She Got It Bad for a Heartless Gangsta Read online

  She Got It Bad for a Heartless Gangsta III

  By

  Shvonne Latrice

  Text LEOSULLIVAN to 22828 to join our mailing list!

  To submit a manuscript for our review, email us at [email protected]

  © 2017

  Published by Leo Sullivan Presents

  www.leolsullivan.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction, in any manner, is prohibited.

  Bryen Montana

  Fake blood brothers… a couple months earlier…

  “Oh shit,” the homie, Carl, let out after taking a healthy swig of the Hennessy. Wiping his mouth with his hoodie sleeve, he turned to me and outreached the bottle.

  “Nah, I’m good,” I replied, nervous as hell.

  “Man, calm yo’ ass down.” Carl laughed before passing the bottle to the back where the homie, Julio, was sitting.

  “Aye, whose spot is this again?” I quizzed, still on fucking edge.

  “Some nigga with a lot of fucking money. I ain’t sure, but I think he got some good government job or some shit like that. All I know is, we about to be paid.” Carl laughed and slapped hands with Julio in the back.

  I kept my eyes on the house, not even sure if I wanted to do this shit. However, I needed cash, and since my brother wouldn’t give me any as usual, I had to get it how I lived. Robbing muthafuckas had just become my thing as of late.

  Yeah, my brother was the rapper, Ricky AK. Nigga was balling out of fucking control, but couldn’t pass me a few dollars to get by. What kind of shit was that? I don’t give a fuck what I did to that nigga, I’m his younger brother and he should always take care of me. He was always talking about how I was selfish, but I really didn’t give a fuck about none of that shit. And frankly, it shouldn’t matter because at the end of the day, I was his brother.

  “I mean, if you ain’t trying to do this, you can see about getting some more bread from ya brother,” Julio interjected.

  Both he and Carl were some Head Honcho music crew groupies. Them niggas were always trying to find ways to meet my brother or be in his presence. The shit annoyed the fuck out me because Ricky wasn’t even all that with his bitch ass.

  Growing up, Ricky and I were close as fuck, and he always looked out for me no matter what. I looked up to him because he was a hustler at heart, and he had ambition, which a lot of niggas in the hood didn’t have. Shit, the most niggas shot for in South Central was becoming a gang banger. Not my brother though; he saw that hood lifestyle as something temporary, and because he believed in himself, he garnered a lot of enemies. But whatever Ricky had, I had, and there was nothing I couldn’t ask my brother for. That was, until I went out trying to impress some niggas I thought were friends, and got a mutual friend of Ricky’s and mine, Deuce, murdered.

  Deuce was a cool dude, a typical dope boy, and always had money on him. Trying to be that nigga, I helped these dudes rob him, not knowing he would get killed. I was tired of only being known as Ricky AK’s little brother, and was just trying to get some street credit by making them niggas think I kept my ear to the streets and knew all kinds of well-to-do dope boys to rob, when in reality, Deuce was like my brother.

  No one in the hood knew I was behind that shit ‘cause I’d be dead. And even though Ricky disliked me after, he didn’t snitch. He just slowly started cutting me off; said I was a sheisty ass nigga and he didn’t trust me. Anyway, after that robbery gone wrong, Ricky didn’t see me the same. And it seemed like I just continued to do shit to benefit myself because I had to, and that just pushed Ricky and me further apart. I wasn’t about to kiss his or my grandmother’s ass though, so fuck both their asses.

  “I don’ told you I don’t fuck with him like that,” I hissed, thinking about the shit.

  “Sound like y’all got some beef. Why he don’t fuck with you?” Carl inquired, and then followed it with a laugh.

  “He used to, but ever since he got with that bitch, he don’t,” I lied. Recently, I’d used Ricky’s name to get in good with niggas in the streets, so I had to make it seem like we just started beefing with one another. We’d fallen off well before his precious and very fucking fine ass girlfriend came into the picture.

