 
Hold on to Your Love

Raymond Francis

© 2016 by Pleasure Principle Publications. All rights reserved.

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# 1

Bryson

In North Philly, where I was from, there were two types of hustlers. There were the ones who were serious about the game and the ones who were just playing. If you were serious about this game, you were willing to die for it. Money was the motive behind every action. If you were just in the game to buy sneakers and clothes, you were already doing it wrong. But me, Bryson Brown, I was in the game for the long term riches. I was trying to make enough money to feed my great grandkids one day. At 21 years old, all the older hustlers told me that I was well on my way to success.

The reason I was getting so much money was because I had a better connect than anybody around. I fucked with the Columbians up in New York. They were real drug dealers. They had that pure raw, so at least once a month, I would go up to the city and cop. Then I would bring the cocaine back down the highway and supply damn near all of North Philly. I always copped heavy and this time was no exception: 5 bricks, 100 Gs.

My connect was named Papi and he had a real major operation in place that got him drugs shipped straight from overseas. Papi was a man of few words, so he just smiled and took his cash as I put the work in my backpack and motioned to my girlfriend Tamia that it was time to go. Tamia was the bad ass 'ride or die' jawn that every hustler aspired to have. She had the flawless redbone complexion, a pair of 36D titties, the big, heart-shaped booty with the perfect cuff under it, and a beautiful smile that every nigga loved and every woman wanted – but she was all mine.

I slipped my Moncler leather jacket on over my broad shouldered, 6'2 frame and headed out of Papi's corner bodega, which was really just a front for his cocaine distribution hub, and put on my helmet. I had a nice sized Philly style beard, so it took me a second to get my helmet fully secured. Tamia strapped on the heavy, cocaine-filled backpack, put on her fluorescent pink helmet and then we both hopped onto my Ducati Monster 1000 street bike and began our journey back to Philly.

I always took my bike to New York when it was time to cop. My 2 cars, a white 2015 Mercedes Benz S550 and a midnight black 2014 Range Rover sitting on 24s were too flashy to take down the Jersey Turnpike when I was riding dirty. I didn't like playing the rentals because sometimes they had out of state tags, which also drew too much interest from police. I wasn't comfortable sending anyone to cop for me because there wasn't anybody I could trust with that amount of cash. Plus, I didn't want anyone in Philly to know who my connect was. But on that bike late at night, I could slide down the turnpike quickly without attracting attention. With Tamia riding on my back, and her ass tooted up in the air, we looked like a regular couple just going out for a nighttime joy ride.

I whipped the Ducati through the New York blocks and back toward the George Washington Bridge that led into New Jersey, which was the state between New York and Pennsylvania. The cold night air was whipping up under my helmet and all around my fresh fade, but I was used to it. Tamia was on the back of the bike struggling, her Versace Nappa Biker Leather Jacket was no match for the vicious wind. To make things worse, a slight rain was beginning to fall.

Even the most experienced bikers pulled over in the rain, but then again, they weren't usually riding with a 20-year mandatory minimum Fed sentence on them, either. I was focused on getting my work back to Philly as quickly as possible, even if it meant having my girlfriend Tamia shivering and in tears from the freezing weather. I was dipping through cars like a madman, determined to get my package back to the City of Brotherly Love. The Ducati was moving on all cylinders, exploding down the road. I was whipping through Jersey in no time at all.

Then, things took a turn for the worse.

"Baby! Look!" said Tamia, as she realized what was going on behind her.

"Shit!" I said.

There was a cop car directly in back of us with the sirens blaring. I was so focused on the highway that I didn't even notice the New Jersey state trooper hidden on the side of the road about a mile back. Now the trooper was pulling me over for speeding.

"Yo, hold on to me as tight as you can, Tamia!" I hollered as I looked in the bike's small rearview mirror and decided it was time to take it up a notch.

There was no way that I was going to pull over and take my chances with the racist ass Jersey cops. Being on the Ducati, I knew there wasn't a cop car that could maneuver enough to keep up with me. I quickly changed lanes on the cop and accelerated past the slower cars in the center lane. The cop rapidly made his move and crossed over to the center lane right behind me and Tamia.

The drivers on the Jersey Turnpike did their best to get out of the way of the high speed chase, but it was damn near impossible to, since I was doing 105mph! Tamia was on the back of the bike screaming and terrified. She was nervous that I would make one wrong move and flip would the bike over. Tamia knew that at our current speed, an accident would be fatal. I would never let anything happen to my bae, though.

I was hunched down as low as I could go and had the bike in its highest gear. I was weaving in and out of lanes as the trooper behind me radioed in the pursuit. A few times, I was just inches away from the cars on the highway but I didn't even care. There was no way I was going to let the law catch me with all the work that I had on me.

The trooper chasing after me was being as forceful as possible. He knew that I must be doing something more illegal than speeding if I was fleeing him that desperately. The cop was losing ground on me, but he didn't want to give up. Even though he knew there was no way his Crown Vic could maneuver like a motorcycle, he was trying his best not to lose track of my bike. He stepped on his gas and cut in front of another vehicle, but the rainy conditions and the high speeds were too lethal a combination. Before the officer knew it... _BOOM_!

I glanced in my mirror just long enough to see the crazy ass wreck. The officer had fishtailed out and spun his car off of another vehicle, and then smacked into the center wall! Then a minivan slammed into the back of the police car. With the airbag deployed, the cop laid mangled across the front seat of his totaled car. All he could do was wait for help to come. The chase was over.

With the law off my back, everything began to work itself out. I took exit 7A towards Trenton, paid the toll and kept it pushing. I used a combination of local roads and highways to snake through Trenton, Bordentown, Florence, Burlington, Willingboro, Camden, and finally back into Philly. Things didn't go as smoothly as I had wanted them to, but by 2 A.M., Tamia and I were laying in the queen sized bed in our crib, safe and sound, with hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of cocaine tucked away safely. I took a hot shower, so I was relaxed and about ready to call it a night, but Tamia's ass was wide awake.

Tamia

My nerves were completely shot! I didn't know how much more of this fast life that Bryson led that I could take. Of course, I loved all the money, clothes, and multiple vacations and trips that he provided for me, but the stress that came along with it all was weighing heavily on me. At 23, I was 2 years older than Bryson and I knew that what he was doing could only end one of two ways; either with him being dead or in jail. I had seen my older cousins succumb to the same fates. I loved Bryson, but I was wondering if it was all even worth it anymore.

From the moment I met Bryson, I admired his hustle and determination. He didn't come from much; his mother had abandoned him and his older sister when Bryson was just a newborn. She was a 30-something-year-old drug addict and knew that there was no way that she could take care of either one of them, so she left them on the front steps of the University of Penn Hospital with a note containing their names. That was all Bryson knew about his family. Bryson and his sister were split up, with his older sister going with her father who lived halfway across the country. He had no idea if his mother was still living or if she had succumbed to the drug addiction that he was told made her "no good to anyone."

Bryson's grandmother took him in and raised him until he was 12, but then she passed away from complications dealing with diabetes. She never talked about his mother much, so Bryson really never felt a connection to the woman who had given birth to him. As far as Bryson was concerned, his grandmother was the only woman who he could say was responsible for his upbringing. After his grandmother was gone, Bryson told me he bounced around between his grandmother's best friend's house, a group home, one of his older friend's houses, and then, when he turned 15, Bryson left out on his own. He jumped into the streets at a young age and never, ever looked back!

Me, on the other hand, I was like Bryson's polar opposite. I came from a pretty successful family. Before my father died, he was one of the most popular preachers in the entire city of Philadelphia. I didn't follow in his footsteps like he wanted me to and dedicate my life to the church, but I had gone to Central High School and graduated with honors. I could have gone to Temple University on a full scholarship but instead, for two years after graduation, I chased this pipe dream of becoming an actress. I wanted to be a real actress, too, not a video girl or an Instagram model slut. Any woman with a big butt could find her way into a rap video. I mean, I have a big butt, but I always felt I was better than that. My _she-ro_ was Taraji P. Henson and I wanted to be just like her, but my dream never came true.

When my dad died, he left me a nice little bit of money since I was his only child. I used some of that money to travel the country, going on all types of auditions and casting calls, but when I got rejection after rejection, I threw in the towel and got a regular part time job at the Polo Factory store in the Franklin Mills Mall. The job was definitely a boring, dead-end type of thing, but with my inheritance and the little crumbs that they paid me, it kept my lights on. The best thing about working there was that it was the place that I met Bryson.

I still remember the day 2 years ago when he walked in with his little squad. Just from the way that he carried himself, I could tell that he was the boss type among his couple of friends. I could look in his face and tell he was a youngboy, but he was sexy as hell. He was tall, dark-skinned, and had a low fade with a half-moon part. Of course, he had a nice, clean, thick beard that was shaped up perfectly. His eyes were light brown and they gave his face this look that made it seem like he was always in deep, deep thought. I think my favorite physical feature of Bryson's had to be those lips, though. They were just big enough to make a woman start imagining the things that he was able to do with them.

At the time, Bryson had just started hustling and like all Philly niggas, he was ready to blow his money on some Ralph Lauren gear. I hooked him up with my employee discount just because I liked his swag, and in turn, he gave me his number. From there, I turned his little young ass out! After 2 months, he was staying with me every night after he got off the block. After 6 months, we were living together, with him taking care of all of my bills. Now, 2 years later, here we were. Bryson was like a young kingpin in the city and he was just getting bigger and better at hustling. He had moved me out of my little apartment to a 5-bedroom, 3-bathroom house that we were renting out in the county, and he had put two luxury cars in my name. Talk about a come up!

Even though Bryson told me I didn't have to work anymore, I kept my little $11.50 an hour part time job at the Polo store. I didn't have to do shit but ring people up and fold up shirts, so it wasn't like it was hard work. Plus, I had to have my own money to fall back on in case things went bad for Bryson. I wasn't hood like that, but I understood the game. I understood that in the blink of an eye, Bryson could lose it all, so I had money tucked away for a rainy day. I hoped I never had to use it, but like I said, I understood the game.

Bryson's deep, smooth voice snapped me out of my reminiscing and back to reality. "What's wrong, babe?" Bryson asked, as if he didn't know.

"Really? We could have gotten caught today, or even worse, killed. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Seriously, Bryson, this is getting to be too much," I complained.

"Look, babe, I ain't gonna be doin' this drug shit forever. You know that. But I damn sure ain't trying to spend my life workin' for somebody else or runnin' around broke in these streets. Once I get what I need out of this game, I'm gonna be done with it," said Bryson.

"Look at all that we have, though. What more do you need, babe?" I asked.

"Right now, all I need is you," said Bryson, with that irresistible look in his eyes.

Bryson rolled over and positioned himself on top of me. I knew what he wanted. It was the same thing he wanted every night. Bryson was insatiable. He couldn't go to sleep without getting some. Luckily I was on birth control, or else, fucking with him, I would stay pregnant year round. The boy was an animal in bed, he could never get enough. To him, my pussy was like quicksand; the deeper he got in, the harder it was for him to pull out!

I was never one to tell my bae no, especially since it was good and also because he was faithful, which was a hard thing for a man to be in today's day and age with thirsty sluts lurking around every corner. Both of us slept naked, so in no time at all, Bryson was easing himself inside of me. He was pretty big, but I was quick to get wet when he nibbled on my neck. So, just like that, he had it all the way in.

Once Bryson had his dick inside of me, all of my problems went out of the window. I mean, in reality, they still existed, but while we were having sex, I didn't worry about them. Sex was my stress reliever. Each stroke made me forget that anything had ever been wrong in the first place. When I was making love to Bryson, I didn't think about anything or anyone else.

"Oooh shit, baby, that feels so good," I moaned as Bryson lifted my legs into the air.

My thick ass legs were formed into a perfect "V" shape and Bryson was pounding my pussy rapidly, but still at a pace that was smooth enough that we both could enjoy. We knew each other's bodies inside and out. I'm not gonna lie and say Bryson was the only nigga that I had ever been with, but I had been with him more than I had been with any of my other boyfriends. Sex with him was good every single time, because he was always attentive to my needs.

I wrapped my legs around Bryson's back and trapped him close to me. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't escape this love that I was giving him. Even though I was on the bottom, I began to thrust my hips towards him, matching his rhythm. He liked when I did that shit. I knew that niggas hated women who just laid there, so I always threw my body at Bryson's.

"Shit, I like that," said Bryson as I could feel his shaft throbbing, which turned me on even more.

My pussy was getting that feeling that only Bryson could give me. The way that he held onto my hips and pulled me into him did something to me. Bryson made me feel things that no other man had ever come close to making me feel. Our connection was physical, mental, and even spiritual. I say spiritual because I truly felt like a higher power in the universe had brought us together. It was pure fate that he walked into my job that day.

"Ugh, you gonna make me cum, Bry," I panted. My legs started quivering and the little baby fat on my juicy ass thighs started to shake. In that moment, I felt so good that I thought I might actually black out.

"Come here," said Bryson, wrapping his hand around the small of my back and pulling me up. Now, we were face to face and I was basically in his lap, but through all that, the dick was still inside of me. I was as wet as the sea, so Bryson was sliding around in me, but I made sure I never let him come out. As far as I was concerned, that dick belonged to me. He just carried it around all day.

I was biting down on my bottom lip in pleasure and pain until Bryson pulled my face closer to his. He stuck his tongue down my throat and held it there. We were occupying the same air and, with him deep inside of me, it was like we were connected as one. This was lovemaking on a level that I only experienced with Bryson.

"I'm cummin'," I finally managed to say as I reclaimed ownership of my own mouth.

"Shit, baby, me, too," said Bryson.

Finally, we came in unison. Bryson's juices went deep inside of me, but mine leaked out all over my legs and down onto the bed, which created a huge wet spot on my side. Bryson laid back down, with a few trickles of sweat adorning his forehead. That boy had put in work!

"Baby..."

But before I could even ask, Bryson had already hopped up out of the bed. He knew me like the back of his hand. In a few seconds, Bryson came back into the room with the blow dryer and a glass of Ocean Spray Ruby Red Grapefruit juice. The juice was to quench my thirst and the blow dryer was to dry off the wet spot. If you don't need a blow dryer after making love, then you really ain't done nothing!

I laughed as I watched Bryson standing there naked, holding the blow dryer over our 400 count thread sheets. It was a shame we had paid $95 for those sheets the way that we abused them.

_Damn, I love me some him,_ was all I could think about as I finally laid my ass down for the night.

# 2

Bryson

I woke up early as hell, ready to make money and enjoy my life like I was meant to do. I always felt like I wasn't put on the planet just to be average. I tried to excel in everything that I did. Whether it was playing ball or lifting weights, I tried to be the biggest and the best. Even when it came to the car game, I tried to outshine niggas. I had two new cars that were completely paid for. Not too many people I knew could say that, except for my connect Papi, who was much older and had been in the game a lot longer than I had. I was going to get to that level one day, though. For time being, I just wanted to do it bigger than any and everybody else in Philly. That was the mentality I had when it came to selling drugs.

Just getting my hands on some cocaine was one thing, selling it was another. One thing my big homie named Shooter had taught me was that a good product will basically sell itself. After my trip to see Papi out in New York the previous night, I was sure that I had a good product. The key to hustling was not to be on front street, advertising all over the place that I had some great cocaine for sale. That was a surefire way to get caught quickly. Instead, I made a few calls to the people I could trust and let them put the word out. Then, I waited for the streets to come to me.

In my hood, everyone was a hustler in one way or another. Some niggas trafficked guns, some moved pills, some sold cocaine, but some niggas were straight up robbers. That was who I had to watch out for. I had no respect for a thief. I had grinded my way from a fronted 8-ball all the way up to 5 bricks and I had never robbed anyone. I had hustled the old-fashioned way and now I was a major supplier around the way.

I was leery about taking on new customers, but one of my people told me about this new kid named Avery from New Jersey who was getting some real paper over the bridge. Avery was willing to pay $36,000 up front for a whole kilo, so I had to setup a meeting.

Even though I was over 5 years strong in the game, certain situations still made me nervous. Meeting a new customer was one of those situations. As I waited in my Benz on South Street, my whole team was in place. Shooter was in the car behind me. If anything looked funny, I knew that he would pop off. He was a real "squeeze first, ask questions last" type of guy. I had known Shooter because he lived on my grandmom's block. He was one of the few people that I could call a true friend.

Shooter was a real nigga. He was usually a man of few words, but I knew that he had my back because he had been there since day one, when I first got into the game. He was the person who taught me the game and when I didn't have anywhere to go after my grandmom passed, he took me in and let me stay in his crib. Shooter was a few years older than me and was the closest thing to a big brother that I ever knew. I trusted him with around my girl, with my money, and even with my life. There were not too many people on the face of the Earth that I could say that about. All in all, Shooter was the best friend that I had.

Tamia's cousin Fat Mike was also kind of a part of my little team. The meeting spot we used to setup drug deals was at his bar. I had met Fat Mike at one of Tamia's aunt's wedding. He wasn't a really street nigga, but he let me use his bar to temporarily store my drugs and my guns sometimes. I always looked out for him if he needed a few dollars here and there. Sometimes, I even let him borrow my cars or my jewelry when he wanted to stunt. He was way too fat to fit into any of my clothes, though. Fat Mike was a little scary at times, but overall he had a really good heart.

I had no idea what this Avery looked like, I had never even talked directly to the kid, but we had setup a specific plan to make sure everything was legit. Avery was supposed to show up at the bar at 2:00 P.M. sharp and order a drink called a Bob Marley and a side order of chicken fingers with extra barbeque sauce. Once that exact order was placed, Fat Mike would know that was Avery. Then he would take Avery to the back and make sure the cash was all there. If anything about Avery seemed shaky, Fat Mike would call the whole thing off and my face would never be seen. That was the way I liked it. See, in my hood, my reputation was larger than life. More people had heard of me than had actually seen me. In fact, most people only knew me as "B". Only a select few actually knew who I was. It was much safer that way.

As I sat in the car waiting for the text from Fat Mike to tell me if everything was a go, I thought about my girlfriend Tamia. I did all of this for her. She was a Black queen and deserved to be treated like one. I grinded hard to make sure that she had everything that she ever wanted and more. She believed in me when I was just a little "quarter-ki" nigga running around in the streets for a few thousand bucks a month. Now I was major and I was trying to show her my appreciation. I had taken her all across the country and bought her every purse and pair of shoes that she had ever looked twice at. I spoiled my bae because she was worth it.

Finally, my phone rang with Fat Mike on the other end. He was calling from inside the bar.

"What's up? Is this Avery nigga official or nah?" I asked right away.

"Bryson, you ain't gonna believe this shit," he said.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Just come inside, you'll see," said Fat Mike.

Tamia

I swiped my timecard through the machine and clocked out of work. After getting barely any sleep the night before due to my crazy ass ride back from New York with Bryson and then our lovemaking session, I had to work the early 8 A.M. – 2 P.M. shift, which was the worst. The store had been unusually busy for a Monday morning and I was worn out. I just wanted to get back to the house, pour myself a glass of white zinfandel, take a long bubble bath, and listen to my The Internet _Feel Good_ album in peace.

I slipped on my Prada pea coat and strolled out of the mall and towards the Range Rover. Just as I unlocked the door, tossed my Dooney & Burke handbag in the passenger seat and hopped in, a barrage of unmarked police cars swarmed in on me!

"Set the keys on top of the roof and place your hands in the air!" hollered one male officer.

I was shocked, but I did as I was instructed. I had seen too many instances of police shooting people lately so I did exactly like they told me. I didn't want to wind up on the news with Black Lives Matter protesting in my honor. Slowly, a female detective came up behind me and patted me down. Then, the other cop took the keys and opened the Range. He started searching through the car, which I was pretty sure was illegal as hell.

"So you work in the mall part time and drive a brand new Range Rover? Pretty strange, don't you think?" asked the detective.

If I learned anything from my bae Bryson, it was not to say shit to law enforcement. I just stood in silence while the cops looked at me.

"Miss Tamia Greyson, how are you doing today? I'm Detective Crystal Lee, and I'm gonna be upfront with you. We're coming for your boyfriend, Bryson Brown. Tell me, do you know what a federal indictment is?" asked the detective.

_Damn! The Feds, though? How did they know my name?_ I thought to myself.

"We have been watching you and Bryson for a while now and I'm personally pushing to get R.I.C.O. drug charges on him," she said.

Still, I kept my mouth shut as the lady kept talking.

"And in my eyes, you're just a guilty as he is. I can't think of anything better than watching the two of you do 25 years each in the dirtiest, grimiest, harshest prison that we can find. There's only one thing that's stopping me from cuffing you at this very moment, Tamia. Do you know what that is?"

The Feds were notorious for their scare tactics, and that was exactly what they were trying to do to me. I wasn't going to break that easily, though.

"The only thing stopping me from locking you up right now is your father. I went to that man's church every Sunday for almost 15 years. Even when I was working down in Florida, I flew back once a month to make his Sunday service! When I saw the last name 'Greyson' on the indictment, I prayed to God that you weren't some of his family, but apparently, you are. I swear if your father hadn't gotten me closer to God and helped me get through the tough times in my life, I would lock you up right now. Instead, I'm gonna give you one chance to save yourself. So tell me, where is Bryson right now?" asked Detective Lee.

# 3

Bryson

I walked into the bar and immediately spotted Fat Mike with his big ass stomach damn near hanging over the bar counter. I shook my head as I looked at him. "How's the diet going?" I teased at this nigga who was damn near up to 350 pounds even though he was only about 5'9.

"Fuck you," he snapped back.

"Nah, seriously, though, are you having a boy or a girl this time? You look your carrying low, my grandmom used to say that means it's gonna be a girl," I continued.

"Whatever, nigga. The whole world can't be skinny," he countered.

"On some real shit, you kind of look like you might be carrying twins. How far along are you?" I kept going in. Suddenly, I stopped joking around because Fat Mike had a shocked look on his face and I was nervous as hell because of that. Quickly, he pulled me behind the bar with him.

"Bryson, meet Avery," he said.

From the other side of the bar, a hand reached out to shake mine. The fact that the hand was attached to the body of a gorgeous woman threw me for a complete loop. I was expecting a typical older, street nigga, but instead, Avery was a sophisticated looking lady who looked like she wasn't a day older than 30. She had creamy, margarine colored skin and a body that poked out from every angle. Fat Mike could barely keep his tongue in his mouth, the way he was salivating over her. Even more important than her appearance, Avery had a bag containing 36 racks and was ready to cop a whole kilo right then and there!

"Before you ask, yes, I'm Avery," she said smoothly, taking the words out of my mouth.

I looked Avery up and down once more. Everything about her spelled money, from her Birkin bag to the Dolce & Gabbana perfume that I could smell coming off of her curvy body. I knew the scent because I had brought Tamia the same kind for Valentine's Day the year before.

"I know I'm probably not what you were expecting to see, but I can explain. See, I just moved back out here from Detroit a while ago. My husband was very successful out there. But after he caught his case a few years back, I decided that I needed a change of scenery so I moved out here to be closer to my mom. Luckily, he left me with a few bucks tucked away that the Feds didn't get. So, instead of runnin' through it all like some young, immature bitch, I decided to start flipping it. I don't know too many people out there in Jersey, but since I'm originally from Philly, once I made a few calls, everyone pointed me in the direction of a guy named Bryson who had the best product. So here I am, baby," explained Avery.

