Baltimore Chronicles Volume 2. Treasure Hernandez
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her, and she sat, preoccupied with thoughts of all of the things that could go wrong—one of which was, she could be thrown in jail for fabricating a story so elaborate and would lose her children forever if anyone ever found out the truth.
“Damn! You been daydreaming for a minute,” Scar said, breaking up her thoughts.
Tiphani let a weak smile spread across her face.
Scar could see the second thoughts and doubt in her eyes. “I hope you dreaming about me and this pussy-pounding I’m about to put on you.” He grabbed his dick through his pants.
Tiphani smiled just thinking about that good-ass dick.
When Scar saw her smile, he knew he had her again. He didn’t care if he had to fuck her every minute of every day to keep her on course with his plan. He was going to do whatever it took to keep this bitch in line. Scar thought of Tiphani as the “queen of sorts.” He saw her as one of the most powerful pieces in his game of chess against Derek and the Maryland State Troopers that had tried to destroy everything he had worked to build.
Before she knew it, Scar had swooped down on her like an eagle snatching up a little mouse as prey. The next thing she knew, Scar was carrying her like a little rag doll down the yacht steps to the lower deck. Once there, he reached under her dress and ripped her thong off with one forceful motion.
Tiphani began breathing hard, and a hot feeling came over her. She loved Scar’s spontaneity. Nothing was all planned and boring, like with Derek. She giggled, the liquor tingling her senses. Scar forced his tongue into her mouth, she accepted, and they kissed wildly. Tiphani’s cheeks were on fire. The heat their bodies generated was enough to cook something.
Scar pulled off his Ralph Lauren purple label shorts, freeing his beautiful, thick dick. Then he ripped his wife-beater over his head, exposing his chest, adorned by a diamond-encrusted Jesus piece. The platinum up against his ebony skin was sexy as hell. Tiphani licked her lips as he climbed on top of her. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent. It was intoxicating. She felt like she was really falling in love with him.
Scar hoisted her sundress up and buried his face in her sopping wet pussy. He blew his hot breath on her clitoris and devoured her pussy until she was dizzy. Then he moved up, took a mouthful of her firm breasts into his mouth, and slammed his dick up in her like a bulldozer. Over and over again, Scar pounded into her flesh. Tiphani dug her nails into his back as he continued his mission. He rammed her with all his might and fucked her back into submission.
Tiphani accepted each of his thrusts for as long as she could. “Oh God!” she screamed, and then she came all over his dick.
Then Scar followed her, letting his juices saturate her neatly shaved triangle. Panting and out of breath, they collapsed in a tangled heap of flesh.
Just then Scar’s cell phone rang. “Damn!” he panted. It was back to business just that fast. Although his ass was on a vacation of sorts, shit in the harsh streets of Baltimore was business as usual.
Scar still had a strong hold on the streets through his Dirty Money Crew, which was thriving and growing in numbers. He had groomed his little niggas well, and they were running shit back home, keeping his pockets laced. Niggas was hungry on the streets, and he was the only nigga offering to feed them, so they all remained loyal to him. Even in his absence, his presence was still felt.
“Speak,” he wolfed into his cell phone. He listened for a minute. Then he sat up and pushed Tiphani away, turning his back toward her. Scar flexed his jaw as he listened intently. He balled up his fist on his free hand and squeezed it so hard, his knuckles looked like they’d bust through his skin. He pursed his lips and spoke. “Well, then kill the nigga. What you even second-guessing it for?” Disconnecting the line, he tossed his cell phone across the room, sending it crashing into the wall.
Tiphani jumped at the sound. “What’s the matter, baby?” she asked, sitting up startled.
Scar ignored her question. He rushed out of the room to get his anger under control. He didn’t want to unleash on Tiphani and risk having her fall out of line.
Tiphani lay back down, still hoping this plan was going to work in their favor.
Chapter 2
Business as Usual
“Yo, he said to kill this nigga,” Trail said, no emotion behind his words as he hung up the phone.
“No. Please, Trail, help me, man. Sticks, please,” the boy pleaded as he sat on a small chair in the middle of the floor, surrounded by members of the Dirty Money Crew.
The boy’s begging and pleading for mercy amused the crew, who were laughing and making light of his impending doom, but he saw it as a last-ditch effort to save himself. Only fifteen, he felt he was too young to die. The day he took Scar’s offer to join the crew, he’d made the worst mistake of his life, and he knew it now more than ever.
“Nigga, your trap was short seven fuckin’ times in a row. Then you show up in the hood with a fuckin’ brand-new-ass Escalade, paid out in cash! You can’t afford that shit, nigga. You ain’t move up in this game yet. Ain’t nobody gonna surpass Scar’s status. When you stole from that nigga and tried to floss like you was larger than him, you sealed your fate. You thought a nigga like Scar was gone, vamoose, and that you was gonna get away with having larceny in yo’ heart. Well, nigga, I just got word from the king of these streets. The order has been given?you’re a dead man.” Sticks’ face curled into a hard scowl, stiff and emotionless like stone.
“Yo, I can pay it back. It wasn’t that much, I swear. I just been saving for a minute,” the boy begged, shaking his legs back and forth.
All of the Dirty Money Crew members began laughing uproariously. They thought this little begging-ass boy was amusing, and they were particularly anxious to see him get his punishment, even if it meant murder. In Scar’s absence the crew all looked to Sticks for their orders, and he knew he definitely had something to prove.
“Yo, now a nigga wanna cop a plea,” Timber said. He was one of the new members of the crew. “Let me kill him, slow and painful like. I will cut off his eyelids so the nigga can’t blink. I will remove that nigga’s fingernails and toenails one by one while he watch.” Timber got menacingly close to the boy’s face.
Timber was a wild boy, and he was helping the Dirty Money Crew wreak havoc on the streets of Baltimore. He had relocated from Alabama to Baltimore with his mother, and it wasn’t long before he got knee-deep into the streets. He had told Sticks and Trail that he got his nickname Timber because one night when he was eleven, he went out into his backyard, sawed off a tree branch and beat his stepfather to death with it for hitting on his mother. When the word spread about him to all the gangs in Alabama, they started calling him Little Timber after that, and the name stuck. (Tim-ber!” was what the tree cutters in Alabama called out when they cut trees down.) After Timber felt the power surge from his first murder, it became nothing for him. He was ruthless and was into torture. In fact, he craved the sensational rush he got from committing heinous acts.
“Nah, I’ma do this shit Scar-style?short and sweet, no need for a bunch of blood and guts and shit,” Sticks said. He really just wanted to assert his power and show off his bravado in front of the younger dudes in the crew. Murder and mayhem was what he wanted on his tombstone.
“Yo, Scar always gives a nigga his chance to have last rites. “So what is it gonna be?” Sticks said to the boy. You got a choice, nigga—call a bitch, call your moms, or you wanna chance to pray to God? Don’t think too long, nigga. I ain’t got all day.”
Staring death in the eyes, the boy thought to himself, This can’t be real. Crying like a baby and trembling like a leaf, he agreed to a call to his mother to say good-bye. He figured at least she would know he was thinking of her before he died. He couldn’t imagine how she would react if he had gone missing for weeks, or when the police finally came to the door to tell her they had found his body. He wanted to tell her good-bye himself. In his mind, he was saying, Fuck God, because if there was a God, He would save him right