  “Shit, I’d cut yo’ ass off too then.” Julio tossed back some more Hennessy. “That bitch is fine as fuck. And I know she a freak. She probably let that nigga put it anywhere.”

  “My type of bitch,” Carl added, acting like my brother wouldn’t legit rip his and Julio’s tongue out for speaking on Draylah in that manner. I’d fuck too, if I wanted to die.

  Julio and Carl doubled over in laughter as I tried to stay in the zone. These niggas did shit like this every day, but I didn’t. We’d robbed a few people before, but it was small ass houses in middle class neighborhoods like Carson and Torrance. It was nothing like this damn mansion right here in Beverly Hills.

  “Aight, come on.” Julio hit the back of my seat, signaling for me to get out. The car was a two-seater, so I needed to hop out so he could too. “Perk the fuck up, Bryen. You can’t roll with us if you ain’t gon’ be about it. You look like you about to shit on yaself.”

  “Nah,” I chuckled. “Fuck I look like? A bitch?”

  “I don’t know, are you?” Carl rounded the front of his car and stepped onto the sidewalk where Julio and I were.

  “Nah, nigga, I’m not. I mean, I was just wondering who the house belongs to because they may not have a safe.”

  “Any muthafucka living like this got a safe, aight?” Carl looked to me before polishing off the bottle of Hennessy and tossing it into his car through the window. “Aight, so this is how we gon’ do this shit. We gon’ run up, bust the window in the door, and then reach in to unlock it, aight?”

  “Yeah.” Both Julio and I nodded.

  “Now, if them muthafuckas wake up, shoot first and ask questions later. And when I say later, I mean never.”

  The three of us covered our faces in ski masks, and then crept up to the house. Julio and I let Carl take the lead, and as Carl discreetly broke one of the rectangular windows in the door, I prayed to God that we got out of here with the money and without murdering anyone. I knew it was a stretch to ask God for such a thing, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Aight, we in.” Julio tapped me since my eyes were so busy darting up and down the quiet and upscale residential street.

  We rushed in and split up, looking around for where the safe might be. I ended up in this office area, and after standing there for a little bit, I spotted a set of elevated cabinets. Rushing over, I opened each one, and the cabinet on the very end held the safe. Whoever owned this place was no drug dealer or anything, because this hiding spot wasn’t clever enough. This was a muthafucka who made legit money, and only stashed it here for rainy days. That, for some reason, made robbing them not sit right with me. But fuck it, I needed money.

  Rushing back to the entrance of the office, I shouted in a whisper, “Aye, y’all! I found it!”

  “Aye, he said he found it!” I heard Carl’s voice, so I went back to the safe and started to break in it.

  Just as the door popped open, I heard footsteps, so I turned to tell Carl or Julio to open the duffel bag. However, I was in for a rude ass awakening when I turned to see some middle aged white man in boxers and a robe, holding a handgun.

  POP! POP!

  Before he could even raise his gun, I put two through his he
ad, then grabbed whatever money I could carry in my arms. His body was laid out, with blood seeping from his head in abundance.

  “Fuck!” I hollered in disbelief that I had actually killed someone as I rushed out the office. “Julio! Carl!” I called out, but heard nothing back. “Shit!”

  I darted for the door, holding the stacks of cash I had tightly in my arms, and when I stepped out, three police cars pulled up abruptly. They shined their lights on me, blinding my ass, but prior to that, I saw Carl’s whip was gone. Them niggas had seen the house owner, and didn’t say shit; they dipped on me.

  “Put your hands up!” an officer yelled over the bullhorn.

  I dropped the money, and slowly lifted my hands in the air while squinting my eyes. Just then, three officers rushed me with their guns out, and while one cuffed me roughly, the other two kept their weapons trained on me. A tear slipped from my eye once I was cuffed, and the other officers rushed into the home.

  “This can’t be happening,” I mumbled as I was escorted to the police car.

  I heard an officer call for backup, before loud ambulance sirens could be heard in the distance. I knew this was the end for me. I would do anything, give anything, to take all this shit back or make it go away.

