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, right.”
