harm’s way. “Don’t touch my mu’fuckin son!” he seethed in between his clenched teeth.
“Whoa, whoa! Hold up! You are not in the position to be barking orders, homeboy. You listen to me, and I’ma tell you what
“Yeah, I hear you. Just leave my kid out of it, man,” Ace said in a pleading tone.
“Should of thought about that before you got to singing like a mu’fuckin’ bitch. Snitch-ass nigga!” Mecca yelled, getting upset just at the thought of Ace being a rat.
Ace remained silent, knowing that he couldn’t possibly snitch on Carter and The Cartel anymore. Too much was on the line. He would rather face federal charges himself than leave his newborn son at the mercy of a nigga like Mecca.
“If Carter gets convicted, say goodbye to your son. It’s all on you,” Mecca threatened just before he hung up the phone and dropped it. He held Ace’s baby up and blew on his stomach playfully, making lil’ Ace laugh and squirm. Mecca smiled and hoped that he wouldn’t have to send the baby to the same place he had just sent Sheila. He didn’t want to be a killer, but snake niggas like Ace left him no choice. He stared down at the baby in his arms and whispered, “It’s all up to your daddy, lil’ man. It’s all up to your snitching ass pops.”
Welcome to The Cartel 2…
Chapter One
I’m trapped… stuck in between my past and my future, and I don’t know which one to choose or which way to go. I remember everything that happened to me. It’s so vivid in my mind. I can still feel my heart beat rapidly for the love I have for Carter, and at the same time I can feel my temperature rise at the thought of his brother, Mecca. I remember Mecca fucking me up. I can still feel the whip of his chain as it ripped through the flesh on my legs. I can still hear the menacing sound of his voice. How in the fuck he caught me slipping, I don’t know, but I can’t let him beat me. He can’t win, but there’s nothing I can do when I can’t even open my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to wake up. I can’t speak, I can’t move, I can’t do anything, and everything around me is black. I know how I got here, but how the fuck do I get out? For the first time in a long time I’m afraid.
I wish I had my girls with me, because with them, nothing is impossible. With them, we run through niggas like Mecca, collect our paper, and keep it pushing to the next job. But our difference of opinion on The Cartel broke us apart. I did what I thought I would never do. I chose a nigga, Carter, over The Murder Mamas.
I can see the light that so many people talk about before dying, but in my case, it is more like a fire that is waiting to consume me. I’m standing between the gates of hell and my childhood, but they are equal to one another. Either way I go, the pain will be too much for me to handle. My past is something that I don’t want to remember. I forgot about it for a reason. I gave myself amnesia so that I wouldn’t have to relive it, and I left it behind a long time ago. I don’t want to have to repeat it, but I don’t want to die either. I have a choice: I can walk into the light right now and let it all end here. I can submit myself to God’s mercy and face my judgment in that light, or I can face my past and figure out how my childhood affected me and made me into the woman, the killer, the bitch that I am today. Those are my options; face death or face life. That’s a hell of a choice, but I guess it’s my destiny. I’m not ready to meet my Maker. I still have too much to do, and there are so many things left in my life unsettled. There are so many debts that I still have to collect on, and so many that I still owe.
So, I’m going to introduce you to my past. I’m going to let you meet the innocent little girl I used to be before the corruption, the money, the bodies, and the bullshit. Don’t judge me, just rock with my story as I tell it all… the ‘hood, the bad and the ugly. This is me, Miamor, the life of a Murder Mama.
Chapter Two
Sitting in the bottom of my closet, I shook uncontrollably. The stench of piss was strong in the air, and my hands covered my ears trying to block out the screams. I was terrified. My heart beat uncontrollably and I closed my eyes from fear. I wished I could disappear and avoid the tragedy that was my life, but I couldn’t. I relived this nightmare every night.
As soon as my mother left the house, I knew what would take place: The molestation; the screams; the feelings of helplessness. It always happened at the same time. Like clockwork at 1:00 a.m., he came like a thief in the night. No matter how much we avoided it, no matter how many times we begged our mother not to stay the night away from home, nothing ever saved us. She always said no. The bitch made us stay there with him, and even though we cried and pleaded, her answer was always no. If she did not know what was going on, she should have. The shit was happening under her own roof, so I could never give her the benefit of the doubt. Fuck her too! She invited him into her home and unknowingly into her daughters’ bed. He was always there, with a fucking grin on his face. We were trapped, and our fates were inevitable.
My sister, Anisa was the victim, and our stepfather, Perry was the bastard who shattered our childhoods. Lollipops and daisies were never a part of our world. All we knew was pain and corruption. It seemed as though abuse and neglect were the only constants in our lives. All we had was each other, and whenever he snatched Anisa from her bed, I always felt her pain.
“Please stop… please, it hurts!” Anisa screamed.
Tears stained my cheeks. I could hear my sister crying, but I couldn’t do anything. I wished that we could switch places; that was how much I loved her. I knew the pain that she went through, and would take it all for her if I could, but I couldn’t. He never chose me. It was always her. She was fourteen, and budding into womanhood early, while I was only twelve and still composed of all elbows and knees. There wasn’t a curve to my body, so he ignored me mostly, but he violated Anisa, which meant he violated me.
I could hear the bed creaking from the other room, the headboard banging against the wall as a constant reminder of the atrocity that was happening behind closed doors. We wanted to tell someone, but who would believe us? Perry was smart. He made sure that he never hit Anisa. He never even left a mark. The sucking he did on her premature breasts was done lightly as to not leave any sign of trespass. We were scared, always walking around on eggshells and feeling like strangers in our own house.
The knocking of the headboard against the wall stopped, and I knew that it was finally over.
I waited in the bottom of the closet just as Anisa instructed me to. She always told me to hide and not come out until she came for me. The closet door creaked open and there stood my big sister. Her hair was wild and her eyes were red from crying. I took her hand and led her into the hallway bathroom. I was used to this routine. She never liked to talk afterwards, and she never looked me in the eye. I knew she was ashamed, but what she didn’t know was that I was ashamed too, because I just sat there and let it happen to her. I locked the bathroom door and ran a tub full of steaming bathwater. Anisa got right in, ignoring the sting of hot water against her bare skin. She hugged her legs to her chest, and I rubbed her hair gently while we both cried silently as she scrubbed her sins away.
The next day when I awoke, Anisa was already out of her bed. I knew our mother was home because I could hear the sounds of Teena Marie blaring throughout the house. Walking into the bathroom, I saw Anisa leaned over the toilet, gasping for air. “What’s wrong, Nis?” I asked.
