Obsession Read online

  Quick rang the doorbell and patiently waited for someone to answer the door.

  Seconds later Roach answered the door. “Yes, can I help y’all?” he asked, looking the two up and down.

  “Yeah. We here to pick up the money you have for Turf,” Quick said politely.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on in,” Roach said, stepping to the side so the men could enter. “So you the two new guys, huh? I’ve been waiting to meet y’all. I’m Roach,” he said, introducing himself.

  “We would love to chitchat with you, but we gotta get out of here,” Quick said, as him and Lucky stood in the kitchen.

  “Okay, no problem. Give me one second, and I’ll be right back,” Roach said, and he disappeared up the steps.

  Quick and Lucky waited patiently for him to return.

  Ten minutes later Roach returned downstairs with a smile on his face. “Sorry about the wait, but I had to count up that money,” he said, holding out the book bag.

  Quick gladly accepted the book bag. “Can I have a glass of water before I go, please?”

  “Sure,” Roach said, and he turned to head toward the refrigerator.

  As soon as he turned around, Quick pulled out his 9 mm and shot him in the back of the head, and Roach’s body dropped face-first to the floor as blood stained the refrigerator door.

  Just as Quick and Lucky headed for the door, they heard footsteps coming down the stairway. Lucky quickly pulled out his TEC-9 and aimed it at the bottom of the steps.

  Roach’s wife and two little daughters came downstairs and froze when they saw two men standing in their kitchen with guns. Roach’s wife looked down and saw her husband laid out on the floor and began to cry.

  Quick looked at the woman and two kids and stuck his gun back in his waistband. “Come on, let’s get outta here,” he said.

  “A’ight,” Lucky replied, and he squeezed the trigger, waving his arms back and forth.

  Quick watched in horror as the TEC-9 bullets chopped up Roach’s wife and two daughters, leaving their bodies smoking.

  When the two got back in the car, Quick just glared at Lucky.

  “What?” Lucky said as he pulled off. “They saw our face.”

  Quick didn’t reply. He just kept quiet, not believing what Lucky had just done.

  “I just saved our asses,” Lucky said. He didn’t want to kill Roach’s wife and kids, but he felt he was left with no choice. They saw him and Quick’s faces, so they had to go.

  Lucky pulled up in front of Ivy’s apartment and placed the car in park. “You chilling in the crib for the rest of the night?”

  “Yeah, I’m done for the night.” Quick gave Lucky dap and headed inside the crib.

  “Same Ole, Same Ole”

  Tiffany stepped off the bus, and instantly her stomach began to hurt just from all the pain and drama that she knew wasn’t far away. She took her time as she walked into the projects. After what went down earlier at the restaurant, she knew Blake was not going to be in a good mood at all. She didn’t want to go back to him, but she felt as if she didn’t have a choice. No matter where she went, she knew Blake would find her.

  She stepped off the elevator and nervously walked down the hallway until she reached the door. She stuck her key in the lock, unlocked the door, and entered the apartment. As soon as she stepped foot in the apartment, she spotted Blake sitting on the couch with a blunt in his mouth and a bottle of Absolut on the coffee table in front of him.

  Blake stood up off the couch, but Tiffany spoke before he got a chance to say a word.

  “Baby, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I swear, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she pleaded. She was just hoping that he believed her.

  “So you left me to go fuck with that nigga Quick?” Blake asked in a calm tone as he slowly walked over to Tiffany. He could tell she was terrified, just from the look on her face.

  “No, baby. I was at my mother’s house, I swear.”

  The look on Blake’s face told Tiffany that he didn’t believe a word she said.

  Blake’s arm shot out, and Tiffany flinched, thinking he was about to hit her, but instead he snatched her pocketbook. He removed the sixteen hundred dollars she had saved up and tossed her pocketbook down to the floor.

  “You walking around with all this cash, while I’m sitting at home broke? That’s how you gon’ do me after all I’ve done for you?”

