King Reece Read online

  King Reece did the majority of his time in Petersburg and was subject to the same law of the land. However, Reece had no intention of joining a gang. He was the gang, Crescent Crew to the death. Other than Crew business, he was about his paper. Shit, if he didn’t make dollars, it didn’t make sense!

  However, doing time, there were numerous activities to indulge in. Education in some sort of way was the focal point of the majority of the activities. King Reece, never being dumb, participated in numerous study groups. He had been striving as a Five Percenter for quite some time. He had mastered his 120—the prerequisite lessons that a Five Percenter was obligated to learn—a long time ago, and thus had a lot to contribute to any conversation. There were other Five Percenters on the compound, but Reece had sworn his allegiance to another “cosa,” The Crescent Crew, and although the Crew was comprised of Muslims or Five Percenters, their ties ran a whole lot deeper than just mathematics. Reece built with the other Fives, but he kept his distance. He was done recruiting members for the Crescent Crew, so he saw no need to engage.

  King Reece and Officer Robinson finally made it to dental. He was signed in and took his seat waiting his turn to be seen.

  Among the other changes King Reece made to his appearance while inside the joint—which included chopping off his locks—he had also customized his grill. He had two-carat diamonds placed in the center of all his teeth, including his molars. Now when he smiled in the sun, a bright rainbow graced his smile. He literally talked money. He was here to get his last dental exam before he maxed out.

  An inmate worker sweeping the floor noticed King Reece and ran over to pay his respects.

  “Peace, King Reece! Are you straight? Ya need something?”

  King Reece recognized the skinny brother as the only other Crescent Crew member on the compound. He didn’t know him from the street. In fact, the only way King Reece knew he was part of the Crew was because of his tattoo.

  A few months back, inside the exercise room, the brother had been working out. He took off his shirt to flex his tatted muscles, and King Reece peeped the Crescent Crew logo sprawled across his back. In the center of the words, there was a crescent and star with the initials “C.C.” bisecting it. Initially, King Reece suspected the cat was an imposter, because ever since Don Diva Magazine did a story on the Crescent Crew, a lot of imitators had been springing up all over the country. King Reece confronted the dude and questioned him. He name-dropped Bone as his sponsor then confirmed his oath and allegiance. King Reece wasn’t surprised. Since the day he had deputized Bone, Bone had been a major asset. In fact, Bone was running most of North Carolina with Samson in exile in Mexico. King Reece had never questioned Bone’s loyalty or intentions before, because Bone himself had been inducted into the Crescent Crew after a spectacular hit on a police officer. Reprisal for one of the comrades killed by that same officer. Yet King Reece couldn’t help but wonder what the Crew was coming to. The brother in front of him didn’t even look as if he was tough enough to be part of his Family! He didn’t have the look of fortitude in his eyes, that fiery inferno that emanated from the depths of a man’s soul. It accompanied a man used to making life-and-death decisions in the blink of an eye. King Reece knew it well. It was the look that stared back at him when he looked in the mirror.

  “Nah, brother, I don’t need anything. What’s your name again?”

  “Power.” He looked offended that the boss of all bosses didn’t remember his name. “Ya remember me, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m just not too good with names. Don’t worry, though, I always know my brethren when I see them,” King Reece assured him, attempting to placate the young solider. Apparently, it worked, since Power’s eyes lit up.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. I know you got a lot on your mind, especially since you ’bout to hit the bricks,” Power said.

  He doesn’t know the half of it, thought Reece. “No doubt.”

  “I know when you touch down, the Crew gon’ be tight again! Boy, I can’t wait!”

  “Shit, what’s wrong with the Crew now?” King Reece had heard some rumblings about things, but he had never spoken to someone who was fresh off the bricks like Power was. He had only been in for a year.

  “Well, you know. We still straight, but we took a few hits. A few soldiers got killed. Some got knocked.”

  “Yeah, that come with the life. They all holding strong, right?” King Reece was on edge waiting for the answer. Last thing he needed was a new indictment.

