Turned Out by His Hood Mentality 3 Read online

  © 2020

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction, in any manner, is prohibited.

  Contents

  1. Billionaire ‘Billion’ Knox

  2. Normani Knox

  3. Billionaire ‘Billion’ Knox

  4. Monterius Jordan

  5. Twinkle Brooks

  6. Normani Knox

  7. Denim McCloud

  8. Billionaire ‘Billion’ Knox

  9. Sidnesha Banks

  10. Monterius Jordan

  11. Normani Knox

  12. Twinkle Brooks

  13. Billionaire ‘Billion’ Knox

  14. Reggie Wilson

  15. Denim McCloud

  16. Normani Knox

  17. Monterius Jordan

  18. Normani Knox

  19. Twinkle Brooks

  20. Billionaire ‘Billion’ Knox

  21. Normani Knox

  Epilogue

  “I love what you be out here doing with these boys, man. Growing up in these Miami projects, this park right here is much needed for a lot of them. They can think of it as an escape from all the fucked-up problems they have to endure at home. They don’t get to see all the good shit life has to offer because when they open their eyes every morning, the only type of shit they get to see is the dope boys hanging out at the buildings, serving the fiends, they see prostitutes rolling in after working their graveyard shift, and it’s no telling how many dead bodies these lil niggas done saw too. When you surrounded by all that bad shit, it’s only a matter of time before you become a product of your environment.

  “I know that because look how I was years ago. I watched my daddy hustle for years, so I eventually wanted to do the same thing. He had the nicest rides, the flyest clothes, so a lil nigga like me, being raised in the projects, damn right I wanted what he had. Ain’t nobody ever came and talked about going to college and shit. I mean, my mama tried to jump down my back, but at that point, the shit was already too late because I already knew what I wanted to do with my life,” I vented to my dad’s brother, my uncle Malcom.

  I had popped up on him tonight in the hood at his park, so I could watch his practice. It was Friday night, and my uncle had been trying to get me to come down there and watch his practice for the longest, but I kept putting it off because a nigga just be having so much shit on my plate. Tonight, we weren’t doing shit at the house. Normani and Khari were in Khari’s room playing dress up, and I was down in the den, watching a movie, so it was the perfect time for me to check out the program that my uncle had been running for the past few years. Practice had let out at least an hour ago, the sun had gone down because it was pretty late out, and the only things shining down on us were the few streetlights.

  “I got to. I got to show these kids that with them having a talent, they can move they mamas, their grandmas, their aunties, or whoever the fuck is raising them from out of the hood. Even if running track isn’t what they want to do in the long run, at least it’ll be some shit that can keep them out of trouble for now and keep them healthy for the time being. A lot of these kids so motha fuckin’ brainwashed that it’s fuckin’ crazy. I had a lil nigga come out here today and tell me that he ain’t want to run track because the shit not gonna make him no money. I asked him what he wanted to do, and he told me he wanted to move dope.

  “Our young, black boys, they feel like moving dope is the only option they got when they from the projects. That, being a rapper or playing ball. Do these lil’ niggas not know that they have fuckin’ brains too and that they can be doing something else with their lives? I preach and preach that shit to them daily, and although I’ll probably be singing that shit until I’m blue in the face, I know that a lot of them will still do what the fuck they want to do anyway. In the end, though, I know that I did my part, and it’ll be strictly up to them whether they want to take heed,” my uncle Malcom told me.

  There was a blunt in my hand, and I took a long pull from it as I thought about the things he had just spoken on.

  “When you begin to have kids, I swear you see shit so differently. When I was young, I used to swear that I was going to be the biggest hustler that ever came out of Miami. I talked about how I would pass the drug business down to my sons because, eventually, I would want out of this shit, but at the same time, I never wanted my legacy to die. I look at Lil’ Bill, and I ain’t never in my life put hands on that little boy, but on everything I love, I’ll break his fuckin’ neck if I even think he got some shit on his mind about pushing some weight.

  “I bust my ass every day, so my kids ain’t gotta do the same shit that I was doing. In anything that they do, I want them to be better than me, whether it be school, life, shit, whatever, just be better. Billion wants to play professional football when he gets older, but I be on top of him, telling him to have a plan B because anything can happen, and it can shatter his dreams in a second,” I let my uncle know.

  I think it was the weed in my system that had me getting into this deep talk with my uncle. When I got out there, I was clowning his ass because I saw him get smoked in a race by a thirteen-year-old boy. Now, there we were, sitting on the benches, in a deep ass conversation.

  My phone was in my lap, and I had looked down about three times, reading the text messages that had popped up from Normani, giving a nigga some shit to bring back to the house from Walmart. I swear, I didn’t see how shorty wasn’t bigger than what she was because all her pregnancy cravings came out at night. She’d be up at midnight, and all I would hear was fuckin’ chewing. Last night, she came to bed with a bowl filled with strawberries and had many toppings on it from syrup, whipped cream, and cherry nut ice cream. I can’t even lie, I tasted it, and that shit was good. I guess she had no more strawberries left or any whipped cream, so she was sending me on an errand to get that for her along with whatever else was on that fuckin’ list.

