Money Makin Manhattan Page 3

  The young girl cringed as nearly everyone in the room jumped up hollering, “Me! Me! Me! I did! I did! Yeah, I fucked her! I sucked her! I licked her too! Hell fuckin’ yeah I got me some of that! Me too! Me too! That’s a community pussy! I got me a lil bit too!”

  Her baby brother stood up in the front row and the girl cried out at the sight of him. The bright lights shone down on his injuries and she moaned with grief. Jimmy raised his hand and wiggled his broken fingers in the air.

  Her brother had nothing but love for the devil as he laughed and yelled, “Man, every niggah in Harlem done tapped that ass! That bitch gives some real dead head!”

  The crowd cracked up laughing, and the girl could only weep as the devil gazed down at her with a dark, evil stare.

  He was going to kill her.

  She could see it in his eyes.

  Fast as lightning, he snatched her by the throat and cut off her breath. She didn’t even struggle as his monster blows rained down on her head and he called her every kind of stank bitch and nasty hoe he could muster. He pummeled her face, her chest, and sought out her tender gut.

  And when the devil finally flung her over on her stomach and began unbuckling his belt, the young girl just lay there helplessly. In total submission. She was ready to die. The will to live flew right out of her as he yanked her naked hips high in the air. His penis was black and erect, and poised to ram her straight into nightmare hell.

  But the girl didn’t fight back, and she certainly didn’t refuse the devil.

  There was no need to.

  Because if the pretty young girl hadn’t been taught a damn thing during the two years she’d been Granite “G” McKay’s woman, she had definitely learned one thing was true: come hell or high water, the devil always got his due.

  $$$$$

  I woke up in bed with my nightgown tangled around my neck. Somehow I’d ripped it off in my sleep and gotten caught up in it. I struggled to catch my breath. A scream pushed against my throat and my heart banged so hard I thought my chest was about to explode. My nightmare had felt real as hell. I was so convinced it was actually happening that my fists were balled up and my booty-cheeks were clenched tight.

  For a moment I was right back where it had all started. Back in Harlem. Back inside the G-Spot, the high-rolling nightclub where I had lost my soul and almost lost my life.

  I glanced over and saw Gino snuggled under the sheets beside me, and suddenly everything began shifting back into focus.

  They had come to me in my dreams again. My family. Grandmother, Cara, Aunt Ree, Dicey, and worst of all, Jimmy. Not the way they were when they were alive and loving me, but the way they were in death. The way G wanted me to see them, and most of all to remember them. Twisted, sliced, bloodied, broke down, shot up. Brutalized.

  It had been six months since the night I’d run out of the G-Spot with nothing but a filthy sheet wrapped around me and a nasty tube sock pressed between my legs. Six months since the life I was living had cost me almost everything and everybody I had ever loved.

  Something inside me broke wide open and the fear and pain came flying out. My tears were hard and silent. The kind of cries an innocent girl makes when she’s been crushed in her soul.

  I had been a naïve and sheltered seventeen-year-old schoolgirl when Granite McKay rescued me from my grandmother’s raggedy apartment on 136th Street, and took me and my brother Jimmy to his luxurious penthouse on Central Park West.

  G might have been an old hustler, but he was top shelf all the way. Between his shiny new whips and imported tailor-made clothes, G was legendary and had absolute power on the streets of Harlem.

  At the age of forty-six he had conquered a New York City Kingdom and he ruled it with a perfect balance of fear and respect. People on the streets had love for G. He knew exactly how to take care of the community and he was real generous when he wanted to be. G was real rich and he surrounded himself with nice things. He had turned me on to the finest stuff money could buy. When we moved to Central Park West, G hired two maids and a driver. He paid a stylist to do my hair, and a Swedish woman to massage my body and keep my skin soft just in case he felt like touching me.

  But just because a man had money it didn’t mean he could put his thing down the right way. G was rich, but he was set in his ways too. I was just a delicious piece of eye candy to him, and the only thing he allowed me to do was sit up on a barstool and look good every night.

  So while I liked what G was giving me, I wasn’t satisfied with the way he was giving it to me. G was like a big bucket of ice-cold water, and my young body was sizzling hot, burning straight on fire. A buster like him couldn’t help but want to splash on me and put out my flames.

  So, yeah. I had been really stupid while I was busy thinking I was so smart, but if I’d had even a little bit of sense on the cap, I would have never let Granite McKay take me up on the G-Spot stage and announce to the world that I was his. I had felt so lucky for getting chosen by the King of Harlem! But let’s face it. If Lady Luck had really been on my side, she would’ve told me to break up out of the G-Spot and run for my life.

  Read more

  in

  G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins

  Pride: The 1st Deadly Sin

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  Now enjoy

  Money Makin Manhattan

  from

  Empire State of Mine$!

  EMPIRE STATE OF MINE$!

  An Urban Erotic Thriller

  WARNING!

