Killa Season 2: The Purge Page 5

  “They comin’ too?” Jackie pouted in an effort to spare the men.

  “Dey gotta go errwhere I go. Dey ain’t gon’ see us all fuck dough,” Verb said being the gentleman that he was. “My condo is big!”

  “We stay not too far from here. We can do it there, that way y’all don’t got to drop us off,” Meisha suggested.

  “That’s a good idea boss,” one of the two guards said. They readily agreed since it would be them doing the late night drop off after the rapper had his way with them. A task they had dubbed ‘taking out the trash.’

  “It would be best,” the other one co-signed. The rapper had far too much company in his home to keep him safe. He made their job that much harder with his reckless lifestyle. “Safer than bringing more people to your residence.”

  “Ok,” Verb agreed mainly because he didn’t know what the word residence meant. He didn’t want to ask in front of the girls. Didn’t want to seem dumb you know.

  “Here?” the driver frowned unsure if he had heard correctly.

  “Yes, here,” Cameisha reiterated pointing to a rundown tenement building. The guard pulled up and they all got out.

  As soon as the two guards stepped their four feet on the sidewalk, they dropped dead. Verb looked confused as usual but Killa stepped from the shadows to explain. The smoke billowing from the tip of the silencer said what needed to be said.

  Verb lifted his chin proudly ready to accept what he thought was a robbery, like a man.

  “Ugh!” Killa grunted as he socked the rapper with everything he had. The punch knocked him down and out, but the brass knuckles broke his jaw on both sides. He wouldn’t be saying any more dumb shit that night. Or ever, for that matter. Killa dragged him into the backseat and jumped behind the wheel. He tossed his niece a set of keys and pulled off.

  “Hey!” Cameisha wailed as he sailed away. “Man!”

  She accepted the fact that she was going to miss the main event and hit a button on the key. A car across the street beeped and flashed its lights in reply.

  “Guess that’s us,” Jackie sighed in defeat.

  “Let’s go. I gotta change before I go home. Trigga will lose his mind if he sees me like this.”

  “That’s exactly why I ain’t changing,” Jackie said wickedly.

  ****

  Verb was snoring loudly from the punch, drugs, alcohol, and lack of sleep. Killa poured the rest of his soda on the man to wake him up once they arrived at the zoo.

  “Get up and get out!” he demanded.

  The confused man tried to speak but his broken jaw wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he grimace and moaned from the pain. “Qrst!” was all he could manage through his shattered face. It was some more dumb shit but luckily, Killa couldn’t make it out.

  As soon as they got inside, Killa sent a silent slug into his ass cheek. “No!” he shouted in pain. He looked at Killa and asked why with his eyes.

  “You got a ten second head start. I catch you and I kill you,” he replied.

  Verb took advantage of the head start and took off running. He had no idea of where he was or where he was going so he darted his eyes in every direction as he ran.

  “Quick, in here,” Wali suggested holding a door open for him. “Trust me; he won’t follow you in there!”

  “Hijk,” Verb nodded in thanks and rushed inside.

  Wali closed and locked the door behind him and went around joining Killa. “It’s show time!” Wali announced and hit the lights.

  The lions were already sniffing the air for the smell of fresh blood. When the lights came on, and they saw that fresh meat and they smiled in thanks. Verb wasn’t smiling though. He couldn’t believe his eyes so he blinked and rubbed them. It didn’t work though; the lions were still there.

  Female lions are usually the hunters. They make the kill to feed their family. They began a slow creep towards the creep until the male lion let out a low growl. It obviously meant, “Y’all fall back,” in lion talk because that’s exactly what the females did. This one was his.

  “Efg! Hijk, hijk!” Verb screamed at his dilemma. It was the first and last time he ever got his alphabet correct.

  “Just tell them who you are!” Killa yelled with a chuckle.

  “Or turn up!” Wali cracked up getting in on the fun.

  To Verb’s credit, he did put up a fight when the lion pounced. He threw a nice jab but the lion ate it. It snatched his arm completely off then moved in for the kill. Once the lion crushed his neck, the girls moved in. Killa captured the meal on his phone for his own amusement.