  “Nigga, you ain’t never did shit for me,” Tiffany wanted to say, but instead she said, “I didn’t know you was broke. I thought you was doing good selling the weed you had bought.”

  “I was so stressed out about you leaving me, so I had to smoke all of it.” Blake counted out all of Tiffany’s hard-earned money then stuffed it down in his pocket. “Now back to this nigga Quick,” he said, looking Tiffany in the eyes. “How long you been with this nigga?”

  “I swear, baby, I haven’t—”

  Smack! A slap to Tiffany’s face stunned her.

  “Bitch, don’t you even think about lying to me,” Blake said. “Now I’m only going to ask you one more time—How long have you been dealing with that nigga Quick?”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t even know him. I saw him at the restaurant a few—”

  Smack! Another slap to Tiffany’s face caused her to stumble back against the wall.

  Tiffany saw that Blake was about to strike her again, so she said, “Okay, okay, okay. I’ve been talking to him since I left.” She lied for fear of getting hit again. She knew if she told Blake what he wanted to hear, he would stop hitting her. Blake liked to feel like he was always right about everything, so she played along, hoping he wouldn’t hit her anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I swear, baby, from now on it’s only going to be me and you, just like old times,” Tiffany said, forcing a smile to try and ease some of the tension.

  “Just like old times, right?”

  Blake turned and smacked her in her face repeatedly. His smacks turned into punches as Tiffany curled up on the floor crying and begging him to stop. The more she begged, the more he beat her. He appeared to get more pleasure because she was begging.

  Blake ripped off all of Tiffany’s clothes and looked down at her like she was nothing. “Get over here and suck on your dick!” He watched her crawl to him on her knees.

  “I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you”—Blake paused as he whipped out his dick—“you belong to me!” he growled as he stood in front of Tiffany and watched her perform her oral duties.

  The whole time Blake degraded her while she slobbed and sucked all over his dick. As soon as he felt himself about to come, he quickly pulled out and came all over her face.

  “You belong to me!” Blake huffed as he jerked on his dick, trying to get every last drop on Tiffany’s face. His plan was to make Tiffany feel like she was worthless and wasn’t shit, and so far it was working. “You belong to me, bitch! Let me hear you say it,” Blake said, looking down at Tiffany, who was still on her knees, semen covering her face.

  “I belong to you,” Tiffany said in a defeated tone.

  “You belong to me what?”

  “I belong to you, daddy.”

  A smirk danced on Blake’s lips as he walked past Tiffany, leaving her on her knees, and went to the bedroom.

  Once the coast was clear, Tiffany stood to her feet and made her way to the bathroom, where the first thing she did was wash her face. She then turned the shower water on as she just sat on the toilet and cried her eyes out. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but there was only one way she saw herself leaving Blake. She didn’t want to do it, but she didn’t really feel like she had a choice. She was going to have to kill him.

  Quick woke up with a smile on his face. He could smell breakfast in the air. He slid out the bed and made his way to the kitchen, where he saw Ivy standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but a thong. He smiled as he went in the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

  Quick stepped out of the ba
throom and entered the living room, where Ivy had both of their plates prepared at the kitchen table.

  “About time you woke up.” Ivy smiled and kissed Quick on the lips.

  Quick sat down at the table. In front of him was turkey bacon, pancakes, and scrambled eggs.

  “I got me enough money to get me a place of my own now,” Quick said after he dug into his food. He liked living with Ivy. She was a good woman and fun to be around, but he just felt like he was invading her space.

  “Why you looking for a new place for?” Ivy asked, shocked. “What? You don’t like staying here with me?”

  “Of course, I do. I just thought you would like your space back.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Ivy said, not understanding. She loved living with Quick, and thought he was perfect for her. Now out of the blue, she couldn’t understand why he just wanted to leave. “Is it that you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

  “Yes, I still want to be with you,” Quick replied. “Honestly, I just need a crib to stash my money in, and I’m definitely not keeping it in here.”

