Chapter 15
The south side moved different than the west side, it looked different, smelled different, and the niggas dressed different.
Of course, Londa caught the biggest fish, Cease, he was that nigga on his side of town.
His condo overlooked Lake Michigan, white marble floors, black leather furniture, and window to ceiling floors.
Though it was a nice place, it still had a touch of hood in it.
Weed on the coffee table, dishes in the sink, designer shoes kicked around the living room.
Underneath all that luxury was blood money, just like everywhere else in the city.
Londa sat across from him on his balcony with one leg crossed over the other, red-bottom heels swinging slowly while smoke floated from the blunt between her fingers. Cease looked over the balcony at the water with a red solo cup in his hand.
“So what’s up?”
Londa released smoke without rushing, “What’s up?”
“I sent you to get close to a nigga months ago, you parading around the city with the nigga like the shit is real.”
“And I am getting close, this shit takes time and I told you that. Would you trust a bitch in less than a year?”
Londa was cold at the game she played; she could mind fuck any nigga with her words.
Cease was a maniac though, so she knew how far to go with him without getting herself killed.
He was a fine, dominant ass man and she liked that.
Cease was handsome in his own way, but the money was definitely a plus.
He was tall and bald, muscle bound from working out like he was still in prison.
He was a flashy nigga, diamond chains layered over a black tee, both wrists iced out, and a pinky ring on both hands.
A true South Side king, and just like every other man Londa fucked with, he thought money meant control.
“You know what your issue is?” she continued.
Cease looked her dead in her face and said, “You.”
She smirked, “Nah, you impatient. That’s why Chello is always two steps ahead of you.”
His jaws clenched, the sound of Chello’s name always irritated him.
They had years of territory beef; the city of Chicago was never big enough for them both and someone had to go.
Sure, he could’ve gone and blew the nigga’s brains out himself, but Cease refrained from any action that could send him back to prison.
Besides murdering Chello wasn’t a regular hit, he was stamped in the streets just like Cease.
Out south, Cease was God, but out west, he was just heard of and he didn’t like that.
Chello’s name carried more weight than his, he was too big, too respected, and too feared.
“Two steps ahead of me?”
“Yeah, he’s expanding north, and you’re stuck out here worrying about him.”
“I ain’t worried about shit except for you doing what I paid you to do.”
“You think taking him out is simple without getting myself killed in the process? You said you want his life and his money. I’m gaining access to both, but if you want to handle this shit a different way, by all means, I’ll stand down,” she threw her hands up.
Londa was a dangerous bitch, she had not one problem blowing anyone’s brains out, especially for fifty-grand, but Chello wasn’t just anybody. He was what Cease was dying to be.
“You fucked him yet?”
“Of course,” she told the truth.
Londa knew he was jealous, but Cease had plenty bitches, so she didn’t care about bruising his ego a little.
“Damn, fuck you was waiting on me to ask?”
“No, but you sound like you jealous.”
“Nah, it sounds like you bullshittin’ and I would hate to have to kill you for not killing him.”
That shit hit in her chest like a football going 90mph. She took another long pull from her blunt.
“Don’t threaten me, Cease.”
He cut his eyes at her, “I’m not.”
She smiled like something was funny before standing to her feet, she walked over to him, and without another word, she dropped to her knees.
Londa could control any man or woman with her mouth, whether she was talking to them or their private parts.
Cease leaned back on the balcony as she pulled his little black dick out, he was nothing like the kingpins she read about in those Dedra B.
’s books. Her type usually came with nine inches or more, Cease had a solid four.
She took him in her mouth and swallowed him whole without gagging even a little bit. She loved sucking his dick because it was easy work; Chello, on the other hand, was working with a monster that often-left little slits in the corners of her mouth.
“Fuck, suck this big mufucka,” he moaned as she tried to focus and not laugh.
Cease needed money to pick up the slack his dick left behind, there had to be a hundred bitches in Chicago laughing at him.
“Cum for me, Daddy,” she said using her hand, well, fingers to finish the job like she always did.