  “No doubt!” Power gushed. “You know you set the example of how to handle the system. Take one for the team. Them crackers don’t know how to deal with us. Everybody knows you had that trial beat. They didn’t know how, but they knew you had it in the bag.”

  King Reece chuckled, thinking about his master plan for trial.

  Power continued, “Kidnapping that juror’s child was genius. Then the fact you took a plea after that! Man . . .” He shook his head in disbelief and gave King Reece some dap. Then he raised his hands in surrender. “All hail the king.”

  Power and King Reece enjoyed a brief laugh. Then Reece cut it short. People were starting to stare.

  Suddenly, Power leaned in and whispered something in Reece’s ear.

  “You heard about Monstruoso?” Power whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Monstr—ohhhh you know him as Samson.”

  “Samson?”

  “Yeah. Word is, he’s back in the States.”

  Reece shook his head, not believing the info. “Nah, yo, can’t be.” Samson wasn’t that crazy. Him being back in the States could have drastic implications. Reece knew Samson had to be smarter than this. Then another thought crossed his mind . . . What if Samson was back in the States to roll over on him? What if he was drunk with power and wasn’t ready to relinquish the mantle to King Reece? What if he was going to pull a Sammy the Bull?

  “How you know Samson back in the States?” King Reece demanded, his paranoia kicking in. When playing the game on his level, he could never be at ease.

  Power told King Reece what he had heard. “Well, the other night Muhammad’s house got raided by the FBI. Now, dig this . . . usually, it’s the DEA running up in spots. Never the FBI. So, with the Mexican cartel connection that Samson has, they had to be looking for him.”

  “So, what happened? Did they get him?” King Reece asked eagerly.

  Power shook his head with a smile. “Nah. The house was blown up and everybody inside got killed. Took out four FBI agents, but Muhammad killed himself, too.” Power shrugged, “Hey, death before dishonor.”

  “Death before dishonor,” King Reece repeated. This was the Crescent Crew’s ethos; they lived by the code and died by the code. He shook his head at the thought of another soldier returning to the essence.

  “Well, after the explosion, some brothers went down to holler at some Crew members. Turned out some detectives were shaking everybody down asking questions about a tall black guy the week before,” Power explained.

  “Where at, Lumberton?” Reece knew that Muhammad was strong in Lumberton.

  “Nah, Wilmington. He expanded. Anyway, last I heard somebody told on the dude who told the police about seeing something at the house.”

  “So, what happened to the snitch?’

  “Nothing, last I heard.”

  Reece quietly exhaled. “Oh, good then.”

  “Good?” Power asked, confused.

  “Yeah, that means Samson is not here.”

  “How you figure?”

  “Well, put it like this: If Samson was here and he knew about the snitch, you’d know it. Trust me. I trained him myself.”

  That put an end to that conversation.

  “So, you gonna crush shit when you touch down, huh?” Power was suddenly amped again. Reece grinned mischievously. He liked to play his cards close to the breast.

  “We’ll see, li’l brother. We’ll see.”

  Chapter 4

  It was a cool Carolina nig
ht. There were very few people on the back street that the two plowed down. Both men were clad in black, and one man was substantially shorter than the other. Both were massive in weight. They marched with a sense of purpose. They both knew they were in hostile territory, but this piece of business had to be done.

  The men cut down a side street leading to one of the most notorious housing projects in Wilmington, North Carolina. Just before they reached the center of the courtyard, they were startled as someone stumbled into the alley beside them, nearly knocking the shorter of the duo over.

  With blinding quickness, the shorter man swept the feet from under the unsuspecting man, causing his head to slam into the concrete. Simultaneously, the bigger man of the duo drew his pistol and aimed it at the unlucky victim’s head. The victim never knew it, because he was unconscious the second his head hit the pavement. The duo thought about killing him but decided against it. Someone would need to tell the locals about this visit. Plus, he was not their target. This was business.

