I decide to do ’im the way I had’a take Grant out, one bullet at a time. I walk ova to my bag, lettin’ da nigga think I’m gettin’ a condom. The whole time I’m in this piece I’m mindful not to touch shit. I open my bag and pull out my nickel-plated nine-millimeter wit’ the silencer attached. The irony in it all is it’s the exact type’a gun I used when I bodied Grant and his brotha. For some reason, Grant’s face pops in my head. I shut my eyes, tryna will ’im outta my head.
“You ready for this heat, muhfucka?” I ask, slowly turnin’ ’round.
“Hell yeah. I been ready.”
I grin, aimin’ the gun at ’im. “Good.”
His eyes pop open. “Whhhhaaaaat da fuck?!? Yo listen, I told you, I ain’t got no money, ma.”
I glare at ’im. “Nigga, please. I ain’t pressed for no muthafuckin’ money.”
“Whha-whaa-what’s up then?” he stutters, glancin’ round the room.
“You know Juanita, muhfucka?”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Nigga, don’t play stupid. The bitch you beat up and left for dead in Brooklyn. Why you do it?”
“Yo, who da fuck are you?” he asks, tryna raise up.
“Muthafucka, you shut ya trap, or I will blow ya face off, right now.”
The nigga grunts. Bites down on his bottom lip. “Aaah, fuck. Why da fuck you shoot me?”
“Nigga, don’t test my patience. And don’t insult my intelligence. Now, I’ma ask you one more time. Why da fuck you do that shit to Juanita when you knew she was pregnant? And before you open ya mouth to hit me wit’ some bullshit, you betta take’a deep breath and think ’bout what da fuck you gonna say.”
He starts stutterin’ again. “I-I-I…yo, listen. I ain’t do that shit, ma; on e’erything.”
“You shoulda listened to ya mammy when she told you growin’ up not ta eva get in da car wit’ strangers.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. The nigga’s sweatin’ bullets. Fear is pasted up on his face, and it makes my pussy drip wit’ excitement. “I’m da kinda bitch you don’t eva get in da car wit’. And I’m da bitch you don’t wanna piss off, that’s who da fuck I am. Now, again…why da fuck you beat up Juanita?”
“Yo, I swear to you, I don’t know…” I point the gun at ’im again. Warn ’im that I’ma put some heat to his balls if he keeps up wit’ the lies. The nigga quickly switches up his story; tries to give me some weak-ass song and dance ’bout he didn’t mean to hurt ’er. That he was tryna leave ’er but she wouldn’t let ’im. That she kept beggin’ ’im to stay, then started fightin’ ’im. That he pushed ’er off’a ’im and she fell and hit ’er head on the edge of the table.
“Nigga, shut da fuck up; I don’t wanna hear no more ’bout this shit. You still lyin’. Her face was beat da fuck up, nigga. Did you know she was pregnant?” He nods. Tells me that’s what they were beefin’ ’bout. That he didn’t want anotha baby; wanted her to abort it. “So you tried to beat it outta ’er instead.”
“No. Things got outta hand.”
“And then you fled da state, like that was gonna fix shit. Nigga, because of you, Juanita”—I pull off my wig —“is dead.” His eyes widen. “You remember me, muhfucka? Let me refresh ya memory. I’m Katrina, ’er daughter.”
“Yo, I swear—”
“Muhfucka, don’t swear shit. Because of you, there’s a lil’ boy layin’ up in’a incubator fightin’ for his life; because of you, there’s a baby I gotta raise now ’cause ya stupid ass had’a kill its mother. And now, muthafucka I gotta kill you.”
“No-no…listen. You don’t gotta do this, ma…”
“So you think I should just let you go, is that it?”
“Yo, ma…don’t do this; don’t…”
I stare at the nigga. Take in the blood oozin’ outta his shoulder and knee. Glance at his dick. A sly grin forms on my lips. “You wanna live, nigga? Then I tell you what. Lay back and let me see you bust that dick.”
