Thug Girl Quotes

Normal. She wasn't normal. A girl Graced with killing, a royal thug? A girl who didn't want the husbands Randa pushed on her, perfectly handsome and thoughtful men, a girl who panicked at the thought of a baby at her breast, or clinging to her ankles.

Michael walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. "You all right?" I made my twin brother hate me. I can't try out for basketball. I gave my number to some girl who thinks I'm a thug. Gabriel looked back at his textbook. "Yeah. Fine.

Tink was there … Slung over his shoulder was a…Wonder Woman backpack. I parted from Ren, walking up to him. “Where did you get that?” “I stole it from a little fae girl.” He paused. “Hashtag thug life.

Ninety-nine out of a hundred conversations in the media about race go through the same kabuki: Ignore the victims. Humanize the thugs. When it is over, congratulate each other for superior moral sensitivity.

If it’s revealed that I was in the car, what will that make me? The thug ghetto girl with the drug dealer?

Especially if the girl he had earmarked was one of these tough modern thugs, all lipstick and cool, hard, sardonic eyes, as she probably was.

She likes me. The shock of it sent a jolt of wild joy through him that stole his breath and robbed him momentarily of his common sense. He, Blade, who stared down cutthroat thugs in the meanest streets of the city, who laughed at death and snapped his fingers in the hangman’s face, found himself nervous and jumpy in the presence of a pretty girl. How utterly stupid. He felt like an ass. He didn’t care.

The legal reporter came out of his cubicle shouting that two bodies of unidentified girls were in the city morgue. Frightened, I asked him: What age? Young, he said. They may be refugees from the interior chased here by the regime's thugs. I sighed with relief. The situation encroaches on us in silence, like a bloodstain, I said. The legal reporter, at some distance now, shouted: "Not blood, Maestro,shit.

At 18, Kendrick had the business mind and smarts of a 40-year-old man. He was logical, strong, and he showed respect when it was owed.

Every nation has its share of shits. All those thugs and nonentities who want to feel superior. Exactly the same thing happened in Italy, they all joined the Fascists to see what they could get. All sons of clerks and peasants who wanted to be something. All ambition and no ideals. Don't you see the appeal of an army? If you want a girl, rape her. If you want a watch, take it. If you're in a sour mood, kill someone. You feel better, you feel strong. It feels good to belong to the chosen people, you can do what you want, and you can justify anything by saying it's a law of nature or the will of God.

A new girl came to work in the room, and the cat was still in it. The cat hid from the new girl in Jess’ old room behind a crack in the wall and yowled for Jess to come and throw this strange girl out of the cat’s bed. This new girl clapped her hands over her ears, and then pulled powder out from her bag of make-up. She doused a piece of old food in the powder and threw it into the wall for the cat to eat. Later that night, Rachel had to pull the dead cat from a crack in the wall with a long broom handle. Rachel threw the dead cat over the wall, where the rain would come to wash the body into the sewers. With Jess crying somewhere about her lost cat—selling hot corn among the thugs and night bruisers, paying for anything stolen—Rachel figured that the powder had done exactly what it had been made to do. The powder had killed a working girl’s baby.

Or are they? Maybe her eyes aren’t wide because of innocence. Maybe it’s fear. He has a split instant of seeing Prospero through the gaze of Miranda—a petrified Miranda who’s suddenly realized that her adored father is a full-blown maniac, and paranoid into the bargain. He thinks she’s asleep when he’s talking out loud to someone who isn’t there, but she’s heard him doing it, and it scares her. He says he can command spirits, raise storms, uproot trees, open tombs, and cause the dead to walk, but what’s that in real life? It’s sheer craziness. The poor girl is trapped in the middle of the ocean with a testosterone-sodden thug who wants to rape her and an ancient dad who’s totally off his gourd. No wonder she throws herself into the arms of the first sane-looking youth who bumbles her way. Get me out of here! is what she’s really saying to Ferdinand. Isn’t it?

