Bury Me a G 3 (eBook)

Crucified By Da Streets

Tranay Adams (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018 | 1. Auflage
218 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-012448-7 (ISBN)

Infos

Outnumbered and outgunned by those who are out to kill him, TIAZ finds an ally in a very unlikely person. Together, they dare to go up against a gangsta whose power is enough to leave them both dead and leaking blood in the streets. Will their courage help them prevail? Or will it ultimately lead to their demise?

WICKED has his marker called in by a band of Shottas back in prison. To pay off his debt to them, he must execute a man with due prejudice. Failure to comply with this demand will put his own head on the gauntlet. Will Wicked kill in cold blood or will he renege on his blood debt and incur the wrath of the vicious Jamaican gang?

Meanwhile, UCHE and UDUKA receive information that sets them on the trail of BOXY'S murderer. They move to avenge their brother and settle the score. But what they run into is a killer whose murder game exceeds theirs. Will the Africans return to Nigeria victorious or will they be CRUCIFIED BY DA STREETS?

Textauszug

 

He looked to his ankle and saw that it had been shackled to the wall. He’d been much too panicked to notice before. When he looked up, Wicked and Helen were approaching him, laughing like a couple of crazed maniacs.

Te’Qui squeezed his eyelids closed and mouthed a prayer to himself, hoping that God Almighty would pull his black ass out of this one.

“The Lord can’t save you, lil’ homie. Only you can,” Wicked spoke honestly. “You either tell me who this cat is that gave you and bro bro that work, or I’m gonna make sure you get acquainted with each and every tool in that there bag behind me, ya dig?”

Te’Qui closed his eyes as he swallowed hard. He peeled them back open and stared up at his enemy with defiant eyes.

“Yeah, I dig and I still ain’t telling you shit! Suck my dick!” He threw up both middle fingers, letting them linger.

Te’Qui was pissed off at Wicked for threatening to bring harm to him for not dropping dime on who it was that gave him and his brother the crack to sell, being that he was against snitching. In fact, Wicked was one of the main niggaz that drilled into his head that telling wasn’t an option, under any circumstances. Te’Qui couldn’t believe it. For as long as the maniac gang-banger had known him, he was about to slaughter him like a pig for not submitting to him.

Ain’t this about a bitch? The young nigga thought, feeling flabbergasted. Before I eat the cheese, they’ll be bury me a g.

“Oh, I’m gonna love this,” Wicked stated with a fiendish smile. Kicking the youngster in the chin, he knocked him unconscious then pressed his sneaker against the little dude’s chest, moving to perform surgery with the shiny instrument. He stopped himself short when his cell phone rang, intending to ignored it, but something told him that he should see who it was. Withdrawing his cellular, he flipped it open and glanced at the screen. His brows furrowed seeing the name, but he knew he’d best answer the call. Placing the device to his ear, he answered.

“What’s brackin’?” His eyes wandered as he listened to what he was being told. He was hot as a firecracker, being that the call had interrupted him right when he was about to lay his torture game down on Te’Qui. “I’m in the middle of something right now. Let me wrap this up and…” He was cut short from the earful he received. “I know, I know, I know…” He blew hot air, feeling cheated, because he knew that the plans that he had for Te’Qui would have to wait until later. The call he had gotten was a very important one and the situation had to be addressed pronto. “I’ll be there, two hunnit.” He disconnected the call and slipped the cell into his pocket. “You one lucky lil’ nigga, you know that?”

“Who was that?” His Aunt Helen frowned.

Ignoring her question, he simply said, “I got some business I gotta tend to.” He sat the tool into the worn leather bag. “You babysit our friend here until I get back, alright?” He zipped the bag up and turned to her, pulling a compact handgun from the small of his back.

“Alright.” She nodded and took the gun.

“Good.” He hugged her affectionately and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Wicked headed back up the staircase, leaving his aunt alone with Te’Qui. She planted a chair down before him and leaned forward, allowing the handgun to dangle between her legs as she watched him attentively.

***

Wicked hopped behind the wheel of his BMW and tucked his banger underneath the driver seat. After firing up the sexy machine and adjusting the rearview mirror, he pulled off, cranking up the volume on Dr. Dre’s Bang Bang from The Chronic 2001.

 

Everyday it's the same thing,

L.A. ain't changed

Niggas still player hating,

but Dre ain't changed

I'm just a lot smarter now

‘Cause these niggas is banging ten times harder now

Niggas bringing they ass up in the wrong part of town

Better turn they car around

Rollin’ the window down (hey, can we talk it out?

Nah get the fuck out!)

Johnny got a shotgun

And he ain't even strong enough to cock one

Fuck tryin’ to job hunt.