He frowns. Looks at me confused. “Whaat?! You want me to play wit’ my shit, ma? Are you fuckin’ serious? I’m in fuckin’ pain.”
“Bitch-ass nigga,” I hiss through clenched teeth. I walk up on ’im, keepin’ my gun aimed at his head. “I don’t give’a fuck ’bout ya muthafuckin’ pain; I’ve been pained all my life. Now you eitha start yankin’ ya dick or get ya balls blown off. Now which is it gonna be, pain or pleasure?”
The nigga looks shook. And he’s definitely in pain. But I wanna see this nigga nut before I shut his lights. The nigga stalls. And it starts to piss me off. “Muthafucka, I ain’t gonna tell you again, you eitha bust ya nut, or get da nut bust outta ya.”
He takes his bloody hand and starts pullin’ at his dick. “Yo, ma, I thought you hated ya moms. Ya’ll was always beefin’ and shit.”
Before I know it, a bitch backhands this muthafucka wit’ the back of my gun. “Nigga, what da fuck that got ta do wit’ how you beat ’er ass? Or how you ran da bitch crazy? Get that dick hard, or I swear on e’erything I stand for, I will torture ya ass, slowly all muthafuckin’ night.”
The nigga has tears in his eyes. “Ma, please…can’t you see, I’m bleedin’ all over the place. Aaaaaah…this shit hurts.”
“Then let me add ta ya hurt,” I tell ’im, backin’ away from ’im. I walk ova to my bag, and pull out maskin’ tape. “Tonight, muhfucka, you gonna wish you neva laid eyes on my mother.” I tear off a large piece, then tell ’im to put it ova his mouth. He refuses ’til I cock my gun and prepare to shoot ’im in his otha knee. “The sooner you bust off, the sooner you can get to where you need to be.”
He keeps beggin’ and whimperin’ like a lil’ bitch and the shit’s gettin’ on my muthafuckin’ nerves. The pussy nigga has no shame.
Oh, how I wanna fuck! I pull up my skirt, show ’im my pussy. “You wanna smell this pussy, muhfucka? You wanna taste this pussy?” I place one foot up on the bed, stroke my clit, rubbin’ my gun along the front’a my pussy. “Look how wet shootin’ ya bum-ass got my pussy, nigga.” He shifts his eyes away from me. “Muthafucka, look at me ’fore I blow ya muthafuckin eyeballs out.”
He looks back at me. I tell ’im to look at my wet pussy. I pull open my lips. The nigga is cryin’ and sweatin’ and bleedin’ all ova the place. “Look at that wet, creamy pussy, bitch…you scared’a this pussy, nigga…”
I press harder on my clit, makin’ fast circles over it wit’ my two fingas. “Mmmm…you beat up and killed da wrong bitch, nigga… Uhhh…”
I got the muhfucka lookin’ at a bitch like she’s fuckin’ nuts. I help ease his mind. “Nigga, I ain’t crazy,” I say, dippin’ at the knees as my nut builds up inside’a me. “I’m muthafuckin’ dangerous, bitch-ass…uhhhh…and you… mmmm…you was a fool…aaaah…to think ya ass was gonna up ’n bounce…oooohhh…and not get got.”
“I knew ya ass wasn’t no good from da dip, snake-ass muhfucka. You shoulda got that dick hard for me… pussy-ass nigga…mmmm… dick can’t even get hard…uhhh…”
I stare at this nigga. “Yeah, nigga…don’t worry. You gonna die. I’ma take you outta ya misery.” I slip the gun back between my legs, rub it in between my pussy lips, then lick the silencer. “Shootin’ ya ass got my pussy so hot, nigga. You don’t know how bad I wanna fuck…oh, well. This party’s ova.”
I spin off, walkin’ back ova to my bag. I pull out a travel pack of mango wipes, then wipe between my legs. “You know, Juanita may not have been shit. And the bitch mighta been stupid when it came to bitch-ass niggas like you. But guess what? She was still