  “What’s wrong with the bank?” Ivy dug into her food.

  Quick looked at her like she was insane. “I’ll never put my money in a bank.” Quick needed to be in control of his money, since the thought of someone else handling his money for him didn’t sit well with him. “Nah,” he said. “I need a crib.”

  “So what’s all this shit about me needing my space?” Ivy asked with a slight attitude.

  “I’m just saying . . . I know you was used to having your own crib, and I just moved in unexpected—”

  “Baby, I don’t want you to go,” Ivy said, quickly cutting him off. She whined like a baby as she pushed away from the table, walked over, and squatted down in between Quick’s legs.

  “Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” she asked in a sexually charged voice. She pulled out Quick’s dick and worked him into stiffness with her hands.

  Quick smiled. “I ain’t going nowhere,” he said as he watched Ivy take him inside of her mouth slowly.

  Ivy sucked, licked, and slobbed all over Quick’s dick, jerking it the whole time. She began to jerk faster as her hands sped up. She moaned loudly as she looked up at Quick the whole time, until he filled her mouth with his fluids.

  Ivy walked over to the garbage can and spat before she spoke. “Yo’ ass ain’t going nowhere,” she said with a smile.

  Quick smiled as he answered his ringing cell phone. “Yo.”

  “I need to see you and your partner at the spot in a hour,” Turf said, and he ended the call.

  Quick hung up the phone and texted Lucky to let him know that Turf needed to see the two of them.

  “You got something you need to do today?” Quick stripped out of his clothes and turned the shower water on.

  “Nope,” Ivy sang as she flopped down on the bed. She loved looking at Quick’s naked body.

  Quick hopped in the bathroom, took a quick shower, and then got dressed. He peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills and tossed them on the bed. “I need you to go find me a apartment today,” he told Ivy.

  “I got you, baby,” she said, and she took the money and placed it on top of the dresser. “One or two bedrooms?”

  “One should do,” Quick said. Then he kissed Ivy on the lips and headed out the door.

  An hour later, Quick pulled up and parked his hooptie in the back of the church. When he stepped out the car, he saw Goliath by the back door waiting for him.

  “What’s good?” Quick asked, giving the big man dap.

  Once Goliath saw that Quick was alone, he asked him, “Where ya man Lucky at?”

  “I don’t know.” Quick shrugged. “I texted him and told him Turf wanted to meet us.”

  When the two made it to the office, everyone was there except for Lucky. Quick took his seat and waited for Turf to begin the meeting.

  “Where’s Lucky?” Turf asked with a stone-faced look.

  “I don’t know,” Quick replied. “I texted him and told him that you wanted to meet us at the spot in a hour.”

  From the look on Turf’s face, Quick could tell that something was wrong.

  “I had a few of my men follow you and Lucky to see if I could trust you two,” Turf said. Then he added, “It turns out, Lucky ain’t who he says he is.”

  “Not who he says he is?” Quick echoed. He knew for a fact that Lucky wasn’t a cop, nor was he a snitch. After all, he had seen him lay his murder game down without even thinking twice, so he really didn’t understand what Turf was trying to say.

  “I had one of my men follow you and follow him,” Turf said. “Come to find out, your friend Lucky been hanging out with Sosa. Long story short, Lucky has to go.” Turf tried to read Quick’s facial expression. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Yeah,” Quick replied. “I grew up with him. I can’t just kill somebody I’ve known all my life.”

  “We going to hit up Sosa’s house tonight. If Lucky’s there, then oh well.” Turf shrugged. He didn’t have time to play games. “Either you in or you out,” he said, all eyes on Quick.

  Quick knew if he said he didn’t want anything to do with it, Turf and his crew would probably kill him right where he stood. “Fuck it!” he said. “Count me in.”

  Turf smiled. “I know you are new to this business. But sometimes it doesn’t matter who it is, if they not moving how they supposed to, then they have to go. This is a business—a-million-dollar-a-year business—and if you want to make it in this business, sometimes you might have to do something you don’t want to, but you have to do it for the business.”