  “Well that was fun!” Wali cheered once the show was over.

  “It was,” Killa smiled briefly then became morbid. His thoughts turned to ‘who’s next?’

  Chapter 9

  “I wanna kill you, you P.W.T, we gonna kill you, you P.W.T,” Tikisha, the local mean girl screamed an inch from Jane’s ear.

  Jane wasn’t hard of hearing or anything; Tikisha was just a fucking bully. The song she sang was a twisted spin on the Michelle Jackson song “P.Y.T.” Instead of pretty young thing, P.W.T. stood for poor white trash. Jane was white and poor but far from trash. Her luck was just bad. Actually, there’s no such thing as luck, good or bad just decree.

  What had been written for her was a messy divorce between her parents. Her wealthy father said fuck them after he fucked his young secretary. He traded his old wife and old life for a new chick with new tits. Since he could afford a good lawyer and she couldn’t, he ended up with it all while she got nothing.

  Jane’s mom took a job and did the best she could do. Her meager earnings forced her to move into the hood of Atlanta’s southwest side. She quickly found out that some blacks are just as racist as some whites can be.

  Jane was the lone white student in the whole tenth grade as well as the only one on the school bus. She would have walked to and from school if it weren’t a ten-mile trek. Instead, she was subjected to Tikisha and the abuse. Not a day went by that she wasn’t verbally abused. Not to mention getting beat up or jumped on a couple of times a week. It was becoming unbearable for the lonely young girl.

  “You should just kill yo’self bitch!” Tikisha suggested so close to her ear she could feel the heat from her breath.

  It actually sounded like a good idea at that moment. Her mother couldn’t help and the teachers nor the principal would help her. Jane was nearing the end of her rope in more ways than one.

  “Die bitch die!” Tikisha demanded marching behind her to her apartment. A vicious slap to the back of her head served as a goodbye as she entered.

  Jane stared at the stranger in the mirror and shook her head. She didn’t even recognize herself. Her pretty golden locks had been snatched from her scalp. Tikisha had removable hair and couldn’t live with Jane having real hair. Her blue eyes were black and blue from numerous beatings.

  She glanced around the sparse apartment and reflected back on the huge suburban home she’d left behind. The run down complex had more empty crack sacks than blades of grass. Even her college fund had been looted for designer purses and custom breasts for Daddy’s new wife.

  “She’s right you know. You might as well kill yourself,” Jane told her vague reflection. The imposter shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or the other. That settled it. She took a deep breath and exhaled a sigh. “I’ll do it then.”

  Jane marched straight into her bedroom and into the closet. She looped one end of her belt over the bar and the other around her neck. A lone tear fell at what could have been as she sat down. The drop wasn’t far enough to break her neck as in a classic hanging. No, she slowly strangled herself to death.

  She could have simply stood up and lived, but that meant more Tikisha. She shook her head no at that thought and pressed on. A few seconds after that she blacked out, and a few seconds after that she was gone.

  ****

  “My daughter killed herself because she was being bullied! Bullied, beat up, and made fun of for months! We reported it. We tol
d the principal and the teachers. We did everything that we were supposed to do,” Jane’s mother Dianne wailed in a heartbreaking interview. She had just put her only child in the ground and contemplated joining her. Her reason to live had just been buried.

  “That girl is pure evil! Why won’t someone do something? Why won’t someone help before she kills someone else’s child?”

  The nationally televised interview was felt by millions. Everyone was sad and angry but one viewer more than most. One who recently lost a child of his own. One who hated racists and bullies with his whole heart. Still, he might have left well enough alone if not for the next interview.

  “My baby ain’t did nothin’ to dat gurl!” Boquisha spat with Tikisha standing defiantly by her side. The mother and daughter were only 15 years apart and looked like sisters. Both cute under all the ghetto girl accessories and busting out of their matching ghetto girl outfits. “Dat bitch was weak and kilt herself.”

  “Shole did,” Tikisha chimed in along with her mother.