From the rip, I liked Avery. She had a smooth way of talking that was straight to the point and also, she wasn't scared at all. For women, being in the game is hard. Plenty of men see a female with the kind of money that Avery was carrying around and just make the decision to rob her one good time, but I wasn't like that. I saw something in Avery that told me that I could make a lot more than $36,000 if I dealt with her on a long term basis. There was just something about her.

"So here's how it works. You grab that bag and get in the car with me and my man Shooter who is waiting outside. I'm gonna blindfold you. Nothing personal, but I can't have people knowing where my stash spot is. Your phone stays here, too. Can't take a chance with that GPS shit. Can you handle that?" I asked.

"It's fine by me. Life is all about taking risks to be successful. Just one question. This product that you got, is it A-1?" asked Avery.

"Best in the city. I promise you that," I guaranteed.

"Meet you outside then," said Avery as she stood up, grabbed her bag and bounced her petite, but still curvy body across the hardwood floor of the bar.

I just looked at Fat Mike, then took a sneak peek at Avery's ass. We both smiled, because that jawn was phat as hell! I loved the hell out of Tamia, but my eyes still worked. Looking wasn't cheating. Shit, even Tamia would take a peek if she saw a girl walking though the mall with a fat butt and some tight pants on.

Avery

Before my husband went away to do his time, he told me something I will never forget. It was the same thing my father had told me before he died back in 2012. He said that the game doesn't change, only the players in it do. I had been around the game for over ten years and each year it seemed like the players got younger and younger. Bryson was only 21, but I could tell that he was no rookie. He was 'bout his business, and I liked that. In fact, he reminded me of my husband in that respect.

I liked the way Bryson moved. He had a confidence about him that I respected and related to. As I hopped into the backseat and the guy called Shooter blindfolded me, Bryson turned the Tory Lanez mixtape up so that he could talk to his partner without me hearing, but I still got the gist of their conversation. They couldn't believe that a woman who looked like me was thorough enough to be buying a whole kilo of cocaine from them, but they had no idea the type of bitch that they were dealing with.

Back in the early 2000s, my husband was one of the richest niggas in all of Detroit. He had what I'll just describe as a unique hustle, and we had it all, from the navy blue drop top Bentley Arnage to the waterfront property on Lake Michigan. We were living like a royal family, taking trips to L.A. every third weekend and getting dinner prepared by a personal chef almost every night since I couldn't cook to save my life. I was the only married woman I knew who had got her man without being able to do so much as scramble an egg. That's why I never thought that old saying about the way to a man's heart was through his stomach was true. I couldn't cook, but I was a go getter. I was an asset.

My father had taught me at a young age the difference between being an asset and a liability. I saw it like this: having a kid by a nigga won't keep him around. Being a freak and having good pussy won't keep a nigga either. Shit, even beauty won't keep a nigga around. Halle Berry has been cheated on multiple times and she's gorgeous. But the one thing I learned in life is that a man will never let go of a woman who can help him build something. What empire do you know that was successful without a king and a queen?

That was exactly what we had; an empire. We were Detroit's finest. They used to call us the royal couple because we had matching styles. When we walked down Belle Isle, people took pictures of us! I complimented his fly. The crown was ours, but when shit hit the fan, it really, really hit the fan. One day we were updating our passports and planning a trip to Dubai and then, the next thing I knew, the Feds raided our house and took everything but the kitchen sink! It was the absolute worst day of my life, besides the day my father passed away and the day that I miscarried.

My hubby was no idiot, though. He had left a few hundred grand tucked away in the locker room of the gym that he worked out at every day. It was the one place that the Feds didn't look. After everything boiled over and he was sentenced, I took the money and slid out to a small, middle class town in South Jersey called Delran since my mother had finally gotten her life together and was living there. I laid low for a while, but the life kept calling me. I had gotten too accustomed to first class flights and lobster frittata dinners, so eventually, I decided to start selling cocaine. After a few frauds made promises that they couldn't keep and quoted prices that that couldn't deliver on, one trustworthy person finally pointed me in the direction of Bryson. So here I was, blindfolded in the backseat of his car, headed to his stash house. What a life!

# 4

Tamia

The detective stared at me like she was waiting for me to bust out in tears and break down into some crazy confession like they do on _First 48_ , but I kept my mouth shut and instead just stared right back at her ugly, strong-faced ass. She was way too old to still have pimples and the fact that she tried to cover them with blush just made matters worse. I had never been to jail, but I wasn't afraid to go. Bryson told me a long time ago that if I ever got locked up, he would have me bailed out in 24 hours or less and I believed him. I had seen him do it for all of his workers who caught their little cases.

"So tell me, where is Bryson at right now? I know that you know. We just want to talk to him about a few things," said Detective Lee, once again.

"Look, I ain't got nothing to say about nothing. I don't have to talk to you if I don't want to. You can't detain me for no reason, so am I under arrest or what? If not, I got things to do," I said very cockily.

"Listen, Tamia, I know you love your boyfriend, but he's bad news. Don't get yourself in trouble trying to protect him. Do you honestly think that he would do it for you? Just tell us what we need to know, and as a personal favor to your father, I'll make it so that your name doesn't even come up when we write up the indictment," pleaded Detective Lee.

"My father is dead. He don't need no favors. So like I said, am I under arrest or not?" I continued.

I knew the law, so I was acting brave but deep down inside, I was scared as all hell. I wished Bryson was by my side to tell me what to do, but even though he wasn't physically there, he had been preparing me for situations like this for years. We had all types of exit plans in place and even code words that we could say to each other over the phone to let each other know that there was trouble. I just had to stay strong, even if it meant sitting in jail for a day or so.

"Okay, have it your way. You're the big, bad ride or die chick, I suppose. Protecting your man. Pretty stupid if you ask me. I'm not going to arrest you now, but believe me, we will be in touch. And next time you hear from us, things are going to be much, much worse for you. I personally promise that, Tamia," said Detective Lee.

"Yeah, whatever," I said, as I flipped my ponytail and hopped in my Range Rover.

Right away, I got on my cell phone and called my baby to let him know that shit had really just gone down! Bryson's phone went straight to voicemail, but I left him a coded message to inform him that things were getting ugly in the streets.

"Babe, I saw your _mom_ today. She was real hype too! She talked to me for almost 10 minutes. Call me back ASAP and let me know what to do. I think I'm going to go to my _Cousin_ _Paris'_ house. Meet me there!" I practically screamed into the phone.

I was mad Bryson's phone was off, but that was how he kept it when he was handling business. Even though I was nervous, I remembered our code words. _Mom_ meant the police, since both of us knew there was no way that I could ever be talking about his biological mom because he had no idea where she was. _Cousin Paris_ meant the Hilton on City Avenue, which was where we always stayed when we were laying low. If the Feds knew my name, I know that they knew where I lived, so heading to the house was a no-no for the time being. I might never see my house again, but I didn't care. I could replace all of the shoes, jewelry, bags, and clothes but I had to make sure that me and Bryson were safe. At the end of the day, that was what mattered most.

Detective Lee

"I can't believe the nerve of that little cocky bitch! It was almost like she knew that we don't have enough evidence to build a strong case just yet," I said, as I drove back towards my office.

"That Bryson kid is pretty smooth. He doesn't leave any tracks. Can't believe he's only 21," said my dimwitted partner.

"This little bitch has a Range Rover, a Benz, and a motorcycle in her name. She runs around acting like she got it all from her inheritance, but I know good and goddamn well that it's drug money. It's got to be. They went to Miami and stayed at the Fontaine Bleu for 3 whole weeks last summer! That's like 13 thousand dollars! I don't have 13 thousand in my account right now, damn it! He's gotta be sellin' more drugs than I even care to imagine," I said.

"Yeah, but his record's as clean as a whistle. Every time we pull him over, he's squeaky clean. Never has any drugs or any real cash on him. Nobody else we arrested has ever implicated him in anything. We can't even draw up a decent conspiracy case on him. The kid's like a ghost. We might just have to wait for him to slip up," he said.

"Fuck that shit. I'm not a patient person at all. It's time for me to get this ball rolling."

One thing about the Feds, we played dirty. As if our 98% conviction rate wasn't enough, we also had a few tactics in place to make things come out in our favor every time. I was fed up with this fake ass Bonnie and Clyde duo of Bryson and Tamia. They were living out this ghetto love affair and making more money in a month than I made in a year. I couldn't stand it.

I especially hated the fact that Tamia was smart enough to keep her bullshit job. If she wasn't working, I could write up an indictment based solely on the fact that she had no means to prove where her income came from. Then she would most likely break down and confess that her little boyfriend provided for her by selling drugs. However, the little bitch had been at her job for years, so a good lawyer could say that was technically how she was able to pay the rent at her gorgeous little house and take flights all across the country.

As far as Bryson, the kid had nothing in his name. He was damn near a kingpin, but he moved with the same techniques of a corner boy. He used a burnout phone and rumor had it that he changed his number up every other week. The only cars he drove were legally registered to Tamia and the insurances and registrations were always up-to-date. I couldn't even find a speeding ticket on him! His name was nowhere to be found on the rental agreement to their house and as far as I could tell, the cocky bastard didn't do so much as smoke marijuana or drink liquor.

Bryson was too smart to be so young. I always figured that he had an old veteran in his ear giving him the ropes, but my research told me that the kid hadn't seen his mother or father since he was too young to remember. He had no associates that were on our radar and the whole situation irritated me like a bad rash. One way or another, I was going to get both Bryson and Tamia if it was the last thing that I did! It was time to show them just how dirty the Feds could get. With one phone call, I could do just that. Immediately, I picked up my iPhone and held the circle down.

"Call Hunter," I said to Siri.

_Calling Hunter,_ she complied.

# 5

Bryson

I pulled up to my stash spot and eased the whip into the slim garage. The stash spot was on a real slow street all the way out in Delaware County, PA in a small town called Haverford. Haverford was close enough to the city that I could get there quickly, but far enough away that I was out of the limelight. I paid the rent, but I had it in someone else's name. I let two of my youngboys stay there and watch it, but they already knew my rules.

First off, at least one of them had to be there at all times. There were no exceptions to that rule. Secondly, there was no drama allowed at the house. I didn't let them bring any jump-offs to the crib and I didn't allow any drinking or smoking there. The most they did was get into an argument over a close _NBA 2K_ or _Madden_ game, and I was all right with that. They both knew that the only people other than them who should be coming through the front door had better be with me or Tamia.

"Aight, we're here. Take off her blindfold," I said to Shooter.

After Avery's blindfold was off, we walked into the crib. It was a split level unit and I kept everything in the basement; my digital scale, my work, and a few guns, just in case. I made Avery wait up in the living room as I headed down the stairs.

"Nice little setup you got here," yelled Avery from upstairs, taking it all in.

I pulled up the floorboard and exposed my safe, then opened it up as I made sure Avery was still upstairs waiting. Quickly, I grabbed out one kilogram of that pure Columbian shit that I had gotten from Papi. Returning upstairs, Avery had her bag full of money in her hand and reached out towards me.

"It's all twenties. You want to count it up or weigh it?" she asked.

"Nah, you're good. I trust you," I said.

Avery smiled as we exchanged the drugs for the cash.

"You want to sample it?" I asked her.

"Nah, I trust you, too, Bryson," she countered.

Just like that, the deal was done. I exchanged numbers with Avery. Now that I knew she was official, I could deal with her directly. Then I blindfolded her again and had Shooter drive her about 20 miles in the other direction. From there, he put her in an Uber so that she could head back to the bar where her car and her cell phone were. I put most of the money in my safe, then gave three stacks to Shooter when he got back just for holding me down on the trip. Finally, we headed for my car so that we could get back to the city. I was feeling real accomplished and good about everything, until I turned my phone on and heard Tamia's message.

Avery

I had the cocaine, now all I had to do was get home safely. Since I knew how to move in the streets, I knew that wouldn't be a problem. First of all, I was riding really low key in my mom's '99 Astro minivan. The van was teal colored, with one spare tire that had somehow seemed to become permanent. I hated driving that ugly ass van since I was used to Bentleys, Beamers and Maseratis, but it was safer that way. The van actually rode well and I knew how to do the speed limit and watch for cops in the rearview because my husband had trained me well. I had been a transporter for him whenever he got his new _product_ in, back in the day.

Back in New Jersey, I knew I would be able to get rid of a kilo in no time flat. One thing I knew about the game was that drug users came in all shapes, sizes, ages, and races. Some of the people that you would least expect to be hooked on cocaine were the most vicious addicts. Believe it or not, my clientele in New Jersey consisted mostly of soccer moms and older corporate office worker types. They were too scared to go to the hood and buy their powder cocaine, so they paid me top dollar to deliver it to them. If I charged them $2,000 for one ounce, they would pay it with no questions asked! It was a drug dealer's dream come true.

I was ready to make a killing in New Jersey and now, with A-1 product, I would run through the 36 ounces that I had bought from Bryson in a hurry. Bryson was professional and I could see myself doing plenty of business with him in the very near future.

"It's time to get rich all over again," I said out loud to myself, speaking my dreams into existence.

My husband had spoiled me, so I wasn't used to not having everything that I desired. He took me from a young, hot in the ass, over-developed, big booty, 16-year-old girl who lied about her age and danced in strip clubs for hundreds of dollars a night, to a real baller's wife. I went from eating fried chicken in the back of the nudie bar to sampling caviar and sushi on pontoon boats off the coast of Ft. Lauderdale. I went from getting fucked in $40 a night motels to making love on a rented private jet headed for All-Star weekend in Los Angeles.

I had tasted the good life, and once you get a taste of that, it is hard to go back to being a normal, square person. I looked at my mom's life; 55 years old, still waiting every month for her partial disability check and food stamps to feed her. She had a bum-ass, off-and-on boyfriend who worked 40 hours a week just to make enough to pay his car note and rent. She hadn't been on a vacation in 15 years and I never saw her with any new clothes or shoes. That life sucked. Before I would let myself succumb to that, I was going to sell enough coke so that I could live my life, rather than just exist.

My husband had taught me too much for me to live regular. Some people were cut out for that 9-5 lifestyle, but I was not one of those people. I knew that the criminal lifestyle was evil, but there was this hidden beauty in it that I admired. More than just the money that was made, there were the partnerships and bonds that were formed. There was the camaraderie that was obtained from outsmarting the law and getting rich. The rush of it all was what I thrived for. I loved it. The game ran through my veins and I couldn't turn my back on it until it gave me everything that I desired.

# 6

Tamia

I checked into the Hilton and impatiently waited on Bryson's call. I had to respect the fact that he was out handling his business, but I needed to hear his voice. Hearing Bryson's voice always took me to my safe place. He had a way of speaking to me that let me know that everything would eventually be okay in the long run.

Bryson was a natural protector, and even though he was younger than I was, that was one of the things that attracted me to him. He had a way of picking up the broken pieces of my heart and putting them all back together like a perfect puzzle. Just as I ran some bathwater, my phone finally went off.

"Bae," I said, anxiously picking up the phone.

"Yizzo, I got your message. Are you okay?" he blurted out.

"A little shaken up, but I'm cool," I replied as I tested the heat of the water in the tub.

"What they say to you?" he asked.

"Just kept asking me where you were and saying that they were coming for you. And she talked about an indictment, too."

"Damn it, that's crazy. Alright, den. I just finished handling my business. I'm on my way now," said Bryson.

"Same room we had last time. I'll leave the door cracked, cause I'll be in the tub waiting for you," I told him.

"Aight, babe. I love you," replied Bryson.

"Love you more," I replied back.

I guess I always knew this day was coming. It wasn't logical that Bryson could sell the amount of cocaine that he did without the Feds becoming suspicious. I mean, even though Bryson was young, he was major. I wasn't a real hood chick, but I wasn't a naïve broad, either. I knew about how much Bryson was making because I had been with him every step of the way.

I had a bank account through my credit union where we maintained a balance of about $50,000. We both had debit cards and could get money out of the ATM whenever we needed it, but only my name was on the account in order to maintain Bryson's ghost-like presence. However, back in the house, we kept another stash. This was emergency money and it was only about $10,000, which was tucked into a hole Bryson had cut in our mattress.

The real money stayed in Bryson's stash house out in Haverford, though. That place had no connection to either of us. His youngboys stayed there and they were just two school kids who weren't even involved in the operation. Bryson paid the rent and bills there, and in turn, the 2 kids made a promise to him to stay in school so that they could graduate and become lawyers, judges or maybe even politicians. It was always a dream of Bryson's to have a lawyer or judge on the team so that if anyone caught a case, he would have some friends who could handle it.

The house looked like a calm, unassuming, residential place, but down in the basement of that crib was where it went down. Currently, there were 4 kilos of cocaine and $400,000 in cash in the safe! We had a Sentry Fingerprint Safe. Only two fingerprints in the world could open that safe; mine and Bryson's. We were the only two people we fully trusted in this crazy world of sin. Don't get me wrong, I loved my family, but at the end of the day, I knew that Bryson would never betray me. Sometimes I felt like it was wrong to feel that way, but after all that I had been through with Bryson, our trust was just on another level.

As I eased into the bath, all of my nerves calmed down knowing that Bryson was on the way. He was the one person who could make everything better. I knew that he would have a plan for dealing with this nut ass Detective Lee. Whether we had to go on the run or just call our lawyer and get out of the game for a while, I knew that Bryson would know exactly what to do.

Even though we were in a crisis situation, I'm ashamed to say I was still thinking about getting some dick. I couldn't help myself; the sex was just that good that I thought about it all day long. I was feigning to feel him go in and out of me while I threw it back at him. As the warm water eased my nerves, I reached between my legs and figured I would get started without Bryson. When he wasn't around, I had to rely on my fingers. It wasn't the same, but eventually they did the trick. Feeling a little bit more relaxed, I sat in the tub and rested my eyes. It had been a stressful day, but knowing that Bryson was on the way was starting to make me feel much better.

Hunter

There weren't too many people in the world like me. I was most certainly one of a kind. At 6'7, 360 pounds with skin as black as coal, a glistening bald head, and a beard twice the size of James Harden's, I couldn't help but to stand out. I guess on some levels, I could be referred to as a sociopath, meaning that at the end of the day, I really only cared about myself. Before you judge me, though, understand my story.

I was an only child of two only children, so I was a natural born loner. No brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and barely any fuckin' friends. Both of my parents were vicious heroin addicts, so by the age of 13, I was living in a group home as they roamed the streets of Tallahassee, Florida searching for their next high. I wasn't really cut out for the structure and discipline of the group home though, so I escaped and took refuge in the streets. Before long, I was selling the same shit that my folks were getting high off of.

By the time I was 17, I had a reputation in the Florida streets. I was selling drugs hand to hand, getting money, and blowing through it fast. Unlike most, I didn't run with a crew or a gang. I did my dirt all by my lonely, and I liked it that way. By the time I was 21, I had graduated to pushing weight. I was becoming a real player in the game. I had a couple cars, a crib, and I was really beginning to understand how the game worked. I was stacking money and making power moves out in my neighborhood.

By 25, I was moving a serious amount of smack. I was getting it in by the kilo and selling only large amounts. I had over a dozen people working for me and all I did was sit back and get an envelope full of cash from each of them at the end of every week. That was the life. I thought I had outsmarted the whole world, but when one of my workers got caught and wasn't strong enough to take the 5-year sentence that he was facing, he blew up my whole spot. He gave my name to the Feds and my indictment came the next month.

The Feds had wiretaps, video recordings, and signed witness statements saying that I was the supplier of all the heroin that they had gotten. In other words, I had been setup and snitched on. I was done; 25 years old and looking at 20 years in prison. The person who told on me got a few years of probation, which was basically just a slap on the wrist. Then, just before I was scheduled to go to court, a detective named Crystal Lee came and met with me at Leon County Jail.

Detective Lee looked me straight in the eye and asked me one question; how far was I willing to go to stay out of prison? I couldn't face the reality of spending the next 20 years without liquor, pussy, weed, or freedom, so I told her that I would do whatever it took for me to get out of a 20-year sentence. I figured that she wanted me to snitch on my connects and take some crazy deal that ended up with me doing 10 years of federal probation, but Detective Lee had something completely different in mind. What she wanted me to do would make my case disappear completely. Her idea was crazy and I had never heard of anything like it before.

Instead of going to court the next day, I got on a plane and flew up North. It was the first time I had been outside of Florida. I moved into the Philadelphia area near Detective Lee and became what she called an unofficial federal enforcer. Let me explain. Whenever the Feds were trying to build a case on someone who was getting illegal money, but they didn't have quite enough evidence, they brought me in. My job was to scare criminals so badly, that eventually they would comply with whatever the Feds wanted them to do. Whether I had to throw people in the trunk, torture them, or just beat the living daylights out of them, I always made people comply. It was my job, and I was damn good at it. No matter where I was, when Detective Lee called, I dropped everything and went to work for her. That was part of our deal. This time was no exception.

"This is Hunter, let me know what's goin' on," I said, as I answered my phone on the first ring.

"I got a job for you," said Detective Lee.

"Give me the details and I'm all over it."

"Last name is Greyson. First is Tamia. From North Philadelphia area. Boyfriend is named Bryson. I'll text you her picture and info," Detective Lee explained.

If you don't already know, the Feds play dirty. Earlier in the day, Detective Lee had questioned a woman named Tamia Greyson. As she did that, her partner had placed a little ass tracking device in this Tamia's handbag. Yeah, it was some completely illegal shit, but now I knew exactly where to find her. From there, the rest was all up to me.

To the streets, I looked like a regular goon. The niggas I hung out with had no idea I was actually an unofficial federal agent. The funny part was they probably assumed I sold drugs or kicked doors in for a living. Silly them. Just because I looked like a street nigga didn't mean that I wasn't secretly working for the Feds. Looks can be hella deceiving.

Detective Lee sent me a text that showed me what Tamia looked like and also sent me the exact location that the tracking device had provided. It showed that she was currently at the Hilton downtown. I was all over it. That was my job.

"Beautiful little thing," I said, as I looked at Tamia's redbone complexion in the picture Detective Lee had texted to my phone.

I immediately turned around and headed for the Hilton. I was familiar with the spot. Every once in a while, I'd get a room there and take a nice bath in their tubs and then lay around in those complimentary white robes that they had. Just because I was big didn't mean that I didn't know how to pamper myself.

My tinted out 2006 Chevy Impala got me through the Philly streets quickly and in no time, I was barging my way through the front door of the hotel. I had a JanSport book bag strapped with my _work equipment_ on my back, and my Desert Eagle tucked into my pants.

"Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you get checked into a room today?" said the hotel clerk.

"Nah, hoe, I'm good. I'm meeting someone here," I scowled, as I walked towards the elevator.

The tracking device was some top of the line Fed shit. It let me know Tamia was on the 5th floor, but it would be up to me to find out exactly which room. I busted off of the elevator like a blue nosed Pitbull let loose from his chain. Just my mere presence was intimidating, so the elderly couple standing by the door tensed up as soon as they saw my big ass. Just because I was a 6'7 Black man with a snarl on my face and dressed in a black Champion hoodie and military-style fatigue pants with worn out Tims on didn't mean I was going to harm them. If things went smoothly, I wouldn't have to harm anyone; except maybe Tamia.