  This here ain’t no romance,

  It’s an Urban Erotic Thriller

  The block is clickin, the plots get thickened

  when dealing with straight-up killers!

  This the city that never sleeps

  The Zip ’em up crew always plays for keeps

  Drugs and bosses, slugs and coffins,

  lives get lost and pain is deep!

  Home of the G’s and diamond thieves,

  Where crooked police won’t let you breathe,

  Where the money comes fast and they put you on blast

  and the belly of the beast won’t let you leave!

  A lot of shit goes down in this gunslingers town,

  pay ya dues...no rules when they coming for ya crown!

  Every borough is thorough and ya life’s on the line,

  this is NYC, an Empire State of Mine$!

  EMPIRE

  STATE of MINE$!

  (It’s A Movie in a Book)

  Episode 3

  Money Makin Manhattan

  A NOIRE & REEM RAW JOINT

  There are eight million stories in the naked city of New York.

  These five are all the way live.

  “Harlem niggas don’t fade away,

  Money Makin Manhattan get it every day!

  CHAPTER 1

  Shot in the Ass!

  “Ouch, goddammit! Ouch!” Honore shrieked as she clenched her booty cheeks together and arched her back in sheer agony. She had caught an ass-shot and the pain was outta this world!

  “They hit me, Sly! They hit me! Shit! Shit! Shit! Them mothafuckas hit me!”

  The Queen of Diamonds trembled in pain as her right ass cheek throbbed and burned. She was stretched out on her stomach on a dusty table in Sly’s emergency tucky spot with both her scalp and her behind on fire!

  They had fled the ambush at B
londie’s House of Hair and ended up in the back room of an old bar where Sly McFly used to stash heroin, coke, and illegal weapons back in the day. He had paid cash money for the place back when he was still pushing packs on the street, and through the years it sat abandoned unless he needed someplace safe to lay low on this side of town.

  It wasn’t his grandest tucky spot but it had been the closest one to Blondie’s joint. Sly kept a generator on hand for a power source and some emergency weapons and ammo and shit, but otherwise the place was dirty and empty and it smelled like damp wood and wet rat shit.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Honore hollered as she reached back to touch her bloody ass. “Why them fuckin Jews coming at us like that already? The sweet money ain’t even due yet! Sly please tell me what the hell just happened?”

  Sly McFly just shook his head because he didn’t fuckin know. The attack had been vicious and it had come outta nowhere. One second they were listening to old jams and getting fucked up on some Smirnoff’s and weed, and the next second hot bullets with no name on them were whizzing through the air looking to rip some fuckin body up.

  Leaving Blondie laid out and stretched, Honore and Sly McFly had made a mad dash out the back door. Hauling ass, they had dove face-first into the waiting whip driven by Chimp Charlie.

  “Where’s Cucci?” Charlie had hollered as Sly and Honore hit the floor mats and hugged them shits tight.

  “Fuck that bitch!” Sly screamed with his face damn near under the seat. “Just drive, nigga! Drive!”

  Charlie had punched the gas pedal and pushed the whip at warp speed until they came to a dark, industrial area that had once been home to large commercial warehouses and a few small shops and pubs.

  They pulled up in an alley and Honore flung her door open and jumped outta the car like it had a bomb in it. Sly could barely get the key in the lock before she busted through the door and rushed over to a sink full of trash and threw her head down in that bitch.

  “Water! Water!” Honore stomped her feet and fumbled frantically with the faucet as she spun the dials around in circles. “I need some fuckin water!”

  She dipped her head lower in the sink and damn near shit when spiders and water-bugs and even a mouse scurried up outta that bad boy. The old pipes strained and belched and farted, and then finally produced a thin trickle of rust-tinged water.

  Trembling, she thrust her head up under it as fast as she could. “Ooooh,” she moaned and shuddered as she turned her head from side to side and panted through the pain. “Oooooh, shit!”

  “Damn,” Chimp Charlie yelped behind her. “Girl you bleeding like a bitch!”

  Honore igged him. The warm blood that was soaking the back of her pants and running down her leg was some bad shit, but right now the only thing she gave a fuck about was the fire that was burning on her scalp.

  With nothing but a tiny stream of cold water coming outta the faucet it took forever to rinse that creamy crack outta her hair. It had been sitting on there caking and baking and melting her scalp for so long that hunks of hair and patches of skin slid down the clogged drain right along with it.

  “Oh, my goddddd!” Honore shivered and moaned as she cried. Her whole head was on blaze as she swirled it around trying to hit all the spots that burned the worst. “Ooooh, shit, shit, shit!”

  “Keep rinsing,” Sly told her. “Keep ya fuckin head under that water, girl!”

  “Why is this happening?” Honore sobbed into the sink as the thin stream of water trickled through her hair. “Why is all this shit happening to meeee?”

  “Here,” Sly told her when she finally got most of the perm rinsed out. He handed her some balled up paper towels to dry her head and neck. Her shit was patchy as fuck and it looked shot totally out.