  ***

  About an hour later …

  I was sitting in an interrogation room with my victim’s blood still splattered across my hoodie. They’d started interrogating me, but stopped all of a sudden. For the last five minutes, I’d been sitting here, trying not to cry like a little bitch because I was caught red-handed in a robbery-murder. They had the gun, the body, and every damn thing, so it was just a matter of time.

  “Sorry about that, Mr. Montana.” A tall nigga stepped in, dressed in an expensive ass suit. I could tell from the menacing look in his eyes that he was one of those muthafuckas that would do anything to crack a case, and that shit had me feeling even more uneasy. “My name is Lieutenant Atticus Martín.” He grinned deviously as he came and sat across from me.

  “‘Sup.”

  “I see you’re in one hell of a bind here, son, and this is pretty much a done deal if you ask me.” He smirked for some reason. “The man you murdered, Martin Van Beek,” he pushed a picture towards me, “he’s a DA; district attorney. You don’t wanna know the punishment for a crime like that.”

  His words made my stomach drop.

  “Look, man, don’t I need a lawyer or some shit? I ain’t mean for none of this shit to go down the way it did! It was an accident, I ain’t—”

  “I know, I know. So here is what we can do. We can get you out of this scot-free … if you want.”

  I stopped crying for a moment and looked into his eyes.

  “What? How you gon’ do that? And why would you do that?” I frowned. Shit, I wanted to get off, but this shit was too good to be true.

  “Because I can tell you’re a good kid. Okay, not really, you’re definitely gonna do something else down the line and end up in jail. But, there is someone I want to go down for this more than you.”

  “Who?”

  “Him.” He opened a file and I saw Ricky’s multiple mug shots, paper clipped to some reports of all his charges in the past. “Now all we need you to do is keep tabs on him, and when we get ready to plant this gun, we’re gonna go pick him up.”

  “Nah, man, I don’t know. My brother, … uh, that nigga crazy,” I explained. The risk of getting caught was scary as hell. That nigga Ricky would blow my damn head open.

  “It’s either you help us take your brother down, or you go to jail for life on these charges, and possibly get the death penalty. Now you’re a smart kid, so I’m sure being able to live as a free man is worth whatever price you’d have to pay, right?”

  “What you want with my brother?”

  “He’s digging into some shit he has no business, and it’s become a bit of a problem. So what’s your answer, Mr. Montana? We’ll keep you protected, we just need you to keep an eye on him.”

  “Why can’t y’all? Y’all the damn police, it’ll be easier for you.”

  “Think of this as an off-duty task. This action I’m asking you to take isn’t approved by the higher ups, so I need someone outside of the force to help us out here. Now this is the last time I’m gonna ask you this. Are you gonna help yourself or not?”

  “I’m down.”

  Chapter One: Frederick “Ricky AK” Montana

  Present time …

  “Mr. Montana, we have to go,” the detective ordered. I ignored him, because right now all I was concerned about was making sure my girl had her mind right before I left. The officers who cuffed me were pulling on me, but because they were weaker and shorter, I was able to resist.

  Draylah slowly made her way over to me, so I leaned down to kiss her lips a couple times.

  “This shit ain’t gon’ last, so relax, aight? Once you calm down, call Avalon for me and tell her what happened so this can be fixed, aight?” I smiled to lighten the mood, even though I was infuriated. She nodded and wiped her cheek. “Stop crying, baby, please.”

  She covered her face and took some deep breaths before wiping her face hard, and then smiled softly up at me. I gave her one back, and then let them niggas take me out of the house.

  “Get him a shirt,” the detective ordered one of the officers.

  Whoever was behind this shit would pay a steep ass price.

  The two uniformed officers led me to their patrol car, and one opened the back-seat door while the other tried to force me in.

  “Aye, my nigga, I can get in by my fucking self. Don’t be pushing all on my muthafuckin’ head. Fuck around and get yo’ shit rocked when I get out these cuffs, bruh,” I warned, and he, to my surprise, took his hands off me and let me get into the back seat on my own.

