Dirty Little Angel

Bubbles squirmed and tried to free herself, but Harlem wasn’t haven’t it and clutched her tighter. “Yeah! Damn, Bubbles, I still see that you take very good care of yourself down there.” Crown pushed his index finger and middle fingers into her pussy.

Bubbles begged him to stop but Crown kept on stroking.

“Yo, before we leave here tonight, you gonna remember what it felt like to have a true nigga in you,” Crown said, unzipping his jeans.

They tore the towel off Bubbles and forced her on the bed as she fought and screamed. Her resistance was useless. Harlem punched her in the head repeatedly, trying to shut her up and held her down as Crown climbed in between her legs getting ready to rape her.

Crown gripped his dick in his fist and told her, “It ain’t gonna hurt much, bitch. Shit, if you shut the fuck up, close your eyes, and relax, you just might enjoy it again the way you used to.”

Crown showed her no remorse. He thrust into her like an animal while Harlem stood by and watched. Bubbles just stopped fighting and let her ex-pimp have his way with her. When he was done and came in her, he pulled out, and zipped up his jeans.

Bubbles just lay in a fetal position, crying. The pain was unbearable and she grieved for her dead husband.

Crown stood over her. “Yeah, your pussy still good, bitch. You missed me, huh?” He looked over at Harlem and nodded.

Harlem walked up to Bubbles and raised the gun to her head. She turned to stare death in the face and pleaded, “Please, no! Please, I don’t wanna die! Let me bury my husband. Please, give me that.”

Harlem looked into her eyes and watched the tears flow down her bruised and beaten face. He wished that he had a chance to get with that. He hesitated and then looked back at Crown.

Crown said to him, “Hurry up and kill the bitch!”

Harlem fired three shots into Bubbles’s head at such close range that her forehead exploded. Blood and brain matter decorated her sheets and pillows.

Crown nodded. “Stupid bitch. C’mon, we gotta make a trip to the Bronx, my nigga.”

Harlem followed Crown, leaving Bubbles a twisted mess on her bloody sheets. Crown couldn’t wait to see the look on Chaos’s face when he came knocking on her front door, his guns cocked and ready to murder everyone. It got his dick hard just thinking about it.

45

Danielle was back and forth between her place and Wendy’s apartment. She didn’t want to be alone so Wendy kept her company. They often spent the night at each other’s places and talked all night. However, despite Wendy’s presence, it didn’t take Danielle’s mind off YB. She was still worried sick about him and couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard a word from him since he left.

She began to fear the worst and constantly thought about YB’s body lying in a morgue somewhere. So many times, she thought about going down to Philly to go look for her man, but Wendy advised her against it.

Danielle would go from being so angry at YB for just leaving unexpectedly, to being worried to the point where she couldn’t stop crying over him. The rollercoaster of emotions wasn’t helping her pregnancy.

“He’ll call, Danielle,” Wendy said every time she cried.

“What if somethin’ happened to him? I need to see him, Wendy. I need to know if he’s okay,” Danielle would cry out.

If it wasn’t for Wendy, Danielle would have been a wreck. She continued to do hair at the shop and made her doctor’s appointment. The doctor ensured her that the baby was fine and told her not to stress herself too much.

Wendy prayed for Chaos and YB. They even went to church one evening where Danielle met Wendy’s pastor Mitchell Moore.

Danielle had a long talk with Pastor Moore in his office and she told him everything about her life. She broke down and confessed to him about her former way of life—about her turning tricks on a daily basis, the money that she made, and the beatings she endured at the hands of Crown. She even spoke about the death of her best friend, Sweet. For Danielle, it felt like therapy. For some reason, she was able to open up to him easily and express her concerns and fears.

“My life has always been a mess, Pastor Moore,” Danielle admitted. “I know death is comin’ for me.”

“Why do you feel that death is coming for you?” He began to listen intently.

“The shit I’ve done. Oh, I’m so sorry for cursing,” she said, feeling ashamed.

“It’s okay, feel free to go on.”

“I mean, I always heard in life that someday your past would catch up to you. It’s somethin’ that you can’t run from. I was happy for a moment, pastor. I’m ’bout to have a baby, but the father of my child left for Philly. I feel he might get himself killed out there.”

“And why is that?”

Danielle hesitated. She didn’t know what to say to him. She asked, “Everything I say here is private, right? Like between only me and you? You can’t tell anyone what we’ve discussed?”