I looked up and down the hallway, watching anything that moved. Waiting for Tamia to come out could take forever, but that was my job. Then, I looked towards the last room at the corner of the hallway. The door was cracked open. Maybe this was my lucky day. I moved as quietly as I could for a nigga weighing almost 400 and eased the door the rest of the way open. There were some jeans and a shirt strewn across the bed, and although they looked like women's clothing, I couldn't be sure if I was in the right hotel room.

I could hear water splashing gently from the tub in the bathroom, so I decided to do a sneak peek.

"Bryson, is that you?" I heard a woman call as she sensed my presence.

"Nope, it ain't Bryson. I'm Hunter, and I'm your worst fuckin' nightmare, Tamia!" I forebodingly said.

Tamia

I stared up at the huge man who had busted into my hotel room, and I was too scared to even holler. My body locked up on me and before I could make a move, he lunged at me.

"You're coming with me, bitch!" he barked as he grabbed at my naked body.

"Get the fuck off of me! Help!" I finally forced myself to yell.

As I hollered, fussed and fought, the crazed man who called himself Hunter lifted me out of the tub and threw me over his shoulder like I was a sack of dirty laundry. I pounded him on his massive back, but my tiny little fists didn't faze him at all.

"You got a nice little body on you," he said as he marched towards the front door.

As I continued hollering and trying to break free, Hunter carried me out of the room and into the hallway.

"Oh my God, put her down," hollered one of the hotel workers as he peeped the situation.

The nigga Hunter was so strong that he used his free hand to mush the worker and knock her into the wall. I couldn't do anything but scream and I had no idea where this lunatic was taking me or what he was going to do to me.

Hunter headed towards the stairs and just my luck, we didn't pass anyone for a whole five flights. I figured people were too lazy to take the stairs and everyone must be waiting on the elevator. I kept screaming and punching his back, but that only made him tighten his grip around my waist.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, but he remained stoic and silent.

Before I knew it, we were in the lobby of the hotel. People were shocked when they saw this huge man with my naked, dripping wet body draped over his shoulder.

"Oh my God, call the police!" I heard someone holler.

One person ran up on us to try and stop Hunter, but when he raised his waistline and flashed a gun, they backed down.

"That's what I thought. You ain't tryin' to die today. Just mind your damn business. This is official government property right here," said Hunter as he made his way out the front door of the Hilton.

The next thing I knew, I was being slammed into the trunk of a car. Once I saw the trunk close and the darkness surrounded me, I couldn't help but think that my life was coming to an end!

# 7

Bryson

I pulled up to the front of the Hilton, but I could already sense that something was wrong. There were police cars parked everywhere and the place was swarming with officers. I always made it my business to be where the cops weren't. Quickly, I pulled off to the side of the building and parked my whip. I picked up my little burnout phone and called Tamia, but it just rang and rang before eventually going to voicemail. I called over and over, but got the same result.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" I said as I finally hopped out of the Benz and tried to make my way inside.

"I'm sorry, sir, we can't let anyone in right now. You'll have to check in another time," said one of the cops who was standing at the door.

"Why, what happened?" I asked.

The cop gave me a vague ass answer and really didn't care when I tried to explain that my girlfriend was in there waiting for me. That was one reason I hated cops; they always talked to regular citizens like they were better than us or something.

I noticed a group of Black people standing by the corner of the building talking, so I walked over towards them. "Yo, anybody know what's going on? They won't even let me in. What happened?" I asked.

"Shit was crazy, bruh. Some big ass nigga came in and snatched some little redbone jawn up right out of her room. She was naked and everything. Nigga threw her in his trunk and bounced," explained the man, between pulls of his Black and Mild.

My instincts had me believing the worst. Somehow I knew that the 'redbone jawn' the man was talking about had to be Tamia. Unfortunately, no one had whipped out their camera phone and recorded anything because it happened so fast. I tried Tamia's phone one more time and still, there was no answer. As I watched the cops tie off yellow tape around a few different areas, I sat there in shock. I had no idea what to do.

I told my bae that I would always protect her, but in this situation, I didn't know where to start. I had no idea who would kidnap her. People barely knew who I was, much less her. I did realize that with the lifestyle I was involved in, anything was possible, though. Then, there was the crazy message she had sent me about the police talking to her. In the long run, I had no idea what we were about to be up against!

Tamia

Amidst a steady stream of tears and hollering until I damn near lost my voice, all I could think about was whether or not I was going to die. I had been through so much in my life, but as I feared for my demise, all I could think about was Bryson. Bryson meant so much to me, sometimes he was all I felt that I could depend on in this crazy world. Just as I thought about the last time I had seen him, the car came to a stop. I had no idea where I was.

Finally, the trunk popped open and I saw something that I never thought I would see again; daylight. We were in some sort of garage with one window in it. I was naked, cold, and scared, but the way the sunlight shined in through that small window gave me a glimmer of hope.

"Keep your fuckin' mouth shut and I'll let you live, bitch," said Hunter as he aimed his gun right at my temple.

Part of me wanted to scream, but with a gun in my face, I figured that I had better follow the insane man's instructions. In a matter of seconds, Hunter picked me up and threw me over his shoulder once again. I tried to look around and get a sense of where I was, but before I knew it, we were heading inside of the house, which was connected to the garage. The inside of the house was desolate with hardly anything in it, not even a chair or a TV. It was obviously a bando and once we got inside, we went straight downstairs to the basement.

"If you do what the fuck I say, you might come out of this alive," said Hunter as he forced me to sit down on a cold, wooden chair.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I managed to ask.

"Shut up, I'll explain everything real soon," Hunter said as he tied my hands behind my back, around the chair, and then bound my feet to it also.

I was basically hogtied to a chair, sitting there naked, in a cold, dingy basement, with one dimly lit light on over in the corner. I was confused and didn't know what was going to happen next, but once I looked up and saw the woman standing in my face, it all started to make sense.

"You see, I gave you a chance to save yourself the easy way, but you didn't want to accept it. So now, we are going to have to do things the hard way," said Detective Lee.

Quickly, as my mind was racing, I added the situation up. Detective Lee had sent this Hunter fool to kidnap me. I knew for a fact that was completely illegal. I had no idea how they had found me at the Hilton, but at the moment, that was the least of my worries.

"Hunter, get a shirt for our little friend. I'm tired of looking at her perfect little body," said Detective Lee with the jealousy of a woman who was past her prime physically in her voice.

Hunter put a white button down shirt over my body the best he could and then Detective Lee started running her mouth again.

"As you know, your boyfriend Bryson is getting a lot of money in these streets. I can't figure out exactly how he moves so much drugs, but with the life ya'll are living, I know what he's up to. I do have to admit, though, I've been watching him for a while and I can't get anything on him," explained Detective Lee.

"I don't know what you're talking about. None of that got nothing to do with me. Let me out of here!" I blurted out.

"Shut up!" said Detective Lee, smacking me with her open hand, which was rough to the touch.

She was real tough being now that I was tied to a chair and couldn't move. No woman had ever smacked me before without getting her ass beat. I wasn't the toughest woman in the world, but I was far from a sucker. My mother and father didn't raise no punk whatsoever. I gritted my teeth at Detective Lee. I had to let her know that I was past the point of being afraid, and now, I just simply didn't give a fuck. I figured if they were going to kill me, they would have done it by now. And even if they were, I wasn't going to go out like a little bitch. I was going to die fighting.

"Like I said, since you wanted to do shit the hard way, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to press record on my cell phone camera and you are going to tell me all about Bryson's little drug operation. I want to know where he gets it, who he gets it from, and how much of it he gets. I want to know everything. Are we clear?" asked Detective Lee.

I just looked at the Detective and remained silent. It was crazy to me that abuse like this was coming from the law and not the streets. Law enforcement was designed to protect people, but I guess in America, we were way past that point.

"I said, are we clear?" barked the Detective.

Finally, I decided to answer. "Yes," I mumbled, under my breath.

For the first time since I had met her earlier in the day, I saw Detective Lee crack a smile. She was pleased I had decided to cooperate. Quickly, she cut her phone on and aimed it at me, from the head up so that no one could tell I was tied to a chair.

"I have here Tamia Greyson. She has come in today to volunteer some information on her boyfriend Bryson Brown. The date is March 15th, 2015," said Detective Lee, before pointing at me to start talking.

I took a deep breath and then spoke from the heart. "Fuck you, bitch," I simply said. I didn't scream or holler, but I spoke in a low, serious tone that let Detective Lee and Hunter know that I would never snitch on Bryson. My loyalty made me his royalty.

The detective was absolutely pissed. "You know what? I've had it with you. That's it! That was your last chance. That little stunt was the final straw! You're just an evil woman, and I can't help you, regardless of who your father was. Mark my words, you will be sorry," she said, cutting her phone off.

Detective Lee tried to flip the script and make me out to be the bad one, but she was a dirty ass cop. I was sure that nowhere in the police handbook was treatment like this a part of the training. I was no angel, but I didn't deserve to be hogtied to a chair in a nasty basement with my life hanging in the balance.

"What you want me to do now, boss?" asked Hunter, as he looked at Detective Lee.

"Do whatever you want with her," smirked Detective Lee, before marching up the stairs and, I assumed, out of the house.

_Oh shit,_ was all I could think to myself as I looked at the crazy look in Hunter's eyes.

# 8

Hunter

I had to admit, this Tamia bitch had heart. Most hustlers' girlfriends crack when they first get questioned by the Feds, but nothing seemed to make her want to talk. No matter what Detective Lee said to her, she wasn't going to snitch on her man. On the low, I had to respect her for that. I never had a woman in my corner that was that down for me. Even though I respected Tamia, it didn't mean that I wasn't about to put her through hell!

"So what you gonna do, kill me?" asked Tamia, still tied up tightly to the chair.

I laughed at her boldness. "Nah, bitch, I'd rather just make you wish that you were dead," I said.

I knew that Tamia and this Bryson nigga had to be sitting on a whole bunch of money if Detective Lee was going through all of these measures to get an indictment on them. Since that didn't look like it was going to happen, I was going to take advantage of the situation for my own best interests.

"So where's the stash at?" I asked her.

"I don't know what you're talkin' bout," Tamia responded.

"Every hustler has a stash. A little nest egg put away for a rainy day. Are you gonna tell me where yours is or nah?" I asked.

Tamia remained silent, which forced me to step into my torture mode. I went into my bag and pulled out my favorite knife. It was a buck knife with a six-inch blade that still had dried up blood on it from the last time that I had been forced to use it. I took the sharp end of the blade and gently pushed it against Tamia's cheek, causing just a touch of blood to emerge from her skin.

"There's two options. Either you take me to the stash, or I put this knife in deeper next time. Be smart. You can replace the money, but you can't replace your life," I reasoned.

See, since I used to be in the drug game, I knew how to talk to Tamia in a way that would make her understand. She wasn't stupid. She knew that no amount of money was worth dying over. She also had to know that, if worse came to worst, I would kill her!

Tamia

I was trying to stay strong, but with blood dripping from my face, it was hard. I was still confused at how things had even gotten this far. Police weren't allowed to use these tactics, it just wasn't fair. I had gone from sitting in a warm bath, waiting for Bryson to come and get me to fearing for my life. Knowing that my life was hanging in the balance was a terrible feeling.

As much as I didn't want to, I was going to have to do whatever this crazy nigga named Hunter said I had to do.

"All right, I'll show you where the money is," I finally broke down and said.

"That's the smartest thing you done said all day," replied Hunter.

Thoughts of trying to make some kind of escape were racing through my head, but remembering the big ass gun that Hunter had flashed earlier brought me back to reality. He loaded me into his car and all I could be thankful for was that at least this time, I wasn't riding in the trunk.

"Where's the stash house?" he asked.

"In Haverford," I finally had to admit.

"Smart. Keep your money up there with them white folks," said Hunter with a sadistic laugh.

Hunter made me direct him to the place and all I could think about was how I was letting Bryson down. All that Bryson had worked for was about to be taken and it was all my fault. It had taken him years to stack the nearly half a million dollars that was in the safe. Now, this Hunter nigga, who had been hired by the Feds, was about to take it all!

Before long, we had pulled up at the stash house.

"Don't try nothing crazy if you know what's good for you. Just take me in there, get the money and keep your mouth shut," demanded Hunter.

With the gun pressed in the small of my back, Hunter walked me up the pathway that led to the front door. One of the downsides about having the house out in such a quiet neighborhood was that no one was outside to see what was going on. Had we been in North Philly, the whole block would have been standing outside. But out here in the 'burbs, even if I screamed, there was no one around to hear me. I was completely helpless.

I went through the front door and immediately, Bryson's youngboy sensed that something was wrong.

"Tamia? Where's your pants? Are you bleeding?" he confusedly asked.

"Shut the fuck up. This ain't 21 Questions! Who else is here with you?" asked Hunter, as he waved his gun around.

"No...no...nobody," he muttered.

Hunter walked over and took the youngboy's phone from out of his pocket. He was making sure that he was covering all of his tracks.

"Good. Now, shut the fuck up and lay ya ass down on the floor lil' nigga. Count to a hundred. Matter of fact, make it a thousand, with your goofy lookin' ass," barked Hunter as he flashed the gun in his direction.

Bryson's youngboy wasn't a street nigga, so once he saw a man with a gun aimed at him, he fell in line. He was scared as hell and I couldn't blame him. Shit, I was terrified, too. Once Hunter got access to the money, he had no more need for me.

_Is he going to kill me as soon as I open this safe?_ I wondered to myself.

As I walked down the stairs with Hunter right behind me, my mind drifted off to a better place and time. I was thinking about over the summer, when Bryson and I flew down to Miami. That whole month, Bryson treated me like a queen. He flew me first class, and not on cheap ass Spirit Airlines, either. We took a Delta flight and then a car service straight to the Fountaine Bleu.

Once we were at the hotel, anything that I wanted, Bryson got for me. From room service to drinks by the pool, Bryson took care of everything like a true boss. We took a boat tour to see Star Island, which was crazy. We even had a section in LIV on Sunday, just behind Lil' Wayne's! I had the time of my life. It was on that trip that I knew that Bryson was the man that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It wasn't just the things Bryson brought for me; it was the way that he did it. He made me feel like nothing was too good for me and that I deserved the best things that the world had to offer.

I snapped back to reality and quickly realized that I was a long way from South Beach. In fact, I might never see Miami again. I was in a messed up situation with a deranged lunatic forcing a gun into the small of my back and making all types of threats.

"Open up the safe," said Hunter as I pulled up the floor board that was covering it.

I put my hand onto the fingerprint device on the safe and just like that, it popped open. It had been a long time since I had been inside the safe. Bryson handled all the contents of the safe; my fingerprint was only setup to open it in case of emergency. With my life on the line, I considered this an emergency!

Hunter

Seeing the inside of that safe had me reminiscing back to the days when I was out there in the streets hustling. It certainly brought back a few memories, but I can't lie, though; I was never doing it this big. This lil' nigga Bryson was really getting money at a young age. I could see why the Feds wanted him off of the streets. He was doing it too big.

"How much money is here?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Tamia.

"Like hell you don't! Bitch, how much money is here?" I repeated.

"It's 400 grand, give or take a few racks," she finally confessed.

400 hundred thousand dollars was a whole lot of money for an old school country nigga like myself. It could buy me a couple of drop top Chevys, a few new gold grills, about a hundred pounds of loud, and a few months' worth of backpage.com pussy. That was all a simple country nigga like me really needed in life. But it wasn't enough. I was greedy. I was never satisfied. I felt like I could get even more money out of these young ass muthafuckas. I didn't care how much drugs this nigga had sold; no young nigga deserves to have that kind of money.

There was also some cocaine in the safe along with a few guns. I took the guns, but decided to leave the coke. I had cash, so what did I look like running around in the streets trying to sell drugs?

"Now what?" asked Tamia, scared for her young life.

I got a thrill out of having her so fearful of me. One click of the trigger, and just like that, it was all over for her. I had all the power. I felt like I was her God; I decided if she lived or died. But I wasn't going to kill her. Tamia was worth more to me alive than she was dead.

I looked into her sexy little eyes and saw the fear in them. "I ain't gonna kill you," I assured her as I passed her the cell phone I had taken off of the little scared nigga upstairs. "Call your little boyfriend, though. I wanna talk to him," I said as I shoved the money into a trash bag and led the way back to my car.

# 9

Bryson

I picked up my phone on the first ring and before I could even say anything, I knew something was wrong. The call came from my youngboy's phone number, but I could sense that it wasn't him calling me. He only called when the rent was due, and I had just paid that shit. Shockingly, the voice on the other end of the phone was Tamia's. My connection with my bae was so deep, I could tell just by the tone in her voice that shit was fucked up.

"Baby," she said.

"Where are you, Tamia? Are you okay?" I instinctively asked.

"They took me..." cried Tamia.

"What! Who?" I hollered into the phone.

"I'm sorry," was all I could hear Tamia saying over and over again.

"Where are you?" I begged her to tell me.

"Stop all that cryin' and shit! Give me that fuckin' phone!" I heard a deep male voice say as Tamia's voice trailed off.

"Yeah, nigga, I got your bitch!" said the voice.

"Who the fuck is this?" I yelled into my phone.

The man breathed heavily into the phone in a way that was more annoying than it was frightening. "Just call me Hunter, nigga. And if you ever wanna see this pretty little young thing again, I'm a need some more cash. Another hundred thousand to go with the other 400 I just took out of your safe! I'll holla at ya young ass very soon! In the meantime, get that money ready for me! You got 2 hours!" said Hunter before hanging up the phone.

The realization that most of my money was gone hit me pretty hard, but finding out that Tamia had been kidnapped was even worse. A million times worse. I cared about Tamia more than any amount of money in the world. She had been with me when I was broke, which automatically made her more important than the money. Tamia was my backbone; she kept me sane in this crazy lifestyle that I was involved in. Without her, I didn't know what I would do or how I would manage to go on.

I tried to call the number back, but Hunter didn't answer. It was obvious that he was making a point; I was going to have to play on his terms. He had my girl, so I was at his mercy. I hated being in a position where another man had control over the things in my life. That was why I had never been able to keep a job longer than 3 weeks, ever.

I still didn't know anything about this Hunter nigga, like where he was from, or who sent him, but one thing was for certain. He wasn't playing any games. He was out for money and blood. As I sat in my car, I weighed my options. We had the ten grand in the mattress in the house, which wasn't nearly enough. Then there was Tamia's account, which was mostly made up of her inheritance money. I had a debit card to the account, but to remain low-key, my name wasn't on the account. There was no way I could take 50 grand out of the bank with a debit card; there was a $500 a day limit. Still, that wouldn't have been enough. This nigga was demanding $100,000 to go on top of the $400,000 he had already taken from me.

I was fucked, but there was no time to feel sorry for myself. Sitting around and crying like a bitch wasn't going to solve anything. I had to find out who had Tamia, so I headed up to my stash house, since it was obvious that Hunter had been there and gotten to my safe. I hadn't driven my Benz so fast in a long time, but I had it at damn near 100mph heading up the e-Way.

"Yo, what the fuck happened?" I said to my youngboy as I burst through the door of the Haverford stash house.

"I'm sorry, Bryson," was all he could say as he sat at the kitchen table in a catatonic type of state.

"Just tell me what happened," I asked again.

"Some big, humongous nigga came in here with Tamia. He had a gun on him and he took my phone and made me lay face down on the ground. I thought he was gonna shoot me. Then he made Tamia take him to the safe. He put the cash in a trash bag and then they left," he explained, holding back tears.

I was upset at the situation, but I couldn't be mad at my youngboy. I kept him out of the street life, so there was no way he would know what to do in a situation like that. Shit, I don't know what I would have done if the shoe were on the other foot. Nevertheless, I raced down to my safe. I used my hand to open it up and my fears were confirmed. The cash and my guns were gone.

"Fuck," I said, looking at the safe that just hours ago was damn near stocked to capacity.

I took a deep breath and gathered myself. The money was gone, but the cocaine was still there. I had to make a play, and quickly. The clock was ticking. Nervously, I picked up my phone and let my fingers do the dialing.

Avery

Bryson hadn't lied; the powder cocaine that I had bought off of him was A-1 quality for sure. I had only been back in New Jersey for a few hours and already it was moving. The snooty suburb parents were sniffing it up and I was reaping the benefits. Their dirty little bad habits were leading to a fortune for me. I was already fantasizing about the cars, clothes, and jewels that I would soon be able to purchase. This time, I had my eye on the BMW i8 with some 22s. I would look right sitting behind the wheel of that car. My daydreams were interrupted when my phone suddenly started ringing. The person calling me came as quite a shock.

"What's up, Bryson? I didn't expect to be hearing from you so soon. I was actually going to holler at you in a few days," I said, as I answered.

Bryson started talking in a panicky tone. He didn't seem like the smooth, young hustler that I had just encountered earlier in the day. "Yo, Avery, I got a little situation, and you were the first person I could think of that might could help me out of it. It's real, real important," he started.

I didn't really like to talk business over the phone, but the tone in Bryson's voice sounded urgent. He was talking like time was of the essence and it was a real life or death matter, so I let him continue.

"I'm in a tight spot where I need 100 large like right now. And I got four of them things left that you bought earlier. So I was wondering if you was interested. I'll let all 'em go right now..." said Bryson, talking a mile a minute.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. You trying to get us indicted. Let's talk in person," I suggested.

I had experience with wiretaps since they had partially led to my husband getting arrested, so I wasn't going to incriminate myself over the phone. Had it been anyone else on the other end of the line, I would have hung up and tossed my phone in a lake, but I had a special connection with Bryson, so I decided to help him out.

"Look, just meet me up at that same bar on South Street, alright? I can get there in like 30 minutes," I said.

"Thanks," said Bryson.

I dropped everything I was doing and scooped up a few of my duffel bags, then got ready to load them into my mom's van.

"You're going back out?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Well, what the hell is in those bags? Avery, I don't know what you're up to, but it seems like you on some sneaky shit," she chastised me.

My mom was one of those mothers who picked and chose when she wanted to be a parent. She really hadn't raised me, but now that I was damn near 30, here she was trying to tell me what I should and shouldn't do.

"Don't worry about all that. Look, I just gotta handle something real fast. It's important," I explained.

"You gonna end up in prison right there with that no good ass nigga you married," she mumbled under her breath as I gathered my things.

Talking about my husband was one way to get under my skin quickly. That man had done everything for me, so I would be damned if I let a mother who really hadn't been in my life, for the most part, talk shit about him. My husband had basically rescued me when I was heading down a terrible path in life. He showed me things about love, life, loyalty and family that I never knew about before. I owed a lot to that man, so I didn't take people talking down on him lightly.

My husband was no angel; he was a crook. I can't lie about that. However, he had a heart of gold. So I had to check my mom on that shit. It was my duty as his wife.

"Look, just cause I'm temporarily stayin' in this lil' bullshit ass apartment you got don't give you the right to talk to me any type of way," I clarified.

