Real Nigga Love: A Miami Hood Romance by Tamicka Higgins

Author:Tamicka Higgins [Higgins, Tamicka]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Romance, Urban, Genre Fiction
Amazon: B015MJ1RFU
Published: 2015-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

4

Damarko

I smell the air, glance down at my sneakers, never thinking walking would be all that big a deal until now, go in my jeans pocket, getting out a key with other keys on a long black string. Standing in front of our meeting locale and home. A giant three story small ass apartment building. A lock’s wrapped around the high gate. I jam the key in the hole, locking it up after. Stopped, staring at the house to prepare myself for what shit I was about to go through. Used another key to get in the front door.

Inside the hall’s quiet. That can either mean a bad thing or a good thing. I feel naked without my gun. I look around for a weapon, but there is none. Stared at the stairs that leads to various levels, going up them slowly and quietly. Hearing the usual sounds, buzzing from a TV. People talking in loud voices near the higher floors. I stop. Staring at the first floor. Remembering how this was where I use to be stationed. I’m moving up in the world. When word got out that a nigga killed a bull that was pretty much the highest level of respect out there for a nigga. The more kills, the longer I’ll be top dog. It’s as simple as that. I stare up at the second floor where I’m stationed. This place housed fifty of us. But I plan to make that number grow. More recruits more blood.

I push the key through the hole of my door that leads to my space that I share with five other dudes. It’s ridiculous as shit for a grown ass man to have roommates, but they’re my family. They may not have been blood but their blood ran for me and me theirs. All five of them are here. Including the mother-fucker who left me on the ground to nearly bleed out to death or maybe he’s the one who called the ambulance. I don’t trust his ass, but don’t wanna look like a dick head nigga if it turns out he’s the one that called the ambulance. He’ll let him do the talking first.

Finton stands from a leather lounge chair the drugs provide for them, to keep the cops off our asses, we usually keep the outside of our place a shithole and the inside with all sorts of lavish shit. But it’s never anything big enough or too overdone that we can’t stuff in a closet are throw in a trash bag, claiming we worked together to earn it. A lot of our money stays in safes. Banks not really our thing.

The others sit on a sofa. No electronics on. They look like they had been discussing something before I walked in. They’re not supposed to have meetings without me.

I look around suspiciously.

“I called the ambulance for you.” Finton says.

I look at him untrustingly. Not because of the shooting, I’d gotten over dat, it’s the mood of the room, they won’t all fucking smiles all the time but something had gone down.

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