Cheeks reddening, Mia peered at the first boy. “Your name is Shivs? O, because you carry knives, aye?” She glanced at the younger boy. “You’d be Fleas then?” To the girl. “Let me guess, Worms?”1 “Clever,” said the blonde. And stepping lightly to Mia’s side, she drew back a fist and buried it in Mia’s stomach. The breath left her lungs with a wet cough as she fell to her knees. Blinking and blinded, Mia clutched her belly, trying not to retch. Astonishment inside her. Astonishment and rage. Nobody had hit her before. Nobody haddared. She’d seen her mother fence wits countless times in the Spine. She’d seen men reduced to stuttering and women driven to tears. And Mia had studied well. But the rules said the aggrieved was supposed to riposte with some barb of their own, not haul off and punch her like some lowborn thug in an alley scra— “O …,” Mia wheezed. “Right.

Lila who has connected, is connecting, our personal knowledge of poverty and abuse to the armed struggle against the fascists, against the owners, against capital. I admit it here, openly, for the first time: in those September days I suspected that not only Pasquale—Pasquale driven by his history toward the necessity of taking up arms—not only Nadia, but Lila herself had spilled that blood. For a long time, while I cooked, while I took care of my daughters, I saw her, with the other two, shoot Gino, shoot Filippo, shoot Bruno Soccavo. And if I had trouble imagining Pasquale and Nadia in every detail—I considered him a good boy, something of a braggart, capable of fierce fighting but of murder no; she seemed to me a respectable girl who could wound at most with verbal treachery—about Lila I had never had doubts: she would know how to devise the most effective plan, she would reduce the risks to a minimum, she would keep fear under control, she would be able to give murderous intentions an abstract purity, she knew how to remove human substance from bodies and blood, she would have no scruples and no remorse, she would kill and feel that she was in the right. So there she was, clear and bright, along with the shadow of Pasquale, of Nadia, of who knows what others. They drove through the piazza in a car and, slowing down in front of the pharmacy, fired at Gino, at his thug’s body in the white smock. Or they drove along the dusty road to the Soccavo factory, garbage of every type piled up on either side. Pasquale went through the gate, shot Filippo’s legs, the blood spread through the guard booth, screams, terrified eyes. Lila, who knew the way well, crossed the courtyard, entered the factory, climbed the stairs, burst into Bruno’s office, and, just as he said cheerfully: Hi, what in the world are you doing around here, fired three shots at his chest and one at his face. Ah yes, militant anti-fascism, new resistance, proletarian justice, and other formulas to which she, who instinctively knew how to avoid rehashing clichés, was surely able to give depth. I imagined that those actions were necessary in order to join, I don’t know, the Red Brigades, Prima Linea, Nuclei Armati Proletari. Lila would disappear from the neighborhood as Pasquale had. Maybe that’s why she had tried to leave Gennaro with me, apparently for a month, in reality intending to give him to me forever. We would never see each other again. Or she would be arrested, like the leaders

good. But then something shifted inside me. I remembered who they really were; intrinsically powerful beings playing the part of thugs because they had forgotten their own true power. The gang surrounded me matching my pace. I focused on the leader who had moved in and was walking beside me. Looking him straight in the eye; I smiled and said, “What a beautiful night – don’t you think?” Dead silence. No response from anyone. The gang waited for a cue from him. No one made a sound for what seemed liked much longer than the few seconds it really was. I continued to walk, smiling up at him. Finally, the leader said “What’s a good-lookin’ girl like you doin’ walking these streets alone? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” Then he insisted that he and his gang walk me all the way to Penn Station so that they could protect me. By remembering my own intrinsic power and separating the behaviors of this gang from the intrinsically powerful beings I knew they really were; my potential attackers became my protectors – my enemies became my friends – and a potentially violent and destructive situation shifted into a positive empowering one for everyone involved. As we recognize our inherent perfection and personal power, we are led to the natural conclusion that others are likewise amazing souls with equal inherent and intrinsic worth and power – even if, in the moment, they are acting otherwise. When we accept any environment into which we are led and pay attention to every soul within that environment; and when we treat them with respect and appreciation for who they really are; we create a larger space for possibilities of powerful positive connection even – especially – with the opposition. We help them recognize or at least feel their true power and make different