He never lasted more than three minutes from head or pussy; he was easy to please.
Two seconds later she had a handful of his kids and a smile on her face.
She stood up, kissed his lips, and headed to the bathroom to clean up.
As soon as she returned, he picked the conversation right back.
At that point she felt like he had an obsession instead of a beef with the nigga.
“So you fucked him and still don’t have access to shit, not a bank account, a safe, nothing?”
“Cease, Chello don’t trust pussy, he trusts consistency, let me work.”
“You saying, you don’t at least have him open yet?”
“Oh, I got him open like a muthafucka.”
And she did. Chello was soft on her and she knew it, Nyla telling on her with no consequences stamped that.
Just like she did Cease’s dirty work, she did Chello’s also, but differently, she delivered drugs for him.
She was learning his routine so that she knew everything when it was time to move.
She got close to Chello to learn him, gain access, create vulnerability, and set him up.
She’d done that shit so many times she could do it in her sleep, but somewhere along the way, things shifted, it wasn’t love, never that.
It more like respect, she respected Chello because he respected her, and a lot of niggas didn’t.
He never treated her like she was just another bitch, she wasn’t just business or a piece of ass to him and she liked that, a little too much.
Truth was Cease and Chello were two different breeds of nigga. Cease was loyal to greed, while Chello was loyal to the game, and he knew how to play it well.
“Get it done, Londa.”
“Will do,” she shot back, not meaning none of that shit…
The Kingpin was the hottest club in the city and it was packed from wall to wall, money flew from the sky like snowflakes while ass shook like waves in the water.
Dope boys, businessmen, scammers, and Harlem was in the building.
Like promised, Kyst and his gang showed up and was showing the fuck out.
Killers in designer to be exact and Londa loved that shit.
She sat in the VIP section like she paid for it and hadn’t spent a dollar.
A black silk dress hugged every curve on her body while she downed the free liquor.
“Why we have to be over here with them?” Ty said as Londa leaned in and waved her off.
“Bitch, get out your phone and your feelings, get drunk, and maybe fucked.”
Ty noticed the shift in Londa every time Kyst was near.
The bitch sat up straighter, licked her lips more, and poked those fake ass titties that she claimed was real out.
Ty looked up one second too soon and locked eyes with Kyst for the first time since they’d been there.
She quickly looked away and leaned back in her seat.
She gave him a lazy once over as he walked toward them.
No smile, straight attitude, she hadn’t forgotten that he was just out shopping for a bitch, but he never wanted to buy her shit unless it was her birthday.
The old Ty would’ve busted him and Londa over the head for dry flirting in her face, but a lightbulb came on in her head.
Do unto others as you want done to yourself, if she thought it was cool to flirt with Kyst, then she was going to try her hand at Chello and may the best cousin win.
Sure, Londa had the face, but Ty’s body would put every bitch in that club to shame.
And in that day and age, face cards didn’t matter, ass did.
“You can speak, we ain’t enemies,” Kyst finally said something to her once Londa walked to another section to talk to some people she knew.
“What’s up?”
His voice did something to her, it always did, she couldn’t turn her feelings off and the liquor she was drinking wasn’t helping at all.
“You cool?”
“I’m straight. Thanks for asking.”
He chuckled and walked off as she cut her eyes, that man was so fine she wanted to ride his dick right there in the middle of the club.
The music blasted louder as bottle after bottle came to the section like they were free.
The night started to blur deeper into the liquor and flashing lights while everyone, including Ty, started having a time.
She found herself partying with Kyst like they were back home, and when the DJ played Jim Jone’s This Shit Still In Harlem, they lost it.
The entire club knew Harlem was in the building and Ty loved that shit, Chicago couldn’t fuck with them!
Signs were thrown up and sets were blurted out over the music, Ty could sense that shit was about to get real with the niggas in the section next to them. Liquor mixed with niggas and territory didn’t mix well. Ty walked over to Kyst as he argued back and forth with the niggas, ready for whatever.
“Come on, let’s get the fuck outta here. Y’all ain’t got no guns, we in their city, let’s go!”
