Page 8 of A Hood Wife And A Rich Goon

“So long you apparently forgot.” Bull used his fist to pound on the partition window behind him to alert the driver. “Pull this mothafucka over and let me out!”

“Bezai, I called you here to eliminate the problem. This girl is mixed up in this shit, and she needs to go,” Braxton conveyed, leaning forward with an arm draped over his leg.

The car stopped, and Bull pushed his door open so he could get out. He wasn’t convinced.

“Fuck all that other bullshit you got swimming around your head, or all your fucked up childhood trauma. We’re talking about our family. Your brother is dead. We’re missing very expensive pieces of work, and now our crew risked their fucking lives for nothing! That is what the fuck matters! Not some girl who didn’t know shit about Bronx or his real life. That shit was an illusion. However, off the fact that she might know more than we think, you need to take care of her.”

“If Bronx is dead, I’m pretty sure it has more to do with you than her,” Bull voiced, planting one foot outside the car and preparing to climb out.

Although his father was over twenty years older than him, his strength didn’t reflect that because Braxton still ran five miles every other day and lifted weights while sparring for fun. He was lean, muscular, and dared a young motherfucker to try him. His cold, dark eyes lingered in his sons’ before Bull jerked out of his grasp and dropped his other foot on the ground.

“Bull—” It was his mother’s words that stopped him this time.

Briefly, he paused. Remaining ducked low so he could lock eyes with her, a flicker of a woman he remembered a long time ago rested there.

“You know better than anyone that we can’t have any loose ends.” She dug her pack of Black cigarettes from her purse.

After all these years, she still smoked those damn things. She couldn’t just smoke a Newport like a regular motherfucker. Always trying to be different.

“Where are you going?” Braxton questioned when Bull straightened up and adjusted the black suede collared suit around him.

He looked off ahead, ignoring the searing holes both parents burned into him, awaiting a reaction. Braxton knew it was a risk calling him here. Bull was a savage, and he’d dismembered motherfuckers before for playing with him. He was their child who listened but still did what the fuck he wanted at the end of the day.

“For a walk. I’ll be in touch.” He closed the door to the car, stepped on the sidewalk, and strolled off in the opposite direction.

CHAPTER 3

CASE OF THE EX

“Who the fuck are you?” A threatening voice stirred Toni from the deep slumber she’d somehow slipped into.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she slowly peeled them open and was met with the barrel of a nine-millimeter in her face. She almost peed on herself when she lifted her head from the pillow and studied Fancy hovering over her like the shadow of death. Toni had come by the townhouse to pack some of the things she left here. After falling apart, she ended up going to sleep in the bed she and Bronx shared with memories of them carrying her into her dreams. It was still very much a crime scene, but she couldn’t help but replay the many times they spent held up in this small space together. He taught her how to play video games, and they competively went at it with Monopoly, Sorry, and Battleship. She would cook for him; they would have romantic evenings with candles and snuggling up on the couch for some Netflix and chill type shit. The heavy pain in her chest made it all real, and she had no outlet for it.

“I asked you a fucking question, bitch!” Fancy kept the gun fixed on Toni.

Panic stricken, she tried to collect her thoughts. She didn’t know how to answer the question as she caught the gleam of the diamond ring on the woman’s finger. It all came flooding back. The ambush. Bronx being murdered in front of her. The horrible funeral and learning that he had a whole other bitch. Her stomach coiled, and she fought like hell not to throw up in this bitch’s face.

“My name is Toni.” She finally managed to speak.

“And who the fuck was Bronx to you?” Fancy demanded.

She tried to let the shit go, but after she got back to her parent’s house and the Valium wore off, she couldn’t stop thinking about Bronx and his betrayal. The fucked-up part about that was the nigga was dead, so she had nowhere to put all the pent-up rage drowning her. She went over to their place and started going through his shit when she came across the set of keys and grew curious. After that, she went through all his private info from his laptop and stumbled on a listing of properties that he owned, which she knew nothing about. He had all kinds of houses where his family stashed shit, but this location practically called out to her. Something told her some fuckery was going on, so her gut instinct led her here.

Initially when she walked in, she thought maybe it was just a bachelor pad or something. It was a cute, quaint little space. Small stainless-steel appliances lined the walls in the kitchen with limited counter space, and a small island divided it from the dining room, where there was a table for two. The walls had simple black and white art decorating them, and above the couch in the living room was a large mirror. In the left corner was the king-sized bed with a bookshelf built into the frame.

Toni loved to read, so some of her favorites were arranged in alphabetical order. On the nearby accent table beside the door, she reached for a small, framed photo of Bronx and the bitch from the funeral and saw nothing but red. She was on his lap on a bench, and he was kissing her cheek while she snapped the selfie. The glint in his eyes was unfamiliar. He seemed genuinely happy, with a smile damn near a mile wide. He’d never smiled like that with her, and it immediately had her livid.

Skimming the home with her brownish-hazel eyes, when they landed on the bed, she almost thought she was seeing things. No, the fuck this bitch didn’t! Fancy was no stranger to the streets. Bronx made sure she always stayed strapped and knew how to handle a weapon too. He told her he never wanted her to get caught slipping. Who would have thought the very gun he gave her would be the same one she used to knock his little side bitch off? She went into the Chanel tote on her arm and pulled out the Smith & Wesson. Now she was standing over his bitch, ready to blow her brains against the bed she knew they fucked on without a single ounce of remorse.

“Look—” Toni attempted to sit up, but Fancy wasn’t budging.

“Don’t even think about moving, bitch! I asked you a fucking question! Who are you to my fucking fiancé?”

“I didn’t know he had a fiancé!” Toni choked on her tears. “I’m sorry.” Shutting her eyes, her life flashed in front of her, and she prepared herself for a bullet.

In her swift movements, Fancy hadn’t bothered to take the safety off the gun, so when she was ready to pop off and nothing happened, Toni took that as a sign. Swinging both legs, she knocked the gun from Fancy’s hand, causing it to slide across the floor. Shooting up in bed, Toni dove for Fancy, tackling her to the ground and knocking the wind from her. When Fancy’s dainty hands wrapped around her neck, Toni swung left, then right, knocking her hands away and connecting each fist to her face. She didn’t let up when Fancy shielded her head with her arms. Toni was at least twenty pounds lighter, but she was giving her a run when she kneed her stomach. She’d been fighting girls since elementary because she was pretty and petite.

Bringing herself to her feet, she panted wildly and thrust some of her hair back from her face. She could never let a punk bitch get the best of her. After kicking Fancy repeatedly in the stomach until she curled up in a ball, Toni quickly searched the place for her things. She snatched her shoes from the floor and swiped her crossbody bag and the duffel before bolting to the front door for her escape.