  Normani would be three months pregnant next month, and she had just gotten to a point where I could finally say she had a little pudge in her stomach. Her birthday was next week, and I was still trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do for her. She told me straight up that she didn’t want a party and not to spend a bunch of money on her (but I was still going to), and she told me she didn’t want to go on a vacation. I was sure what happened in Mexico had her saying that.

  Normani wasn’t as scared as she was before, but she was still going through it. If she came home at night, it was mandatory that I met her outside, and she brings it up at least once a week. She had every right to still be shaken up over that shit happening to her, but I ain’t want my wife living in fear for the rest of her life. So, yeah, that was something we were still trying to work on.

  Then, she was dealing with the backlash from her father. Normani had expressed on a few occasions that she just wanted things to go back to normal between her and her father. Truth be told, I didn’t think that shit between her and her father would ever get back to normal because as long as I was in the picture, he would feel threatened by my very existence. I swear, if he wasn’t my wife’s daddy, I would have been beat the fuck out of his old ass.

  “I hear you, man. You’re an amazing father to those kids. I’ve always told you that,” Uncle Malcom said as he reached out and gave me a pound.

  “Let me get the fuck out of here, though. It’s fuckin’ hours, and one of my dimes keep texting, trying to see where the fuck I’m at,” he said.

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sp; I laughed, shaking my head because our roles were should have been different. He was older, and I was the younger. Malcom should be the one with a pregnant wife at home and a few kids of his own, and I was supposed to be the single bachelor without a care in the world.

  “Betta leave them hoes alone, man,” I said.

  “Yeah, right! Leave the hoes alone and have my wife texting me with her fuckin’ grocery list of shit to pick up, like what yours is doing to you right now? I’ll pass, lil’ nigga,” he joked.

  “You ain’t never been in love, so you wouldn’t understand. When you go fuck them hoes tonight, if you ain’t already got some condoms, you’ll have to stop and pick you up some, which is going to set you back another five minutes or so. When I go home tonight, I fuck my wife. I ain’t got to worry about strapping up because, for one, she already knocked, up and two, I know that her and that pussy is disease free. When the last time you sent them hoes to get a pap smear? Keep judging us married niggas all you want to. At least I ain’t gotta worry about having bumps on my dick. My dick goes in and out of one pussy, and one pussy only,” I said, talking my shit.

  All he could do was laugh because he knew I was right. No single nigga could say shit that would make me feel like I was missing out on something by not living a bachelor's life. My married life topped that in many ways. I been fuckin’ since I was a little nigga, so I had already lived that life of being in and out of different pussy. I already knew how it felt to fuck on somebody today and then somebody else tomorrow.

  What nobody liked to talk about when it came to fuckin’ around is that these bitches are suspect as fuck, and they be coming up with all types of plans to get your ass robbed and killed. I remember the night of my welcome home party when I took two bitches back to the hotel with me. I stripped them bitches of everything, down to their fuckin’ contacts, because I couldn’t trust a soul. If I had to do all that, just to get some pussy, then nah, I’d rather find a wife. My wife couldn’t rob me because what was mine was hers time two! I spoke that shit to my uncle all the time about him needing to be careful with these bitches, but he was older, and he would do what he wanted regardless.

  “I’m heading out. You staying?” he asked as he pulled his keys out of his joggers.

  “Go ahead. I’m about to finish this joint, and then I’ll leave,” I said.

  We dapped it up, and then he left. I watched as he went to the parking lot, jumped in his car, and sped off. Now, it was just me in the park. I wanted to be left alone for plenty of reasons. Truth is, I had a lot of shit on my mind, but the main thing that had been eating at me these days was the fact that I didn’t think Denim would fight this shit. It had been damn near three months, and shorty wasn’t showing any improvement.

  At first, she would squeeze a nigga’s hand. She would do the same thing with Khari and Rylo, her other daughter. They would get so happy when their mama did that. I swear that shit would light up their fuckin’ worlds. She hardly did any of that anymore. Her stomach was growing because of the baby, but as far as Denim, she just wasn’t showing any signs of improvement. My daughter asked me just about every day if I still thought her mama would wake up from her coma. Although I told her yes, I just didn’t know anymore. I wasn’t prepared to tell my daughter no fucked up news like that.

  The crazy thing about all this shit is that when Denim told me the truth about who Khari belonged to, I was so fuckin’ mad at her that I didn’t give a fuck what happened to her ass. Now look, I actually gave a fuck whether shorty lived or died.

  My thoughts were cut short when my phone buzzed in my lap. I looked down, and of course, it was Normani calling on Facetime. I slid the bar over on the phone, so I could answer, and once I did, I blew a cloud of smoke into the phone.

  “Why didn’t you text me back?” she asked, getting right to the point.

  Normani was back in our room, and from her surroundings, I could see that she was sitting on my side of the bed. Her long hair was in a ponytail, and she was in one of my wife beaters. Since she was sitting down, I couldn’t see her bottoms. Normani’s gray eyes sternly watched me as she waited for me to answer her question.

