Page 129 of Anything Necessary for Her
“I’ll work on that.” She sighed as I started to rinse off the soap from my own body. “I’m not used to being jealous. I’m usually the one telling niggas to relax.”
We chuckled in unison.
“You know you the most peaceful fucking thing in my life, right?” I towered over her, bringing her body flush to mine.
“I don’t sound too peaceful if I have an attitude all the time.” She poked her full lips out momentarily, something she did when she was in deep thought or didn’t like what was being discussed.
“You are though. Everything in my life is high stakes. I always gotta be a parental figure and disciplinarian or the boss and the fixer. But with you, I can just be. All I gotta do is protect you, and that comes natural to a nigga. Every moment with you is peaceful for me, Peep, whether you cursing me out, kicking it with me, or letting me fuck you. I’d take you having an attitude for an hour or two over a lot of shit going on around me.”
“You don’t want a more easygoing type?” She smirked, circling her arms around my neck as she stood on her tiptoes.
“Nah, easygoing women are just that—easy. Anything easy for me is easy for the next nigga too.” I pecked her nose. “I can’t really explain how you make a nigga feel when I’m around you, but the main thing I can say is that it’s peaceful, relaxing, and I get a sense that everything is gon’ be straight. The same feeling I used to get eating them Peeps as a kid.”
Her eyes bounced around mine for a moment before I picked her up, putting her legs around me.
“I love you, Willow.”
Pulling up in the all-black Tahoe without decals and the Philly license plate, I slid into a park outside of the batting cage.
Stepping out with my hood pulled down low, I headed for the entrance of the establishment that I knew was somewhat empty, thanks to a connect. The only person here was the only muthafucka I wanted to be here.
Moseying toward the sound of a baseball bat slamming into the balls once shot out of the pitching machine, my eyes finally landed on Trayvon.
I watched for a moment, shaking my head at how good he was at what he’d planned to do with the rest of his life and how that shit was about to change.
I didn’t feel bad at all, because I’d warned him. Not only did he ignore my warning, but he also went overboard with reaching out to Banks, making it clear he didn’t give a fuck about respecting me or our relationship. Niggas had been put in the ground for less.
I hit the lights to the whole room so that only the light glowing from under the pitching machine illuminated his semicircle batting cage.
“The fuck?” Trayvon murmured, tilting his head back in wonder at what happened to the lights from above.
“I warned you.” I made myself known as I entered his cage, making him stumble back some but then grip the bat tightly as a defense mechanism. “I explained to you that if you reached out to Banks, I was gon’ change ya life.”
“M-man, you better get back!” He sputtered as I started toward him, bringing the bat up to a swinging position that he’d probably had perfected since childhood. “Banks is—” He cut himself off, swinging the bat at me.
The way his eyes mushroomed, flooded with fright when I caught it in my hand was almost humorous.
Snatching it, I whacked his arm with that shit like my name was Barry Bonds, causing him to yowl in pain.
“You still think shit is a game?” I questioned as he cried out.
“Help! Help!” he screamed, stumbling back, and after looking behind him to see there was only one way out of the cage, he started to holler louder. “Help!” He cupped his crushed elbow, tears spilling over.
“It’s just us, my nigga.” I smirked, enjoying the horror sewn into his expression at my revelation.
Swinging again, I connected with his shoulder, then his other elbow, before dropping him by crushing his knees. Once he fell to the floor, I bashed on one set of his fingers, salivating at the sound of his bones cracking all over as he screamed bloody murder.
After a while, his body was almost indistinguishable from a gummy worm as he wailed like a bitch, so I stopped.
“You snitch and you dead, nigga. Let one of these punk ass detectives make you think they got yo’ back and beguile you into believing they gon’ keep you safe, and that they can arrest a nigga, you gon’ lose ya fucking life. Before that, though, I’m gon’ kill ya mama in front of you.” I kicked his body as he whined, bobbing his head to say he agreed. “Banks is mine, and I’ll run through LA like my last name is Bundy on any nigga thinking he can percolate then ruin what the fuck we got. I suggest you heal, forget about her in the meantime, then use that lil degree you got and get you a desk job, fam. Marry you a bitch that ain’t got niggas like me checking for her, then have you some kids. We clear?”
“Y-yes,” he whimpered, full on crying at this point. “Wh-what should I tell them?”
“You smart. Figure that shit out.” I kicked his phone toward him. “I left you one good hand to call the ambulance.”
With that, I dipped out, concealed by my hoodie and ski mask just like when I entered.
Pulling out of the lot on three wheels damn near, I felt good, relieved. I highly doubted Trayvon would be an issue, but if he was, I would do what I promised.