  “Not smart to talk back to an officer while getting arrested, Mr. Montana.” Detective Jefferson shook his head at me, while standing there with his hands planted deeply in his slacks pockets.

  “Fuck you, nigga. You can get fucked up too,” I spat, giving his bitch ass eye contact as they slammed the door in my face.

  I’d been arrested and booked more times than I could fucking count and remember, so this shit didn’t scare me. This arrest in particular really put no fear in my heart because I hadn’t done shit, and that whack ass gun wasn’t even mine. The shit was a muthafuckin’ baby Glock and I didn’t carry those, ever; only 19’s over here.

  The whole ride to the police station, my mind was going fucking crazy trying to figure out who would be stupid enough to try and fuck with me. Who in the hell would be a big enough idiot to attempt to take me from my fucking family? Muthafucka must have wanted to commit suicide and couldn’t figure out a way to do it. Well they picked the perfect nigga because, whoever did this shit to me was getting bodied, and I didn’t give a fuck who it was. It could be my muthafuckin’ grandma, and if so, her ass was going six feet under. Only person that could get away with this shit would be my baby, and she wasn’t even here yet, so all bets were off on these muthafuckas.

  We finally made it to the police station, and before I could even get out of the damn car good, paparazzi was there snapping endless fucking photos. Someone here at the station must have tipped their asses off and let them know I was coming. I knew I was looking like a straight up hoodlum being escorted through a parking lot, shirtless with cuffs on.

  “Ricky AK! …What did you do this time? …Where is Draylah, Ricky?” the paparazzi rambled off, and I was ignoring them until that question with Draylah spewed out.

  “Fuck you say, nigga?” I halted my steps and turned to look right into that muthafucka’s eyes. He said nothing as we had a mini staring contest for a little bit. “Keep my fucking girl’s name out ya mouth, bruh, ‘fore I beat yo’ ass with these cuffs on.” Nigga was lucky I couldn’t knock that camera out his damn hands.

  “I apologize.” He nodded, lowering his camera slowly in defeat. The officers were trying to tug on me to make me keep walking, but I stayed
still, right where the fuck I was.

  “Get ya short fat ass on.” I started back walking.

  As the flashes of the other paparazzi cameras damn near blinded me, I just shook my head and kept walking towards the entrance of the police station. The officers were holding me on each side, and the detective was leading the way, walking like he was really somebody with his scrawny bitch ass.

  “Sit him down,” Detective Jefferson ordered once they brought me into the plain ass interrogation room.

  “Can I get a fucking shirt?” I asked dryly once I was seated at the table.

  “Yeah. I don’t like looking at all that anyway,” he replied, walking to the door.

  “But I bet yo’ bitch does.” I chuckled, seeing that his ass was seething. “Quit all that missionary every night, she don’t like it,” I added.

  “You shut the hell up!” He pointed his finger at me and glared as if that was supposed to scare me. I fake trembled, pissing him off more, but he just turned away and yelled out the door to bring me a shirt. “This is the one your concubine gave us.” He insulted Draylah as he tossed me the gray shirt.

  I didn’t respond because I knew I’d get him later. I couldn’t do much right now. After throwing me the shirt, four officers came in to help remove the cuffs so I could put it on.

  “Damn, four?” I commented, shaking my head as I allowed them to put the cuffs back on. I then sat back down. “Fuck am I here for? What is all this shit, nigga? We both know that ain’t my gun.”

  Jefferson removed his long pea coat and then sat down across from me with a smile.

  “To my knowledge, the gun is yours. It was found on your property.” He clasped his hands together.

  “Man, let me go, this shit ain’t gon’ stick.”

  “It will stick, because we will make sure it sticks, Mr. Montana.” He placed a file down in front of me. “Not only are you not supposed to be in possession of a firearm, but the firearm you were in possession of was used in a murder.” He opened the file as I exhaled heavily. “And this is the murder it was used in.” He spread out a couple of crime scene photos. It was some white nigga laid out, in a robe it looked like, with the top of his head blown off.