"What? Who you think you talkin' to? I might be old, but I'll still slap the shit outta your high yellow ass!" she hollered.

"Mom, please! You ain't slappin' nothin' over here! Obamacare don't cover ass whoopins, so you better calm down. I will..." I started before my mom rushed at me.

My mom pushed me, knocking me into the wall. I dropped my duffel bag and some of my cash spilled out. My instincts told me to fuck my mom up, but I gave her a pass since she brought me into this world. Plus, I had more important things to do. Bryson really needed help.

"You lucky Bryson is in a tight spot right now!" I hollered as I scooped my cash up and bolted for the door.

The look on my mom's face was priceless. "Wait. Who?" she asked.

"Pardon my back!" I said as I got out of there in a hurry.

# 10

Bryson

Usually, I never rode around with cocaine in the trunk of my Benz, but this time I had to make an exception. My bae's life depended on it. I could only imagine what Tamia was going through. I wished that I knew where she was, so I could just go in there guns blazing with Shooter and air this Hunter nigga out, but things didn't work that way all the time. He had my woman, so I had to play by his rules. If something happened to Tamia, I had no idea what I would do.

I pulled up to Fat Mike's bar and gave him the bad news. Tamia was my lady, but she was also his cousin so he was fucked up over the situation, too.

"We gotta get her back. Her mom won't be able to handle losing her," sobbed Fat Mike.

I could hardly look Fat Mike in the eye, because at the end of the day, I felt like everything was all my fault. Tamia never asked to be a part of the crazy lifestyle that I had chosen. She always talked to me about getting out of the game and investing in a business, but I only saw life through the eyes of a drug dealer.

As an awkward silence filled the bar, finally Avery strolled in. She was wearing the same tight outfit as before and had another duffel bag strapped over her shoulder as well as her Birkin bag.

"Yo, Mike, we gonna go in the back and talk real quick," I said.

As Avery followed me to the back room of the bar, I got my thoughts together. Before I could even talk, she spoke first.

"Look, you can't be talkin' all reckless over the phone, Bryson. You doin' ya thing, but you know half the niggas in the Feds now are in there because of some shit they said over the phone. A fish wouldn't get caught if he'd keep his mouth shut, you feel me?" Avery explained.

I nodded in agreement.

"So what's going on?" she asked, now that we were in private.

I explained about Tamia and Hunter and how this nigga had robbed me and still wanted more money. I offered Avery the 4 kilos that I still had left for 100 grand flat. I knew it was a lot to ask, but my options were limited in the time frame which I had to operate. The clock was ticking, and fast.

"Look, there's some stuff I have to tell you, Bryson. Some good and some bad, but it the long run, I think I can help you," countered Avery.

My girl was sitting up somewhere with her life in danger and Avery wanted to talk. I wasn't really feeling that, but at the moment, I didn't have any choice in the matter. All I could do was hope that she would make it quick.

"So my husband ain't in jail for drugs or guns like most niggas. I mean, he was a true hustler. He could get his hands on anything, shit, even Chick-Fil-A on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of a snowstorm. But the product he decided to get his hands on was the best thing going. The end all, be all. The shit every nigga in the streets is chasing..." said Avery.

At this point I was like, "What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"My husband's hustle was money. In other words, he was a counterfeiter. Not just a counterfeiter, _the_ biggest counterfeiter the city had ever seen. He could get a million bucks in fake money in a month. We were printing it up ourselves. And it was damn near undetectable. I mean, we had a paper mill from overseas sending us the same stuff the U.S. mint was using. And the ink we used was perfect. We even had over 20,000 different non-sequential serial numbers. We had watermarks on our money and everything. If it wasn't for snitches and my husband being so cocky, he would still be free..." continued Avery.

"Yo, look, I'm trying to get Tamia back! This is a great story, but what it got to do with me right now?" I asked, agitated that Avery was wasting time reminiscing about her old life.

"It has a lot to do with you, Bryson. Listen, the Feds took everything from us. Cash, cars, clothes, jewelry; they got it all, except for a couple hundred thousand in counterfeit money. And now, I got those bills. They're right here in this bag. You use this to pay off this Hunter fool and get your girl back," suggested Avery.

"Look, this nigga isn't playin' no games. He might hurt Tamia. Do you understand that? You want me to take a chance with some bullshit money? Ain't no street nigga stupid enough to be getting fooled with no funny money, Avery!" I shouted, feeling a little bit disrespected.

"It fooled you," she countered.

"What?" I snapped.

Apparently, the 36 racks that Avery had bought her first kilo off of me earlier that day with were counterfeit! I couldn't believe it.

"So what is you really sayin? You could get a nigga fucked up runnin' around with some fake money out here!" I emphatically said.

"I'm sorry bout' that, but I think right now, I'm your best option. I'll make a deal with you. I don't even want the last of your cocaine. Just front me like 2 of them and I'll give you the ransom money out of this counterfeit shit," said Avery.

Avery was as slick as the day was long. She needed a way to flip her fake money into clean cash, and selling cocaine was the fastest way for her to do it. Now, I understood her hustle. She had me mad over the fact that she had paid me in fake bills, but now she was offering to do me a favor. I didn't know her angle and I really didn't have time to think about it. I was in too tight of a spot and there was no one else that I could think to call on.

"Alright, den, let's just do it. I just gotta get Tamia back ASAP," I said, agreeing to the deal.

I handed over the cocaine over to Avery. She put the two bricks in her big ass Birkin bag. Then, Avery counted out some cash.

"Here, this is exactly 100 bands. And take this, too," she said, passing me a duffel bag and a nice .45 caliber ACP pistol.

Now I had to wait on Hunter to make the call. Surprisingly, Avery said she was going to wait with me until he did. I had no idea why she wanted to, but she insisted.

Hunter

I had Tamia tied back up in the dingy basement of the little bando where I did my dirty work. I had her hands and feet bound together as tight as I could get them. This lil' nigga Bryson had had long enough to get his money together. Correction: my money! Plus, I was getting sick of his broad Tamia. She was steady running her mouth, talking about, "God don't like ugly!" That was half the reason I could never keep a woman in my life; I couldn't put up with all the constant bitching and complaining.

"Hey, yo! Shut the fuck up with all that! I'm fittin' to call this nigga now," I said as I slapped Tamia in the face with the butt of my gun.

After she started crying even harder, I picked up the phone once again.

"Hello," said Bryson, answering the phone on the other end.

I could hear the nervousness in his voice. He was petrified because he could hear his bitch in the background whimpering like a sad toddler. Bryson might have been good at hustling and getting money, but he had violated the rules to the game. This young nigga had committed a cardinal sin. See, Bryson loved his girl. In this cruel game, if you want to really be the king, you can't love anything. That's a no-no. You got to be heartless, like I am.

Once you commit to the streets, having a family life is over. And if you do decide to play the game and have a family like some niggas choose to do, you have to keep your family and business completely separated. Money and blood don't mix. Grimy, coldblooded, ruthless niggas like me would kidnap hustler's wives, sisters, mommas, or even their kids, if it came down to it! In the streets, being in love is a liability.

"So do you got the cash or what?" I firmly asked. I wasn't playing no games with this little nigga, and he knew it.

"Yeah, I got it," he solemnly said.

I gave Bryson an address to meet me at. "And come alone. You try some funny shit, and this pretty little motherfucker that you love so much is dead! You smell me?" I threatened, cocking my Desert Eagle in the background for added effect.

I laughed and then hung up and threw the bitch Tamia back into my trunk. I turned the classic Rick Ross _Teflon Don_ CD that I was playing all the way up to drown out her screaming and crying and then pulled off, headed for the address that I had just given Bryson.

"My Rolls Royce triple black, I'm geechi, hoe!" I said, rapping along to music.

One way or another, I was going to milk Bryson and Tamia for every last red cent that they had!

Tamia

As the trunk shut once again, all I could think about was whether or not I was going to live to see another day. I could tell from looking into Hunter's eyes that he was truly a psychopath. He had no remorse for anyone, so after he got all the money from us that he possibly could, he really didn't have a reason to let me live anymore.

On a deeper level, I began to think about how none of this was worth it at all. The whole drug game was just an illusion. In the street life, there were no winners; only losers. Even the hustlers who got rich were really only losing, because they lost their souls. They lost their way in life. Money clouded people's visions to the point where they couldn't see right from wrong. It was the same message my father preached every Sunday in his sermons. I heard him, but I just wished that I had listened because it had damn sure happened to me that way.

I got so caught up in this million-dollar lifestyle that Bryson was chasing that I forgot about how we were setting ourselves up for an epic failure. No one survives the streets. It leads to either prison or the cemetery. Don't get me wrong, the money and material possessions were great, but there are other ways to obtain them. Selling your soul to the streets represents evil, and it just isn't worth it in the long run.

As I felt the car take off and I rattled around in the trunk like the little metal ball in a pinball machine at the arcade, all I could do was pray to God for the best outcome that He saw fit for me.

# 11

Bryson

I was at the location that Hunter provided, but I didn't see any sign of him or Tamia. I had the .45 tucked into a little customized stash box that I had built into my car. I checked my phone constantly, but there were no missed calls or any messages. I was steady looking around at my surroundings, like any true hustler does. I was all the way out in South Philly, but not the hood part. I was near an industrial part of the city, surrounded by warehouses, empty factories, trucks and docks. I had never even been in the area before.

There seemed like there wasn't anyone around for miles. I guess that was the way Hunter wanted it. However, over in the cut, inconspicuously, laid low in her mom's van with the engine cut off, was Avery. For some reason, she insisted on coming with me. I thought it was weird, but Avery convinced me that two sets of eyes were better than one and that she could help.

She left the cocaine that I gave her with Fat Mike in her purse at the bar. Riding around a strange part of the city with two kilos on her was not a good look. I assured her that the work would be safe with Fat Mike. He had a safe and on a few occasions, I had stashed drugs there, too. I could trust Fat Mike since he was family.

I looked down at the counterfeit money that I had gotten off of her and still couldn't believe it. All those $20 bills, and they were fake. The money looked and felt real as hell, though. I had to admit that. I knew that Avery and her husband had to have made a killing with that funny money, especially since she said they were printing it up themselves. It was a hell of a hustle.

Finally, I heard my little burnout phone ring.

"I'm here," I answered and instantly said, knowing that it could only be Hunter.

"Alright. Get out of the car and set the money on the ground over there by that brick building. Then take your ass around the other side of your pretty ass little Mercedes Benz and lay face down," Hunter said.

Since Hunter mentioned what kind of car I had, he had to have been able to see me. I figured he was off in a distance with a pair of binoculars or something. This nigga was talking like he was the police and this was some sort of bust. I wasn't stupid, though. First, I wanted to see Tamia to make sure that she was okay.

"Let me see Tamia first," I said.

"Nigga, you ain't callin no fuckin' shots here! I tell you what to do. You don't tell me nothing! I give the orders and you take them! If you ever want to see your broad alive again, you will follow my instructions. You understand me?" snapped Hunter.

Metaphorically speaking, my hands were tied. I had to do what this maniac said. He had my bae Tamia, so he was in complete control.

"Aight, nigga, aight. I'm going over there to put the money on the ground now," I answered before hanging up.

I did exactly as Hunter said and carried the duffel bag across the empty parking lot. Then I sat it down and then walked back to my car very cautiously. I was looking both ways like a child crossing the street at an elementary school bus stop. There was no telling if this crazy nigga was going to try take a shot at me or what, and I didn't have a bulletproof vest on so I was very vulnerable.

Once I got back by the car, I laid face down. I felt like a sucker, but if I had to do some sucker shit to make sure Tamia got out of this safely, then so be it. This whole situation was my fault. I still didn't know who was at the bottom of everything, but I was certain that everything had to tie back to me though. Tamia was innocent and she didn't know anything about this type of lifestyle before she met me. I had introduced her to a world that she really had no business being a part of. As I looked down at the ground like I was told, I could hear a car pulling over towards where I had left the money.

I looked out the side of my eye and saw a tinted out Chevy Impala parked by the duffle bag, but with the engine still running. Knowing that my babe was possibly somewhere in that car with a crazed man holding her hostage sent chills through my whole body. I had no idea what type of damage he had done to her or what type of torment that Hunter had put her through. The worst part was that all I could do was watch and impatiently wait. It seemed like the longest minute of my entire life. It was pure hell knowing that there was absolutely nothing that I could do. I'm a gangster, but I honestly wanted to cry my eyes out like a newborn baby.

Hunter

My eyes lit up looking at the bag of money sitting in front of the building. This kidnapping and ransom scheme was the lick of a lifetime! I was going to be set for the rest of my life. All the days of wondering about how I was going to pay rent or wondering where my next meal was coming from were about to be a thing of the past. I wouldn't have to do another job for Detective Lee if I didn't want to. I could just take the money and disappear into thin air. Maybe even take my big Black ass to Africa and blend in. Or I might stay right here in Philly and live it up; I hadn't decided yet. All I knew was that I was fuckin' rich!

I picked up the bag and took a quick look inside. Straight cash money. It was all $20 bills, wrapped neatly in rubber bands. I felt like I had just knocked over a Bank of America or a Wells Fargo or something. I looked around to see if this fool Bryson was still on the ground. Just like a well-trained dog, he was lying in place.

_Time to bust a move_ , I said to myself.

I tossed the money in my backseat and hopped back into the driver's seat.

SKRRRRT!

I mashed the gas and peeled off. Now that I had the money, I had no point of returning Tamia. She had seen my face. She might have her little boyfriend and his homies hunt me down and try to get revenge. I couldn't take that risk. I knew from day one that I wasn't ever going to return Tamia. Bryson was a fool for trusting a criminal like me. In the streets, you can't even trust your own shadow, much less another crook. I had played them all like fools, and now I was going to kill Tamia!

Avery

I popped up my head just enough to see out the window of my mom's van. I could see the Chevy Impala that had picked up my duffle bag speeding away from the scene. I had a feeling that would happen. My gut told me that Hunter was a dishonest piece of shit, and my gut instinct was never wrong. I had to do something.

I snapped my seatbelt on tightly and threw the van into drive. I pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Then, I aimed straight for the Impala that Hunter was driving. Surprisingly, the old van picked up speed pretty quickly. In a few seconds, I was doing about 50mph. Then 65. Then 85! Finally, maxing out at 90mph, I was headed straight for Hunter's car, moving as fast as I possibly could in a 1999 Astro minivan.

All of a sudden, the Impala was right in front of me. Scared as hell, I closed my eyes and then...

BOOM!

The two vehicles collided. Hunter tried to swerve, but I still crashed almost directly into him. Both of our airbags deployed and smoke came from under our engines, clouding the sky. The two vehicles combined to make one big mess of metal right in the middle of the parking lot. I felt a twinge of whiplash from the impact, but for the most part I was OKAY.

"Yo, bitch! What the fuck?" hollered Hunter as he emerged from his car and walked towards my driver's side window.

"Where's Tamia?" I demanded to know.

"Oh yeah? You're with Bryson? This is a setup! Fuck this!" Hunter hollered as he realized what was going on.

Hunter reached for his waist and exposed his gun. He aimed it in my window and I pleaded for him not to shoot, but it didn't work. All I could do was unfasten my seatbelt and try and dive into the backseat so that he didn't have a clear shot at me.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Hunter let off three shots in succession...and I was hit!

Bryson

"Oh shit!" I hollered out, as I climbed back into my car.

All I saw was a mess of smoke and a tall ass man who had to be Hunter holding a gun and running away from Avery's van, which he had just collided with. Then, Hunter hopped back into his car and tried to start it, but it wouldn't crank back up. The crash must have cracked his engine block or something. Frustrated that his car wouldn't move, he pulled the keys from the ignition and stashed them in his pants pocket.

"Fuck it! I gotta get out of here," I heard Hunter say as he snatched the duffle bag from the passenger seat and made a run for it.

It wasn't going to be that simple, though.

"Hell nah, I'm shootin' this mothafucka," I said as I grabbed the gun from the stashbox and sped in Hunter's direction.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

With one hand on the wheel driving the car and the other one on the pistol, I let off a few shots in Hunter's direction.

"Damn it!" I shouted, realizing that I had missed him with all four slugs.

It was kind of hard to shoot with the gun in my left hand, and my arm hanging from the window of my Benz, so I hopped out of the car and lined Hunter up. This time, I promised myself that I wasn't going to miss!

BANG! BANG!

I let off two more shots; one caught him in the shoulder and one in his right arm. Hunter immediately dropped his Desert Eagle to the ground after my scorching hot bullet pierced his massive arm. I saw the blood start spewing from his body, but even in pain and agony, he held onto the duffel bag and continued to run towards the abandoned building. After what he had done to me and Tamia, I had decided in my head that I was going to kill his ass right then and there once and for all! He deserved to die.

I started running in Hunter's direction with my gun trained on him and I watched and saw which abandoned factory he went into. I had him. He was as good as dead. All I had to do was follow him into the building and he was all mine. Hunter didn't have a gun on him and I did, so even though he was big as hell, he was no match for a bullet. For once, I had the advantage on him. Only one thing stopped me from chasing Hunter's ass down and emptying the rest of my clip into his big ass head; a voice coming from the trunk of the Impala!

Tamia

From the inside of the trunk, I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that after hearing a loud bang, the car hadn't moved and the music had stopped. I heard what sounded like gunshots and a few people screaming, but I didn't know what was happening. I couldn't make out their voices or even what they were saying. I didn't even know where I was. All I knew was that I wanted to get out of the damn trunk.

"Help! Help me! Let me out! Please, somebody! Help!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Then, as if my prayers were answered, the trunk opened. The little bit of sunlight that was left for the day shined into my bruised and slightly battered face. Standing there, looking like an angel from up above, was Bryson. Well, I had never seen an angel with a gun in his hand, but I was still elated to see Bryson. He sat the gun on the ground and then he reached in and pulled me out of the trunk. Bryson untied my hands and arms, then he kissed my lips.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, now I am," I said.

I knew that Bryson would come for me. He had never ever let me down before. He was my hero, the only man left on the face of the Earth that I knew that I could unequivocally and unquestionably trust.

Bryson and my reunion was short lived, as we were distracted by an agonized voice coming from the back of the mangled van that was right next to us in the desolated parking lot.

"Ughhh," was all I could make out a woman saying as it sounded like the last bit of life was being sucked out of her body.

"Damn! Avery!" said Bryson as he went towards the backdoor of the van.

"Who?" I asked, but there was no time to explain.

Bryson picked up the gun that he had just used and then tossed it into the Benz. After that, he dragged the woman that he referred to as Avery out of the backseat of the van. She was bleeding badly and her skin was very pale, but she was breathing.

"C'mon, Tamia. We gotta get her to the hospital!" said Avery as he laid the profusely bleeding woman across the backseat of his Benz.

Then I hopped into the passenger seat and Bryson sped off, heading to get Avery some much needed medical attention.

"Please don't...let...me...die..." she struggled to say from the backseat, gasping for air.

"Just hang on. It's going to be okay," I said, trying my best to comfort her.

But in my heart, it didn't look good at all. Avery was losing blood rapidly and was in and out of consciousness. The nearest hospital was at least 15 minutes away. Time was of the essence.

"Baby, toss that gun out of the window! I shot that nigga with it, we gotta get rid of it," instructed Bryson.

"Now?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

I used my shirt to wipe the gun as best as I could and when we passed a part of the road that was next to a heavily wooded area, I threw the gun as far as I could. It went deep into the woods and landed up under some trees. No one would ever find that thing.

"Good job, baby," said Bryson, as he continued driving like a madman.

Bryson

I got to the hospital in record time. From running lights to cutting people off, I did it all. At one point, I was even on the shoulder of the road, causing me to sideswipe the railing and dent the hell out of my passenger side door. By the time I go to the 'spital, one of my tires was damn near flat and I was basically riding on the rim. But Avery was still alive. She was incoherent and there was blood everywhere, but she was still breathing.

I rushed her in and the nurses instantly got her into the triage unit. My shirt was covered with Avery's blood and I was kind of in shock looking at everything that was going on. Before long, the specialists had Avery hooked up to a breathing machine and then a doctor informed me that they would have to do an emergency surgery. A bullet was lodged up against one of Avery's vital organs and if it wasn't removed, there was no way that she would make it.

_Please don't let her die,_ I prayed to God.

Tamia also went to see a doctor in the hospital. She was dehydrated and her face was cut and bruised up badly enough that she would need a few stiches. I didn't want to let Tamia out of my sights after just getting her back, but I had to so that she could get treated properly. The doctors decided it was best to hook her to an IV for a while to get her fluids back up. Eventually, I knew I would have to get the details of exactly what had happened to Tamia so I could get to the bottom of exactly where this fool Hunter had come from. But at the moment, that was impossible.

Before my eyes could blink, the whole hospital was flooded with police and detectives who wanted to ask me a million and one questions. They wanted to know who had shot Avery and if I had seen it. They wanted to know who Avery was and exactly how I knew her. They even wanted to know where the gun was that Avery had gotten shot with. In a matter of seconds, they asked me absolutely everything.

"Look, I found her slumped in a car like this. That's all I can tell you. I don't know what happened," I lied.

I told the cops that I was too distraught to answer any other questions and to respect my privacy for the time being. Once the police realized that I wasn't talking, they temporarily stopped hounding me. However, they sat right there at the hospital taking turns watching me like a hawk. They were going to make sure that they didn't let me out of their sights. I don't think they would have let me leave even if I had wanted to.

After a few hours, a doctor came out to speak to me with an update.

"I've got some really good news. The first surgery was a success. This young lady is a true fighter. Things are looking good. She's still heavily sedated..." he started before I interrupted.

"Can I see her?" I blurted out.

I had to thank Avery for what she had done. She had taken a bullet for me. If it wasn't for her, Hunter would have sped off with Tamia still in the trunk to do God knows what to her. I would probably have never seen Tamia again if it wasn't for Avery.

"What is your relationship to the victim? Are you her husband?" asked the doctor, as security and police stared at us both.

"No, I'm not related to her. She's a...friend," I struggled to say, not wanting to admit that Avery was someone who I had just met and sold a whole bunch of drugs to.

The cops were listening to my every word. If I lied and said I was Avery's husband, the doctor might permit me to go back into her room, but then the cops would probably have just cause to take me in to the police station for questioning. They always suspect the spouse when there is any form of violence. I damn sure didn't want that.

"Well, unfortunately, only family is allowed back there with her at the moment. If you are able to get in touch with any of her immediate family, let one of the staff know," informed the doctor.

Damn, I didn't even know any of Avery's family. All I knew was that her husband was locked up in federal prison and she lived in Jersey with her mom. That didn't do a whole lot of good. But I had an idea.

"Wait!" I said, as the doctor started to walk away.

"Yes, what is it, sir?" he said, turning around to see what I wanted.

"Look in her pocket. If you bring me her cell phone, I can contact her mother," I said.

The doctor frowned up his face and looked at me. "We don't usually provide personal property to non-family members without the victim's permission, but I'll see what I can do," he said.

The doctor was pretty cool. I guess he could see in my face that I really wanted Avery to be okay. As the cops looked on, I waited patiently. Finally, the doctor came back with Avery's cell phone in his hand.