Kurtz grabbed the front of the thug’s shirt and jerked him out of his seat. He dragged the wounded prisoner down the center of the helicopter, between the girls. Reaching the back of the chopper he punched the button that activated the clamshell doors. They swung open with a hiss and the wind whipped into the aircraft. No one could hear what Kurtz said to the prisoner; he held him by the front of his shirt, their faces inches apart. The Yakuza thug glanced over his shoulder at the ground racing by underneath. He turned back and said something in a panic, his face a mask of terror. Then he disappeared, dropped from the back of the helicopter. Kurtz hit the button for the doors and they closed with a snap, returning the cabin to a more tolerable level of noise. Then he walked between the two lines of stunned teenagers and sat back down next to Bishop. They stared at him in shock. “Mori-Kai,” Kurtz said flatly. “Does that mean anything to you?

Stop it!” I ordered. “Go away!” One of them shook his hand derisively and grinned even wider. “What do you mean? You’re three girls. We’re three boys. It’s perfect. Come on. What do you say?” In Muslim countries women without male chaperones are the targets of assault. Since we had no men to protect us, these thugs felt they could easily do what they wanted with us. Passersby who witnessed what was happening crossed the street to avoid being caught in the confrontation. There would be no help from any of them.

She ignored the boy’s protest and kept walking. He shouldn’t be watching street fights at his age, impressionable as he was. Uncle and Auntie Yin had enough to complain about without her being a bad influence on her little cousin. The swordsman caught up with her easily, keeping an arm’s length between them while they walked together down the dusty street. There was none of the posturing and swagger she’d come to expect from Zhou’s lackeys. From outward appearances, they could have been joining one another for an afternoon stroll. “Those are exquisite.” He was talking about the swords. Twin blades; short, light and quick. Many called them butterfly swords, but there was nothing delicate about them. They were ideal weapons for a woman fighting a larger opponent. Heaven forbid he’d look at her with the same interest. She sniffed, but a thread of doubt worked loose inside her. He was the first to be interested in her skill rather than the novelty of this odd girl who dared to challenge men. “You don’t seem like one of Zhou’s thugs,” she said.

in this life love will make you choose between happiness and being a fool, and most of us women get them both confused.”  I guess

Did you ever stop and think about her and what she needs? That girl is about to have seven damn kids. Did it ever occur to you that she might be scared?

Having another baby would never replace our baby girl Heaven. She would always be our first daughter and our guardian angel.

I didn't give a fuck how much a nigga cheated on his girl, the minute she fucked another nigga, all fucking bets were off.

Even as little girls, we were all types of bitches and hoes. She wanted respect when she never respected us.

Consider Jesus’s genealogy in Matthew 1:1–17. In the ancient world, genealogies determined a person’s status—whether you came from an honorable family or a shameful one. A person’s family line says something about that person. Their character, their social status, the types of people they would hang out with. And Jesus’s genealogy says one thing loud and clear: Jesus is right at home with sinners, thugs, and outcasts. Most genealogies list only the male descendants. Remember, the ancient world was patriarchal. Men were more valued than women, so there was no need to list women—thanks for bearing our children, but we’ll take it from here. But Jesus’s genealogy lists five women, most of whom have some shady event attached to their name, all of whom we’ve already met. The first woman is Tamar, the Canaanite woman who dressed up as a prostitute in order to have sex with her father-in-law, Judah. Her plan succeeded, and she became pregnant with Perez, the one whom God would weave into Jesus’s family line. Next is Rahab, Jericho’s down-and-out prostitute, who was the first Canaanite to receive God’s grace. Among all the Canaanite leaders, among all the skilled warriors, Rahab was the only one who savored the majesty of Israel’s God. Then there’s Ruth, the foreign widow burdening a famished society. A social outcast, a perceived stigma of God’s judgment, Ruth was grafted into the messianic line. Then there’s “the wife of Uriah,” Bathsheba, who was entangled in the sinful affair with King David—the man who murdered her husband. Finally, there’s Mary, the teenage girl who got pregnant out of wedlock. Though she would become an icon in church tradition, her name was synonymous with shame and scandal in the beginning of the first century. You thought your family was messed up. All of these women were social outcasts. They belonged under a bridge. Whether it was their gender, ethnicity, or some sort of sexual debacle, they were rejected by society yet were part of Jesus’s genealogy—a tapestry of grace. Not only was God born in a feeding trough to enter our pain, but He chose to be born into a family tree filled with lust, perversion, murder, and deceit. This tells us a lot about the types of people Jesus wants to hang out with. It tells us that Jesus loves Tamars, Judahs, Gomers, and you.

