Suicide Queens by Amaleka McCall

Author:Amaleka McCall [McCall, Amaleka]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: United States, Urban, African American, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B00SPAJ1AW
Publisher: Official Writers League
Published: 2015-01-24T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9 Written In Blood

Two shots to the dome took out Loco’s front door security. One shot to the chest and three to the abdomen took out two of his perimeter guards.

The sound of the gunshots snatched Loco and Pilar out of their sleep.

“Oh my God!” Pilar gasped, leaping out of the bed like someone had shocked her with a thousand bolts of electricity. Loco rolled off of the bed onto the floor with such a hard thud the wind was knocked out of him.

“Fuck,” he gasped when three more gunshots resounded from somewhere in the apartment. Searching around in the darkness, Loco finally located and grabbed the MP-5 he kept at his bedside at all times.

“Go,” he growled at Pilar. They had talked about this exact scenario more than once.

“I don’t want to leave—” she cried.

“Go!” Loco growled cutting her off. She would just make things worse. Loco got low and waited for the shooters to bust into the bedroom. Pilar made a mad dash for their walk-in closet, where she cowered behind shoeboxes and racks of clothes.

Just like Loco suspected, his bedroom door came crashing in a few minutes later.

“Ah! Motherfuckers!” Loco screamed, getting to his feet and spraying bullets at the door. “You come into my fucking house?! Huh! You think I’m a fucking pussy! Huh!” he screamed.

After a few seconds and no sign of anybody, Loco stopped shooting. The eerie silence caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. He slowly inched towards the door, his gun out in front of him. Moving forward, like a military officer on a mission, Loco whipped his head around but didn’t see or hear anyone.

“Don’t hide puttas. I’m right fucking here!” Loco screamed, raising his gun menacingly. “I’m right fuckin—”

Suddenly a sharp pain crashed into Loco’s shoulder like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. His words tumbled back down his throat like hard marbles and his gun flew from his hands.

“Agh!” Loco screamed as his body lurched forward and crumpled to the floor. Another searing pain hit him, this time in his left butt cheek. “Urgh!” Loco growled from the pain; spit popping from his lips and veins cording against the skin in his neck and face. Breathing heavily and barely able to control his own movements, Loco flipped onto his back and right away came eye to eye with the source of his pain.

“Don’t shoot me again, please. What do you want?” Loco begged with his hands up defensively in front of him. “I have money in the safe. I have drugs. What do you want?” he cried, shaking all over.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the doors to his bedroom terrace swinging open. He had been concentrating so hard on his bedroom door he’d forgotten about the other doors.

“Get him up,” Andres commanded. Four men with guns rushed over and hoisted Loco up into his own leather recliner. Loco could feel his legs going numb and the pain in his ass throbbed with every rapid pound of his heart.

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