Chapter 25
Tunan “Tune” Payne
Taking a long toke from the blunt pinched between my fingers, I let the smoke suffocate my lungs longer than needed.
My chest burned, my throat itched, and my eyes watered, but I let the fumes sit.
With my left hand clutching the Desert Eagle resting in my lap, I let my finger graze it as my ears began to ring.
I’d made this drive too many fucking times to count.
This time, I wouldn’t be pulling off or scoping the scene. It was go time.
Jumping from the Infiniti, since I’d taken the Ferrari back to the Dungeon, the smell of the night hit me hard.
Even if I hadn’t parked the Ferrari, I wouldn’t be doing any drills in a seven-hundred-thousand-dollar car, especially one that wasn’t mine.
Scoping the scene, I noticed that this was a nicer part of town—maybe too nice.
A pipe nearby must have burst or a dead animal was lingering because the aroma was nearly sickening.
I closed the car door, blunt tucked in the corner of my mouth with the gun by my side.
This side of the building was dark, and everyone had already retreated into their homes for the night, so I wasn’t worried about being seen.
The building rose three floors total, but my destination was on the first.
Rookie mistake.
The first floor was nothing but an amateur move when you had lived the life this person had.
The unit was in the building farthest back on the lot of the complex, but if it were me, I’d almost want my spot on the roof.
Having an apartment on the ground floor was inviting people to target your shit.
It was easy for motherfuckers to kick your door in, but I didn’t need the kind of attention that came with putting my size twelve through it.
So I crouched, pulled the tool from my pocket, and proceeded to pick the lock.
The lighting above the door was out, and had been since I busted the light bulb three days ago, so the only glow I had was from the end of the blunt dangling from the side of my mouth.
Twist. Pull. Turn. Up. Down. Twist.
Ker-Thunk.
The door creaked open after unlocking on my first try.
The air conditioning must have been set to fifty-eight, judging by how the A/C greeted me before I even stepped inside.
I could see the entire apartment from the front door, proving to me that the apartments were older since the layout wasn’t updated.
The only light on was coming from the stove, which had a microwave built into it.
The kitchen featured stainless steel appliances, an island, and fake marble.
Next to that, there was a dining area with a table that was both too big and too fancy, crammed into the narrow space.
There was a large mauve sofa that wrapped around the living room—again, too big for the boxed space.
It sat on a pink area rug with at least seven shades of pink in swirling patterns.
Across from it, there was what had to be no less than an eighty-inch TV mounted on the wall, with a floating entertainment center underneath.
My eyes glanced back at the sofa, where a little pink bow was.
Stepping into the apartment, I pushed the door closed behind me and made sure to turn the lock.
I walked over to the living room blinds, adjusted the gun, pulled the blinds down a little, and checked the surroundings.
Once I was sure it was still quiet and sour outside, I let the blinds go and headed down the narrow hallway, the only other place I could go in this small-ass apartment.
The first door was a half bath. The bleach used to clean it was strong.
If anything, the leaseholder had always been tidy, and the space showed that.
The next door was cracked, so I used my gun to ease it open.
The figure standing at the door made me pause.
We watched each other, and when I cocked my head, the figure did too.
Raising my gun, I placed my finger on the trigger, but the lack of fear in the figure’s eyes kept me from pulling it.
The figure turned its head again, and this time the big-ass pink bow on its head flopped and fell to the carpet.
“Ummm!”
Moans and skin slapping took my attention from the small figure, and when I looked up, I saw two more figures, one standing while the other was face down and ass up.
I scooped the fearless one up and pushed on into the room.
There was a chair in the corner, so I walked right past the fuck fest—sex just as sour as the air outside, skunking the room—and took a seat.
Placing the dog on my lap, I rubbed her head and watched these two motherfuckers go at it. He must’ve been high because there was no way he didn’t feel me walking past him.
“Damn! This pussy good. I’m ’bout to nut, baby!”
Scratching the puppy’s scalp, I cradled her head. It couldn't have weighed more than five pounds. I set the Desert Eagle beside her and removed the gun that already had the silencer attached. I had to make sure to thank Tulscan later for the weapons.
There was no light in the room outside of my blunt. The fact that they couldn’t smell the potent marijuana was beyond me. I had heard and seen enough so I let off a shot.
“Ahh fuck!” He flew backward, grabbing his shoulder.