The history of the party had been revised several times, when Trotsky or others fell into disfavor and thus some pages or chapters had to be rewritten as heroes became thugs; as heroic revolutionaries became bourgeois lackeys. We had a teacher of linguistics who talked about language, meaning Russian or Ukrainian. Poor guy, young comrade Lysenko knew so little and felt so out of place when asked about romance or germanic languages. He looked like a bantam fighter, small and chunky. When he got drunk at the New Year's party, he, the comrade, kissed every girl's hand like a little comic figure.

You need to find someone for you, Indi. He has a girl and that’s way too much baggage. You are too cute to be a side bitch,

And even though weeeee aiiin’t official you know I ain’t no regular girl!

Girls at Shoreline said Rich looked like L.L. Cool J. They called him Richie D., and around that time, Warren began to call himself Warren G. Erik wore his baseball cap just tilted perfectly to the side and also knew every song by Too $hort and was impressed that Warren knew the lyrics so well. Rich and Erik and D’Arcy beat him into the Crips and, after this initiation by pummeling, they said, “You’re part of the family now.” Though older boys in View Royal may have scoffed at Warren G. and “his whole gangster act,” older boys were unaware of the care and attention he brought to his outfits, which were, perhaps, both costume and disguise. He favored white. The color was distinctly his own, and it set him apart from his fellow gangsters, the members of the CMC (Crip Mafia Cartel). For the members of the CMC, blue was mandatory, red forbidden. White was Warren’s personal choice, and an unlikely one, for black may have better created the look of a badass he aspired to. At 5’4 and 115 pounds, Warren was far from a thug, and in fact could not have been cuter and, despite his knowledge of lewd song lyrics and his tempestuous domestic situation, innocent. Never has a boy looked more as if he wandered out of a fairy tale. His eyes were immense, and his eyelashes were long, and his expression was earnest and longing and always, always hopeful. He was possessed of the certain androgynous beauty that appeals so strongly to girls who have not yet turned sixteen. Like heartthrobs of past and present (that year it was Leonardo DiCaprio), Warren G. appeared neither manly nor mean, and in fact, his soft beauty suggested he might really need to be saved.

Can I call you Daddy, too?" Man! I had to chant, "Thugs don't cry. Thugs don't cry," about a hundred times. This little girl stayed testing my gangsta, melting a nigga's heart. I saw tears well up in her eyes and realized I hadn't answered her. Her feelings were hurt! "Lady bug, I'd be happy if you called me Daddy. I love you so much.

Reagan,” Dad barks. I blow out a quick breath and say very nicely, “Yes, Dad.” “Chase Gerald’s father just called.” He looks at where my hand is tangled with Pete’s, and if death rays that shoot from the eyes existed, then Pete would be a puddle of ashes on the ground. “Is that the guy from the drugstore?” Pete whispers. I nod, slicing my eyes toward Pete for a second. “What did he want?” I can already guess, and my heart sinks at the very thought of it. “He said Chase came home talking about you being at the drugstore with some thug.” He glares at Pete, and Pete stiffens, his hand tightening on mine. “Did you explain who Pete is?” I ask. I don’t want to leave anyone with a misconception about Pete. “I told him that he’s someone my daughter is crushing on, but that I wasn’t worried about it because she’s a smart girl with her head on straight.” His voice rises on the last words, and his glare at Pete grows even fiercer. “I’m not crushing,” I protest. But I so am. Dad faces me. “Then what would you call it?” I don’t know what to call it because I don’t know what it is. I shrug. Pete stiffens more when I do that than he has since Dad came through the gate. “Chase wanted to know if you might want to go to the party at the country club tomorrow.” “I already told him no,” I say. But I can already see the look on my dad’s face. That’s not going to work. “I told him you’d love to.” He opens the gate and stops, looking at me from over his shoulder. “He’s picking you up at six.” I growl under my breath. Mainly because there’s not much more I can do since Dad is gone. The gate slams shut behind him. I pull my hand from Pete’s. “Where are you going?” Pete asks. “To catch my dad so I can tell him I’m not going.” “Do you want to go?” he asks. He watches me closely, his blue eyes blinking slowly. “If I wanted to go, I wouldn’t have told him no.” I heave a sigh. He steps back from me and takes all the warmth I was basking in a minute ago with him. “I think you should go,” he says quietly. “Why?” I ask softly. Something is really, really wrong. He doesn’t usually distance himself like this. “Your dad wants you to go,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t want to piss him off.” He starts to walk down the length of the pool. He signs to the boys, and they all start to put away the balls and the floats and they line up by the door. “I’ll see you later,” he calls quietly. Then he leads the boys from the pool area back toward their cabins. What did I do wrong? I seriously have no idea.