 

Wicked stared ahead watching the street and taking swigs from his flask. Face solemn, deadpan look in his eyes. The night’s cool air blew in through the cracked open windows, disturbing the loose strands of hair sticking out of his cornrows, while the illumination of light posts flickered on and off his face as he drove the dark city streets. Taking a swallow of the dark liquor, his mind wandered back to the day he became indebted to one of the most ruthless Jamaicans Kingston had ever spawned.

Wicked disrobed and entered the shower in flip-flops. The room was humid and foggy. He stared straight ahead, but he could see all of the men surrounding him. Each of them were occupied, lathering themselves with soap, washing shampoo from out of their hair, or heading back into the locker room to dry off and dress. The inmates were minding their own business and paying him no mind. Seeing this, Wicked turned his back against the spray of the showerhead. When the hot liquid hit his head, it laid his hair down and coated his body. He made sure to keep an eye open while he lathered up. By no means was Wicked a stranger to prison, every time he went in, he left with a new set of enemies. He robbed, cheated, stole, and opened niggaz up with razors. He never knew when his dirt would come back to haunt him, so he had to grow an extra pair of eyes in the back of his head.

The hot water that poured over Wicked’s form soothed and relaxed him, freeing him of his tension. It felt damn good. So good that he closed his eyes and soaked in that moment. That one moment was all it took for some shit to jump off. Wicked’s eyelids snapped open hearing hurried flip-flopped feet slapping against the wet tile. He looked from left to right, identifying the four men closing in on him. He knew he had to react fast or that was going to be his ass.

“Ah, niggaz wanna pack me, Blood?”

Crack! Bwap! Pwap!

Wicked dropped one of the opposing men with ease and followed up with the next. He chopped him in his throat, causing him to gag then grabbed him by the back of his neck. With a grunt, he swung him into the white tiled wall. Thunk! He busted his nose and mouth, falling to the floor and leaving a smear of red behind. Wicked went to turn around and met with a solid right to the chin. His head slammed up against the wall and he fell to his palms and knees. He went to get up, but a kick in the ribs brought him back down on all fours. Before he knew it, he was swarmed. His body and head got real acquainted with fists and bare feet. The men assaulted him until they were left with flaring nostrils and heaving chests.

“Hold his ass, hold ‘em right there!” The baldheaded convict gave the order, dropping the lock into a sock, causing it to go slack. He grasped the opposite end of it and spun it around rapidly, twisting it up, setting the lock in place. “So, you like raping lil’ girls, huh, mothafucka? Alright.”

His eyebrows arched and his nose scrunched up, lips peeling back in a sneer. He threw his hand back, grunting and swinging the sock across his face. Crack! Thwhack! Bwap! Whack! The assault split open Wicked’s forehead and right cheek, red webbing his eye. His nose fractured and burgundy blood flushed from his nasal cavity, tatting up the tiled floor and washing down the drain. His eyes were hooded and his vision was blurry. He moaned. His head throbbed like he had the worst migraine and his broken jaw was aching.

“Big brudda!” The voice rang from the doorway.

The bald con and his henchmen’s heads snapped in the direction from which the voice came. They found a tall, skinny man with keloids and burns on his bony chest. His hair was a crop of wild dreads that were long and thick. They looked bigger than his head and heavier than his body. Standing on both sides of him were three Rastas. They were sporting shorter dreads, nappy heads, and fades. They wore menacing expressions and looked like they’d kill on their leader’s command, like a couple of trained attack dogs. Beyond them were two C.O.’s masking the door so no one would be able to get out of the shower room unless they permitted it.

“Let da mon go now, he’s takin’ ‘nuff of a beatin.’” The dread spoke with an easy Jamaican drawl.

“What? You betta raise yo punk ass up from outta here!” Baldhead frowned, looking him up and down.

“Me dunt ‘spect nuttin’ fa free, I’m willin’ ta buy da man’s debt from ya.”

Baldhead’s forehead wrinkled and he exchanged glances with his men. Turning back to the dread, he said, “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“As cansah.”

“Nuh uh.” He shook his head, “Ain’t ‘bout the money, this cock sucka…” He grabbed a fist full of Wicked’s thick, nappy hair and pulled his head back. His eyes were peeled to their whites and he was groaning in pain. He was in bad shape. “…likes sticking his grown ass dick in lil’ babies, the slimy mothafucka that he is.”

“Me know of da man’s sins and me have bigga plans fa him.”

“Like what?”

“Dat’s no business of yours, and I’m growin’ impatient wit’ ya chit chat.”

“Nigga, fuck you!” He scrunched his face up, looking at him like ‘who in the fuck do you think you are?’

“Right.” With that said, the dread and his men drew shanks from the waistlines of their...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.10.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-012448-6 / 0000124486
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-012448-7 / 9780000124487