“Bet he won’t call another woman a bitch again,” he said and gripped me by the hand and then pulled me on into the house.
Maniac
TWO WEEKS LATER
Big John was making it off the strength of Wren, but if anything else came up that he’d done, I was coming for his ass and God himself wouldn’t be able to save his sorry ass. Wren was at work, and I decided I was gon’ stay in for the day. I ain’t have shit to do and just didn’t feel like being bothered.
Getting up from the couch, I went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. Since I had stayed at the house today, I plan on cooking dinner for Wren tonight. I placed a grocery order earlier. The groceries should be getting delivered shortly. My baby deserved to come home to a homecooked meal, her bath water ran, and a foot rub. I was gon’ take damn good care of her like I always do.
Grabbing my turkey, cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise, mustard, and tomatoes, I placed them on the island before getting the loaf of bread. I fixed my sandwich, grabbed me a bottle of water and went back to the family room to get comfortable on the couch. Soon as I sat down, Zilla’s bitch ass snatched my sandwich from my plate and took off running.
“You lil bitch.”
I tossed the plate to the side and got up from the sofa. “You think you ’bout to enjoy my fucking sandwich in peace, you got another thing coming,” I said as I ran behind him. I picked up the vase off the table in the hallway and lunged it toward him. The shit fell short and crashed on the floor behind him. It scared the shit out his ass that he dropped the sandwich and kept running.
I’on care that he dropped the sandwich, he shouldn’t have stolen my shit in the first place. Ever since I brought his ugly ass over here, he be terrorizing me whenever Wren isn’t here and then acting all innocent whenever she’s around. He keeps on, and he gon’ end up on that grill outside for real.
Zilla ended up running into a dead end. Every door in the hallway was shut. He had no place to go. He backed up into the corner of the hallway and humped his back.
“You think that shit scares me?” I asked him and reached down and picked his ass up by the back of his neck. “I bet you learn to stop fucking with me by the time I’m done with yo’ ass. You wanna steal food. I think you need to be on a fucking diet.”
I carried Zilla’s ass downstairs to the basement where the at home gym was located. Flipping the light on, I took him over to the treadmill and turned the mufucka on. Placing him down, I stood back and watched as he ran, trying his best not to fall off.
“You fat fuck.”
My phone rang. I removed it from my pocket and saw that it was Murda calling. Swiping the screen, I placed the phone to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“Where you at?”
“Exercising.”
“Since fucking when?”
“Mind ya business, a’ight? What the fuck you want?”
I kept my eyes trained on Zilla. The bitch fell and slid off the treadmill. He tried to take off running and I caught him and dropped his ass right back on it.
“We got a problem. Meet me at the distillery,” he said and ended the call.
“You one lucky ass bitch,” I told Zilla and kicked his ass off the treadmill. He hissed at me before running off.
I went back upstairs and headed for the front door. Soon as I reached it, the doorbell rang. I had forgot all about those groceries ’til I opened the door and found them on the porch. “Shit,” I mumbled and took the groceries into the kitchen and then put them up. Hopefully, whatever is going on, I won’t be gone long so I can get back and do what I need to before Wren gets here.
I pulled up to the distillery and parked in my spot. Getting out the car, I entered the building. “Where’s Murda?” I asked Tina.
“He’s in receiving.”
I nodded and headed toward the back of the building where the trucks normally came in to drop off product. When I got back there, I found Murda with one of the drivers kneeled on the floor. Grim wasn’t too far from them. The driver’s face was bloody. Drips of blood rested on the floor in front of him.
“What’s going on?” I questioned them.
“This nigga came here with an empty truck,” Murda answered.
“What the fuck you mean an empty truck?”
Grim pulled the back door on the truck up and it was clean—not a box or piece of trash in sight. Turning, I faced him and asked, “Where’s my shit?”
