CHAPTER FIVE #3
"Then why won't you claim me properly? Why we still playing this 'we just kicking it' game when it's been almost a year?"
Instead of answering, I crushed my lips against hers, swallowing whatever she was about to say next. For a second she resisted, with her hands pushing against my chest. Then she melted into me, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer.
The kiss was angry and desperate, but full of all the things we couldn't say to each other. I lifted her onto the counter, my hands sliding under her gold dress, finding her already wet pussy through her thin lace panties.
"This what you let that nigga feel tonight?" I growled against her neck, rubbing her pussy her through the fabric.
"Fuck you," she gasped, but her thighs spread wider, inviting my touch.
I ripped her panties off with one sharp tug, the delicate material giving way easily. She gasped, her hands already working on my belt.
Once my pants were undone, I lifted her off the counter, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bedroom.
Me and Lizzy fucked until we both fell out from exhaustion.
* * *
Bzzzz, Bzzzzz, Bzzzz,
The sound of a phone vibrating repeatedly on the nightstand woke me up. The room was dark except for the blue glow of the screen.
Careful not to wake Lizzy, I reached over to silence it, automatically glancing at the notifications.
My blood ran cold when I saw the name lighting up her screen. It was that bitch ass nigga Kyle.
Kyle: Baby, where did you go?
Kyle: You really left with that nigga?
Kyle: I thought you was done with that shit.
Kyle: You really with the nigga who put his hands on me, you bet not be fucking him Lizzy.
Kyle: Don't make me come over there.
Kyle: Alright bet, I hope that nigga like how my dick taste.
I slid out the bed with my mind racing. I instantly felt sick to my stomach from the last text this bitch ass nigga sent. And if he was standing in front of me, I would’ve smoked his ass immediately.
I looked down at Lizzy, sleeping peacefully, looking innocent as fuck, and I wanted to smack the shit out of her, but I didn’t put my hands on women.
Yea I might’ve not told her we were exclusive, but I was a nigga with a lot of sexual self-control.
I wasn’t out here just fucking different bitches. I was only fucking Lizzy.
I grabbed my clothes, dressing quickly and silently. My gun was still holstered in my jacket, and I checked it before slipping out of the bedroom. I needed to get the fuck outta her crib, to think clearly because I felt like spazzing the fuck out.
As I let myself out of her condo, I felt cold rage replacing the warmth I had felt just hours ago. I was slipping, letting my guard down, catching feelings for a bitch who’s been playing me this whole time.
* * *
A week Later….
I slipped into my Benz, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white.
The leather seat was cold against my back, but I barely noticed.
My mind was racing, replaying those text messages over and over.
Lizzy had been hitting me up since I left her crib, and I hadn’t answered for her ass at all.
To be honest there was nothing else to say.
Alright bet, I hope that nigga like how my dick taste.
I hated that the words burned in my head like acid. But I knew I had to shake how I was feeling and get to the task at hand.
Gizmo Wallace was the task at hand, this motherfucker had been a thorn in my side for months, pushing weight in areas that belonged to me, undercutting my prices, trying to steal my clientele.
I started the engine, the V8 purring to life as I pulled away from the crib. The Chicago skyline glittered in my rearview, the clock on my dash read 3:28 AM. The witching hour. To me that was always a good time for bad decisions.
As I drove through the empty streets, my mind sorted through what I knew about Derrick "Gizmo" Wallace. He was a south side nigga who had a reputation for being ruthless and efficient. Just like me, but the difference between us was, I had principles and lines that I wouldn't cross.
I knew Gizmo's habits better than he probably realized. I had been watching him, studying his movements, looking for weaknesses. Every Sunday night into Monday morning, he had a standing poker game at a spot on the West Side.
I checked the time again. If patterns held the same, Gizmo would be there now, probably winning because for some reason his clown ass was lucky as fuck.
I made a sharp turn, heading west. My Glock was tucked in my waistband, In the glove compartment was a burner phone and a smaller .
22, I never went anywhere unprepared, but tonight I wished I had more firepower.