"Much like her, it was covered in blood, but it isn't quite dead," profoundly said the doctor.

I didn't know what I would say to Avery's mother, but I felt like it was my duty to get in touch with her and let her know that Avery had been shot. After all, at the root of things, this whole entire situation was my fault. I picked up the phone thinking I was going to scroll through the call log until I found a contact saved as "Mom" but disappointingly, the phone was locked with a pin code.

I tried turning it off and turning it back on, but I didn't have any luck with that either. "Damn," I said, thinking about how much simpler things would have been if Avery hadn't had a lock on her cell phone.

Then it hit me. Fat Mike. Avery had left her purse at the bar with the cocaine. There had to be a license or some sort of I.D. card in that purse. It was definitely worth a shot. I picked up my own phone and called Fat Mike. After telling him that I had gotten Tamia back, I told him I needed him to look through Avery's purse.

In a matter of minutes, Fat Mike was able to find Avery's ID in her purse. He gave me the address off of her driver's license. Fat Mike was a huge help, no pun intended, so I figured I would have to lay off the insults for a while. After that, I called Shooter and arranged for him to go to the address. Shooter was one nigga that I could always count on. Through the thick and thin, he always had my back. No matter what I asked him to do, he was with it, no questions asked.

# 12

Bryson

Once again, my man Shooter had come through for me. He found Avery's home, which was in a set of apartments called Hunter's Glen, out in Delran, New Jersey. Shooter drove all the way out to Jersey and told Avery's mom what happened. He brought her back to hospital because she wanted to see her daughter, but didn't have any way to get there since her van was sitting smashed up in a South Philly parking lot.

By now, Tamia was off of the IV and done getting her stitches. She was by my side and I was holding her as tightly as humanly possible. I didn't care if she had to get a million stiches in her face or had to walk around with 200 scars for the rest of her life, she was always going to be beautiful to me regardless. That was just how much I loved her. People think beauty is purely physical, but I believe that it comes from within. I loved Tamia's soul and spirit even more than I loved her body.

The cops were still watching and eavesdropping, so I told Tamia to be tightlipped about exactly what had happened. As I let Tamia rest her head on my chest, Avery's mother walked towards me.

"Bryson, I'm Leslie. I'm Avery's mom. Have you been back there to see her yet?" she asked.

Leslie was a dark skinned woman like me. She was kind of tall and skinny, with a no nonsense look about her. By the way that she spoke, I could tell that she was definitely originally from Philly. People from here just had our own way of speaking.

"No. They said only the immediate family can go back and see her, so I just been out here waiting for updates from the doctor and stuff," I answered.

"Fuck that. We're going back there now. Come on," she said. Leslie led the way towards the back, but security stopped us.

"Sorry, only immediate family, ma'am," the guard said.

"I'm her mother and this is her brother. Now get the fuck out the way," said Leslie.

"Listen, lady, I was sitting right there when he said that he wasn't related to the victim. I'm afraid I can't let him go back there," said the guard, poking out his chest.

"Nigga, I done told you this is her brother. This is my son and I want him to see his sister. Now watch out, you fuckin' rent a cop," yelled Leslie.

"Prove it," said the rent a cop.

"His name is Bryson Brown. His birthday is January 7th, 1994. You want to look on his license and see if that matches. Or you want me to go back there and take a DNA test, too?" continued Leslie.

The cop matched the birthdate to the one on my license.

"Aight, aight, go ahead back. You didn't have to cuss at me like that, though, ma'am," he said, finally giving in.

"Come on, Bryson," said Leslie, but I couldn't move right away.

I was in shock. _How the hell did this lady know my last name, much less my birthday? Was she psychic or something?_

"Come on, Bryson," repeated Leslie as I finally decided to follow her.

Before I could ask Leslie how she knew my information, the doctor was already speaking to us about Avery.

"Your daughter is a strong woman. She took three bullets to the back and lost an insane amount of blood, but she's going to pull through. I'm expecting pretty much a full recovery," he said.

I was thankful to hear those words. My prayer had worked. Avery was still kind of out of it, so she couldn't speak, but after the doctor walked off to check on another patient, Leslie had a whole lot to say.

"You know, Bryson, sometimes in life, people make mistakes. Especially when they let drugs take control of their life. 21 years ago, I made a mistake. I gave birth to a child that I had no way to provide for. And every day of my life I have to live with that fact..." said Leslie, with a flurry of emotions running through her.

"What are you trying to say?" I asked.

Leslie's head was down and she was in tears. She paused for a second and then dropped a bomb on me. "You're my son," she finally managed to say.

Shocked wasn't the word to describe what I was feeling. In 30 seconds, every possible emotion from joy, anger, resentment, hate, confusion, elation, and jealously went through my body. Leslie proceeded to tell me that she was a drug addict with no job, no money and no real place to live when she had me. So, she basically left me and Avery to be someone else's problem. Avery's father, who was different than mine, stepped up and took her, eventually moving her out to live with him in Detroit. My grandmom ended up with me and told Leslie not to ever show her face around her house again until she got off of crack.

Leslie spent the next couple of decades basically getting high, going in and out of jail, being abused my men, and just being swallowed up whole by the streets. Even though my grandmom wouldn't let her come around, she would send her my picture and give her updates on me. When my grandmom died, Leslie lost contact with me for a few years, but once my name started ringing bells in the drug game, she found me. However, she didn't have the confidence to reveal herself to me.

Leslie told me that she never wanted this type of life for me, but she was still proud of me regardless. She said the way that I made something out of myself when all of the odds were against me showed her what type of person I was. Leslie said that I had done more in 21 years than she had done with her whole life. She respected that.

Leslie also told me that once Avery came back from Detroit, her first priority was to reach out to me, but Leslie told her not to because I was doing fine on my own. Avery insisted, though, and figured that arranging the meeting to buy the kilo off of me was the easiest way to meet me. She knew that I wouldn't turn down an opportunity to make some money. I wanted to ask about who my father was, but honestly, I couldn't take much more at the moment.

In a matter of minutes, my life was turned upside down. I had always figured my mom was dead and my sister was somewhere on the other side of the country living her life and not really thinking about me. I guess I was wrong about that though. My sister cared enough about her little brother to put her life on the line. I guess it's true what they say, family is more important than anything else. I guessed I would just have to get used to having one.

# 13

3 Months Later

Tamia

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prospert you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. It's right there in Jeremiah, verse 29, chapter 11," said the preacher from his spot up at the pulpit.

Bryson and I were sitting in the front row of Bible Way Baptist Church in West Philly. To say our lives had changed in 90 days was an understatement. After being kidnapped, my outlook on life and the world was completely different. The experience of being tortured and tossed into the trunk of a car was life changing. My stiches eventually dissolved and my scars healed, but I could never forget that awful day no matter how hard I tried to.

After I explained to Bryson how Hunter was connected to federal agent Detective Lee, he wanted revenge on them both. Bryson wanted to get with his friend Shooter and kill them at all costs. I tried to explain to him that if he killed a Fed, he would get life in prison or even the death penalty if he got caught. I couldn't face the thought of a life without Bryson. I made him promise to me not to do it, and eventually, he reluctantly agreed.

I told Bryson that the whole kidnapping was a wake-up call and that we had to change our ways for good. It was extremely hard to do, but I got Bryson to get out of the drug game. He gave the last of his cocaine to Shooter and that was that. The street life was officially over for us. All of the late night rides on the New Jersey turnpike up to New York to cop bricks of coke from Papi were done with. I just couldn't live that way anymore.

As I listened to the choir sing, I held Bryson's hand and knew that we were in a better place, mentally and spiritually. Sure, we weren't sitting on nearly half a million dollars anymore, but we had enough saved up to survive. We had to get rid of the Benz for real cheap, since it got messed up racing Avery to the hospital, but we still had the Range Rover and a pretty nice house that we were renting. Bryson had gotten a job making $15 an hour in a call center. He didn't really like working for someone else, but he sacrificed it all for me. That was love. All in all, I would say we were doing alright. We were a regular, hard-working, God-fearing couple, and that was the way it was supposed to be.

The best part: Bryson and I had decided to have a baby! I'd stopped taking my birth control and within a month, I was pregnant. Like I said, Bryson was insatiable. We already had sex every night, but once we decided to try and get pregnant, we stepped it up and did it about 3 times a day. Nature took its course, and before long, I was carrying a little bundle of joy. It was the best feeling in the world.

I admired Bryson for changing his life and especially for forging a relationship with his mother Leslie and his sister Avery. It was hard, but Bryson went out of his way to involve them in his life. On some levels, he resented the fact that his mom had abandoned him. She had chosen to be a crackhead rather than a mother, and that was a tough pill to swallow. Nevertheless, he called and checked on her every couple of days and went to visit her in Jersey on his days off.

As far as Avery, Bryson loved having a sister. He felt as if he was forever indebted to her for what she had done for him when it came to rescuing me. Besides that, Avery was a cool person to talk to. She had a million stories about the things her and her husband had done when they were sitting on all of that money. Avery had been everywhere and seen pretty much everything. She knew a lot about life.

Avery had gotten injured pretty badly in the shooting, but she was recovering pretty fast. She was a fighter. If anything, the gunshots just calmed her down and made her change up her lifestyle. Avery never even went and got the rest of the cocaine that she had gotten from Bryson. Instead, she just left it safely stored away at Fat Mike's bar. She was done with the drug game, too. With three bullets in her diet, Avery figured it was time to fall back. She'd talked to her husband and he told her to lay low. He was working on some appeals and it looked like he might be getting out soon. When he did, Avery wanted all of us to take a trip out of town and do it up real big.

As I sat in the church and looked at Bryson, I realized that he was a new and improved man. Bryson 2.0 was what I called him.

"If all hearts and minds are clear..." started the preacher, but surprisingly Bryson interrupted him.

"I'd like to say something," said Bryson.

"By all means, young man, speak what the Lord hath placed on your heart," said the preacher.

The whole congregation focused their attention on Bryson, but he didn't look nervous at all.

"I know people don't usually do this in church, but I feel like this is the best place to express my true feelings. And there is no feeling truer than this one," said Bryson as he stood up and reached his hand in the pocket of his Ralph Lauren Purple Label suit jacket.

Then, Bryson bent down on one knee and exposed a box with a ring in it!

"Tamia, since the day I met you, my life hasn't been the same. You are the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about when I go to sleep. When I'm with you, I feel like the luckiest man in the world. You are the answer to every prayer that I have ever had. I love you more than life itself. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Tamia, will you marry me?" Bryson asked.

Tears of joy flooded my eyes. Bryson was proposing to me in the same church that I had been raised in, right in front of my all of my family and friends. I had to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn't dreaming. It was real, and there was only one thing that I could say.

"Yes!" I screamed out.

The whole church stood up and applauded. Bryson rose to his feet and kissed me.

"Well alright! Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!" said the preacher.

"Whoo!" I heard my cousin Fat Mike scream out from behind us.

My life was perfect; I couldn't ask for anything more. As everyone continued congratulating Bryson and I, I was already planning for the wedding. I was going to wear white and have my bridesmaids in teal, or maybe lavender. My maid of honor would be either my mom or my cousin. I had so much planning to do, and I had to do it quick. I only had a few months before I would be showing my baby bump, so I wanted to do it before that.

After escaping the mob of people congratulating us, Bryson and I finally made our way out of the church and across the street to where the Range was parked.

"You wanna get some IHOP?" I said.

"Yeah," said Bryson, as he hopped into the driver's seat.

"I think I want blueberry pancakes with whipped cream and cheddar cheese."

Bryson laughed. "That sounds disgusting. You and these crazy cravings," he joked.

"My mom said that means it's a girl. When she was pregnant with me she ate peanut butter on pineapples all the time."

"Well, maybe ya'll both just weirdos."

Bryson

After breakfast I headed home. I felt better than I had ever felt in my life. There was something about knowing that Tamia was going to be mines for eternity that was comforting. I was honored to say that she was mine, but I was even more honored to say that I was hers. I was willing to share everything that I ever had with her. I knew that Tamia was the one who would love me unconditionally. We had been together long enough; it was time to make it official.

Also, knowing that I had a son or daughter on the way had softened me up. I thought about all the drugs I used to sell and all the fiends that I had served. Some of them were young and I would hate to think that one day someone would sell drugs to my child. However, I couldn't change the past; all I could do was try to make the future as bright as possible for my family. Family. Damn, it felt good saying that word!

As I pulled up to the crib, my homie Shooter was chilling in my driveway, sitting on the trunk of his new whip. I hadn't seen him in a while. Since I had gotten out of the game, it was like we were in two different worlds. I was going to work every day, but Shooter was still in the streets heavy. I had given him the last two bricks of cocaine that I had, so I was sure that he had come up off of that.

"Hey, Shooter," said Tamia, waving her engagement ring in the air so he could see.

"Yeah, whatever. Congratulations and all that good shit," mumbled Shooter in a disinterested tone.

"Well damn," said Tamia as she walked into the crib.

I watched Tamia walk inside the house. No matter how long we had been together, I still snuck a peek at her ass every chance I got. I loved the way it jiggled when she walked, even in her church clothes, I could still see it move.

"Yo, I'll be inside in a few minutes, baby. Let me holla at my man real fast," I said as Tamia went into the crib.

"Aight, bae," she replied.

"What's good, big homie? I see you copped the new Jaguar on these niggas! How you like it?" I asked Shooter.

Shooter just looked at me for a second before he replied. "Man, that shit is cool. Lil' V8 in there, or whatever. Sat it on some 22s and shit. But fuck that car, though. I ain't come to talk about that," he said.

"What's on your mind then?" I asked, trying to figure out the mind frame of a man who I had known since I was like 10 years old.

"Look, cuz, the hood is missin' you. How long you gonna be on this working family man bullshit? We got money to make out here in these streets," explained Shooter.

From the looks of things, Shooter was already making money; he had a 2015 Jaguar, a Breitling watch on his wrist, and Polo gear from head to toe. I guess it wasn't enough, though. That was the problem with the street life. Nobody ever had enough. If a nigga hustled to make a million, all that did was make him want to make 10 million. If he made 10 million, the next goal was to try for 100 million, and so on and so forth. The problem with that way of thinking was that a hustler could never be satisfied. I used to be that way, but I was much different now. I realized that I had gotten out of the game without doing any time in jail and I still had my health. Not too many drug dealers who did it as big as I did could say that.

"Yo, I'm retired, fam. That life ain't for me no more. I got a baby on the way and I'm bout' to get married. I'm done," I explained.

Shooter smacked his teeth. He always did that when he was mad. "Yo, I respect your decision, but you gotta realize that decision affects more people than just you. You was the plug down North Philly. A lot of niggas that was getting coke from you don't know where to turn to now. These Mexicans out here out here tryin' to charge us an arm and a leg. These niggas from South Philly tryin' to sell us some bullshit. Shit is just all the way fucked up. It's a real drought out here," continued Shooter.

"Yo, bruh, I'm sorry to hear that, but how is that my problem?" I asked.

"Please, cuz! Was it my problem all them times I held you down when them hatin' niggas from Uptown was talking about robbing you? I guess that wasn't me in the car with Avery blindfolding her and making sure she wasn't there to set you up? I guess that wasn't me who went all the way to Jersey to pick up Leslie, huh? I guess I ain't the nigga who took a little snotty ass 12-year-old kid in when his grandmom died and he ain't have nowhere to go, huh?" snapped Shooter.

Shooter was in his feelings, so I just let him talk.

"You left niggas out here to fend for themselves; not caring whether or not we eat. What type of shit is that?" he said.

"Yo, now you know that's not even true, Shooter. I _gave_ you two whole bricks," I reminded him.

"Yeah, nigga that was like three months ago. I been offed that work. Now I need some more." Shooter was getting really animated. I had never seen him like that before.

"I ain't got no more cocaine, bruh. What you want me to do?" I asked him, puzzled as hell.

"Take me to New York to meet Papi. Let me get the connect. That's all I'm asking you. Them Columbians ain't gonna fuck with nobody they don't already know. So just introduce me to them so they can front me like a half a ki and I'll be good from there. Then you can go and get married and have a million kids with Tamia for all I care," said Shooter.

"First of all, bro, Papi ain't gonna front you nothing. If you want some work from him, you gotta buy it outright. Secondly, he ain't selling a half of a ki. Your money gotta be right to cop from Papi. He might sell you one ki, but last time I copped, I had to grab five. Papi ain't even picking up the phone to talk about no half a bird, Shooter," I explained.

"Damn, Bryson! What, you think I ain't got no money? Huh? You think you the only one who made money out here in these Philadelphia streets? If I remember correctly, I showed you this game. Right or wrong? You let me know," said Shooter.

"Look, Shooter, if it means that much to you, I'll call Papi and setup a meeting. But it's gonna go like this. I'm taking my own car and you can follow me up there. You got to bring your own work back down the turnpike. I'm not touching or transporting anything. I don't even really want to see no cocaine," I said.

"Alright, den. I feel that. Just setup the meeting. ASAP. A nigga got bills to pay out here, you feel me?" said Shooter as he hopped back into his car without even shaking my hand or hugging me.

"Yeah, I got you Shooter. I got you," I said as I stepped out of the way so that he could pull off.

I honestly didn't want anything to do with the drug game anymore, but I felt like I owed Shooter this favor. Shooter was like a brother to me. He took me in when I was a little kid with no family, no money and nowhere to go and showed me how to survive. If it wasn't for that, who knows how my life would have turned out. If meeting my old connect was that important to him, then I had to arrange the meeting. I just had to be sure that Tamia didn't find out. She would have my head if she knew that I was doing anything drug-related.

I walked back into the house and saw Tamia standing in front of the microwave. She had taken off her church clothes and was in her thong and a bra, looking good as hell warming up a piece of chicken, some noodles and some apple pie.

"Babe, we just came from eating. How are you hungry again?" I asked.

"I'm eating for two now, Bryson. Besides, we bout to be married. Shit, I can let myself go now. Fuck a diet," answered Tamia, waving her ring up in the air again.

All I could do was laugh at her. "You look like you're eating for five," I joked, looking at all the stuff piled onto her plate.

"So what did Shooter want?" asked Tamia as she took her chicken out the microwave.

"Yo, that nigga was kind of upset that I haven't hollered at him in a while. He's in his feelings cause I ain't even make it out to his party down at Club Onyx last week. He wants to me slide out tonight and have a few beers with him or something," I lied.

I really hated lying to Tamia, but if I told her the truth, she would have gone ballistic. Tamia really couldn't understand certain things about how the streets worked, and there was no way for me to really explain them to her, either. If you hadn't lived the life firsthand, you couldn't really relate.

"But don't you gotta work tomorrow morning?" asked Tamia.

"Yeah, I ain't gonna be out that late, though. I'll probably be home before midnight."

"I just don't think it's a good idea..." complained Tamia, but I interrupted her by grabbing the small of her back and pulling her close to my body.

I kissed Tamia's lips and the let my tongue wander around in her mouth for a few seconds. As the kisses temporarily took Tamia's breath away, I grabbed her by her waist and lifted her up onto the kitchen counter. Then, I reached around Tamia's back and unhooked her bra. Her titties popped out and burst free like two slaves who had just escaped off of a plantation!

Those nipples were screaming at me to suck them, so I did. I placed one in my mouth while caressing the other one with my hand. Tamia bit down on her juicy bottom lip and moaned out in pure pleasure and ecstasy. With my tongue, I worked my way up to Tamia's neck and gently nibbled on it, just the way that she liked. She leaned forward and licked the inside of my ear with her tongue, because she knew that shit always turned me on.

"Let's go in the bedroom," she whispered into my ear.

"Nope, I'm a give it to you right here in this kitchen," I said back.

As Tamia sat on the counter, I grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs into the air. Then, I slid her thong off. Tamia was waxed and all smooth down there, just the way that I liked it. I was about to feast. I bent down on my knees, since she was still sitting up on our countertop. As she leaned her head back, I dove into her pussy head first. It was already wet, but I was about to have her soaking and dripping when I was done with it.

I placed Tamia's clit between my lips and went to work. Slowly but steadily, I used my fingers to play in her pussy at the same damn time.

"Damn, Bry," was all she could manage to say.

I licked up Tamia's juicy coochie and loved it almost as much as she did. Pleasing my woman got me aroused, too.

"You gonna give me that dick, Daddy?" asked Tamia in a seductive tone.

Of course I was going to pipe my bae down, so I stood her up and bent her over the counter. Tamia poked her butt out and spread her legs open. Then she looked back at me with a face that said "Come get it."

Once again, I grabbed Tamia's waist and pulled her into me. I slid it in gently and was loving the tightness of her walls.

"Pull my hair," she demanded.

I did as my woman instructed and pulled on her ponytail. It was all hers, so it wasn't going anywhere.

"Harder," said Tamia, who could be a pain freak when she wanted to be.

I sped up the pace and pushed it in deeper and deeper as Tamia's ass cheeks jiggled and shook with each and every thrust. It was ecstasy for the both of us. Finally, we both came and then sat our tired asses down right there on the floor. It was a hell of a mid-day workout.

"Just try not to stay out too late tonight, baby, okay?" she said softly. Some of that act right had Tamia's whole mood changed.

"I promise I won't, baby. You know I don't even drink like that. A few beers and then I'm out," I lied.

Finally, we got up off of the floor. As Tamia focused her attention back on her food, I slid off into the back of the house and grabbed my old burnout trap phone. I hadn't used that phone in a long ass time. Once I stopped hustling and got a job, I went and got myself an iPhone like the rest of the world. The burnout phone was my connection back into the streets, though.

I scrolled down until I found Papi's number. Since I hadn't talked to him in so long, I guess he figured I was dead or behind bars, like a lot of niggas in the game were. Luckily for me, Papi's number hadn't changed and he remembered exactly who I was. He agreed to take a meeting with me and Shooter in a few hours. Once again, I was about to be headed up to New York to see Papi. I thought those days were over, but I had to make one last trip for Shooter's sake.

# 14

Bryson

I showered up and threw on some clothes that were a little more comfortable than my church suit and then I called Shooter and told him that everything was arranged. Shooter was thrilled that I had come through for him. Finally, I kissed Tamia goodbye and headed for the door. The dickdown on the kitchen counter had calmed her nerves a bit. She was still talking her shit, though.

"And you better not have any nasty ass hoes up in your face tonight, Bryson. You know how these bitches be when they find out a man got something good going on at home!" she shouted.

"Never that, baby. I don't want none of these little thots out here," I replied on the way out the door.

I whipped the Range over to Shooter's house and honked the horn for him to come out. New York was a full two-hour drive from Philly, so we needed to be getting on our way. Papi was one man who did not like to be kept waiting. Shooter came out smoking the last little bit of a blunt and wearing a different Polo outfit than he had on before. He gave me a head nod and then hopped into his new Jaguar. Before long, I was leading the way to New York, banging the YG album and thinking about what married life was going to be like.

The ride up the turnpike went pretty smooth. We didn't hit any major traffic and in just under two hours, we were looking for parking so that we could go into Papi's bodega. Papi had a clever ass operation going on out of his bodega. In the front, it looked like a regular corner store. There were chips, drinks, lottery, cigars, and all of the things that people ran in and out of the store for all day and all night long. He also had authentic Columbian food like arroz con coco and aborrajado that was delicious.

