Girls from Da Hood 12 Read online

  Girls From Da Hood 12

  Treasure Hernandez, Katt, and Paradise Gomez

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Short Stacks

  Chapter 1 - Slap!

  Chapter 2 - Days Gone By . . . April 2011

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5 - Present Day . . .

  Chapter 6 - “That’s ugly!”

  Chapter 7 - Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Street Life Johnny’s in Love

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Payback

  Chapter 1 - The Past . . .

  Chapter 2 - The Present . . .

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6 - Six months later . . .

  Chapter 7

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road,NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Short Stacks Copyright © 2017 Treasure Hernandez

  Street Life Johnny’s in Love Copyright © 2017 Katt

  Payback Copyright © 2017 Paradise Gomez

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6567-3

  First Trade Paperback Printing August 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Submit orders to:

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  Short Stacks

  by

  Treasure Hernandez

  Chapter 1

  Slap!

  “I asked you where the fucking money is!”

  Standing in the living room of a luxury hotel suite was a woman no more than five foot five. Her long, naturally curly hair was combed up and neatly tucked into a ninja bun with her baby hairs slicked to the nines. The makeup on her golden-brown face had been applied to perfection. The light pink two-piece pantsuit she wore hugged her full, curvy shape, making her backside look like a plump apple. Honey was what most would call a rare beauty. She had the kind of beauty that deserved to be on the cover of a magazine or the big screen . . . not pistol-whipping a man in the face with a small army of soldiers behind her. But she had long since signed her life over to the streets.

  The man she’d just slapped in the face with the butt of her Glock 19, DeAngelo Allan, was what most would call a very dangerous man. He was the kind of man that, when angry, people ran the other way to escape his wrath. However, he was also a man with a debt to an even more powerful man, and Honey was there to collect. Raising her gun again, she brought it down harder on his face than she had the first time.

  “Agh!” DeAngelo grunted, and his head whipped to the side.

  Honey didn’t stop there. She continued beating him with her gun until a thick, bloody gash appeared above his left eye, and his cheek looked like he was eating a jawbreaker. He tried to muscle his way free of the two big men holding his arms, but they had a grip of steel on him. When Honey was done, she’d barely broken a sweat, but her irritation level was growing. A few splattered blood droplets had found a new home in her clothing, and her nose flared.

  “Shit! This is my favorite suit,” Honey said, looking down at the red stains on her pretty pink. “Now, on top of the fifty thousand you owe El-Jihad, you owe me a new Tom Ford. This is a $5,000 suit!”

  On her last word, Honey hit him again. She was growing tired of the games and had already been there longer than she intended to be. After she and her five goons had tailed DeAngelo for five days, they finally decided to make their move the night they saw him pull up to a Marriott in downtown Chicago. Honey watched him tell his own security to get lost as he got out of the backseat with a barely dressed drunken woman. All it took was five crisp hundred-dollar bills to get the room number and an extra five hundred to cut all cameras on DeAngelo’s floor. The look on DeAngelo’s face was one mixed between rage and terror when Honey’s goons kicked in the door and raided the room. DeAngelo had literally been caught slipping with his pants down, and Honey would grant him no mercy. She had the girl tied up naked in the bathroom tub while she proceeded to beat the truth out of DeAngelo in nothing but his boxers.

  A few months back, he came to El-Jihad asking for help in order to keep his empire afloat. He was fronted with $25,000 worth of product with the agreement that he would pay back double that. However, when it was time to pay back what he owed, it was like DeAngelo had fallen off of the face of the earth.

  “Fu-fuck that suit,” DeAngelo coughed. “And fuck El-Jihad too. I’m not paying him a penny.”

  “Oh?” Honey raised her eyebrows. “It’s fuck us, huh? You gon’ say fuck us because you can’t pay what you owe? OK.”

  She shook her head and held her hand out to her most skilled shooter, Dank, who placed a silencer in her hand. She screwed it on without even looking at the weapon as she took a few steps forward and knelt down. When her full mocha lips were inches away from his ear, she parted them and spoke in a voice that only he could hear.

  “I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me where the money is, or you will pay with your body instead. The pain you feel right now is nothing compared to what I have in store for you.”

  Breathing heavily, DeAngelo contemplated his options and realized that he only had one. He knew by not paying back his debt that he was gambling with the devil himself. When he made back three times more than what he calculated from the original front, greed had gotten the best of him. The last thing he wanted to do was send that wire to El-Jihad . . . so he didn’t. Instead, he tightened up on security and kept his business running. For five months, he had made being a ghost look easy, but he was a fool to think that what he’d done wouldn’t catch up to him. Still, there was no part of him that wanted to give El-Jihad any piece of green. If he hadn’t put in the legwork, the dope would have just been sitting in some warehouse of El-Jihad’s making no money. He lifted his head with a weak neck so that he could look Honey in her eyes.

