A Hustler's Son II Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the ass instead. She tightened up at first as I gave her the unexpected . But I wasn’t the first nigga who been up in here. I could tell. So she eased up, slightly. I started thinkin’ ‘bout everything. How much hate I had in my heart. How much I wanted to torture Kyope and Jarvis and how fucked up my life had been ever since they took the only true thorough chick I’d ever known. My moms. Wit’ Kenosha still under me, I fucked her rougher. The rougher I got the better it felt. The idea of revenge turned me on even if I was taken it out on the wrong person. I was reckless.
    “Ahhhhhh…..shit, I’m bout to bust,” I yelled as I released into her warmth clinching her ass tightly.
    “Kelsi, please! You hurtin’ me.”
    Her cries woke me out of the zone I was in. But only after I bust my nut. When I let up off of her, she sat up straight, grabbed her legs and backed against the head board. It knocked softly against the wall twice before stoppin’. She was shakin’ and I noticed that blood covered the blue mattress and added to the stains already on the bed. I wondered what secrets besides mine this room held.
    I couldn’t look at her at first, but I could feel her eyes on me. As wrong as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. Apology was a sign of weakness. It meant that your actions, whatever they were, were a mistake. And nothin’ I did was a mistake. She wanted to come out here, and she deserved exactly what she got. Fucked!
    “You aight?” I managed to say.
    “What is wrong with you, Kelsi? Who are you?” she sobbed looking at me strangely.
    I ain’t answer. I wasn’t gonna show her a vulnerable side where there was none.
    “Just leave, Kenosha. You shouldn’t be here no way. It ain’t safe.”
    Her head dropped and she looked up at me again, naked from the waist down.
    Still shaken.
    Still scared.
    “It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” she wiped her own tears. “I know you gotta lot on your mind right now, Kelsi.” She crawled toward me, and grabbed my hand. “Please lay wit’ me, Kelsiiiiiii. I’m aight. Really. Pleeeeaaaase. Lay wit’ me,” she begged.
    I wanted to be by myself but I let her stay. Maybe I didn’t wanna be alone wit’ myself and my thoughts. She turned on her side, away from me and I slid behind her in a spoon fashion. I could feel her tremblin’.
    “Kelsiiii, I care ‘bout you,” she said softly.
    “I know.” I responded, wit’out emotion.
    “I wish you’d let me love you.”
    “I can’t.”

 
    Monday, 11:31 am
    ****
    All I need in this world is a fat pocket and a phat pussy. You can keep the rest.
    -Jarvis
     
    Larou “Steel” Simmon’s funeral was jammed packed and the small church in Harlem had to conduct six services just so everyone could pay their respects. Some sobbed over the loss, while others showed up to be present for yet another fabulous event. Jarvis sat in the back row of the church with Prangsta discussing business. And although he paid for the ceremony, attending felt more like a chore than anything.
    “The recipe is still off. Sometimes we get it right, and sometimes we don’t,” Prangsta said eyeing the huge crowd in front of him. Every now and again he’d use Steel’s obituary to fan himself as sweat poured down his face.
    “Ya’ll niggas stay fuckin’ shit up,” he looked at him briefly and shook his head in disgust. He was sick of smelling the foul odor of his unkempt locks. “How hard is it to torture a nigga, write down what he tell you, and put it into action? I mean, must I do everything?”
    “We did write down everything, man. But lately we just been off. Plus JoJo been sick so he ain’t cookin’ no more. For the most part it’s just been me and Crane.”
    “Fuck is wrong wit’, JoJo anyway?”
    “They say he got that cancer shit and ain’t been feelin’ right.”
    “Yeah will he betta die or hurry up back to work foe he get cut the fuck off!”
    Jarvis was serious about his business. It wasn’t easy