That was how Papi was able to keep a low profile in such a busy area. Everyone just assumed that his store was busy because he had low prices and fresh food. Papi was actually fooling everyone, though. When FedEx or UPS delivered boxes to him, they were disguised as food, but in reality, that was how Papi got his drugs in. He got packages every day, and no one was going to check every single box. Having a corner store was the perfect front. It was a genius idea!

The key to Papi staying under the radar was the fact that he only dealt with certain people. Only people who were heavy in the cocaine game knew that you could go to the front counter in Papi's store and ask if Manuel Munoz was working the night shift. Manuel Munoz was a made up name; he wasn't a real person, but it let Papi and his family know that you were there to buy cocaine.

Papi was a real smart man, and I respected his hustle. He was probably worth over 10 million dollars and had been in business out of that same spot for 25 years. He told me that when he got too old for the game, he was going to pass the operation down to his kids. Papi's kids were about my age, and they were some real official New York City street niggas. They had been around drugs and guns practically all of their lives. Papi had brought all three of them up to be hustlers and now that they were coming of age, it was about to be their time to really take over shit. By the looks of them, they were ready for it, too.

The bodega looked small, but behind one of the last aisles in the back, there was a hidden door. When it was pushed just right, it opened up to reveal the back room, which was where everything went down! There were bricks on top of bricks of pure, raw, never been stepped on cocaine. There was a re-rock compressor and about 10 different digital scales. Before anyone went into that room, Papi's sons patted them down and checked them for a wire or a weapon. It didn't matter if you were copping off of Papi once a week; every time you went in that room, his sons were patting you down!

I gave the Manuel Munoz password and Papi's wife let me and Shooter go towards the back. We went through the hidden door and Papi's oldest son Hector patted us down.

"Bryson! Que pasa, amigo? Long time no see!" said Papi as I entered the room and had a seat.

Sometimes Papi spoke sort of a Spanglish. It was a broken New York City English mixed with some Columbian Spanish. He said that he could read and write English very well, but it was harder for him to speak, which I always found weird. No matter what, though, I always understood what he was trying to say. Papi was an O.G. and he had a way of getting his point across. He was all about his money, and he wasn't into much laughing, joking, or playing any games. Papi was all about his business.

"Papi, this is my best friend Shooter. He's from North Philly, too. I'm introducing ya'll because I'm done with the game, but he's still out here hustling. I told him that you have the best cocaine on the market, so I wanted you two guys to meet each other. He's good people," I said to Papi.

Shooter stood up and shook Papi's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Papi. I've heard a lot of good things about you," said Shooter.

"You know I'm not really dealing with any new people, but only for Bryson I take this meeting with you. Bryson is a good, loyal customer. His money always right. He have a good head on his shoulders. So Shooter, tell me, how many you want? 5 kilo? 10 kilo? 20?" asked Papi.

"Damn, it's like that?" remarked Shooter.

"I supply as much as you need. Mucho cocaine," explained Papi.

"Well, how much for 5 of them things, Papi?" asked Shooter.

"5 kilo is 100 grand. Best deal in town. This pure cocaine. Straight from Columbia."

"Alright, den. That sound's good to me. Let's do that," answered Shooter.

Damn, I was surprised that Shooter was copping that heavy. Throughout the years, Shooter had never really been good with money. I mean, Shooter was older than me and he was the one who showed me the game, but I was a much more successful hustler. The reason for that was that I had discipline, and Shooter really didn't. I didn't spend my money frivolously. Sure, I took trips out of town and brought clothes, sneakers and jewels like the next man, but I did it in moderation.

Shooter was a really reckless spender. I had seen nights where he got drunk and spent 10 grand just tricking off on strippers and buying bottles of champagne. Shooter would go to the Cherry Hill mall, spend five stacks on all Polo gear, then wear the stuff one time and give it away. He was wasteful with cash, so the fact that he was sitting there with Papi talking about a $100,000 deal impressed me.

"So you go to your car, get the money. By the time you come back, your package be ready to go," explained Papi.

"Cool," said Shooter as he reached down to tie the laces on his Tims.

Only, Shooter wasn't tying his shoe. I had no idea, but Shooter had snuck a little .22 into the back room in his boot. Papi's son had patted him down, but he couldn't feel the inside of his boots. Shooter raised back up and then stood up. He aimed his gun right on Papi.

"New deal. How bout' this? You give me all of this mothafuckin' cocaine right now or I kill your nut ass right now!" he said.

"Shooter, what the fuck are you doin'?" I asked, in complete shock at what he had just done.

"Bryson, this is how you treat Papi after all this time? You set me up, ay?" said Papi, disappointed in me.

"Yo, Papi, I don't know nothing about this bullshit," I said.

Then I looked at Shooter. He had a crazy ass look in his eyes, one I had never seen in like ten years of knowing him.

"Yo, Shooter, put the gun away, bro. This ain't how you do business," I tried to reason.

Shooter wasn't trying to hear me, though. Apparently, he had his own agenda. Papi still hadn't moved. "Papi, hurry the fuck up! You better get to puttin' all this work in a bag or something for me, or I'm shoot your ass. I'm dead serious. I ain't playin' with you. Let's go!" started Shooter.

Suddenly, Papi's son Hector came bursting through the door.

"What the fuck is goin on back here? Huh?" said Hector.

Hector was clutching a husky Mac-10 with an extended clip. Apparently, the back room was equipped with hidden security cameras, and when Hector saw a gun aimed in his dad's direction, he knew that he had to step up. Hector was only 21, but he was handling the Mac like a veteran killer.

"Look, everybody, just relax. Calm down, it's just a misunderstanding. It ain't gotta be like this. Chill. Put the guns down," I preached.

My words fell on deaf ears. Before I could say anything else, Shooter aimed his gun in Hector's direction and let loose twice. The first bullet flew from his gun and hit Hector right in the right arm. Hector dropped the big ass Mac-10 onto the floor and screamed out in pain. The second shot hit Hector directly in his neck. It was the first time he had ever been shot and both of the shots were perfect. They didn't call him Shooter for nothing. His aim was on point.

"Hector! No!" screamed out Papi.

As Hector's body dropped to the floor, Shooter looked around the room for a bag or something to hold all of the cocaine. He settled on the trashcan in the corner and picked it up, dumping the trash onto the floor. As Papi tended to his wounded son, Shooter scooped up like 15 bricks and tossed them into the trashcan.

I was dumbfounded and pretty much still sitting there in shock. I had been in some crazy situations, but this one took the cake. I had never seen anything this crazy before. Shooter was being greedy, trying to scoop up as much cocaine as the trashcan could possibly hold. Finally, he bolted for the door. Papi was screaming out all sorts of shit in Spanish and I had no idea what any of it meant. He was watching the life leave his first born son's body and Papi was trying his best to keep him alive.

"C'mon, Bryson, we out of this bitch!" said Shooter as he lugged the loaded trashcan to the door.

Shooter burst out the door carrying the trashcan with both hands and tossing the smoking hot .22 in there as well. However, he was met right outside the hidden door by Papi's wife, Marisol.

"Dios mio!" said Marisol as she saw her son lying on the floor, bleeding from his neck and hand.

"Watch out, bitch!" said Shooter as he attempted to push Marisol out of the way.

However, Marisol had a surprise for Shooter. She raised her hand and exposed a loaded 9mm Glock with an infrared beam. Marisol aimed the beam right on Shooter's forehead.

"Oh shit," were the last words that I ever heard Shooter say.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Marisol let off three shots in a row, hitting Shooter right between the eyes! He was dead before his body even hit the ground. His brains splattered over the floor like a pot of hot grits that someone had dropped. I almost threw up looking at him. The nigga that had taken me from a boy to a man had just been killed right in front of my eyes. It was all like a bad dream, except it was real. There was no waking up from this one, especially for Shooter. He was gone.

Marisol looked at me, and I put my hands up to say 'don't shoot', but she wasn't trying to hear it. Marisol was looking at her son lying on the floor and bleeding to death. She was furious. Marisol shot in my direction, but I was able to dive out of the way. The bullet just grazed my arm. Even though it was only a flesh wound, the shit still hurt.

I was on the ground as Marisol took aim at me once again. Quickly, I reached out and grabbed the Mac-10 that Hector had dropped. Marisol fired at me again, but this time she missed me completely. She was too distraught to hit a moving target.

"Shit," I said as I looked at the bullet ricochet off of the floor and wind up lodged in the wall.

Papi was still crying out over Hector's body. Hector was going into convulsions and his blood was leaking everywhere. It wasn't looking good for him at all.

I raised the Mac-10 in Marisol's direction. I didn't want to shoot her, but she was trying to kill me. I let off a couple of shots, but I aimed for Marisol's leg. She didn't deserve to die. She was only trying to protect her family.

"Fuck," said Marisol as the bullet tore into the flesh on her petite leg.

Marisol dropped to the ground in pain and all of a sudden, she wasn't concerned with shooting me anymore. She was in too much pain.

"Yo, Papi, I'm sorry!" I said as I bolted for the door.

I looked at the trashcan full of coke sitting right outside the door. It had to be worth like half of a million dollars, but I didn't even touch it. It was basically free money, but I didn't want any parts of it. The old me would have been all over it, but Bryson 2.0 had no interest. I just wanted to get out of New York City alive.

I ran towards the front of the bodega, pausing only one millisecond to get a look at Shooter's dead body.

"Rest in peace my nigga," I said as I hustled outside.

I wiped the Mac-10 clean of my fingerprints as best as I could and then tossed it into a dumpster on the side of the bodega. I hopped in the Range Rover and peeled out, with blood still leaking slowly from my arm. I had to get back to Philadelphia as quickly as possible, because this New York trip had gone all wrong.

# 15

Tamia

Where the hell was this boy at? His first day as an engaged man and he decides he wants to stay out late and not answer his phone. Bryson had a whole lot of nerve. I had a bad feeling when he said that he was going out with Shooter, but I didn't say anything. I could never understand why a man would rather be out running the streets when they had a woman at home like me who was always in the mood for some good sex. What was better; trying to make your way through a loud crowded club to get an $18 watered down drink, or watching Netflix and getting your dick sucked by your girl?

This was where the two-year age difference between me and Bryson showed most. I mean, I couldn't complain; Bryson hardly ever went out with his friends, but I just feel like sometimes he let Shooter have a negative influence over him. I knew that Shooter had done a lot for Bryson, but they were at different points in their lives and I don't think that Bryson realized that. Shooter was loyal guy, but he was beneath Bryson. Bryson was about his money and Shooter was more focused on smoking loud, sipping lean and popping Percs and Xannies. You can't hang out with people beneath you because all they will do is bring you down to their level eventually.

Instead of Bryson being cuddled up with me and getting rest before work the next day, I was all alone watching _Love and Hip Hop_. Just as I started to call his phone again, Bryson came bursting through the front door holding his arm.

"Tamia! Get a cold towel. I got shot!" he yelled.

"Oh my God! What?" I screamed out in panic. I hopped out from off of my bed as fast as a pregnant woman possibly could and ran towards the front door. I looked at Bryson standing there with his whole left arm absolutely covered in blood.

"I'm callin' 9-1-1," I hollered.

"Nah, nah. Don't do that. Just get me a cold towel. Hurry up. My arm is burning up. Damn!"

I did as Bryson said and ran some cold water on a towel and then pressed it on his arm as he sat down on the sofa. Bryson put his head back and then clenched his teeth together in pain.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Shooter tried to rob Papi. But it ain't work. They killed him, yo. His wife shot me, too, but it only caught me in the arm. I had to drive myself all the back from New York like this," explained Bryson, still breathing pretty heavily.

I was irate. Why the hell was Bryson even with Papi? He was supposed to be going out for drinks with Shooter at a local spot. Bryson had sworn to me that he was done with the street life. I was sad to hear that Shooter was gone, but at the moment, I was more concerned with Bryson.

"Why the hell were you up there in New York dealing with Papi anyway? I thought we agreed that you were done with all that type of nonsense," I said.

"I had to introduce Shooter to Papi. I owed him that much. I can't believe he tried to rob him, though. What was he thinking? Damn, man! My nigga is really gone!" said Bryson.

My frustration level was at its maximum point. My blood was boiling. I was so mad, I couldn't even vocalize half of the things that I wanted to say.

"You know, Bryson, sometimes I just don't know," I said.

"You don't know what?" he asked.

"I don't know about you. I don't know if you're ready for all this. I love you, I swear I do, but I don't know that you are mature enough to handle a real family. This is not a game. How could you take a risk like that with a baby on the way? What if you had been killed? I'd be raising your child all alone. Did that cross your mind before you got into that truck and headed up to New York?" I asked him.

"You don't understand, Tamia," started Bryson.

"And neither do you. That's the problem," I said as I dropped the towel and walked away from Bryson.

Something my mom told me a long time ago raced through my head. She said the same reason you can't turn a hoe into a housewife, is the same reason you can't turn a thug into a husband. Hoes and thugs both love being out in the street. It's just in their nature. It is just way too hard to get them to stay their asses at home and chill. I was starting to think that she might be right.

As far as I was concerned, if Bryson didn't want to go to the hospital, he could cater to his own damn arm. It was only a flesh wound anyway. He'd be all right. Plus, I was mad. I didn't need any added stress with my pregnancy and everything. Part of me wanted to pack a bag and go stay the night at my mom's house, but I decided not to. A real woman doesn't run away when times get hard.

I just felt like Bryson had betrayed me. The baby wasn't even here yet, and he was already acting up. I would rather that he had come home and I find some random bitch's number in his phone. Now that, I could have handled. But this nigga went out there and got his crazy ass shot! What the fuck was he thinking? And he had the nerve to do it less than 24 hours after standing up in front of the entire church and proposing to me!

I had sacrificed a lot for Bryson. If me getting tossed in a trunk and being slapped around by two sadistic people wasn't enough to make him realize that he had to leave the streets alone, then what was? It was just so frustrating. I felt like my fiancé loved the streets more than he loved me. If I was going to be married, I wasn't going to take a backburner to anything.

I looked down at my hand at the beautiful rock that Bryson had gotten for me and wanted to rip it right off. It wasn't just that I was mad; I was also disappointed. I was disappointed because Bryson had looked me in my face and straight lied to me. He said he was just going out for drinks with Shooter, but this nigga had gone all the way to New York to setup a drug deal. In all the years that we had known each other, Bryson and I had never lied to each other. So much for that. Once the trust is gone in a relationship, it is never ever the same after that.

Bryson

The next week was one of the roughest weeks of my life. I ended up missing a few days of work with a slight gunshot wound in my arm. Plus, I had to deal with the fact that Tamia was still mad at me. The whole week, she walked around the house and barely looked in my direction. Every time I tried to talk to her, she hit me with a bunch of one word answers. Sometimes, she didn't even respond at all.

On top of that, I had to go down to the hood and break the news to niggas that Shooter was dead. Shooter didn't have a whole bunch of family, but the streets loved him. Niggas were heartbroken to hear that he was gone. His half-sister started a GoFundMe account to pay for his funeral and tried to raise some money to give him a decent send off. People around the way were looking at me to step up and cover _all_ the expenses of the funeral, but I couldn't afford to do that. I was willing to help out, but damn, they wanted me to pay for everything from the flowers to the casket. I was just a regular working man now, with a baby on the way. Plus, I was saving up for a wedding. I just didn't have the money to spare.

Of course, this made the niggas that we used to hustle with feel some type of way. They thought that I was being stingy and that I was foul for not paying for my best friend's funeral. They were used to seeing me as the young boss nigga with all the money in the world, but the truth was, I had lost damn near a half a million dollars. My situation was only a little better than theirs was now. Nobody could seem to understand that, though.

Furthermore, Shooter was on some bullshit. I wasn't going to criticize a dead man, but honestly, I resented him for what he had done. How could he go out like that? Shooter never once told me that he had intentions on robbing Papi. I would have never in a million years gone for that. He made me look bad in that situation and ruined my reputation with his own greed. I still couldn't believe that he tried to rob Papi, and with a little bullshit .22 caliber pistol at that! It was one of the smallest guns I had ever seen in my life. The whole thing was just flat out ridiculous. I don't know what Shooter was thinking.

Nevertheless, on Sunday, June 14th 2015, we were finally able to lay Shooter to rest. I donated $3,000 towards his service after apologizing to Tamia and explaining that I couldn't let Shooter go out with a lame funeral. Tamia understood. She knew how close Shooter and I were. She knew that he was the best friend that I'd ever had, and if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be the man that I was today.

The home going service was sad, but it was still a good sendoff overall. We had to do a closed casket, because the three headshots had made Shooter unrecognizable. Marisol had really fucked him up. It would have been nice to see his face one last time, but it wasn't possible with the way the bullets left him looking.

There were a whole bunch of women at the church crying and saying how much they loved Shooter. There were some hood niggas there, too, talking about riding up to New York and getting revenge, but I didn't even involve myself in that conversation. Those niggas were just talking anyway; they weren't really going to do anything when it actually came down to it.

After paying my last respects, I led the way out of the church and walked over to the Range Rover with Tamia right beside me, rocking her all black Prada dress, black Prada shades, and black Prada heels. It meant a lot that Tamia was there with me. It was good to know that this woman was going to be by my side for the rest of my life!

Tamia

As much as I had tried to stay mad at Bryson for taking that trip to New York, I simply couldn't. I loved him too much. He made a very bad decision, but that wasn't enough reason for me to do anything drastic. We were both still relatively young, and we were learning life as we went along. I liked the fact that Bryson had a street side to him; it was one of the things that attracted me to him, so how could I fault him for that?

Before Bryson, I dated guys who were in college or that I knew from the church. Don't get me wrong, some of them were nice, but there was part of me that needed a real nigga like Bryson. You know what they say; once you get that hood nigga dickdown, you are hooked! Besides just knowing how to make love to me, Bryson also knew how to talk to me, how to touch me, and how to spoil me. I mean, he wasn't super rich anymore, but spoiling me wasn't always about spending money. He did little things for me like run my bathwater and he even carried me to bed when I fell asleep on the sofa.

I was never going to find another man who would do that for me out of the goodness of their heart. I was a handful to put up with at times, because I was a spoiled little brat. Bryson loved me despite of that, though, flaws and all. I reciprocated the same love. I had no choice.

"Are you okay?" I turned to Bryson and asked as he started up the Range Rover. I could tell that he was really hurt now that Shooter's funeral was over.

"No, but I will be," Bryson replied, as he stared down at the obituary, lost in thought.

I squeezed Bryson's hand tight to let him know that I was there for him. "Shooter will certainly be missed. He was a good man," I said.

"Yeah, he was. I still can't believe he went out like that. Damn, Shooter," said Bryson, shaking his head in disbelief.

Bryson put the car in reverse, but just before he could back up, sirens blared from right behind us. All of a sudden, there were like 10 cop cars that came out of nowhere, boxing us in!

"Yo, what the fuck is goin' on?" said Bryson.

In the rearview mirror, I saw a woman with a badge in her hand approaching the car. As she got closer, I recognized her strong-faced, ugly mug.

"That's Detective Lee!" I blurted out.

Before I could blink, Detective Lee was face to face with Bryson on the driver's side of the car.

"Bryson Brown, I'm going to need you to step out of the car," she said.

"Why?" snapped Bryson.

"Because you are under arrest," said Detective Lee.

"For what?" questioned Bryson.

"Murder."

Bryson looked around at all of the cops and realized he had no option but to get out of the car. Right there in front of all of his friends who were leaving the funeral, Detective Lee slapped the handcuffs on him. It was the most embarrassing situation that we could possibly be in. They loaded Bryson into the back of a police car as I looked on, not knowing what to say, do, or even think.

"Bae, what should I do?" I asked.

"Just follow me down to the police station," instructed Bryson.

As I walked over to the driver's seat, Detective Lee smiled at me.

"I told you that you would be sorry, Tamia. Bet you wish that you had listened to me, huh?" she sarcastically said.

My response for Detective Lee was the same as last time.

"Fuck you, bitch."

Bryson

They say life has ups and downs, and for me that couldn't be truer. I had gone from getting Tamia back, meeting my mom and my sister, having a baby on the way, then getting engaged, then losing my best friend and now I was sitting in the Roundhouse jail being accused of a murder. It was a crazy feeling.

After keeping me in a holding cell for a few hours and feeding me a nasty ass cheese sandwich and a tiny cup of water, finally, a C.O. came to get me.

"Where you taking me?" I asked him.

"The Ds wanna talk to you," he explained.

The C.O. walked me into a small room with no windows and a metal table with two folding chairs. I was handcuffed and wearing an orange jumpsuit that was about 2 sizes too small for me. I had no idea what was going on.

Detective Lee walked in casually carrying a briefcase and sat down across from me. She waited for me to speak first.

"Yo, why am I even here? Who are you trying to say I killed?" I asked her.

"You are being charged with the death of this man," she said, whipping out an 8X10 photograph. "His name is Hunter Bayon, and we found his body 3 days ago," continued Detective Lee.

I stared at the paper with a disgusted look on my face. I damn sure wasn't upset that the nigga Hunter was dead after what he had done to Tamia and Avery. But I didn't kill him. I remained silent, knowing that I was going to have to spend the money I had been saving up for a wedding on a lawyer.

"We've got the whole scenario. See, I know for a fact that Hunter had kidnapped your girlfriend Tamia Greyson months ago," started Detective Lee.

I didn't say anything, but in my head I was thinking, _Bitch, of course you know, you were the one behind Tamia getting kidnapped!_

"So you took it upon yourself to exact some street justice on him, didn't you, Bryson? I mean, you can sit there and act innocent, but I know the truth about you. You might go to church now, and I see you even got yourself a little job. But you are nothing but a thug. I hate people like you. The Feds don't even usually handle murder cases, but I got the office to make an exception for this one. Because I want to personally make sure you sit in prison for the rest of your life!" screamed Detective Lee.

I just sat there and didn't say a word.

"Wanna go ahead and confess now or are you going to waste everyone's time with a trial that you are certain to lose? You can't beat the Feds. You know that, right?" asked Detective Lee.

"I'm innocent. And I want a lawyer," I finally said.

"No lawyer on the face of the Earth can beat this case for you, Bryson. You might as well go ahead and confess right now."

"You heard what I said," I answered, knowing that this was about to be the start of a long ass process.

"Fine. Have it your way," said Detective Lee as she got up from the table and walked out.

# 16

6 months later

Tamia

It was the week before Christmas, and I was not in the spirit at all. My bae Bryson was sitting in the city jail awaiting trial, and I was all alone in the world, 8 months pregnant with my first child. I was scared as hell. Bryson's sister Avery had come to my house and was basically staying with me so that she could help out. I was on maternity leave from my job at the Polo store and my money was running out. I had spent pretty much all of our savings on Bryson's lawyer.

"Why do people have to sit in jail so long before they go to trial? I can't believe he's been in there six months and he has not even been found guilty of anything," I said to Avery, struggling to understand the legal system.

