Teri Woods - Angel's Revenge

Duke blew cigarette smoke out his mouth before speaking.

“Maybe we can arrange a few things.”

“Definitely, because a guy like you needs friends like me, eh? I give you a place to lay your hat. I talk to people, they talk to people, and we all sit down and eat, ba-da-bing?”

“Ba-da-boom.” Duke smiled. “I just hope some of these people you talkin’ to is judges and DAs ’cause niggas catchin’ cases like snitches is sexually transmittin’ ’em.”

“Forget about it,” Vinnie warned with a gesture of dismissal. “My guys are good guys, and we take care of our friends. You just gimme a call when it’s a go on your end, capisci?” Vinnie grinned greedily.

He was itching to get his olive-oiled hands on Young World’s territory and Duke was just the monkey to bring it to him. Dutch had run the Italians out of the Newark drug game and now Duke was ready to bring them back in and play puppet in their tangled strings. All Vinnie needed was a chance to implement his plan, and Young World was unwittingly about to give it to him.

Young World stood in the bedroom door and admired his sleeping beauty. She lay wrapped to the waist in peach-colored sheets that accentuated her ebony skin tone.

He loved her.

Lana was the perfect hustler’s wife. She had been with him every step of the way, stashing money, holding work, and tucking pistols when necessary. Although it took him two years, Lana gave him her virginity. They had been inseparable ever since. Lana was his first love; the game was his second.

World loved being the man his position made him. And it wasn’t just the money. It was the power and respect, a respect he knew he had to rep to maintain.

He walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture of him and Dutch at a Roy Jones fight. World admired Dutch’s finesse. The smirk that framed his chocolate face told the world he knew he was that nigga. When Young World first met Dutch, he knew he was destined to be a legend and he wanted to be just like him, the way he bopped, his sharp Newark accent, his smooth style. But when Dutch peeped it, he checked him quick.

“I like you, lil’ nigga, word up. You a thoroughbred. You just been misled. I see you wanna be like me, but if you really wanna be like me, don’t be like me. That’s why I am who I am because ain’t another muthafucka like Dutch.”

Dutch wasn’t his mentor. One-eyed Roc was. It was Roc who put him on, but Dutch would often come scoop him off the block and sharpen his game. World knew if Roc and Angel hadn’t been locked up, he would’ve never had the opportunity he had now. So he looked at it as a fate he was destined to fulfill. But he needed answers, and he knew who had them.

Roc.

He needed to go see Roc.

World cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner, but things were so damned hectic. It was hard enough to catch some sleep, let alone think straight.

Young World slid open the drawer and gazed at its contents. Dutch’s dragon chain.

He lifted the heavy piece from the drawer and cradled it in his hand. The diamonds and rubies glistened and sparkled on the twenty-four-karat gold nugget barrel link. Before Dutch, Kazami had worn the chain. Kazami, the wild African who everyone feared until Dutch murdered him and took the chain. Afterward, Dutch locked down the streets. Ever since World had the chain, he had worn it only occasionally. Now it was time to rep it to the fullest.

World kicked off his shoes, lay on the bed fully clothed behind Lana, and cradled her body to his. His touch instantly awoke her.

“Hey, baby. I missed you,” she cooed sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, boo. It’s late,” World softly replied, his mind a million miles away.

“You hungry?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Naw, I’m good.”

They had been together too long for her not to recognize the troubled tone in his voice. She turned over and faced Young World, tucking her right hand under her head.

“Everything okay?” she questioned with concern.

He shrugged, “It is what it is.”

“So, what is it?” She smiled, still probing.

World looked his love in the eyes, their faces only inches apart, and asked, “Do you think I’ve changed?”

“Changed?” Lana echoed with a wrinkled brow. “Changed how?”

“I don’t know, just…”

“Is this about earlier? If it is, you were right. I trust you,” she assured him, cutting him off from what he was about to say.

“Not like that,” he began. “You think I’m gettin’ soft?”

“Soft? Baby, you know I keep it all the way gangsta with you, but it’s been so long since I’ve been around you like that to know,” Lana replied, then added, “You locked me out of that part of your life.”

“But you lay with me, therefore you know my weakness,” World answered.

“Remember before Jazz died, y’all was beefin’ with Chancellor?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard you say to him that a gun may get you power but a gun can’t keep you in power,” Lana explained, using the jewel against him. He had heard it from Roc and now he better understood the difference between a gangsta and a goon. He had the goon part down. He just needed to learn the ways of a true gangsta. He smiled and gently kissed her forehead.

“I’m sayin’, you my wifey or my godfather?” he joked.

Lana giggled and replied with the godfather rasp in her voice, “Just call me Vito Corleone.”

They both laughed. Lana caressed his face.

“Just do what you have to do to come home to me every night. Shahid, promise me you’ll never let them take you away from me.”

“I promise, baby. I love you, Lana.”

“I love you, my World.”

Duke slipped out of bed, stretched his arms wide, and embraced the morning sun. He had always been an early bird, a habit he acquired from his days on the block. Duke was the type of hustler who worked harder, not smarter. His strength lay in his endurance, not in his swiftness. A good trait for a soldier, but Duke wanted to be the general.

His mind went back to his conversation the night before with Young World. It had been a week since their meeting with Ceylon, and Young World had been on his grind trying to meet the deadline. World had told Duke that he was going to see Roc, and of course, he was in charge during his absence.

“Yo, Duke, stay sucka-free,” he added because he knew Duke’s love for drama.

Duke was a live wire for gunplay, which was the main reason Young World had cliqued up with him back in the day. Once World’s man Jazz had been murdered, it was only right that Duke fill the position. But Duke wasn’t content being the man next to the man. He wanted to be that nigga.

He glanced down at the two naked white girls in his bed and his mouth twisted in a wicked grin as he remembered the lusty episode from last night. Duke had a thing for young girls and he found out that white women were real loose with black dick. The two sleeping seventeen-year-olds were no exception. He had pumped them full of “E,” then pumped them full of his “D,” and with his adrenaline pumping for what lay ahead, his bone hardened on the spot.

Both girls were blondes from their heads down to their pubic hairs, which turned Duke on. He slipped his fingers between the legs of the shorter of the two, who had been sleeping on her stomach, and slid inside her forcefully, waking her up with one pounding thrust.

“Arrrrgghhh!” she groaned in shock, trying to squirm from under Duke’s thug fuck. He pinned her wrists to the bed and spread her legs wider until she was spread-eagled on her belly. All the moaning and shouting woke her friend from her slumber. She opened her eyes and caught sight of Duke’s long black dick sliding in and out of her friend and it made her horny.