Taking out Gizmo in his own spot probably wouldn't be easy, especially if he had his homies with him.
I parked three blocks from the gambling spot; it was a run-down warehouse with blacked-out windows that looked abandoned to anyone who didn't know better.
From my vantage point, I could see two guys smoking outside the side entrance, both with bangers under their jackets.
Sloppy ass security. They were too fucking relaxed, laughing it up and shit, not expecting a nigga like me to be waiting on they ass.
I pulled a black skully over my head and checked my phone. 4:05 AM. The game would be winding down soon. Gizmo usually left around 4:30, either flush with winnings or pissed off from losing. Either way, that was the time he walked out, hopefully shit goes my way and he walks out alone.
I moved silently through the shadows, using the alleyways and parked cars for cover. The neighborhood was quiet, and no one was in sight, the shit was perfect.
I positioned myself behind a dumpster with a clear view of Gizmo's cherry-red Cadillac truck. I settled in to wait, my body still but my mind churning with images of Lizzy and that nigga Kyle together, each thought added to my rage, and that kept me focused on what needed to be done.
At 4:27, the side door opened. A few guys stumbled out, clearly drunk or high, dapping each other up. It wasn’t Gizmo. So, I stayed perfectly still and controlled my breathing.
Three minutes later, the door opened again. And there he was. Gizmo Wallace in the flesh,. His dark skin looked ashy under the harsh fluorescent lights, He was talking on his phone, gesturing wildly with his free hand. Even from a distance, I could see he was heated about something.
Since he was clearly distracted, I moved out from my hiding spot, staying low using the parked cars as cover. The nigga was so caught up in his conversation he didn't even notice me closing in on his ass.
"Yeah, that nigga don't even know," Gizmo was saying. "Trust me, by the end of the week, Yatta 's operation is done. I got—"
"You got what?" I asked, stepping into the light, my Glock aimed at his chest.
He froze, as his eyes widened as soon as he recognized me. The phone slipped from his fingers, clattering to the pavement.
"Yatta," he said, trying to sound calm but I could hear the fear creeping in. "The fuck you doing out here?"
"I heard you been looking for me," I replied, my voice deadly quiet. "I thought I would save you the trouble of having to come find me," His eyes darted around, looking for his niggas, but they were long gone, Sloppy. So, fucking sloppy.
"Listen, whatever you heard—"
"Shut the fuck up," I cut him off, taking another step closer. "You been moving on my shit for months. That's business. I can respect the hustle, even if I gotta shut that shit down."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by a smirk that made my blood boil. "So that's what this is about? My nigga it aint nothing personal. Like you said, it’s business."
"Funny thing about business," I said, stepping closer until my gun was inches from his chest. "Sometimes it gets personal whether you want it too or not."
In one swift motion, he reached for his pipe, I wasn’t expecting that and the shit caught me off guard. Before he could level it at me, I pulled the trigger on my pipe.
The first bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him halfway around. The second hit him center mass, right where I was aiming. He staggered back, with shock written all over his face as he looked down at the blood spreading across his crisp white shirt.
"Yo’..." he gasped, dropping to his knees. His gun clattered to the ground beside him.
I kicked it away and stood over him, watching as life drained out of his eyes. "That's for thinking you can try to take what's mine, Bitch ass nigga," I said quietly. The shots echoed in the empty lot, surprisingly loud even though I was used to the sound.
He tried to say something else, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, but the words never came.
I should've felt something, remorse, regret, maybe even satisfaction. But all I felt was nothing. I did what needed to be done.
One less problem I had to deal with.
I picked up Gizmo's phone from where it had fell, I was curious to see who that bitch ass nigga was talking too, but as I tried to get into the phone, the sound of distant sirens snapped me back to reality. I needed to move around and fast.
I pocketed the phone and checked the area for my shell casings. I found them both and pocketed those too. Then I searched Gizmo's pockets, taking his wallet, his keys, and the wad of money he must’ve won tonight.
As the sirens grew closer, I took one last look at Gizmo's body. Then I melted back into the shadows, making my way to my car without being seen. My mind was already shifting gears, planning my next move.