Avery had a much better understanding of the law, because of the things that she had gone through with her husband. She was the one who communicated with Bryson's lawyer and setup their meetings and things of that nature. I was lost when it came to doing all of that stuff. All I really could do was go visit Bryson as often as possible and try to keep his spirits up.

"It's just the way that it works. There is no bail in Pennsylvania when a person gets charged with murder, so there was nothing that we could have done. Shit, my husband done been in prison for _years_ now, so I know what you are going through. Spending the holidays alone is the worst," answered Avery.

"Well, his trial is scheduled to start tomorrow so hopefully he can be out before Christmas. I just got this weird feeling in my gut that things are going to turn out bad," I said, holding back tears.

"Think positive. I've been talking to his lawyer and she has a good strategy. We've got a bombshell up our sleeves. Just watch, Tamia. Just watch. Bryson will be home before you know it!" she said with excitement in her tone.

I wanted to be hopeful, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that things were going to turn out bad. Bryson was an angel in my eyes, but I knew that in the street he had done his dirt. He had polluted his community with drugs for years, so I kind of felt like it was only fate that he might end up in prison. Karma is real.

I was on Bryson's side 100%, but I just felt like he was going to be found guilty. If he was, I didn't know what I was going to do. I felt like I would be a statistic. I feared that I was doomed to be another young, single mother struggling to make ends meet. That was never the life I wanted for myself. I wanted to be able to bring a child into the world under the best circumstances possible. I was already having nightmares of having to explain to my child where their father was at. All in all, I just wanted Bryson to beat his case so that he could come home and we could be a family. That was all I cared about.

Bryson

Jail life was something new to me, but I could deal with it. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. For one, half of North Philly was up in that jawn, so it was kind of like being on the block. Mostly everybody knew who I was, even if they didn't directly know me, so I had a little respect in there. All day, all we did was crack jokes, talk about what was happening in the street, do pushups, read, gamble on card games, and watch the bullshit little TVs that they had. There were little scuffles here and there, but for the most part, it was pretty calm. People can tell you about being locked up, but until you experience it for yourself, you really don't understand what it's like.

Tamia held me down with the visits and seeing her was what kept me sane. Seeing her got me through the monotony of being locked up. I loved watching how Tamia's stomach got bigger each and every time she came to see me. I told her that I didn't want to know the sex of the baby; I wanted to wait and be surprised instead. I felt like that gave me something to look forward to.

The funniest thing that happened when I was locked up was a letter that I got. It read:

Bryson,

What's up bro? Sorry to hear about your situation. I know you must be going through it right now with the baby on the way and all. But anyway, what's good with your sister Avery? Since the day I first met her at my bar, I can't stop thinking about her. I remember when we were looking at her butt before we knew she was your sister and I think I fell in love right then and there. She's the sexiest woman I have ever seen. Her swag, her style, she just has it all. I just love everything about her. I think about her like all day long. When I heard she got shot, I cried. I've seen her around a few times but I really haven't had the confidence to tell her how I feel. I get nervous around her and I just don't know what to say. Can you let her know that I'm feeling her?

Fat Mike

PS – I'm still holding onto those 2 things for her. They are safe with me.

I could only laugh after reading the letter. First of all, Fat Mike knew that Avery was a married woman. Just because her husband was locked up didn't mean that she was on the market. He was trippin' for that one. Second of all, Avery would never be attracted to Fat Mike. He was obese and didn't have that street nigga style that she was into. Fat Mike was getting some decent money running his little bar, but Avery was used to dealing with a baller. The whole letter was just a bad look. I didn't even bother to write that nigga back. If he got depressed because he couldn't get at Avery, I figured Fat Mike would just eat his way back to happiness and it would be alright.

Once my trial started, I began to get nervous. My court days were more stressful than anything else. I would wake up, shower, get dressed, and then wait in holding until it was my turn to head to the courthouse. Then, a transport van would come and pick me up to take me downtown to court. The first couple of days of trial were pretty pointless in my opinion. The prosecution read their opening statements and my defense team read theirs. It went back and forth with both sides arguing the case. There were a lot of objections and most of them were overruled.

Each day, Detective Lee made sure that she was in attendance. She took the stand and testified that she had been watching Hunter for years. She said that Hunter was known to kidnap drug dealer's girlfriends and torture them. Detective Lee had a whole file on Hunter, which made sense, because the nigga worked for her in actuality! She wouldn't admit that, though. Instead, she was trying to pin his murder on me.

Detective Lee explained that her theory was that Hunter had kidnapped Tamia and I exacted revenge on him for that. She had even recovered his car and found Tamia's DNA since she had been in the trunk. Detective Lee asserted that I had somehow gotten Tamia back and then killed Hunter. It was almost a true story, but I didn't kill Hunter. I shot that big ass nigga in the arm and the shoulder, and I know that he didn't die from that. It was a whole three months later when he turned up dead.

The prosecution presented some exhibits and gave some theories, but in the end, they had no real hard, conclusive evidence. They were just trying to sway the jury into believing that I was a cold blooded murderer. Leslie, Avery, and Tamia were in attendance every day and seeing them there meant the world to me.

My lawyer was a beast. She was an older Puerto Rican lady who had been practicing law for over 20 years. I can honestly say that the money I paid her was going to good use. It was a shame that it was the same money I had intended on paying for my wedding with, but my freedom was in jeopardy so I had no choice.

On the last day of trial, my lawyer let me know that it was time for us to call in the big guns. This witness was going to blow the jurors' minds if everything worked out properly. What we had planned was a huge gamble, but I told her to go for it. I sat from my seat behind the desk and looked at Avery as she cracked a smile at me.

"Your honor, I'd like to call my final witness, Kaleb Houston, to the stand," said my lawyer.

In strolled Kaleb; he was Avery's infamous husband. She had described Kaleb as cocky and Avery hadn't never lied about that one. Kaleb walked with so much swag that the whole courtroom looked at every step that he took as if they were watching a dramatic movie play out. Kaleb was still in the Feds, so he was forced to wear an orange jumpsuit that said B.O.P. across the back, but he rocked it with the swag of a $5,000, double breasted, super 140 thread count, 3-piece Armani suit.

Kaleb had a low cut with 360 degree waves spinning and a light shadowed beard. He wasn't tall, but he carried himself like a giant. He was a true Detroit nigga, but with worldwide appeal. Kaleb had the persona of a pimp, hustler, gangster, and politician all rolled into one. Right away, I liked his style.

"Kaleb, can you tell the court what you are currently in prison for?" questioned my lawyer.

I looked over at my family; Tamia was confused, but Avery was still smiling.

"Making money. Literally. I was printing up more money than the U.S. mint was. I was a counterfeiter," explained Kaleb.

"Interesting. And can you tell us what led to your downfall?" asked my lawyer.

Tamia still didn't see where we were going, but I did.

"Well, besides these punk ass rats who told on me, my own cockiness led to my downfall. See, every bill that I printed up, I had my name on it in a tiny ass lil' print, right up under Andrew Jackson's left eye. You can't see it just by looking at it, but if you get you a real good microscope and put the cash under there, you will see my name spelled out, K-A-L-E-B, as plain as day," he explained.

"What's the point of all this?" demanded the judge.

"Your Honor, if you bear with me for just a few minutes, I promise that I will explain," answered my lawyer. "Well, I happen to have a $3,000, top of the line microscope. And I have a $20 right here," continued my lawyer.

My lawyer put her $20 under the microscope and zoomed in on it, right under the president's eye where Kaleb had specified. The image projected onto a large screen that everyone in the courtroom could see. However, there was nothing abnormal there. It was just a big picture of a $20 bill. The jurors were getting confused.

"Is there anyone who would like to volunteer another $20 bill so we can check this out one more time?" asked my lawyer.

"How bout that ugly ass, strong-faced broad right there? See what she got up in her wallet," said Kaleb, pointing directly at Detective Lee.

"Detective Lee, if you have nothing to hide, I'm sure you won't mind us using a $20 bill from your purse," continued my lawyer.

"I, um...I..." stuttered Detective Lee.

"Just fork over the cash, hoe," said Kaleb, from the witness stand.

Reluctantly, Detective Lee handed over her purse. She wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

"Lotta cash in here. And all twenties," said my lawyer.

Then, it happened. My lawyer put each of Detective Lee's $20 bills under the microscope and there, plain as day, right under President Jackson's left eye, they each spelled out K-A-L-E-B!

The whole courtroom was in shock. Even the 12 jurors were tapping each other and talking loudly. The judge had to restore order in the court. He started banging his gavel on the desk.

"Do you mind telling me why you have a purse full of counterfeit money, Detective Lee?" the judge demanded to know.

Detective Lee just sat still with a shocked look on her face.

"I'll tell you why!" finally said my lawyer.

My lawyer explained a scenario that I had worked out in my head a few weeks ago. See, in jail, during those long, lonely nights, I had nothing but free time to sit and think, so I had figured it all out. After Hunter got the ransom money from me, he told Detective Lee that he was rich and he no longer needed to be her enforcer. He said that he was quitting, but Detective Lee couldn't allow that. The things that she had Hunter doing were illegal as hell, and if he told on her, she would end up in jail herself. Their secrets were something that Detective Lee couldn't afford to have exposed.

That was when Detective Lee decided to kill Hunter. She went to his house and shot him in the head, then took the money that Hunter had stored away. Luckily for me, some of the money Detective Lee took was the same money that I had paid him Tamia's ransom with, which were all counterfeit bills that I had gotten from Avery! Avery's counterfeit money had obviously come from Kaleb's stash that the Feds never recovered. Detective Lee tried to pin the murder on me to cover her tracks, but it wasn't going to work. The proof was right there under the microscope.

The wildest part was that once my lawyer explained all of the details, Detective Lee broke down on the spot and confessed to everything! She basically had a nervous breakdown right there in the middle of the courtroom. I had never seen anything like it in my entire life. Just like that, it was all over. I was innocent. It was time to get up out of this mothafuckin' jail and get home to my bae Tamia! Marriage, babies, and family life; I was ready for it all!

# 17

2 months later

Tamia

I thought the moment that I saw Bryson walk out of the jail as a free man was the happiest moment of my life, and it probably was, until I saw the head of my daughter push from in between my own legs. It hurt like hell, but at 5:03 AM, on January 11, 2016, Bryanna Tamar Brown entered the world. She was 8 pounds, 7 ounces and 21 inches long.

Bryanna had a bald head and looked like a miniature Black version of Buddha. I finally knew the meaning of the term "love at first sight." My daughter was like a little duplicate of me. From the second that I saw her, my life changed forever. I was no longer living for myself; everything that I did related to Bryanna now. I had to make sure that every decision that I made had her best interest at heart.

Bryson told me that he fell in love with me all over again once he saw how strong I was during labor. Since he had gotten out of jail, Bryson was the perfect man. He was catering to my every need. He refused to let me lift a finger and did any little thing that I asked him to do. Sitting in jail for six months caused Bryson to lose the job that he had at the call center, but now he had found a new job working in the UPS shipping warehouse. I knew that he hated the job, but he wasn't the type of man to ever let his family struggle. I respected that about him more than anything else.

All Bryson was concerned about was saving money up for our wedding. He wouldn't even let me take him out to celebrate his 22nd birthday. I insisted, but Bryson told me to take whatever money I was going to spend on him and put it into our savings account. He was determined to give me the dream wedding that we had always talked about. I tried to explain to Bryson that I didn't care if we got married in the Caribbean on a private island, or in a North Philly backyard, I just wanted to be married to him. We could have even gone down to the Justice of the Peace for all I cared. However, Bryson insisted that he was going to give me a big, classy wedding so all I could do was be patient.

I guess being a mother had taught me a thing or two about patience. When I was waiting for Bryson to go to trial, I was impatient as hell. Every single day I was having Avery call his lawyer to ask when the trial was going to start. I know that I was working everyone's nerves, but now, dealing with Bryanna, I had calmed down. I watched her as she learned new things every day. Even at just 4 weeks old, I was noticing things about how she was getting used to her surroundings.

Bryson was great with Bryanna. As soon as he got off of work, the first thing he did was pick her up and hold her close to his heart. The love that he had for her was indescribable. He called 5 times a day just to check on us and make sure that we were okay. It was a great feeling knowing that I wasn't in this alone. It was me, Bryson, and Bryanna against the world, and I liked the odds! From the evil lifestyle that we had once led, came true beauty.

Bryson

I had done and seen a lot of things in my life, but none of them compared to being a father. My daughter was perfect. She was more than enough reason for me to go legit. I had no problem giving up the street life for her. I didn't care how corny I looked in that UPS warehouse loading box after box, it was worth it. I was determined to never miss a single day in Bryanna's life. As far as I was concerned, my daughter would never know anything about cocaine, guns, or any type violence. That was the old Bryson. Now, being a father, I was more sympathetic. I understood the preciousness and the beauty of life.

I wanted Bryanna to grow up and never have to worry about anything. I wanted her to be able to do all of things that I wasn't able to do. I know it was crazy, but even when she was only a few weeks old, I started looking up the best private schools in the area. I even started pricing houses over the bridge in New Jersey. Bryanna deserved to grow up far away from the poverty and struggle that I had been raised in. I was going to give my little girl the life that I always wanted if it was the last thing that I ever did.

Most importantly, I wanted my daughter to be raised the right way. I wanted her to see what a real man looked like, so that she would know what to accept and what not to accept once she began dating. I wanted Bryanna to grow up with her mother and father, married and living in the same house. I was determined not to be just another baby dad, but a husband!

Tamia had been riding with me through the thick and thin. She held me down while I was in jail and then had given me the most special gift of all in my daughter. It was time to make her my wife! She deserved it. The time for playing games was over. We had been engaged long enough, it was time to set a date for our wedding and do the damn thing!

# 18

1 month later

Bryson

I looked into the mirror and adjusted the collar on my white on white Versace suit. Then, I took my brush and made sure that my haircut was on point. I had my half-moon park sliced into my deep waves, with the fade on the side leading into my husky beard. If I must say so myself, I was looking pretty damn good. The time had finally come; my wedding day! I was going to marry the love of my life Tamia, and I couldn't be happier. It took damn near every penny that I had, but I had pulled it off. I was working at UPS steadily, so I borrowed some money from a credit union and put in a bunch of overtime to make it all happen, but it was well worth it.

Tamia and I were going to be married at our church and then there would be a reception at a hall that I rented just over the bridge in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. As I stared in the mirror, I reflected on everything that I been through in the last year. I had gone from the top of the drug game to being a regular 9-5 working man. Looking back, I never thought it was possible for a nigga like me to go completely legit, but sometimes in life, you have to make sacrifices for the people that you love. When I looked in Tamia and Bryanna's faces, I knew that putting the drugs and guns down was a smart move.

"You looking good, boy! Go head' with your handsome ass!" said my mom as she stepped into the room behind me.

My relationship with my mom wasn't perfect, but it was getting better. I had stopped calling her Leslie and started referring to her as Mom, so that was a start. After having Bryanna, I just couldn't understand how anyone could abandon an innocent child. My mom blamed it on the drugs, but there was no force in the world powerful enough to ever make me leave my child behind.

So while I had forgiven my mom, part of me still resented her for leaving me like she did. A good friend once told me, "A mother's love is like strength to the weak." I understood that because there were times growing up when I just couldn't understand why everyone seemed to have a mom except me. Every time I saw a kid get picked up from junior high school by his mom back in the day, I cried a little bit on the inside. Not growing up with my mom scarred me for life. Nevertheless, I was building a relationship with the woman who had given birth to me, and I felt good about that.

"Straighten up your tie a little bit, bro," said Avery as she followed into the room behind my mom.

Now Avery; that was my heart right there. She was everything a person could ask for in a big sister. Avery had my back 100% and I felt the same way about her. She had recovered from the three shots that she had taken from Hunter and was back to being herself. All she talked about was her husband Kaleb getting out of prison and she couldn't wait for that day to come. Things were looking good with his appeal and he could be home within the next few months. Avery had done so much for me and Tamia, it was only natural that I made her the Godmother of my daughter.

As I stared in the mirror, I couldn't help but think about Shooter. Instead of Fat Mike being my best man, it should have been Shooter who was there with me right now, holding onto the ring and throwing me a bachelor party. Instead, Shooter was dead and gone because he made a mistake that had cost him his life. I don't know why he thought Papi was sweet. Papi was not the type of nigga that anyone in their right mind would have tried to rob. He was gangster for real, and so was his family!

It was especially a shame because Shooter had just started seeming like he was doing good, too. That was the thing about the drug game; one day you could be on top and then the next you could get taken off the face of the Earth. It was a real high risk, high reward kind of thing. If hustling came with a rulebook, the first line would probably read, "Play this game at your own risk." Anyways, despite all the bullshit, I missed the hell out of Shooter.

Robbing Papi was just a crazy idea and in the long run, it didn't benefit anyone. The whole situation made me look like I was grimy and had set it all up in Papi's eyes, even though I had nothing to do with it. I was just as shocked as everyone else in the room when Shooter pulled out his gun. I had no idea he was going to do that.

A few days later, I had looked online and found out that Papi's oldest son Hector didn't make it. He got rushed to the hospital, but he died later on that night. The bullet that went into his neck severed his jugular vein and he lost so much blood that there was nothing the doctors in the ER could do for him. I knew that fucked Papi and Marisol up because they loved their kids more than anything.

The article described the whole incident as an attempted robbery of the bodega. They painted Shooter out to be a burglar and Papi as just a simple corner store owner. They didn't mention anything about cocaine, so I guess Papi had covered his tracks. Only people in the loop like me knew what really had gone down that evening. The article also went on to say that the bodega was closed until further notice. I tried to call Papi's phone and apologize to tell him that I had nothing to do with the whole ugly incident, but his number was changed. I had no idea how to get in touch with Papi and tell him how sorry I was.

Detective Lee's courtroom breakdown confession led to an indictment coming in her name this time around. She was charged with all types of shit. Talk about the shoe being on the other foot. She pled guilty and got sentenced to 40 years in prison! Being that she was already 40 something, that was pretty much a life sentence. I've heard that inmates don't take too kindly to ex-members of law enforcement who come on the prison yard, either. Anyway you cut it, Detective Lee got exactly what she deserved. She was truly an evil woman. To paraphrase the words of my bae Tamia, "Fuck that ugly strong-faced bitch."

I finished my reminiscing and snapped back to reality.

"It's time to do this," I said out loud.

Finally, after making sure that I looked perfect, I headed out into the church and took my spot next to Fat Mike at the altar. Part of me was nervous, but there was no turning back at this point. Slowly but surely, I was taking the first steps up the road that led to my new life. I looked out into the crowd and saw nothing but happy faces. I even looked at my mom holding Bryanna and trying to hold back tears. I just smiled at my precious little baby girl. No matter what happened, I swore to always be there for my daughter. I had to.

As the piano player played the music, it was finally time for Tamia to walk down the aisle. She was looking elegant in her long, flowing dress. Even in the wedding gown, I could still see those hips, titties and that ass poking out and I absolutely loved it. Tamia was a true thing of beauty. Her body looked even better after having Bryanna. I couldn't wait until after the reception when we would be heading down to our suite at Harrah's on the Atlantic City boardwalk for our mini honeymoon. I was anxious to make love to Tamia for the first time as my wife.

From there, it was all a blur, until I heard the reverend speaking.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God, and before you, as witnesses, to join this man and this woman in matrimony, which should never be entered into lightly, but rather with a healthy reverence for the commitment and sacrifice that is needed to maintain and grow the marriage bond," said the preacher.

I looked over at Tamia, and noticed that she was already crying tears of joy.

"Do you, Bryson Brown take this woman, Tamia Greyson to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?" asked the preacher.

"I do," I said, with no hesitation. I had never been more sure about anything in my entire life.

"Do you, Tamia Greyson, take this man, Bryson Brown, to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?" asked the preacher.

Tamia paused for a few uncomfortable seconds as everyone looked on anxiously. "I do," she finally said.

"Then by the power vested in me, in the state of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

They were the sweetest words that I had ever heard in my life. I kissed Tamia as passionately as I possibly could and then wiped her eyes dry of tears. It was my duty to protect Tamia and make sure she never shed another sad tear ever again. I couldn't change the terrible things that I had put her through, but I had learned from my mistakes and I knew that our future was going to be better than our past.

As we walked out of the church as an official married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bryson Brown, all of our friends and family threw rice and congratulated us. Fat Mike was the loudest one. He was sitting across the street blasting Stevie Wonder's "Ribbon in the Sky" and clapping for us.

My mom was holding Bryanna and waving her little hand at us. She and Avery were going to keep the baby for a few days while Tamia and I relaxed in Atlantic City as newlyweds. I led the way to the limousine that I had rented and the driver opened the door for Tamia so that she could get in. However, before Tamia got into the limo, she started screaming.

"What is it, bae?" I asked.

"Look!" said Tamia, pointing into the backseat of the limousine.

I looked inside and what I saw freaked me out. There, right on the seat, was a miniature casket. Even creepier, it was engraved in gold lettering with the name Bryanna Tamar Brown; my daughter!

I looked at the driver and started snapping! Before I could even really get at him, he already was copping pleas and apologizing.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I have no idea how that got there," he said.

Then, I turned to the crowd and went off. "What the fuck is this? Huh? A casket with my daughter's name on it? Who the fuck did this? You think this shit is funny? Huh?" I hollered at the top of my lungs.

The crowd of our family and friends became absolutely silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Tamia and my perfect wedding was officially ruined. It was horrible. I lost my temper and went back to the old Bryson, but I couldn't help it.

"When I find out who did this, I'm a fuck you up! You hear me?" I hollered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I was ready to kill whoever was responsible for this. A casket with my daughter's name on it was some sick, demented ass shit.

"Bryson, look. There's a note attached," noticed Tamia, who was crying again but this time, not tears of joy.

I picked up the paper and read the note. It said:

Congratulations on your wedding Bryson. Getting married was one of the happiest days of my life. Watching my wife give birth to my son was an even happier occasion. But the saddest day of my life was having to bury that same son. It is a pain that no man should ever have to experience. Burying your own child is a pain that cannot even be described with words. My son will never get to experience the joys of marriage or fatherhood, and that is your fault Bryson. I trusted you, and you brought your friend up here to set me up. That was a big mistake mi amigo. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I am the most cold-hearted man that you will ever meet. Just like I had to bury my own child, I promise you the same fate, Bryson. Mark my words, I will murder your child just like your friend murdered mine.

Sincerely yours, Papi.

# 19

Tamia

No matter what I did, I couldn't stop crying. Bryson had worked so hard to give me my dream wedding, and up until a few minutes ago, everything was absolutely perfect. The flowers were purple Anemones, which were my favorites. The piano player played beautifully and hadn't missed a note the whole day. My whole family was there, and my bridesmaids and I all looked beautiful.

I felt like I was in heaven until I opened up the limo and saw that miniature casket with my own daughter's name engraved on it. It was truly sickening that Papi would even think of doing something like that. I didn't even know they made caskets that small for children, since I had never seen one before. It was like looking at my own worst nightmare straight in the face.

"I can't believe this shit! What the fuck?" yelled Bryson.

I had never seen Bryson, or anyone, get so mad.

"C'mon. I'm getting Bryanna and were going home!" said Bryson as he crumbled up the handwritten note that Papi had sent along with the casket.