  “Forget ya damn hair,” Sly spit as Honore whimpered and felt around her flaming head with her fingertips. “Just put some Vaseline around the front and that shit’ll grow back. Now get your ass up on that table and let me see how bad that bullet bit you.”

  Sly helped her limp over to the table and stretch out on her stomach, and now she lay there sniffling and cursing and looking fucked up from all directions.

  “Owww! This fuckin shit hurts!” she wailed as her tears dripped onto the dusty old table. “I need a doctor, Sly. I need something for this pain! I need some weed, some whiskey, some something! I need you to get somebody over here to help me!”

  Sly was already on it. He was barking into his phone and he took it from his ear as he turned to look at her.

  “Hold on, baby girl. Just hold on. I got Doc on the line right now. He’s gonna come take a look at you and then I’m gonna find out who shot you and drop a bag on that fucka’s head!”

  Sly began to yell back into the phone. “Just get the fuck over here, muthafucka! I don’t give a damn what time it is on a Sunday night, bitch! You get paid in advance for situations like this, so be here in fifteen fuckin minutes or you gonna be needing a doctor ya goddamn self!”

  Sly glanced around the filthy room as he deaded the call to the street doctor. While this was one of his oldest safe houses, it didn’t feel all that safe to him right now. He turned to Honore and gently helped her take off her pants, and then he patted her wound dry with his handkerchief and Chimp Charlie’s t-shirt. Sly was making moves while remaining vigilant and on full alert because for all he knew this spot coulda been compromised too.

  Them bitches tried to catch us out there at a beauty shop, he thought, shaking his head in rage. At a fuckin beauty shop. Ain’t that a bitch!

  This right here felt way different than that disgruntled white guy’s shoot-out down at the Boatel. He didn’t wanna scare Honore, but the guns tonight were definitely aimed at them and there was no denying it. Somebody had lined them up and almost murdered Honore!

  Sly went ice cold. If something ever happened to that girl he didn’t know what he would do. Honore was the apple of his eye, and whoever did it was gonna get smashed. Oh hell yeah. He owed some fuckin body a slice of hood retribution that he was gonna serve up in the worst sort of way. He was Sly “King-of-Queens” McFly and you didn’t just roll up in his presence any old kinda way and not get tagged with some dirty payback.

  It took exactly fifteen minutes for the street doctor to arrive to stitch up the bullet wound that had skimmed across Honore’s right ass-cheek. The whole time the doctor was working on her Honore was crying and Sly was pacing back and forth with his gat in his hand and his mind moving a million miles a minute.

  “Sly they shot meeee!” Honore howled as the doctor scrubbed out her wound with soap and a rough brush. “I can’t believe it! I got fuckin shot!”

  “Yeah you did,” Sly said bitterly. “You got shot right in your ass, baby! But whoever them cowards is they didn’t do what they came to do!” he muttered as he continued to pace with his blood on high boil.

  “They shot you but they ain’t kill you. Nah, they ain’t come correct and that was a fatal mistake when you fuckin with a nigga like me!”

  A deadly look darkened Sly’s stone-cold face. His bloody reign of running the dangerous blocks of Jamaica, Queens had fine-tuned all of his instincts, and not even his advancing old age could detract from that.

  “Them cats must think they fuckin with some young sucka who ain’t ’bout that life,” Sly fumed. “I got something for they ass! Somebody’s gonna get buried behind this shit!”

  Then he turned to Honore. “I want you to remember one thing about tonight baby girl, if you don’t remember shit else.”

  He grilled his young protege closely. “It ain’t about who strikes first in this game, sugar. It’s about who strikes the hardest! Whoever them niggas was they fucked up tonight, and when I catch ’em they gonna know it. Yeah, they tagged you a lil bit, but the way those bullets were flying we wasn’t even supposed to make it outta there alive. But we did! And now the ball is in our court!”

  Honore answered him through clenched teeth. “It was them fucking Jews! I know it was! They thi
nk I ripped them for that diamond! That sweet money from Samuelson ain’t even due until the end of the month and these assholes coming at me all early!”

  Sly McFly didn’t respond but he was thinking the same thing about the Jews being the culprits. He didn’t put nothing past those greedy fucks but he wasn’t completely sold on the idea that it could only be them. It pissed him off that somebody had gotten the drop on him and nipped Honore in the process, but this was the Empire State and there were haters of all sizes, shapes, and colors crawling around in the woodwork out there.

  Sly had long ago disciplined himself to look at situations from multiple angles and to avoid ruling out any possibilities. He himself had done a lot of dirt in the hood, and when living that type of lifestyle you never knew how many undercover enemies you might have racked up.

  But the streets kept a careful score and they didn’t forget shit. Naw, he wasn’t absolutely sure it was the Jews who had blasted on them, but he knew whoever it was they were professionals and they would most likely try to finish the job.