Flawless 3: The Finale Page 6

  “That bitch is heartless,” Romeo reminded him. “Shit, look the word up in the dictionary and you’ll see that hoe’s mug.”

  Desmond shook his head vehemently as he proceeded to break apart the 50 lb. brick with a screwdriver. “Nah…After sittin’ back and thinkin’ ‘bout that shit, that don’t ‘een sound like Dana. She may not fuck with me half the time but she’d never do anything to hurt Jordan.”

  “Yo’, this was the same bitch who busted ya window out with ya son in the backseat.”

  “That was different.”

  Romeo curled his lip up dramatically. “It was?”

  Desmond didn’t miss the sarcasm in his friend’s tone. Since he knew that he sounded naïve he decided to just drop it. After breaking apart the last bail, he fired up an L and took several tokes. Desmond wouldn’t admit it, but Kim was stressing him the fuck out. Seeing her with some other nigga had him mad as hell. But what he didn’t know was that she went to sleep alone with him on her mind every single night. She just needed time to figure out if being with him was where she belonged. Kimberlyn couldn’t risk the safety of her child for no man.

  Fuck am I gon’ do with this girl? She gotta nigga losin’ his mind, Desmond thought.

  “Ya’ll mufuckas just need to fuck and make up,” Romeo said.

  “Yeah…I’mma hit her up tonight and see what she on ‘cuz I can’t take bein’ away another month,” Dez admitted. After passing the L to Romeo, he tossed his keys to Jamal and asked him to pull his whip up.

  Jamal bit his tongue, even though he didn’t appreciate being treated like a bitch. He’d been hugging the block for seven years in hopes that he’d eventually earn a promotion, but it would never come. Desmond didn’t fuck with the young nigga like that—especially after he snitched on his homeboy Omar. If he could easily turn on a loyal friend, then were no limits to the sheisty shit he’d do to get ahead. Desmond merely kept him around to keep a watchful eye on him. It was either that or kill him off, and Desmond couldn’t afford to lose any more of his soldiers. Manpower was money.

  “Aight.” Jamal swaggered out of the building and made his way to Desmond’s Maserati.

  “Wassup with you and Shayla?” Desmond asked. He knew they weren’t rocking with each other like how they used to.

  Romeo ran a hand over his fresh cut. “I don’t even know,” he answered truthfully.

  Meanwhile outside, Jamal hit the unlock button on the remote control car key. After hopping in the driver’s seat, he started the engine—

  BOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!

  The explosion was strong enough to shake the earth. Fragments of metal and burning flesh sprinkled the ground of the warehouse’s parking lot. Everyone inside, including Romeo and Desmond, scrambled out to see what the commotion was.

  An intricate remote control bomb taped under his whip left Dez’s sports car a fiery, blazing death trap. If he hadn’t asked Jamal to fetch his ride it would have just as easily been his remains scattered all around them. Now there was no doubt in Desmond’s mind that someone was out to get him.

  9

  One Week Later

  Shayla was doing her usual ritual of scrolling through Netflix when Kimberlyn called her that evening. “Hey, what’s up girl?” she answered.

  “I was thinking about hitting a club tonight and wanted to see if you were trying to step out. Please say yes,” Kim added. “I don’t wanna end up having to call Nina. I don’t need that pregnant bitch cramping my style.”

  Shayla burst out laughing. “But that’s your girl though,” she teased.

  “She is, but a bitch might be trying to get chose tonight.”

  “Desmond is gonna kill you,” Shayla told her.

  “Desmond needs to worry about his crazy ass baby mama and get off my dick. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love the man but I get tired of the bullshit. I didn’t sign up to deal with Dana and her nonsense. He can have that shit.”

  “You know that nigga’s probably missing you like crazy.”

  “I miss him too, but right now I’ve found solace in keeping my distance,” Kim explained. “But enough about that. Are you trying to go out tonight or what? I’ll understand if you ain’t feeling it—”

  “No, you know what? You were right about what you said to me. I can’t hole myself up in the crib, crying over spilled milk. Like you said, it’s time I got back to the real world. Fuck it. I’m with it.”

  Kimberlyn squealed in excitement. She already had the perfect outfit laid across her mattress along with a trusted baby sitter for Jordan.