  “Fuck dat bitch and her mama and anybody who don’t like it!” Boquisha proclaimed in her native Ebonics. Multiple childbirths had interrupted her childhood so she just continued acting like a child well into adulthood. She smoked, drank, and turned up along with her children.

  In the current climate of instant celebrity where losers can become famous for being famous, the two ratchet girls were set to be stars. They formed a mother-daughter twerk team with gigs booked all over the city. Their video had gone viral already. They even signed a three-book deal with Bitch Book Publishing and were set to be best sellers.

  “Show ‘em how we do it!” Boquisha demanded. “Turn up!”

  Tikisha responded automatically as if a button was pressed on her turn up remote. She closed her eyes, raised her hands, and shook her ample ass. Momma joined her and they went into one of their routines. They were stars in the making, but…along came a Killa.

  ****

  Killa walked into the club and stopped just short of thrusting his fingers into his ears to escape the assault on his eardrums and soul. Some dumb ass rapper said nigga so many times he shot a glance to the DJ booth to see if the man spinning was wearing a hooded robe. The song “Kill all Dem Niggas” was rapped by a black guy but actually a K.K.K favorite. They played it at all of their functions as well.

  The DJ flawlessly mixed the next song “Fuck Dese Bitches” and the crowd went wild. Killa stifled a laugh thinking about the late Verb. He didn’t say fuck dese lions when they were eating his ass.

  He looked to the stage and saw who and what he came for. There were Boquisha and daughter Tikisha twerking on the stage. At least twerk rhymed with work because it was a close as they ever came. Oh and were they working! The mother-daughter twerk team bent at the waist and popped their asses in unison. Big brown ass cheeks protruded from matching boy shorts in perfection. Killa looked back and forth between the two and got an erection somewhere along the line.

  “May as well,” Killa said as the thought of fucking them both before killing them crossed his mind. Halfway through, that same thought disgusted him and he shook it away. It was a good thing Antoinette sashayed into his life when she did.

  “Excuse me,” she giggled after intentionally bumping into him. Not hard enough to make him spill his drink, but enough to distract him from the hoochie mama and daughter on stage. Killa was hot at the bump and ready to add the bumper to the night’s death toll. Until he turned and saw her that is.

  “Watch where the fu…oh my,” Killa gushed when he locked eyes with the brown stallion. She was just his type standing 5’11” in her wedges with her natural hair pulled into a wavy bun. Oh and thick, he liked thick. “I mean I’m sorry for bumping you.”

  “It was I who bumped you and I meant to do it,” she admitted getting caught up in the brown gems he called eyes. She batted her own eyes before extending a hand. “Antoinette.”

  “I’m Killa,” he answered accepting the dainty hand while shooting a glance back at the stage.

  “Somehow I can’t see you being interested in them?” she asked scrunching her face as if ‘them’ had an odor.

  “Purely clinical, but you, you could get it,” he assured.

  “Get what?” she asked seductively, but the glance she shot down to his crotch rendered the question rhetorical.

  “My number,” he blurted as the show came to an end. He quickly quoted the number to one of his phones and rushed to catch up to his victims.

  There was a long line of freaks who wanted props for bedding the wenches together. Bragging rights for fucking the mother and daughter at the same damn time. They offered cash while Killa offered stars. Or to at least make them stars.

  “I would like to shoot the both of you,” he offered behind a smile at his clever word play. He would like to shoot them but that was too quick, too easy. They were not getting off that easy.

  “Both of us together?” Boquisha asked with dollar signs in her eyes. They had fucked the same men separately but never together. “That’s gon’ cost extra!”

  “Shole is,” Tikisha agreed. She had starred in many a fuck tape but this would be her first time being paid for one.

  “How about I pay both of you enough money to last the rest of your lives?” he asked.

  Boquisha and Tikisha snatched Killa out of the club so fast he almost got whiplash. He directed them to his car and made the short drive to a hotel where he rented a room. Of course, it was under a fake name so he couldn’t be charged for cleaning up the mess. And it was going to be messier than a ratchet girl’s time line.