  The two men moved on into the courtyard. There were more people out than anticipated. Being that it was late May, everyone was expected to be in Myrtle Beach at the Bike Fest, showing off the spoils of the drug game to impressionable females. Yes, there were a lot of people out, but that didn’t stop the show. They knew the person they were looking for was on the grounds, and these two men refused to be denied.

  It took only a few more moments of prowling the grounds before the person they were looking for materialized. With no hesitation they approached him, showing no regard for the person he was talking to.

  The man noticed the duo, but it was too late. The little one smacked the person he was talking to, knocking him down. The big one smacked their target upside the head with a heavy pistol. The gun exploded into the night air.

  BOOM!!!

  The man’s legs collapsed out of fear, but before he could sink to the ground, a huge hand clasped his shirt, keeping him up. Then the big man smacked him again and again with the pistol. Each time he landed a blow, the gun fired off into the air. The people who had been in the courtyard earlier sought refuge in the shadows of the gothic buildings yet still looked on in fear and curiosity.

  Soon the big man grew weary of beating his target and hemmed him up by his collar. Looking him in his eyes, the big man snarled, “I’ll teach you about that telling shit!”

  He pushed the man’s head between his legs and bent over to pick him up. The big man held the snitch raised high into the air and paused. He swung him around slowly for the hood to see then came down with all his might, power bombing the snitch into the pavement! The snitch’s neck and back cracked simultaneously, silencing his screams. The back of his head cracked opened like an egg, displaying his skull and some brain matter for the world to see. A foul odor seeped out into the air: a combination of bloody guts and fecal matter as the snitch took his last shit posthumously.

  The smaller of the duo finally released his powerful manacles from around the snitch’s friend’s neck, and the two rose to leave unencumbered. The onlookers still didn’t leave the comfort of the shadows, but the incident was etched firmly into their mental Rolodexes—as was the description of the assailants. However, neither of the assailants cared, and none of the spectators dared reveal themselves. The street general of their hood was down at the beach getting his freak on, therefore no one was around to protect them. Even the few dealers who remained behind didn’t dare come out. One reason was because they knew what this assault was perpetrated for. More important, they knew who it was perpetrated by, and no one—no one—wanted the type of drama that messing with them brought on.

  Chapter 5

  Flame lay in amazement at his good fortune. I mean, sure, this wasn’t the first threesome he had had, but it was definitely the most memorable. Just the way Roxanne was moaning had him rock. And oh, that skin! That beautiful red skin! He normally went for redbones, so this wasn’t new. Still, he rarely saw skin so beautiful.

  And how could he forget—damn, what’s her name? Shit! The way she was sucking his dick, he could think of a few names she deserved. Damn, did she kiss her mother with that mouth? Free! That was her name. She was one of those Bohemian types. Def Poetry Jam and shit. If they only knew how freaky she was. She need to write a poem about that, thought Flame.

  From the sunlight cascading through the glass picture window, Free’s hair appeared to be red. It also looked like shampoo was sprinkled loosely inside of it. In actuality, it was Flame’s jizm. When Free sucked him to climax the first time she insisted he shoot his load in her hair. Said it turned her on. And damn if she didn’t cum herself as she rubbed it in. The things broads do for gratification!

  Flame wasn’t surprised. For the last three years, he had been an international star. He had seen and experienced all types of perversities throughout his world travels. Nothing surprised him anymore. Usually, the finer the woman, the freakier.

  “Oooh, Flame, put it in my hair again,” Free begged, momentarily interrupting the exquisite fellatio. She could sense Flame about to climax.

  “Ooh, wait! I wanna taste it, too!” Roxanne stopped licking his ass and crawled to the front to drink from the flesh fountain.

  Just as Flame was about to bust, he heard the sound of a loud motorcycle. Being that this was Bike Week, he wouldn’t have been surprised normally. However, this wasn’t normal. Flame was inside Qwess’s mini-mansion right on the beach in an exclusive gated community. The house was so far removed from any city street that you couldn’t tell it was Bike Week unless you left the gates, which were about five miles away.

