“Come on nigga, now my ear ringing,” Vincent complained, releasing his grip on Quinten to cradle his ear.
Quinten screamed and squirmed on the ground, and Vincent placed his foot on his throat. One of the doors on the truck Quinten’s men sat in came open.
“Light ‘em up,” Vincent commanded, and his men swiss-cheesed the trucks, leaving no possibility of survivors.
“The only reason I don’t kill you is because Quincy asked me not to, and I gave him my word. If you see me coming, you better go the other fucking way. I already talked to your cousins, you don’t have a seat at any table unless motha fuckas wanna feel the Marucci wrath. Do you understand me?”
Quinten groaned, nodding his head in understanding, pain dancing in his disoriented eyes.
“Hopefully this nigga bleeds out before anybody calls the cops,” Vincent spat, removing his foot from Quinten’s throat and climbing into the truck.
We all piled inside and sped away from the crime scene. The ski masks came off once we were positive we were in the clear. After a short drive, the Suburban was left in an empty field and set on fire before we switched to a black Cadillac Escalade.
“I’ll do you worse about my niece,” Vincent informed me as we pulled up to Marissa’s house.
“I believe you’d try,” I retorted, climbing out of the truck. Before closing the door I peered over at Vincent. “But you don’t have to worry about that. When I give my heart, I give it wholeheartedly.”
They pulled off as soon as I shut the door. It was nearing one o’clock in the morning after I stripped out of my clothes and tookanother shower. I slipped into bed behind Marissa and pulled her in close, placing my hand on her stomach. “Please also make sure my baby girl isn’t as touched as her uncle, amen.”
“Boy,” Marissa chuckled, turning around in my arms, the top of her head brushing against my chin.
“My bad, bae. I thought you were asleep.”
“Not with you coming in and out. I’ve just been resting my eyes because my body is exhausted. They handled?”
“Every last one of them,” I confirmed.
Marissa pulled herself up enough to plant a kiss on my lips. “I love you.”
“Say that shit again,” I requested.
“I love you, Yaseer,” she cooed, then trailed her tongue up my neck until she was sucking on the bottom of my earlobe.
“I love you too, beautiful.”
She led her hands down my boxers, tugging on my hard dick until it was out of my boxer hole. I lifted her leg onto my side and pulled her into me by her ass to make it easier to put that dick in. If she was in the mood to throw it, I was going to catch it every time.
EPILOGUE
Marissa Haynes
Two Years Later
The last two years of our lives have been extremely chaotic. Yaseer was able to donate one of his kidneys to Lil Q, leaving me and Amill to take care of both of them while they recovered early on in my pregnancy. Since I was older and high risk, we all moved into Yaseer’s massive estate so his parents could move in to help us temporarily.
Within a month, Yaseer was working from home, and the following month he was back in the office. Lil Q, on the other hand, was a whole different story. His recovery was a lot harder on his body and took four months and a few rejection scares that kept our entire family on edge. Then, once we jumped through those hurdles, depression started to settle in as he missed most of his senior year of high school.
It wasn’t all bad though. During that recovery process, Lil Q exposed us to his hidden love for poetry. I felt like a bad mother for not picking up on it when I heard him rapping to Jameera inthe kitchen that day, but my mind was too laser focused on them fucking in my house.
To help Lil Q out of his depression, Yaseer covered the cost for him to hit the studio and create his first mixtape. With Jameera’s dad in his corner making moves for him, Lil Q had just signed with a major label, getting paid to pen his pain. He went by Q now and took it as extreme disrespect when you added the Lil in front of it. Especially when his breakthrough record had people calling him the skinny Rod Wave.
Quinten Sr. still had a rocky relationship with the boys that was on the mend until Q dropped that mixtape. There were some mentions of his father that weren’t favorable, and like the selfish nigga he was, Quinten got in his feelings and stopped putting forth effort again. They were grown now, so I stayed out of it. My husband already shot both of his hands and my uncle gave him a mild TBI. The distance was for his safety, not mine.
“Mommy, Big Brudder Q!” Yarissa clapped in my lap before pointing towards the door.
My happy healthy daughter was nearing a year and ten months old. Apparently, she was conceived the first night I had sex with Yaseer, and I’d always appreciate the events that led to us having sex that night. Her short curls were moisturized, and she had a big blue bow in the front to match the tiny Rays jersey with Quincy’s name and number on it.
“Wassup Yarissa, Big Brother Q got you something,” Q smiled, swaggering over to us. The diamond encrusted microphone dangling from his neck almost blinded us as the sunlight through the glass window in the suite ricocheted off it.