“What the fuck wrong witchu?” she asked as she hopped up from the bed.
“Ahhhhh! I-I-I think I been shot!”
“What?!”
“I-I-It’s somebody in here. Look… The chair.”
She turned, and her body stilled. Her silhouette was shadowed in the dark, but now I could see her clearly, and I couldn’t be seeing what I thought I was. Nah. She wasn’t that stupid to blow my bread like this.
“Get my pistol, ba—”
Placing the gun with the silencer on my lap on the other side of the puppy, I lifted the Desert Eagle.
“I wish da fuck you would. Cut da fuckin’ light on.”
Seconds later, there was light.
The nigga was on the ground, backed up into a black dresser, both hands grabbing his bloodied shoulder. Just seeing him had me ready to end this shit before I could get my little speech out.
“Tunan?”
Flat stomach, pink belly ring dangling from it, lace front still intact, hips poking—her body looked like she should have been fucking on a rich nigga instead of the bum bleeding on her carpet behind her.
“Tunan?”
“Fuck you keep callin’ my name fo’?”
Her face didn’t indicate that she was as scared as she should have been. Her nigga had a hole in him, and I had a gun that could blow her ass in half.
“I… I’m just trying to make sure that’s you. Your dreads gone.” She placed her hand on her hip. Her pussy was bald and glistening, the juices from that mediocre-ass fucking they'd just been doing on the parts of the lips that were visible.
Then, I remembered why I had to cut my dreadlocks to begin with.
When I beat Stella’s ass, the only thing she could do was pull my fucking hair.
Thanks to the bitch-ass Italian nuts I’d come from, my locs were a finer texture at the root, making them more fragile.
In the center of my locs, there were about fifteen dreads missing from her yanking them shits out, so I cut all of them motherfuckers off.
It had taken me years to grow them shits out, and I remember sitting in jail being pissed about cutting them before I was ready.
My face was contorted in the meanest mug that I could muster. The shit had my face hurting with how tight my facial muscles were. I was looking at the bitch that turned my life upside down, and I felt nothing but pure hate for this hoe.
“How the fuck you got two titties now, Stella?”
“Tunan, when you get out—”
“Bitch! I said, when you get another titty? Last I checked, cancer ate dat shit off the bone!”
Stella jumped, her perfect porn star titties not moving at all. The way her deep brown skin was stretched over them had them looking so fucking swollen. They were too damn big not to have any type of bounce. As a matter of fact, everything looked swollen, including her cheeks and lips.
I diverted my eyes back to her pussy and let them roam to her hips.
“Turn ’round.”
“Tune—”
“Turn yo’ stupid ass ’round!”
Stella jumped again, along with her rat in my lap, but she stayed planted.
Slowly, she turned her body in a three sixty. Her ass was as big as the fucking sun, and although Stella was naturally thick, the thighs didn’t match the ass, no matter how perfectly round that bitch looked.
“Baby, you know this nigga?” her nigga groaned against the dresser.
Had it not been for the aroma of metallic and iron, I would have forgotten his ass was there. After all, he was irrelevant.
“Get dis nigga a sheet!”
Stella jerked at my tone again, and unlike her titties, the ass moved. Leaning forward, she snatched the hot pink sheet from the bed, gathered it, and threw it into his lap. I spotted white stains on it and shook my head.
Nasty muthafuckas.
“Baby—”
“Ronnie, shut up!” Stella snapped, and it was then that I noticed her fucking chompers.
I motioned the gun from her body to her face.
Her hands shot up, long-ass pink nails that looked unsanitary as fuck.
The apartment was clean, but that ass couldn’t have been.
There was no way she could get in the cracks and crevices of her siliconed ass with all those jewels and shit hanging from the three-inch nails.
“Tunan… Just…” Her voice trembled as she forced her eyes closed. When she opened them, a lone tear hit her cheek. “Just let him go. Don’t kill, Ronnie.”
“Fuck you and dat irrelevant-ass nigga!” I spat.
“W-well… Why you shoot him?”
“For lyin’! The pussy ain’t good… Average at fuckin’ best.”
Stella dropped her hands, and the fake-ass tears instantly stopped. “But you shol’ didn’t have a problem eatin’ it.”
“You think yo’ stank-ass pussy the only one I ate? Hoe, you ain’t special. “
“Tunan, you need to leave.”