  “I wanna invite a friend though,” Shayla said. “She’s being going through something similar and I’m sure she could use a good time.”

  It was a quarter to midnight when Shayla, Kimberlyn, and Liberty walked inside a crowded Compound. Fellas were tossing compliments and offering drinks from every different angle. The overwhelming attention had their confidence level on a thousand.

  The only nigga who wasn’t pleased with what he saw was Desmond. He, Apollo, and a few other hittas were stationed at the bar sipping and politicking. It’d been a week since the assassination attempt, and Dez simply wanted to relax and take his mind off of it.

  Desmond was dressed to the nines that evening in a Givenchy pattern shirt, black fitted jeans, and a few Hermes accessories. A $500 pair of Prada sunglasses shielded his identity from the haters. He wasn’t as flamboyant as he usually was because there was probably someone with eyes on him. Since mothafuckas were plotting he kept that Nina on his hip and a shooter ‘round him at all times.

  Here we go, he thought to himself. Desmond watched as Kim swatted thirsty niggas away like flies. No man could resist a pretty, foreign-looking bitch with a cute smile and a fat ass. She didn’t even know they were in the same building, and he had no intentions on making his presence known—yet.

  “It’s more crowded than a free Future concert in this mothafucka,” Kimberlyn complained. Together, all three women pushed their way through to get to the opposite side of the bar.

  “I could be tripping, but ain’t that Desmond?” Shayla asked, pointing in his direction.

  Kimberlyn’s cheeks flushed immediately after hearing his name. She looked over and they made brief eye contact once he removed his shades. Their gazes lingered for a moment as they tried to read the other person. It was their first time seeing each other in months.

  Desmond pulled out his iPhone and sent her a two-word text:

  Come here.

  Kimberlyn quickly responded with:

  You come here. You got two legs too.

  Desmond laughed, shook his head, and downed his shot of Patron. Kimberlyn was something else, but he would play her little game if that meant getting back on her good side. He missed her sexy ass—even more now that he was seeing her in person.

  As Desmond slowly approached the trio of women, Shayla looked around hoping to see Romeo. Disappointment crept in her heart when she didn’t spot him. He’d flown to Cali for business and wouldn’t be back until next week, but because they hardly communicated like a married couple should’ve, she didn’t know that.

  “You tryin’ to get a nigga fucked up out here, huh?” Desmond said once he reached Kim. His chestnut eyes roamed over the black BEBE crop top and pencil skirt she wore. The combo hugged her curves and ass nicely. Men hadn’t stopped salivating over her since she walked in. Not even while she was presently talking to her man.

  “Nice to see you, Desmond,” she said.

  He raised a thick eyebrow in skepticism. “Is it?” he asked, sarcastically. “Shit, I can’t tell.”

  “I’m surprised your baby mama ain’t lurking somewhere in the shadows,” Kim teased.

  Desmond sucked his teeth. “Man, chill with that bullshit. Only person thinkin’ ‘bout that bitch is you.” He then grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “Come here. We need to rap for a minute. She’ll be back ya’ll,” he told Shay and Liberty.

  Kimberlyn barely had a chance to oppose before he whisked h
er away to talk in private.

  Liberty noticed that Shayla was still scanning the crowd for Romeo. “Looking for someone?” she asked.

  Shayla sighed and turned her attention back to the bar. She almost didn’t want to say but she needed someone to vent to who wouldn’t give a biased opinion. After ordering two Martinis, Shayla promptly filled her new friend in on everything that was happening in her marriage—minus the kidnapping and shooting.

  Once she finished, Liberty stood there with a frown etched across her pretty face. “That’s fucked up, Shayla. What does he expect you to do? Sit around and wait for him to make up his mind on if he wants to be with you or not?” she asked. “It wasn’t easy for me to walk away from my girl, but in the end you gotta do what’s best for you. Don’t stay and suffer while waiting and hoping he gets his shit together. At one point or another you have to grow a backbone and learn when to walk the fuck away. Wasted time is worse than wasted money. And no matter how good of a woman you think you are, you’ll never be good enough for a nigga that ain’t ready.”