  “Send me to hell, bitch,” he snarled and spit a bloody glob of mucus on Honey’s white Louis Vuitton pointed-toe red bottoms.

  Honey shifted her heel and looked down at the greenish red wet spot now at the tip of her heel. She sighed and gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t let DeAngelo know that although she would kill him, and she really wanted to, she couldn’t. Truth be told, that was always the last-case scenario when it came to El-Jihad and his money. Honey’s job was, and had always been, to collect money. Whether it was collecting owed dues or moving work in the streets. Either way, El-Jihad was all about revenue, and Honey refused to come home empty-handed. She had already fumbled on two dealings, and a third one was something she couldn’t afford. The kind of grasp El Jihad had on her life made Honey ruthless. She would do anything to stay on her boss’s good side.

  “You knew how hot the water would be if you bailed out on the deal,” Honey said standing back straight. “And now you owe me a new pair of Christians.” Aiming her gun at h
is left ear, Honey let one round off and blasted it from his head. “Send you to hell? I need you to beg a little harder.”

  DeAngelo yelled from the seething pain coming from the left side of his face, but it hadn’t even fully set in before he felt a bullet hit his shoulder.

  “Aaghhh!”

  “Aaghhh is right,” Honey told him. “Tie this nigga to that computer chair and hold his fingers out. I brought fifteen clips with me. Blowing off ten fingers ain’t gon’ be shit.”

  “Yo, aim right like that, shorty,” Dank teased, watching the other goons tie army knots around DeAngelo’s wrists with the hotel sheet.

  “Brother, name a time I missed my target.” Honey looked side-eyed at her tall, chocolate friend.

  “I’m just saying,” Dank grinned. “You got our people holding this greasy motherfucka’s hands. That’s a pretty close mark if you ask me.”

  Honey glanced at the three goons holding DeAngelo’s fingers up with their own. She knew they trusted her, but the looks on their faces read that they prayed her aim was on point that day.

  “Well, I’m not asking you, Dank. And I don’t know why you’re smiling and shit. If we don’t get this paper, it will be your ass too, not just mine.” Honey turned her attention back to DeAngelo and was unmoved by his tattered appearance. “You supposed to be the king of the Chi, but you look like a little bitch to me.”

  Pfft!

  With the aim of an expert marksman, she shot off DeAngelo’s ring finger and smiled at his agonizing scream. The blood on his face was now mixed with tears, and Honey pointed the nose of her weapon at the severed finger on the ground.

  “Since you’ll never marry, I don’t see a point in you having that,” she said, aiming for the thumb on his right hand next.

  The exact moment that she applied pressure to the trigger to let another one off, the sound of somebody banging on the door stopped her. The room they were in had no neighboring suites, but maybe somebody walking past had heard the torment going on behind the closed door. They were all still for a second . . . until the knock came again, and Honey realized that it wasn’t the door to the suite. It was the bathroom door down the hall.

  “Please! Please, let me go-ooo,” the sobs of the woman DeAngelo had brought with him cried. “Please don’t kill me! I have a daughter. She needs me! Ple-easse!”

  “Breezy, shut that bitch up!” Dank called down the hallway to his friend who was supposed to be keeping watch.

  “Man, Dank, I done tried!” Breezy called back. “This bitch done chewed through the duct tape, twice!”

  “Bring her up here then!” Dank said. “Get that tape too.”

  In less than thirty seconds, Breezy, a young knucklehead from Memphis, Tennessee, brought the kicking and screaming redbone from the back. Her short, auburn haircut was disheveled, and mascara was running down her sharp cheekbones. If her face wasn’t twisted up in a grimace, she would have been very pretty, but the way she had her mouth open resembled a saber-toothed tiger.

  “Yo, hog-tie that bitch!” Honey barked from where she stood. “You should have done that when the ho was in the bathroom!”

  “Ahhh! No! I just met him tonight. I don’t have shit to do with his bullshit! Please! Please! Please!” As Dank and Breezy put duct tape on her wrists and her ankles she saw the state that DeAngelo was in. The sight of all of the blood let her know that she wasn’t getting out of there alive. Her screams turned to hopeless whines, and she clenched her eyes shut. “Oh my God! You’re going to kill me. I don’t want to die.”

  The emotion in her voice would have made any woman feel empathy, but Honey wasn’t any woman. She leered down at the woman and cocked her head.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Tari,” the woman answered after a few seconds.

  “Well, yes, Tari. You’re about to die over some dick. Didn’t your mother teach you not to fuck with greasy-ass niggas?” Honey focused back to the broken “boss” before her. “Put tape over her mouth. I don’t need her screaming and fucking up my mojo. And you? Since you don’t want to tell me where I can find El-Jihad’s $50,000—”

  “Fifty thousand dollars?” Tari’s shaky voice interrupted Honey.