How could you do that?” I ask. My heart is thumping like crazy, and I can barely catch my breath. “What did you do?” my mother asks. Dad shrugs and washes his hands at the sink. He ignores me completely. Mom raises her brow at me in question. “He called Pete a thug, and then he told me I have to go on a date with Chase just because his father called and snapped his fingers.” I snap mine for good measure. Mom’s inquisitive grin turns into a scowl. “What?” she asks. She grabs my father’s shoulder and turns him to face her. “You of all people called Pete a thug?” “To his face!” I shout. “Then Pete left. And I don’t even know what he’s thinking.” “I know what he’s thinking,” Dad murmurs. Mom frowns. “He’s thinking you don’t like him!” Dad makes a noncommittal hum. That’s it? A hum? Mom’s face softens. She can read Dad like a book. I just wish I could. “What?” I ask. I look back and forth between them. “Your dad is afraid Pete’s trying to get in your pants,” Mom says. She lifts her brow at Dad. Dad just glares at her. He won’t even look at me. I throw up my hands. “That’s just it!” I cry. “He’s not trying to get in my pants. He won’t even kiss me!” “Oh,” Mom breathes. Dad murmurs something, and Mom rubs his shoulder, her eyes soft as she looks at him. “What?” I ask again. “Your dad’s afraid you’ll get your heart broken,” she says quietly. She looks sympathetically toward my dad. I take a deep breath and steel myself. “Most girls get to have their hearts broken when they’re eighteen or so. Maybe sixteen or whenever they find their first boyfriend.” I jab a finger toward my chest. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend, Dad,” I say. My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them back. How messed up is this? “I like Pete, and he’s someone you can like, too. So, what’s the problem? We haven’t even been on a date!” “I saw him watching you at the pool.” Dad heaves a sigh. “He looks at you like I look at your mother.” He tips her chin up so that her eyes meet his. “I saw her and I knew she was completely out of my league, but I wanted her more than I ever wanted anything.” He looks at me. “And that’s how Pete looks at you. That’s what scares me, Reagan. Not that he’s a thug or that he’s poor or that he’s been in prison. He looks at you like he never wants to stop looking at you. I’d probably like him more if he was just trying to get in your pants, because that’s something you can get over. But a man loving you, that’s completely different. You’re not ready for it.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re just not.” He may as well have stuck a knife in my chest. “How do you know what I’m ready for?” I ask. “I saw what that asshole did to you, Reagan,” he says. He slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, making the dishes jump. And me, too. “I saw you walking around here, jumping at shadows, wrapping yourself in a protective bubble so no one else could hurt you. You learned how to protect your body, but no one ever taught you to protect your heart.” He pounds his fist against his chest. “You’re unprepared for what Pete wants. Completely unprepared.” “What do you want me to do?” I ask. I can barely hear myself, but Dad hears me. “Stop it before it’s too late,” he spits out. “Just stop it.” “Okay,” I breathe. “You win.

I couldn't believe I had let my girl get kidnapped. I felt like the weakest nigga ever. I was embarrassed, and too ashamed to even look at my brothers’ faces. I prayed that my baby wasn't harmed over me

I looked over at Paris and shot her in the head. Stupid bitch, trying to get Nic kidnapped and thought she was gon’ live? Nah. The pussy was good, but not that good.