  “This is nice,” the women sang at the four star digs. Most of the rooms they had been in were motels or motor lodges. Or the back seats of cars.

  “It gets better, strip!” he ordered digging into his bag of tricks searching for treats for the tricks.

  The females wasted no time in complying. They peeled off the damp boy shorts filling the room with not so freshness. The musk of underarms combined with the salty odor of overused vagina wafted towards the ceiling. Heat rises you know.

  “What the…” Tikisha protested when she saw the pistol.

  “Shh…” Killa whispered holding the long silencer up to his lips instead of an index finger. It meant the same thing so they muted themselves.

  “Well come on,” Bonquisha sighed and dropped to her knees and opened her mouth. It wouldn’t be her first blowjob at gunpoint.

  “Uh no” Killa laughed and pulled the next items from the bag. “I’m sure you guys heard about the ice bucket challenge?”

  “Uh huh, yeah we have,” they both agreed eagerly.

  “Well, this is the ice pick challenge,” he explained.

  “What we ‘posed to do with these?” Tikisha inquired.

  “Kill yourselves. Winner gets to live a little while longer,” he said crossing his fingers behind his back. His ass was lying. The winner was getting shot in her head.

  “I ain’t finna…” was all Boquisha got out before her daughter attacked. Tikisha snatched a handful of weave and stuck her mother right in her neck.

  “Bitch!” her mama yelled as she came out of her weave. She thrust a blow into her daughter’s cheek.

  “Fuck,” Killa giggled as he scrambled to start the recording. It was supposed to be for Dianne but he decided to keep a copy for himself.

  Both ghetto chicks were good fighters and it was an all-out brawl. Not only did they poke and gauge with the ice picks, but punched, clawed, and kicked. Blood skeeted to the ceiling during the fierce battle. Once they were both weakened from battle and blood loss they gave up on defense. They just took turns stabbing each other. They dropped to their knees still stabbing. Finally, they landed one last jab in each other’s necks and keeled over dead. Killa took their pulses ready to shoot whoever had one.

  “Good job ladies,” he giggled leaving the dead women in the room.

  ****

  As soon as Killa stepped from the hotel, his phone began to vibrate on hi
s hip. He smiled broadly knowing exactly who was calling. It was new pussy, and that’s something to smile about.

  “Hello,” he answered in his sexy voice instead of the killer voice.

  “Killa? What a name, this is Antoinette. I just called to see if you wanted to…um…”

  “Fuck your brains out? I would love to!” he said pressing the issue. Had she said no he would have gone to bed.

  “Sure!” she sang and gave him directions to her vagina.

  Antoinette kept a nice, clean little apartment in midtown. When Killa arrived, she opened the door and posed in her sheer nightshirt. The light from the TV behind showed off her thickness. Since it was already established that they were fucking she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. She climbed on her bed and watched as her guest stripped down to his birthday suit.

  And what a birthday suit it was. Killa obviously had been doing some sit-ups and push-ups because his pecs and abs were perfect. The caramel colored birthday suit came fully equipped with a thick erection pointing straight ahead. Antoinette was so pleased she actually clapped.

  “You wanna see my trick?” she asked spreading her legs as Killa climbed on the bed.

  “Sure,” he eagerly agreed as she began playing with herself. Pussy is good and new pussy even better but a pussy that does tricks is priceless. Bet they won’t make a commercial out of that.

  He watched as the vagina swelled, glistened, and bloomed. A line of juice escaped then ran down. Suddenly, a jet of fluid shot out and hit his leg startling him.

  “What the fuck was that?” he demanded as he scooted away in fear.

  “I squirted!” she giggled quite pleased with herself.

  “You peed!” Killa shot back looking at the pee on his leg.

  “Un uh, I’m a squirter!” Antoinette insisted with a nod.

  “Do it again,” he said backing out of pee range. She complied and made more lovely little circles on her pretty pink button. A few seconds later, it happened again.

  “Uh uh! See!” he answered seeing it clearly came from her urethra. He knew enough about vaginas to pull the wool over his eyes. “It is pee!”