  Breezy kept trying to put the sticky piece of tape over her mouth, but she kept jerking her head back and forth. Tari glared at the man she’d left the club with, and suddenly, the fear she felt was replaced with anger. DeAngelo was no longer the man with clout that she thought he was. She had met him in the VIP section popping bottles like a rich man, and he was either too trusting or too drunk because when he ran out of cash, he sent her to the club’s ATM machine to grab another stack. After the transaction had processed, it asked her if she wanted to check the balance. Tari, being the nosy woman that she was, printed a receipt and saw exactly how much money DeAngelo was working with.

  “Fifty thousand dollars?” Tari’s scream was directed to DeAngelo. “You selfish bastard! You’re going to let me die because you owe fifty thousand fucking dollars?”

  She’d heard of men being stubborn, but not this stubborn. She didn’t care about any underlying issue between the woman with the gun and DeAngelo. All she knew was that she’d seen more zeros in his account than she’d ever seen in her life living in the hood. All she could think about was the fact that she’d told her mother that she’d be home before nine o’clock the next day, and she needed to keep that promise. She really didn’t have a child, but she made the mistake of hoping they would show her leniency if they thought she did. As she wormed around trying to keep the tape from around her mouth, she knew she had to do something before they decided to knock her out—or worse. DeAngelo might have been willing to die over his money, but Tari wasn’t. Trying to place herself in the position to mess with a baller had landed her in a hotel room with murderers.

  “Wait!” she yelled steadying her voice. Breezy had finally caught one of the corners of her mouth with the tape. “I know where the money—mmmm! Mmmm!”

  Breezy finally had clamped her big mouth shut. She was working his nerves, and the last thing he needed was Honey ragging on him later. To his surprise, Honey came over and ripped the tape back off.

  “What the fuck, Honey?” he asked incredulously, throwing his hands up. “First, you want me to gag the bitch, which was hard as shit. This bitch is part snake or something. Then, you take the tape off so she can start screamin’ again!”

  “Shut up, stupid, and open your ears!” Honey snapped, and then looked at Tari. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, I know where the money is!”

  DeAngelo heard the revelation and shot daggers into Tari’s face with his eyes.

  “You better not say shit! Do you hear me!”

  Honey ignored the dead man talking and grabbed Tari’s arm so that she could sit up and put her back on one of the walls in the room. Honey got down to her level and used the gun to move Tari’s bang piece to the side.

  “You have very pretty eyes,” Honey said when her face was directly in front of Tari’s. “Not quite hazel but . . . almost. They say the eyes are where you can detect any lie. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Tari?”

  “No. I don’t know you enough to lie to you.”

  “Then why did you say that you have a child?” Honey laughed when Tari’s eyes widened in shock. “I went through your phone to make sure nobody knew where you were when we first busted in here. Now, I’m not a mother, but if I was, I’d have pictures of my baby all throughout my phone. In yours, all I see is you, Tari, the party girl. So tell me why I should believe that you know where my fuckin’ money is if you already lied to me.”

  “I—”

  “Uh-uh.” Honey placed her finger on Tari’s mouth. “Think about your answer very wisely. I usually give three strikes, but you only get two before you’re out.”

  Honey slowly removed her finger from Tari’s mouth, and Tari felt like she was looking into the face of death herself. Out of all of the men in the room standing over
her, the woman who was inches away from her face seemed the deadliest. The men all followed her every command as if afraid of what she might do. Tari swallowed the lump in her throat. Her mother had always taught her that the only way to stand a chance against a powerful person was to be equal to it. Right then, with duct tape on her wrists and ankles, she wasn’t quite equal. But she did have something on her side. Leverage.

  “OK.” Tari nodded her head. “You’re right. I don’t have a child. I thought—no—I hoped that you would feel sorry for me and let me go. I lied then to save my life.”

  “What would make me believe that you won’t do that again?”

  “Because . . .” Tari looked across the room at DeAngelo. The men around him had gagged his mouth and were using him as a punching bag. “I don’t want to be tortured. And that’s what you will do to me if I don’t tell you what I know.” Her eyes jumped from each man in the room and recognized that they all wore the same hardened expression as the boys she’d seen working her own block. She turned back to the woman in pink and wrinkled her brow. “What is your name?”

  “Honey.”

  “Honey, if I tell you where you can find your money . . . Will I live?”

  No witnesses.

  The thought flashed through Honey’s head. She usually had a strict policy involving those who witnessed the horrible crimes committed by her and her crew. Nobody was ever left with any breath to tell the tale. Still, though, there was something about the girl in front of her and the audacity she had to barter for her life.

  “What do you do for a living, Tari? Other than look for a come up with these niggas?”

  “I work full time at a dentist’s office,” Tari told her not understanding why she cared. “I’m the secretary.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “I wasn’t able to. My mother got sick my senior year in high school. Breast cancer. She was too weak to work the way that she used to, so as soon as I graduated, I got a job.”