She looked around for Londa, but the bitch was nowhere in sight.
“Fuck these niggas!”
Kyst was completely drunk and off his square to the point he was struggling to stand, but he still held his ground.
Not even two seconds later, the first shot went off and everybody got low.
She pulled Kyst to the floor as screams erupted, another shot, then five more.
By that time, she was dragging Kyst’s ass out the club like he was a ragdoll.
Bodies stampeded the door while security yelled over the music.
“Go…go…go!” Banko yelled as Ty moved to the sound of his voice.
She held on to Kyst for dear life until they made it to his car, she still hadn’t laid eyes on Londa, and she couldn’t go back to find her.
Ty’s nerves were through the roof, Banko hopped in the driver seat while Kyst jumped in the front.
“Get in!” Kyst yelled.
“I have to find Londa.”
“Fuck that bitch, get in or don’t, but I’m pulling the fuck off!” Banko yelled as Ty hopped in the backseat.
Her hands shook as she pulled her phone out and dialed Londa’s number back-to-back. Banko peeled off, Ty was shook the fuck up.
“Where you going?” Banko asked once they made it to safety away from the club.
“I don’t know, I’m staying with Londa, but she’s not answering.”
Banko looked over at Kyst, “Go to the crib, Londa can come get you.”
She called Londa the entire ride and got no answer; by the time they pulled up to Kyst’s spot, he was visibly drunk, not sloppy, so he got out on his own and stumbled to the porch as she followed.
She walked into the dark house and stood in one spot until the lights came on, a true bachelor pad. She stood there trying to call Londa again for the hundredth time.
“Bitch, where you at?” she finally picked up with commotion still in her background.
“I’m with Kyst.”
“What? Bitch, you left me?”
“I couldn’t find you! Come get me.”
“Just stay there or Uber, the maintenance man will let you in the condo. I’m linking with a nigga tonight.”
Ty shook her head, “Is it ok if I crash on your couch until the morning?” she asked as Kyst shrugged from the couch kicking his shoes off.
“Ok, bitch, be safe. I’ll call you in the morning and please answer.”
“Ok.”
She ended the call and finally took a seat on the couch next to Kyst, Banko disappeared as soon as they walked through the door, leaving them alone.
As many nights that she had spent with that man, for the first time, she was nervous as hell.
It felt like a first date or some shit, he sat back with his eyes closed as liquor came from his pores.
“Grab me a water from the kitchen,” he slurred as soon as she sat down, typical Kyst.
“You straight?” she asked, opening the water, handing it to him.
“Yeah.”
That was a lie, she turned the tv on, but her eyes watched him.
In a matter of seconds, he had laid his head on her chest and went to sleep.
It felt good, it felt like that was where he was supposed to be, not with Nyla or any other bitch.
Kyst Lucas belonged to her, and she was about to let that shit be known.
On top of feelings, she had a little liquor courage, so she pulled her phone out and snapped some pics until she found the perfect angle.
Kyst was too drunk and drained to notice what she was doing.
Kyst opened his eyes halfway, “What you doin’?”
“Nothing,” she lied with a smile; the damage was already done.
He was too gone to even care. A few minutes later he stood unsteadily and headed to the back of the house.
Ty followed slowly behind him because pictures weren’t the only thing she wanted; she wanted some dick.
He muttered Nyla’s name once under his breath, and that shit hit Ty in the chest hard.
She brushed it off like Londa taught her to, emotions ruined moments, and she wanted that moment.
Ty watched Kyst fall on the bed and she did what she always did when he was drunk, she took his clothes off. She went to rub his dick and he almost broke her shit.
“Get the fuck on,” he managed to say.
That shit pissed her the fuck off, she walked out the room furious and went back to the couch.
“Punk ass nigga wanna say that bitch’s name, I got something for his ass!”
She made sure to call her Uber before she made the bold ass move to open Facebook and go to Nyla’s page. She attached every picture to a message that read, “You can take a nigga outta Harlem, but you can’t take a Harlem nigga from a Harlem bitch. Gn hoe.”