  Shayla listened and digested every single word. Liberty was right. Maybe she and Romeo had run their course. If he couldn’t commit to her the way she needed him to then it was finally time to move on.

  “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right.” Shayla looked at her phone and realized she had a missed call from Quay.

  Perhaps I should take a chance with something new, she told herself. It may’ve been just what she needed to get over Romeo’s sometimey ass. “Excuse me for a sec. I’m gonna run outside real quick. I’ll be back.”

  “Oh, do your thing, boo,” Liberty said. She was just happy to be out of the house for a change. All she did was work, pay bills, and stress over Trip’s nonsense. It felt good to enjoy herself for a change.

  Liberty was alone for all of two minutes before some lame slid up beside her spitting game. “Hey, wassup, beautiful?” He looked to be in his late thirties, and sported a motorcycle jacket with his club’s logo embedded on the back. His breath reeked of tartar build up and stale cigarettes, and he certainly wasn’t her type physically.

  “Nothing much. I was just waiting for my friend to get back. You’re in their spot actually.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she won’t mind if I keep her seat warm.” Her boorish comment flew completely over his head. There was nothing worse than a thirsty nigga who couldn’t take the hint.

  “So what’chu getting into when you leave here? Can I come cook you breakfast?”

  His shit smelled like he still had remnants of breakfast stuck between his teeth. Liberty fought the urge to cover her nose as she turned her head away in disgust.

  Across the club, Apollo watched as the old buster tried to work his charm on Liberty. She so damn bad, she make a nigga wanna lay up under her ass two days out the week.

  Apollo could tell from her expression that she didn’t want to be bothered. They made eye contact briefly, and he suddenly felt sorry for her.

  Lemme go help this girl real quick. Tossing back his double shot of Hennessey, Apollo swaggered over towards them with set intentions. “Aye, bay. I told you to save me a seat while I ran to the john,” he said playfully. “You ain’t order nothin’ to drink yet?”

  Liberty looked confused initially, but she quickly caught on and went along with it. “No. I—uh—I was waiting on you, bay.”

  “Oh…this you, my man?” Stank Breath asked.

  “Yeah, playa. This all me.” Apollo grabbed a handful of Liberty’s plush ass and squeezed. He loved a BBW. In his opinion, there was nothing sexier than a pretty, thick bitch.

  Liberty jumped in surprise. She didn’t expect him to fully commit to his role.

  “Oh, no disrespect then, brotha. You have a beautiful woman. I saw her sitting alone and couldn’t resist the urge to speak.”

  “None taken, bruh. I can never leave her fine ass alone two minutes without some nigga tryin’ to court her.”

  Liberty gave a courtesy laugh. Apollo was making her both nervous and bashful with his forwardness. Not only that but the man was fine as all hell. Freshly twisted dreads reached the middle of his back. He had coffee brown skin, gray eyes, and the sexiest pair of lips she’d ever seen on a man.

  Apollo’s tattoos were her biggest turn on. Two teardrops under his right eye symbolized the lives he’d taken while banging. Fifty percent of his body was covered in artwork, most of them being gang-related. The most prominent were the words SAVAGE LIFE written in bold lettering on the back of his forearms.

  Apollo had a classic, thug appeal to him. He wasn’t with the designer and skinny jeans shit. He was a firm believer that real niggas stayed low, loose, and full of juice.

  Stank Breath dapped up Apollo to show there was no harm intended and left. Liberty tried to leave too but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

  “Where the fuck you think yo’ ass goin’?” he asked. Apollo had already set his sights and Liberty was as good as his. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “Thanks for everything, but I um…think I got it from here.”

  “Don’t ever walk away from a real nigga,” he told her. “Might just be the one to change ya life.”

  Meanwhile outside the club, Shayla walked past the line of people anxious to get indoors. Once the loud music was no longer in the background, she pulled out her cellphone and called Quay.

  He, and his niggas were seated in a jeep parked outside a trap house, twenty minutes from Vegas. He had a plug that put him on to licks in exchange for a cut. Quay actually made a decent living from his full-time gig as a jack boy. He had just slid his clip into a polished automatic when she decided to hit him back.

  “Yo,” he answered.