Nic and I were finally married, and after our honeymoon in Paris, we decided to go on a group trip to Vegas with Kendreeis, Kendon, Kayden, Damien, Morgan, Jessica, Christy, and Danielle.

Before I could look over good, the front passenger let off a round of bullets into my car.

The thing that worried me the most was not being shot at ironically, but the fact that I had no idea who it could be.

French didn't have many people out here, and the ones he did have, we blazed them niggas. It was much worse not knowing who was after you. I

People always say what they would do, but you really don't know until it happens.

This nigga had no idea it was my birthday, and didn't even care. I quietly cried myself back to sleep.  

When he got shot at that night, I made sure to stay up under him all the time. If he went to the store, our baby Kaleeini and I came as well.

After that whole kidnapping situation, when Kendon told my ass not to go somewhere or not to do something, I fucking listened. Old

Kendrew is my first son that I had with another woman. I married my wife Camia when I was 20 years old, and although I loved her, I still messed around here and there.

She finally gave birth to my first-born, Kendrew Drix King, and I lied to Camia in order to be there for the birth.

I knew I shouldn't be mad at Kendrew, but it was hard not to be. I also didn't like how he was acting like our shit was a joke.

My plan was working, just as I expected. I wanted him to believe I was just cool, and trying to have a little fun. He would have no idea that I had an ulterior motive.

French was a fraud who always talked, but never walked. If he found her, he would've slapped her up a bit and put her back on the stroll.

Nic and I’s relationship had improved so much since I matured. I hated to even think about the person I used to be. I was always so jealous and angry, and I think it was because my parents abandoned me at a young age.

Kendrick had never let me kiss him, ever. It was strictly sex and nothing else.

As a wise woman once said, you teach a dog how to walk and they'll walk off with another bitch.

Although I messed with his cousins Kayden and Khayman, Kendon was my heart. When I messed with his cousins, it was simply to get some dick, or just because they wanted some pussy and I didn't want to be a party pooper by acting like a bitch.

Jessica definitely got around, but that was my bitch so I wasn't gon’ pass judgment. As long as she didn't fuck Michael, we was good!

My mom and I had a love-hate relationship. I loved her, don't get me wrong, but if we weren't related we definitely would be enemies.

Jessica blacked my little brother’s eye and he refused to return to school, so my mom let him transfer. He refused to whoop her ass like he wanted ‘cause we were raised to never hit a woman.

My dad promised my mom that at 45 he would step down, and he made sure to follow through. When he did, he made me head of the operation. Here I was 19 years old and had more money than I knew what to do with.

loved Nic, but she irritated me. I guess I was jealous that she had parents, and now the man I worked so hard to

Of course I had Tahari and the rest of my girls, but y’all know the bond I have with my brothers. This shit is damn worse than death.

It really felt good to see how happy she was to be my wife. It was also a little ego boost too. Ha. She was five months pregnant with baby number two, and I couldn't be happier.

After that nigga French kidnapped Jessica and I, Kayden made me go everywhere with him.

I called my wife into my office, because I needed to tell her that I had a 24-year-old son, although we have been married for 28 years. I had no idea what her reaction would be, but I had to hope for the best.

I made sure all my son's names started with Ken, because it meant handsome, so I think he caught on once I told them Kendrew's name.

I hated that my mother and I had to basically stay a secret, so that he could keep his other family. Shit, we were his damn family too! I’m his first-born, and that's why I decided to move here!

Next thing you know, she was pregnant with my princess Kameko, and I couldn't have been happier. My mom didn't want me to lose my partial Japanese culture, so we named my daughter Kameko in her honor.

This nigga was gon’ be a problem, I could already tell. Like he said, he seemed to have a problem following rules, and that shit was not gon’ fly in anything I was running.

The doctor told me ahead of time I would bleed a lot, and be in some pain for about two days, so I didn't feel the need to visit a hospital. There was no way in hell I could ever tell Kendon what I had done. I'm pretty sure our already strained relationship would be over for good.

I was no longer looking for a good dude, because they all turned out the same.

Morgan had a hot pussy too at times, except she tried to have relationships and I wanted one night stands.

Every bitch in B-more wants to carry the last name King and don't care which one of us they get, including my father, uncle, and cousin.

