We moved to the floor when my legs gave out. Sincere flipped me onto my back and hooked my legs over his shoulders. He plunged back in, folding me in half as he plunged in deep. His eyes locked on mine, and they were filled with lust. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He trailed bites down my neck and collarbone, then sucked on my nipples until they ached. His hips snapped forward, grinding his dick against my walls.
"I'm about to cum," I gasped.
"You deserve that too," he replied, and his thrusts turned erratic.
My orgasm crashed through me. My pussy spasmed around his dick as I screamed his name. Waves of pleasure ripped through my body, leaving me shuddering beneath him.
Sincere fucked me through the orgasm. He chased his own release, pounding into my oversensitive pussy.
After a moment, he pulled out and flipped me onto my stomach. He spread my ass cheeks and licked a stripe from my pussy to my hole, tasting my cum. I shivered as his tongue probed my ass.
"Turn over," he commanded, and I obeyed, lying on my back again.
He straddled my chest and fed his dick into my mouth. I sucked eagerly, tasting myself on him. He rocked his hips, fucking my throat with shallow thrusts. Saliva dripped down my chin as I gagged and took him deeper.
Sincere pulled out and positioned himself between my thighs. This time, he entered me slow, savoring every inch. I whimpered, still sensitive from before.
He built the rhythm gradually, then ramped up to brutal slams. His hand wrapped around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my head spin. I clawed at his arms.
"I wish you could see how good you look when I fuck you," he said, his eyes burning into mine.
The praise made my pussy flutter around him. He released my throat and pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the other tweaking my nipples. Pain and pleasure blurred as he railed me.
I came again, harder this time, my body convulsing.
"That's my pretty girl."
TARIQ “REEK” HORTON
Me, Saint, and Big A rode in a plain work van through the South Side, with a dirty exterior, to the Crown stash house. Big A drove. Saint sat in the passenger seat, checking his piece and his spare mag. I was in the back with the duffels and gloves, watching the streets through the tinted rear window while running the plan through my head again.
Jamir had earned his money on this one. The Crowns’ main stash house was hard to find because it was hidden in plain sight. It was a “warehouse” on a dead block with no signage or obvious business, and it was designed to look boring. He gave us the address, shift changes, door habits, camera placements, and the back entry. He told us the Crown used a silent alert system tied to their cameras. If you tripped it, you didn’t hear an alarm. You heard gunfire five seconds later. He gave us the location of the box on the exterior wall that fed that system.
Big A parked the van down the block. We climbed out together and moved down the alley fast. I went to the exterior box first. Jamir told me the screws were special, what tool would fit them, and what wire would kill the feed without spiking the alert.
I popped the panel, clipped what he told me to clip, then pulled a small handheld jammer from my coat and flicked it on. It wasn’t going to shut the whole building down. It was only going to buy us seconds.
Saint and Big A were positioned on both sides of the back entry. The Crown expected problems at the front. Their back was guarded too, with two men who stood outside the rear door.
Saint quietly moved first. He came up behind the closest guard and drove a blade under his ribs. The man tried to yell, but Saint covered his mouth and held him until his body gave up.
The second guard turned, raising his piece. I fired one suppressed round into his throat. He stumbled back, choking, with wide eyes. Big A caught him and lowered him before he hit the ground loudly enough to alert the inside.
Saint tested the handle, but it was locked. Big A pulled a small tool kit from his coat and went to work on the lock.
Soon, the lock clicked. Big A opened the door two inches, checked the angle, and then pushed it open wider.
Inside was darker than the alley. A camera sat above the entry, but the feed was already dead. We moved down a narrow hall toward the main room. But they had a man watching the hall from a shadowed office, and the moment he saw movement that didn’t match their routine, he squeezed the trigger.
Bullets snapped down the hallway. We dropped and returned fire immediately. Big A fired from a low position. Saint fired faster, with his loud mouth open, talking through it like he enjoyed the chaos. “COME ON THEN! Come get your thirty percent, motherfuckas!”
I pushed forward on the left, cleared the office doorway, and put two rounds into the shooter before he could reset his angle. A door deeper inside slammed open, and I could hear hurried footsteps against the concrete. Somebody yelled in Spanish, and the building woke up fast.
We hit the main room, and it opened up into the warehouse space stacked with shrink-wrapped bundles, crates, and gun cases. Two men were already behind cover near a table, firing toward the entrance.
Big A moved right and took an angle that trapped their line of fire, forcing them to stay behind cover. I cut left along the shelving, clearing each gap as I went. Saint went straight down the middle, acting like he was bulletproof.
The room erupted. Guns cracked. Shelves splintered. Men shouted over each other while bodies hit concrete.