  Flame mentally tried to rush his orgasm. He recognized Qwess’s chopper out front. He knew he had to hurry up. It was bad enough he had these tricks up in Qwess’s house! He really would be fucked up if he wasn’t ready to roll. They had business and business was always first.

  Flame released his juices in Free’s hair and ushered the naked women downstairs and through the door into the adjacent pool house. He told them to get dressed and stay put.

  Qwess was entering the great room just as Flame returned through the back door.

  “What’s up, Flame. You ready?” Flame had a guilty look on his face. He didn’t know if Qwess knew why. He attempted to divert the attention.

  “What’s up with that funny-ass helmet, yo?” He was alluding to the German-style, chrome open-faced helmet still on Qwess’s head. Qwess scoffed and took it off.

  “Aw, nigga, this the shit. You don’t know nuthin’ ’bout dis.” He buffed the helmet affectionately. “Plus it match the bike, ya dig?”

  Qwess started up the stairs, but Flame tried to distract him.

  “Yo, what time the reporters from the magazine coming?”

  “They should be here by now.” Qwess started back up the stairs. He wasn’t even halfway up the stairs before the smell accosted him.

  “Flame! What you been doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s bullshit! It smell like pure pussy in here.”

  Flame couldn’t hold it in. He burst out laughing. “Yo, my bad, but, damn, you missed it. I had these two bad bitches in here.”

  “I don’t mind you funking up the crib. That’s why I got it. It’s a playhouse. But make sure business come first,” Qwess reminded him.

  “Business is first.”

  “Then why you ain’t ready?”

  “I, uh, was getting ready.”

  “No excuses. Just results. Now get dressed.”

  Flame did as he was instructed, but he had one more question. “Why we getting dressed anyway? Ain’t we doing the interview here? Let’s just keep it real.”

  Qwess came into the guest room where Flame was dressing. “First of all, we not doing the interview here. I told you that a thousand times. You forgot our basketball team competing in the three-on-three tournament?”

  Flame slapped his forehead. He had completely forgot.

  “See, how you gonna be ready to take over the label and you can�
��t remember crucial shit like appointments. I’m telling you, this my last album. You gotta hold us down, Flame. This is your spot. I groomed you for it. At least I thought I did. Don’t tell me I was wrong.

  “Nah, Qwess, I got you, man. Just wait. You’ll see.”

  The doorbell rang. Qwess let the reporter, photographer, and an assistant in. He offered them something to eat or drink, which they declined.

  The reporter from the hottest magazine in hip-hop was attractive. She wore capris with a tank top. The male photographer looked eccentric with his curly hair, tattered jeans, and Vans. Judging from his skin tone he was obviously of mixed heritage. The assistant was very cute. Everything about her read “intern,” from the shabby clothing to the inquisitive look in her eyes.

  After seating them on the supple bone-white leather couch in the great room, Qwess excused himself. While he was gone, they openly admired the huge home. The Italian marble floors, ornate granite pillars framing the front door, and African artifacts elegantly decorating the walls spoke of conscious opulence. This was just how they expected Qwess to live.

  “Damn, boyfriend shit is tight!” the reporter acceded. Moments later Qwess rejoined them.

  “So, Qwess, are you ready to start?”

  “No, Qima, we aren’t doing it here.”

  Qima was surprised Qwess knew her name. She openly blushed, turning her light face a deep red. She’d had a light crush on him for years, but she knew he was probably out of her league. “So, where are we doing it?’

  Qwess smiled. “Everywhere.”

  “Everywhere?”

  “Yeah. We hitting the road. It is Bike Week. I’d be shirking my duties as Beach Ambassador if I didn’t show you some sights in my city.” He spread his arms expansively.

  “Thanks, Qwess, but I’ve seen more ass than Atlanta strip clubs. I wouldn’t exactly be mad if we chilled here.”

  Qwess smiled. He liked Qima’s pizzazz. “Don’t worry, we do have a destination. We’re going to a three-on-three tournament at Broadway at the Beach. We have a team competing. We can do the interview on the way. As soon as Flame is ready.”