  Quick nodded his head, indicating that he understood. He understood what Turf was saying, but Lucky was like a brother to him, and if Lucky was on the wrong end of his gun, he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.

  Turf suddenly remembered to tell Quick, “Oh yeah, you getting a promotion today. I’ma need you to run the trap house that Roach used to run. Can you handle that?”

  Quick nodded his head yes, and Goliath handed him the address to the trap house.

  “Go handle that, and we’ll call you later when it’s time to handle that nigga Sosa,” Goliath said.

  Quick exited the church, hopped in his whip, and peeled off. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Why didn’t Lucky let him know what he was doing? And why would he be dealing with Sosa, especially after the shootout that went down a few weeks ago?

  Quick pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lucky’s number, but it went straight to voice mail. He wanted to give Lucky a heads-up. Quick pulled up a block away from the trap house and let the engine die. He loaded his 9 mm, stuck it down in his waistband, and walked around to the back door and knocked lightly.

  A scrawny-looking teenager named Spike answered the door. He barked, “How many times I gotta tell y’all muthafuckas not to knock on the back door?”

  Quick looked over both shoulders then stole on Spike, pushing his way inside the trap house. He pulled out his 9 mm and put it to the teenager’s head.

  “Take all the money,” Spike said, sounding like a bitch. “It’s in the back room.”

  “Shut ya punk ass up.” Quick stuck his 9 mm back down in his waistband. “I’m the new nigga in charge. Turf put me in charge of running this place.”

  “Oh,” Spike said. “Good. ’Cause I was just about to whip ya ass.”

  Quick shook his head as he looked around the place. He saw fiends all scattered around the living room getting high. He checked the back rooms and found baggies and heaps of trash laying around the floor. On the dresser was a duffel bag full with crumpled bills inside, mostly tens and fives and a few twenties here and there.

  “How much money in that bag?” Quick asked.

  Spike shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “From now on, I don’t want no more than ten thousand in this house at a time,” Quick said.

  Just then Quick heard someone knocking at the door. He walked
through the pack of fiends and answered the door.

  A filthy, ashy-looking man stepped inside. “Hey, my main man,” he said, trying to give Quick dap.

  Quick closed the door and looked at the fiend until he put his hand down.

  “Hey, where’s Roach at?” the fiend asked.

  “We under new management now,” Quick told the dirty fiend. “And from now on, don’t knock on the front door. Start using the back door. Spike, come serve this nigga and get him the fuck outta here. Matter of fact, I want all these fiends up outta here. This is a trap house, not a muthafuckin’ crackhouse!”

  “Damn! That’s fucked up,” Willie grumbled as he paid for his crack and left.

  “Get these ugly muthafuckas up outta here while I count this money,” Quick huffed.

  Quick began separating the crumpled bills. He put the fives, tens, and twenties in separate piles. After counting the money, the first thing he planned on doing was washing his hands. He had never seen such dirty money before in his life.

  “Dirty money is better than no money,” Quick told himself as he zipped up the duffel bag.

  Quick returned back to the living room, where he saw Spike sitting down, skimming through a magazine. “So this all you do all day?” Quick asked, helping himself to a seat.

  “Pretty much.” Spike shrugged. “All I do is wait for the money to come. The shit is like clockwork. Every two minutes it’s a knock at the door.”

  “I’ma get us some lookouts and post them on each corner to let us know when cops are coming, and to look out for stickup kids,” Quick said, thinking out loud.

  “Stickup kids?” Spike chuckled. “Ain’t nobody stupid enough to try and rob one of Turf spots.”

  “Trust me,” Quick said, turning to face Spike. “Wherever there’s money, the stickup kids aren’t too far behind.”

  Quick heard another knock at the door. He watched as Spike just opened up the door without looking through the peephole. He made a mental note to put up a few cameras, so he could see who was coming and going out of his spot at all times, since he didn’t like surprises.