"Home?" I said.

"Yeah, fuck the reception and fuck that trip to Atlantic City!" bellowed Bryson.

Bryson's mom was trying to calm him down, but he wasn't having it. Bryson was irate. In times like this, there was no need in even trying to talk to him. For the most part, Bryson was smooth and laid back, which was what I loved about him. However, when he snapped, he really, really snapped!

"I'm gettin' my daughter and we're going the fuck home. Papi is gonna pay for this shit!" ranted Bryson.

Deep down, I had a feeling that Bryson's past would come back to haunt us. He was a legit working man now, but I could never escape the fact that he used to be one of the biggest hustlers down North Philly. It was only natural that being a hustler and making the money that Bryson did had brought forth some haters. As a matter of fact, I couldn't even call them haters. Cute girls in junior high have haters. Niggas who get the last pair of Jordans out of Footlocker on release day have haters. Big booty strippers who get all the likes on Instagram have haters. Grown men making real money develop enemies!

I just wanted our life to be about God, peace, progression, and family, but things were not looking good at all. All of the ugly things that we had done in the past were coming back full circle. Karma was real. I had contributed to the terrible lifestyle that Bryson had once led and now I was paying for it. I was no innocent angel either. I was right there with Bryson transporting drugs and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the money that selling drugs brought us. I just wanted to escape our past, but the truth was I didn't know if it was possible.

Bryson

"Bryson, just calm down and listen for a minute," said Mom, but I wasn't feeling it.

"Yo, just give me Bryanna. It's a wrap. I'm goin' home. Then I'm getting a fuckin' AK and I'm goin' straight up to New York, finding Papi, and takin' his damn head off. Simple as that!" I yelled.

Papi had really tested me. I wasn't responsible for his son's death, but he was trying to take out his frustration on me. What part of the game was that? If anything, he needed to be getting at Shooter's family, not mine. That whole robbery was all Shooter's idea. I didn't even know anything about it. Why couldn't Papi realize that?

"Look, Bryson, I feel you. Shit, I'm mad, too. But you can't do nothing crazy right now. This nigga Papi seems like he's official. I don't want to see you get hurt," reasoned Avery.

Avery was probably the only person I could listen to in that moment. Even though we didn't grow up together, we had already developed that brother and sister bond.

"So what are you saying?" I asked her.

"Papi is a boss, obviously. Bosses play chess, not checkers. Kaleb taught me that a long time ago. Going up to New York and looking for him is exactly what he wants you to do. Don't fall into his trap," said Avery.

Avery was making a certain amount of sense, so I relaxed for just a second and took a deep breath.

"Look, the wedding was perfect. Don't let Papi ruin you and Tamia's special day. Just leave Bryanna with me and Mommy and go to Atlantic City like ya'll planned. I love Bryanna like she was my own daughter. I ain't gonna let nothing happen to her," said Avery.

"Nah, right now, me and Tamia ain't letting our baby out of our sight. I think I'm still going to go down to AC, but I'm taking her with us," I decided.

I took Bryanna and strapped her into her car seat, then kissed her on her cheek to let her know everything was going to be all right. The whole crowd who had gathered at the church was pretty disappointed that there wasn't going to be a reception, but I really didn't care. I was no longer in the mood to celebrate. I had to strategize and figure out how I was going to get at Papi's ass. He was fucking with my family, and I couldn't tolerate that. It was the ultimate form of disrespect.

"I'm sorry, baby," I said to Tamia, as she hopped into the passenger side.

Just a few minutes ago, I had watched Tamia stand on the altar and cry tears of joy. Now she was sitting in the passenger side of our Range Rover crying tears of fear. It was the worst feeling in the world. A man's number one job is to protect his family, if I couldn't do that, then I wasn't a man.

"I just want it to be over. I want to leave the past in the past and focus on our future," sobbed Tamia.

As everyone still stood around the church kind of shocked, I put my seatbelt on, then shifted the Range Rover into drive and pulled off. As the soda cans that were tied by string to the back of the bumper rattled around, I thought about the quickest way to get to Atlantic City.

"Should I take the..." I started to say, but suddenly I was interrupted by a whole bunch of people screaming!

Then I heard a sound that I recognized right away. It was the sound of gunfire! Someone was shooting at us!

DOOT! DOOT! DOOT!

All of a sudden, it was straight pandemonium.

"Get down, baby, get down!" I hollered to Tamia.

I tried to speed away, but there were other cars in front of me. Plus, I wasn't even exactly sure where the shooting was coming from. Then, I heard the scariest sound that I had ever heard in my entire life. The rearview window, where we had painted "Just Married" across the glass, shattered into pieces!

Hot lead bullets came flying into the car, hitting the dashboard, the radio and even the GPS navigation screen.

"Oh shit!" I screamed out.

Suddenly, Tamia unbuckled herself and jumped into the backseat as I tried my best to weave around the cars that were in front of me. Tamia draped her body over Bryanna's. She was willing to die before she let our daughter be harmed! Only a mother could have instincts like that.

I wailed on the horn, praying that the cars in front of me would get out of the way, so that I could dip off onto a little side block and get out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, the other cars weren't moving fast enough. They heard the shooting, too, and were also panicking.

DOOT! DOOT! DOOT! DOOT!

More shots rang out, causing Bryanna to start crying louder than I'd ever heard her.

"Fuck this," I said.

Since the other drivers weren't getting out of my way, I decided to go around their cars. I snatched the wheel and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. I drove the Range Rover up on the median, headed for the other side of the street. It was a dangerous move, but I had no choice. Whoever was shooting had some big boy shit, like a Mac-10 or something else that was semi-automatic. As I pressed the gas, I could feel myself losing control of the truck. The Range Rover handled well, but trying to hop a median at full speed was just too much.

"Damn it! Hold on!" I yelled out.

Then, in the blink of an eye, our Range Rover flipped over and landed upside down! I felt the airbag deploy and smash into my face. The impact of it bloodied my lip, but I didn't care about myself. I had to see if my wife and daughter were okay.

"Tamia! Bryanna!" I hollered out, but there was no response.

As I looked in the rearview mirror, all I could see was blood coming from my bae's head.

Esco

With the smoke still coming off of my gun, I tossed it into the passenger seat and then grabbed the wood grain steering wheel of my BMW 750i. I threw the car in reverse and then cut down a one-way street, against the traffic. It was a dangerous move, but I had to get the fuck out of Philadelphia as quickly as possible.

My father, known as Papi, had sent me down to Philly to get revenge on this kid named Bryson since he was responsible for my brother Hector's death. Papi didn't just want me to kill Bryson, though, he wanted a message sent. He wanted me to do the hit on his wedding day, in front of all his family and friends. Even more ruthless, he wanted me to take out his newborn daughter, too!

Papi wanted his message to be sent loud and clear, which was why he had some of his connections in Philly watching Bryson's every move after he got out of jail. My father had money and power so he could accomplish pretty much anything he wanted to. Paying off the limo driver to allow us to sneak the casket into the car was nothing! My father wanted Bryson to be certain who the hit was coming from. He had been patient for months plotting his revenge on Bryson.

As I pulled over to the next block, I pulled the black mask off from over my face. I ran my hands through my long, curly, Columbian hair and then looked in the mirror and stared into my own light brown eyes.

"God forgive me," I said.

Shooting up an SUV with a newborn baby in the back may sound like some sick shit, but you have to understand how much the death of Hector had hurt my family. We were all we had. Losing Hector caused my family so much pain that my younger brother didn't even speak for a whole month after his funeral. Not to mention, this nigga Bryson also shot my mother in the leg. Retaliation was a must. I wasn't sure if I had killed Bryson's whole family, but I knew once I saw that truck flip over that I had to get away from the scene of the crime right away.

Once I was a few blocks away and out of sight of everyone who was at the wedding, I spotted a manhole. Quickly, I hopped out and dropped my gun and the mask down into there. I had to get rid of any evidence linking me to the shooting. My parents had already lost one son, so losing me to a life sentence was something that they wouldn't be able to handle. Besides, getting my hands on another Mac-10 wasn't hard at all. My father had stockpiled weapons for times like this. We were ready for an all-out war!

I was not new to busting my gun. I'd been in the streets since I was 13 years old. Now, at 20, I was a certified professional. Even though I wasn't old enough to legally buy liquor, I had been in my fair share of shootouts over drug money. I was what was known as a sicario, or a hitman, in English. I didn't stop until I got my target. If Bryson and his family weren't already dead, I would be back to finish the job. I owed that to my brother Hector.

Avery

"Oh shit, call 9-1-1," I screamed, as I realized what had just happened.

I was a block away but I could clearly see that my brother's Range Rover was lying upside down in the middle of the road after being shot at. The wheels were still spinning and I could already see that the car was smashed up. I was hoping that Bryson, Tamia, and Bryanna were okay but it surely wasn't looking good.

I got my Usain Bolt on and sprinted as fast as I could towards the accident. I had heard the gunshots a few moments ago, but I didn't let that stop me. When it came to family, I was willing to risk my own life. Everyone else seemed scared to try and help, but not me. As I got up on the car, I could hear the baby crying. That was a good sign, because if Bryanna was crying, that meant that she might be hurt, but at least she was still breathing.

I could also hear my brother Bryson hollering. Thank God, that meant that he was still alive, too. The one voice I couldn't hear was Tamia's. I crawled up to the backseat of the car, and all I could smell was gasoline.

"Please don't let this car catch on fire," I prayed out loud.

If the Range Rover's gas tank had been damaged, all it would take was for one spark and the whole car could go up in flames.

"Bryson, it's Avery. Are you okay?" I asked.

"Avery, get Tamia and Bryanna out. Don't worry about me," instructed Bryson.

I was trying to reach into the car and pull Tamia by her arm, but she wasn't moving. She was too heavy for me to pull with my little ass.

"I can't move her, Bryson!" I explained over the wail of sirens from off in the distance.

Bryson struggled free from his seat belt and finally pushed the airbag out of his way. He was hurt from the impact, but he was a fighter, just like me. I guess it was just something in our DNA. He crawled into the backseat and grabbed ahold of Tamia. At this point, it became obvious to both of us that she was unconscious. Even though she was out of it, Tamia's arms were still clutched around Bryanna. There was truly nothing stronger than a mother's love.

Tamia was bleeding badly, but I didn't let that stop me. With Bryson's help, we were able to pull her and Bryanna from the Range. The four of us got as far away from the SUV as quickly as possible, still fearing that it might explode at any second.

"Damn, she's bleeding from everywhere," said Bryson as he carried Tamia's body in his arms.

I had Bryanna and was checking her out. She was crying, but besides a few scratches and bruises, she looked to be okay. I couldn't say the same for Tamia, though. She was totally unresponsive. Finally, after what seemed like forever, an ambulance pulled up on the scene. The EMT hopped out and immediately called for a gurney.

"We've gotta try and save her!" was the last thing I heard the EMT say as he loaded Tamia onto the stretcher and put her in the back of the ambulance.

# 20

3 days later

Esco

"I sent you to kill them! Not injure them. The paper said she is in a coma," hollered Papi in a fit of rage. Papi stood up from his chair and slapped me across my face. "You failed your mother and brother's honor," screamed Papi.

I had no choice but to listen to my father's insults. I had fucked up. Out of all the gunshots that I let off, amazingly, only one hit its target. I caught the woman named Tamia in her arm, and that was it. The rest of the shots got spread around the car and didn't do any real damage. The only bright side was that when that idiot Bryson tried to jump the median, his SUV flipped over and Tamia had hit her had on the roof and gotten knocked into a coma.

"This is not over! I want them dead," continued my father.

"I'll find out what hospital she's staying in. Philly ain't that big. I know her husband is probably right by her bedside. I'll get both of them at once. I won't blow it this time, I promise," I said.

"Estupido! The cops are probably watching that woman's room like a hawk. You go anywhere near there and they will shoot you dead, too! War takes planning and patience! Haven't you learned anything from your father?" chimed in my mother, Marisol.

My parents were screaming on me like I was a 5-year-old kid all over again. I certainly didn't feel like I was being groomed to take over our family business. I felt like a fool. My youngest brother was just sitting there and watching the whole situation unfold with his arms crossed, saying nothing.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"We wait. For now, it's business as usual. Pass me that box over there," said Papi.

My father was right; it was definitely business as usual. We had closed up the bodega that had been open for over 20 years and were now operating out of a rented warehouse. Papi had directed all of his shipments to our new location, and just like clockwork, the cocaine was getting shipped in on a daily basis. Papi wasn't going to let any situation stop his money, that was for sure.

At least once a day, the delivery trucks were pulling up and dropping off boxes of drugs. Papi was getting the bricks of cocaine hidden in all types of things, from hollowed out computers to cartons of fresh fruit. My father didn't really care how his cocaine got into New York, just as long as he got his hands on it as fast as possible. It was like he was trying to make up for Hector's loss by making as much money as he possibly could. There was no slowing down the operation as far as he was concerned.

I just sat and watched as Papi opened up the box and pulled out 3 bricks of fresh, pure, raw, Columbian cocaine, and took a whiff of it. As I watched my father hold onto the coke like it was a newborn baby, I wondered if this was really the life that I wanted for myself after all. Did I really want to be a part of the game that had taken so many lives and destroyed so many families? Did I even have a choice? Deep down inside, I wanted to get out before it was too late because I hated the person that I had become.

Bryson

Once my job found out my wife was in a coma, they granted me a leave of absence. I didn't leave Tamia's bedside for a single second. All I could do was stare at her and pray that she would wake up. Tamia looked so helpless lying in the hospital bed and it was all my fault. I had dragged her into the middle of a war with Papi's crazy ass when she shouldn't have been involved in the first place.

To make matters worse, I had no way to retaliate against Papi because I couldn't find him. Unlike me, Papi stayed low-key. I felt like a fool once I realized that Tamia and I had been all over Facebook and Instagram talking about our upcoming wedding. That was how Papi had found us so easily. Someone had even loaded a clip to Youtube of me proposing in church, and they had given the address of the church in the video's description, so Papi knew exactly where to send his shooter when he was ready to get me.

When the Range Rover flipped over, Tamia's head had hit the roof and knocked her out. On top of that, she took a bullet into her left arm. She was hurt, but she wasn't dead. There was still hope. The worst part was that Tamia's family was blaming me. Her mother and Fat Mike weren't even talking to me. They knew all about my past and knew that the only people who would be shooting at us had to be connected to me. Tamia's mother was even pushing to have the wedding annulled. She actually believed that I had maybe even set the whole thing up, and it was just a plot for me to get some insurance money if Tamia died. That was the craziest shit I had ever heard in my life!

If I could have traded places with Tamia, I would have done it in a heartbeat, no questions asked. I would have much rather been the one lying up in the hospital bed in a coma than Tamia. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't do anything. All I could do was look at Tamia and pray to God that she made it out of this situation okay.

And then it happened; Tamia woke up!

Tamia

When I opened my eyes, the first face that I saw was Bryson's. At first, I didn't know where I was or how I had gotten there, but I was elated to see Bryson's sexy ass face, with his long beard, staring down at me. His hand was already holding mine, and he wasn't planning on letting me go anytime soon. The doctors rushed in, and it seemed like they were surprised that I had woken up.

"Mrs. Brown, do you know where you are?" they asked.

'Mrs. Brown' sounded really nice, which caused me to smile. My wedding hadn't been a dream, I quickly realized. Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Bryson cry. He was so relieved that I had come to.

"Where's Bryanna?" was the first thing I asked.

"She's fine. She's with Avery," Bryson reassured me.

The doctors ran a few tests and told me that I would have to stay in the hospital for a while for evaluation, but that I should eventually be back to my normal self. My arm hurt like hell, and the bullet wound would probably leave me with a nasty scar. It was the price I had to pay, though.

After the doctors gave us some privacy, Bryson filled me in on everything that had happened. He knew that the shooting had to be a hit from Papi in retaliation for his son Hector dying. I couldn't understand everything; I guess because I wasn't really into the street life like Bryson was. I didn't know all the codes and rules that went along with the game. I did know one thing, though: Anyone who fucked with my family had to go!

Normally, I was the voice of reason, but not this time. I am a calm, peaceful person and I truly don't even believe in violence, but if you try to harm my child, all bets are off! I would do whatever it took to protect my baby. Bryanna was my firstborn, my own flesh and blood. She was the center of my universe. My world revolved around her.

Bryson told me that he wanted to get Papi once and for all and be done with it. He wanted to protect us from the crazy man, but he had no idea how to find Papi. The bodega was closed and Papi was moving like a ghost. He had a new phone number and no one knew exactly where he was. Papi was just lying in the shadows, waiting to make his move on us. He was the predator and we were the prey. It was a dangerous situation to be in.

I had no idea what we were going to do. The thought of just packing up everything and leaving Philly for good crossed my mind, but running away from a problem is never the answer. I didn't want to live a life where I was forced to move around in secrecy. I wanted a normal, peaceful, life. As I laid in the hospital bed for hour after hour and day after day, my brain was raced with all types of ideas.

Then, finally it came to me.

# 21

2 weeks later

Esco

The thing about the cocaine business was that it never stopped. The drug was so addictive and controlled so many people's lives that there was a constant chain of supply and demand. My father Papi wanted to be the biggest supplier there was. He was moving thousands of kilos a month, but he still wasn't satisfied. No matter what happened in our lives, all he was concerned about was getting more cocaine.

My mother Marisol was just as bad as Papi, maybe even worse. She was focused on making money, but she was also hell-bent on revenge for Hector's death. As my brother left to make a delivery and Papi stood by the back of the warehouse and waited on the day's cocaine shipment, my mother pulled me to the side.

"I want you to start getting ready to go back to Philadelphia today. You have unfinished business there, Esco. I want blood. I want this Bryson and Tamia to feel the pain that I felt when Hector died. I want you to make them watch as you execute their child. Then do the wife next. Then the man last. I want his last memory to be him watching his family die. Ju understand?" asked my mother.

"Si," I said, as I nodded my head.

"Make your mother proud," she said.

It hard to believe that the woman who had raised me up from a baby was so coldhearted. I guess something in her snapped when Hector died. Once she killed the man that they called Shooter, my mother's regard for human life completely went away. It was hard for me to listen to the things she was telling me, but I had no choice. A person only gets one mother.

I was used to doing hits, but until now, I had never been instructed to get any women or kids. Even in the ruthless drug game, there were limits. There were codes, rules and regulations that we supposed to abide by, but we were obviously far past that point. Like my mother said, she wanted blood. None of this violence was going to stop until Bryson, Tamia, and their daughter Bryanna were dead. It was the harsh reality of the game.

"Ay, yes! Finally!" said Papi as the big brown UPS truck pulled up with the day's shipment.

Papi let up the garage style door that led out to the dock where the trucks could back in. He was like a kid on Christmas Eve when his drug shipments arrived because he knew that each shipment meant more money. The truck backed in and then its back door rose up. However, instead of a UPS driver dressed in an all-brown jumpsuit, there was a man clad in all-black, with gloves on and a mask over his face.

Worst of all, he was clutching an AK-47!

"Fuck! It's an ambush! Get down, Marisol! Esco, get the guns..." hollered Papi as all hell broke loose.

But I didn't even have a chance. Before I could even move, the shooting started.

Bryson

When the back door of the UPS truck rose up, I knew there wouldn't be any time for talking. As soon as I saw Papi's face, I raised the AK up into the air and let loose. Once and for all, I was going to end this war. I had moved on from the street life, but when Papi sent his son to try and kill Tamia and Bryanna, I had to go back to the old Bryson. I knew that Papi was never going to stop until he killed us. It was either him or me.

I let the AK dump and I shot up everything moving until there was no more. Papi, Marisol, and Esco; all three of them. I made sure they were dead. There wasn't going to be any coming back from this one. It was over. I didn't condone the violence, but it was the only way in this case. That was the beautiful evil of the lifestyle that I led.

I looked around at the warehouse and the ex-hustler in me couldn't help but notice the piles of boxes, which I was sure contained pure, raw Columbian cocaine. The street value had to be in the millions. There was a drought in Philly and the drugs would have been an easy flip with my past connections, but once again, I didn't touch any of them. This wasn't about money or drugs; this was about family. I had to protect my family from the evil people who wanted us dead. I didn't want it to be this way but in the end, there was truly no other choice. I had to do what I had to do to protect my family.

Since I had gloves on and there were no prints on my gun, I dropped it and left it right there. Hopefully, it would be the last time I would ever have to resort to violence. I pulled down the back door of the truck and locked it. Then I did the same with the big garage door to Papi's warehouse. Eventually, someone would find them.

After making sure no one was looking, I walked around to the passenger side of the truck and climbed into the front seat.

"Is it done?" asked Tamia.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," I replied.

Tamia pulled off without another word. Sometimes, your woman is the realest one on your whole team!

Tamia

As I drove the big truck out of New York with Bryson right by side, I thought about what we had just done. I wasn't proud of it, but I had to do it. Papi wanted a war, so that was what I gave him. I was no gangster, but dealing with Bryson, I had learned a thing or two. In the street life, it is not always about who is the toughest, but who is the smartest.

Lying in the hospital bed a few weeks ago, I knew that I had to get to Papi before he got to us. I kept wondering how I could find him, and then it hit me. The miniature casket that he sent us is so rare. There weren't too many companies who made them in the country. So I called around. I must have called every company with the same story until I found the right one. I told them that I had ordered a mini casket with Bryanna Tamar Brown engraved on it but I never received.

A bunch of companies checked their records and told me that they'd never received such an order. But finally, one company pulled up their orders and found the record of the delivery. I asked them where they shipped the casket to, and just like that, they slipped up and gave me the address of Papi's warehouse. Bryson and I staked out the place until we were sure that was Papi's new headquarters. Once we were positive that we had the right place, Bryson _borrowed_ a UPS truck from his job. I drove us to New York, and Bryson handled the rest!

It was sad that it had to end that way, but it's all over now. Now it is time to live my life together with the people that I love the most; my husband Bryson and my daughter Bryanna. We may not be rich, but we have each other, and at the end of the day, that was all I ever needed!

### THE END

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Also Available by Raymond Francis

Lefty's Story

Ripped Dollars

Ripped Dollars 2

Boulevard Dreams

At Your Best

Roses In Concrete

Truth Hurts, Lies Kill

Truth Hurts, Lies Kill 2

Truth Hurts, Lies Kill 3

LOVE: Loyalty Over Everything Else

LOVE: Loyalty Over Everything Else 2

 A Lie Don't Care Who Tell It

 Trillicious, Inc.

 Power Moves

About The Author

Raymond Francis is a National Best Selling author from Willingboro, NJ but currently residing in Anderson, SC. He is currently part of #TeamBankRollSquad. Francis is also the owner of Pleasure Principle Publications. His fast paced books are filled with incredibly realistic and entertaining scenarios that leave readers wondering if his books are based on actual events. Blurring the lines between reality and fiction, Raymond Francis crafts drama filled stories that keep readers in suspense. Blessed with a unique voice and an impeccable talent for building entire storylines off of minor details, Francis prides himself on being able to relate to readers from all walks of life. He describes his style as "simple enough for a fool to understand, but so complex a genius will appreciate."