  “Because I was going to lie and say that I didn’t get it,” I truthfully told her as I blew more smoke into the phone. A nigga was dog tired, and going to the store, picking out crazy pregnancy craving foods for my wife was the last thing I wanted to do at that moment.

  “I can always go and get it myself. Your uncle isn’t even out there with you anymore, so why are you still there? It’s late. Come home,” she said.

  This woman didn’t want me out of her sight. I couldn’t talk, though, because I got annoyed when she got out of bed to take a piss. I wanted her on my hip at all times.

  “It’s after ten, shorty. You better not walk yo’ ass out that motha fuckin’ door. Ima go and get your shit,” I said.

  “Why are you there by yourself? What’s wrong with you?” she pressed.

  “Shorty, I’m straight. My uncle literally just left. I’m finishing off the blunt, so I won’t have to smoke in the car. Where’s Khari?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “She’s in her room, sleeping. We’ll talk when you get home because I know that something is bothering you, Billionaire. You are smoking more than you ever have since I met you. Please be safe, and I love you. You don’t have to get me the stuff from the store. Just come home,” she said.

  “I’m still going to get it. I love you too,” I said and then hung up.

  I ain’t want to tell Normani that a nigga was stressed about the possibility that my baby mama may not wake up from this shit. It was really me worrying for Khari, though, because I knew how this shit would hurt her. Normani and I had just gotten married, plus she was pregnant. I knew how emotional a pregnant woman could be, and I wasn’t trying to start no shit, so I would just put my feelings on the back burner.

  I stood up from the bleachers after I finished my blunt and pulled up my sagging sweats. The second I turned around, a lil nigga was standing there with a lil ass pistol pointed my way. I don’t know if I was distracted by the phone call I was having with Normani, but I didn’t even hear the lil nigga when he made his way over there. Usually, I was aware of the shit happening around me, but I had to admit that I’d been caught slipping this time. Well, in this case, I would have been caught slipping if this was a real killer who had approached me.

  This pussy ass nigga was standing there, hands shaking, so the gun was shaking. If he was a real killer, the second I turned around, he would have put a hole in my chest. Even a fuck nigga would have shot me while my back was turned, but he ain’t even do that. I could see it in his eyes that he was scared to do this shit. The whole time, I was trying to figure out if I knew this nigga from somewhere, but his face was unfamiliar as fuck. I knew I hadn’t fucked his bitch recently because I was only fuckin’ one woman, so what the fuck could this possibly be about?

  “If you’re going to use that motha fucka, you better use it now! Pointing a gun at me is equivalent to shooting me, nigga, so pull the trigger if that’s what you came here to do, my man,” I said, cool, calm, and collected as I made my way down the steps.

  He wasn’t ’bout it because the second I moved, he was supposed to shoot me. If the roles were reversed, that’s what I would have done. Sweat poured from his forehead, and I watched as the gun shook in his heads. The second his eyes got off me was when he fucked up. Before I could even make it to the bottom step, I lunged for his ass, pinning him down on his back, and I tussled to get the gun out of his hands. Once I did...

  “Pow! Pow!”

  “Arrggghhhhh,” he hollered out in pain after I bust two slugs into his kneecaps.

  The second he screamed, I raised my foot and put it right on his neck, adding so much pressure, which instantly shut him up. His hands were waving around as he pointed to his chest, trying to tell me that he couldn’t breathe. Blood seeped through the knees of his light blue jeans, which is where I shot him.

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nbsp; At that moment, I had to decide whether I wanted to kill this nigga or let him continue to breathe. The thing is, he wasn’t a threat. Lil nigga had snot coming out of his nose and tears falling from his eyes. I was actually fuckin’ offended that somebody like him even thought they had the balls to take me out. Because I was married and doing the whole family thing, did these motha fuckas think I’d turned pussy?

  “Who sent you to do this shit?” I asked.

  The gun was still in my hands and aimed at his temple because I wanted him to think I was about to kill his ass. I needed him to sing like a motha fuckin’ bird right now. Honestly, I thought this nigga had to have run with Reggie or some shit. That fuck nigga was probably mad that I was continuing to raise Khari. Word on the street was that he was looking at a life sentence, so he probably had one of his little niggas come to take me out on his behalf. That shit was fuckin’ crazy because even if this nigga did kill me, Reggie still wouldn’t be able to have a relationship with Khari. I went ahead and removed some of the pressure I had on his chest so he could tell me who sent him.

  “Don’t kill me, man… I got a son… I got a girl at home who needs me,” this bitch ass nigga cried.

  I laughed, like really fuckin’ laughed because I was pissed that he even thought I gave a fuck about his bitch and his child, when a few seconds ago, he didn’t give a fuck about mine.

  “And I don’t? I got two kids, one on the way, plus I got a wife! What makes your situation more important than mine? Five seconds ago, when you had that gun trained on me, you basically said fuck my kids and my wife, so fuck your family too, nigga! Who the fuck sent you? I ain’t asking again, because the next time, I’m going to end your fuckin’ life with this same gun that you tried to take me out with!” I barked.