  “Quay? Hey wassup. My bad I missed your call. Didn’t hear my phone ringing because the music was loud—”

  “Hol’ up. Who the fuck is this…?”

  She laughed. “Oh, so we gon’ play games now?” There was a momentary pause. “This Shayla.”

  “Man, I’m just fuckin’ wit’chu. I know who the fuck this is. I hit you up earlier. Wus good?”

  “I’m not catching you at a bad time, am I?” Shayla asked.

  J.R., the nigga in Quay’s passenger seat slid a ski mask over his head. Next, he loaded up the sawed-off shotgun in his lap.

  “Nah. Not really,” Quay lied. Actually, he was preparing to hit a lick but he wouldn’t dare tell his new boo that. “I’m in Vegas now. But I’mma blow down on you when I get back.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to it,” she said.

  “Aight then. I’mma get up with you soon, ma.”

  “Okay.”

  Quay disconnected the call and pulled a ski mask over his head.

  “Damn nigga. You done pillow talkin’ now?” Kaniel asked in the backseat. He was Quay’s first cousin, and the same nigga who’d kidnapped and shot Shayla a few months back. “I’m ready to get this mufuckin’ money.” After losing his little brother and best friend that was all he ever wanted to do. Everything else was just bullshit in his opinion.

  Nick chuckled at the pillow talk insult. He was seated next to Kaniel, and loading a clip into an HK. Those niggas had artillery like they were in the military, but really they just had a damn good connect.

  “Nigga, I been ready,” Quay said. Unfortunately, he had no idea that Kaniel and Shayla shared a checkered past. He also didn’t know that they now had a common enemy.

  Romeo.

  Quay cocked the automatic. He was a Heartless Felon. Some of the grimiest, low down, cutthroat type of niggas belonged to their gang. Wild, untamed convicts with nothing to lose, they lived for swiping drugs, money, jewelry, and whatever else they could get their hands on. Quay and his crew were named Heartless Felons because they were unapologetic when it came to shedding blood—no matter whose it belonged to.

  After loading their weapons and concealing their identities, they hopped out the jeep and crept across the street.

  Quay and his raucous band of misfits
stormed the trap house with their weapons aimed. The neighborhood was barely lit, and the only street lamp functioning flickered repeatedly. Quay, Kaniel, J.R., and Nick looked like thieves in the night with their black hoodies, dark jeans, and ski masks.

  Lying on the front lawn upside down was a skateboard, dog leash, and worn NERF football. Sadly, neither one of the men gave a fuck about the innocent child who lived there. The parents rented out the house, using the basement to grow and store extremely large quantities of cash. And that’s exactly what the Heartless Felons were after.

  Kaniel was the first to lift his weapon—a pump action shotgun.

  BOOM!

  He blew the front door clean off the hinges. Several pellets clipped the half-naked woman walking past. The force of the gunshot was strong enough to send her body flying sideways. Surprisingly, it didn’t kill her immediately.

  Clutching the side of her stomach, Tara cried out for help. She couldn’t move. All she could do was lay there in a puddle of her own blood and pray she lived to see another day. Unfortunately, she’d crossed a group of callous killers who showed no mercy when it came to hitting a lick.

  The Heartless Felons rushed the premises guns drawn and prepared to spill blood.

  “Bitch, you know what time it is! Where the mufuckin’ shit at?” Quay demanded. Coldblooded and relentless, he was a firm believer of shoot first ask questions later.

  Dark red blood poured out the corner of Tara’s mouth. She could slowly feel her life slipping away with each second. Nothing could’ve prepared her for this shit.

  Suddenly, an eleven-year old boy walked up, carrying his X Box controller. He was playing Call of Duty when the loud noise drew him towards the source.

  “No, Trent! Don’t come in here! Run!” Tara screamed.

  Before he had a chance to, Quay snatched and held him at gunpoint. The game controller automatically fell from his hands and dropped at their feet. Instead of being nosey he should’ve fled. Now the young child was at the mercy of a gang of soulless outlaws.

  “Bitch, if I have to ask yo’ stupid ass again, I’mma give you and this lil’ nigga closed casket funerals,” Quay threatened. He had no sympathy for his victims.