On my way out, I saw Danielle looking at me with the same venom that the girls around B-more did when they saw me with Kendrick. Shit even when they saw me alone.

Morgan, I can have any girl I want. And you're right, I have fucked girls and told them to keep it pushing. But let me tell you, I definitely don't bring them to my actual home or

I had cheated on Christy before and usually she just beat the bitch up; I would dick her down, and we'd be good. I thought after I gave her that tongue lashing in the shower she'd be good, but boy was I wrong and I was starting to feel sick.

Jermaine was one of the niggas that worked one of our trap houses. He turned out to be a snake. Unfortunately, we didn't figure it out fast enough ‘cause the one he worked got robbed.

On top of that, he had Nic's little cousin Danielle and her friend Tia selling pussy. When I came to see Nic, she wouldn’t talk to me, and her mother made me promise to rescue Danielle.

that. I guess because my dad used to fuck my mother up, and one day he beat her into a coma that she didn't wake up from. Ever since then, I despised any nigga who put they hands on a female. I had it bad for Danielle, regardless of her choice of work, but I needed her to know I was serious about her leaving that shit in the past.

Whether Danielle wanted to tell me or not, I was gon’ find out who her pimp was and kill his ass.  

After we ate, we fired up some more blunts and got high as hell. I lived for this shit. This is exactly what I would rather be doing than this school bullshit.

Ever since then, I realized I was gon’ do these niggas how they do us! I have no love for these niggas.

Kendrick King was the king of the drug game in Baltimore.

Jessica was in a relationship with Kendon, which I know made her happy. As much as she tried to convince us over the past year that she didn't love him, we never believed

like. I wish I had hung around my cousin, instead of girls with a mindset that was just as tainted as mine. I bit my lip to keep from making a sound, and let the tears fall.

Whenever chicks would talk about wanting to be wifed by one of them, I would act disgusted because I hated Kendon so much for breaking my heart.

It's always gon’ be hoes no matter who the guy is. The only girls that matter are the ones you chase back.

I looked over to Danielle and Tia, and they were frowning. You could tell they didn't do it on purpose, it's just their hateful thoughts had unfortunately leaked out onto their faces. Trenton stood

Trenton was out here like a single man. I had no idea Christy was his girl, or that he even had a girl for that matter until she whooped July's ass at the party.

This is why niggas ended up with hoes and backstabbing thots, ‘cause when we get something good we fuck it up.

I wished so much that Kendrick had killed him when he initially wanted to. I couldn't believe I spared his life.

I was pissed that this nigga disrespected me and then took advantage of her.

One, because he did warn me and two, we was in some deep shit and I had no idea how to get out, other than skipping town like a bitch.

When they finally left, I called my baby mama Honey to let her know where I was gon’ be staying at, in case I needed to see my daughter.

I met Houston back in Florida when he came to KOD one night. He was super sexy and seemed to be a boss ass nigga.

Houston Gary was a fraud, straight up.

What I soon learned was there are two types of frauds, smart ones and dumb ones; Houston was the latter. He

These hoes were so disrespectful. They clearly saw my brothers and I were taken, but they was still offering it up. And they wonder why we skipped over they ass to be with other chicks that respected themselves too much to be trying to fuck a taken nigga.

I was going to simply go to my house and never talk to him again, but I wanted to confront his ass first.

Every time he upset me, no matter how big or small, I would black his eye, break his nose, crush his rib, slap him, anything.

Tia and I were happy to get an invite, because we still hadn't bagged a boss.

This nigga French, that came to talk at Christy's birthday, had to be the dumbest nigga alive. The way he did that nigga Houston was known by every kingpin and hustler in America damn near.

I told Christy to watch her mouth around Nic's cousin, because I saw her fast ass leave with him. I knew he was a snake, and he'd try to use her dumb ass to his advantage.

Dummy cars were parked in our garages around back at our real homes. That way if a nigga drove by our real home by happenstance, he wouldn't recognize the car.

My father Kylin is super protective of me and my cousins, cause I think he feels he can’t take another loss. My

Kendrick was the logical one, and if we needed a plan or system, he always could come up with something. That was why my father and uncle chose him to run the shit. Kendreeis was a hot head and didn't think twice before beating