Thug Love Quotes

We were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

We ain't in the game to love these hoes, you suppose to hit it and pass it to the left. I didn't love that hoe, it was just something to do.

New York! The white prisons, the sidewalks swarming with maggots, the breadlines, the opium joints that are built like palaces, the kikes that are there, the lepers, the thugs, and above all, the ennui, the monotony of faces, streets, legs, houses, skyscrapers, meals, posters, jobs, crimes, loves... A whole city erected over a hollow pit of nothingness. Meaningless. Absolute meaningless.

She would never tell him and was ashamed to admit it, even to herself, but she’d fallen in love with him the instant she’d seen him. She’d been taken at gunpoint to the alleyway outside a gallery showing her paintings and had seen a powerful man, not tall but immensely broad. He was facing three armed thugs and he hadn’t looked frightened at all. He’d looked dangerous. And she’d fallen.

I’ve always loved you.” A shudder worked through him, and he pulled her closer. “I’ve always wanted you. They don’t have a word for how much I need you. Everything good I am, everything good I’ve ever done…it’s all you. You make me a king. Without you, I’m just another psychotic thug.

What make Gatsby so damn great—like da book’s title indicatin’—is dat unlike da rest of deez shallow rich folk, Gatsby actually believe in somethin’: love, dawg. He build himself a new identity jus’ for Daisy. Errybody else straight-up empty inside.

the same reason you can’t turn a hoe into a housewife, is the same reason you can’t turn a thug into a husband. Hoes and thugs both love being out in the street. It’s just in their nature. It is just way too hard to get them to stay their asses at home and chill.

I cannot explain how it all happened, Father. I know only that now I want to be with her.

Stories had a way of doing that, in Grillo’s experience. It was his belief that nothing, but nothing, could stay secret, however powerful the forces with interests vested in silence. Conspirators might conspire and thugs attempt to gag but the truth, or an approximation of same, would show itself sooner or later, very often in the unlikeliest form. It was seldom hard facts that revealed the life behind the life. It was rumour, graffiti, strip cartoons and love songs.

What y'all ladies got to share? Hmmm, what you bitches got?" Aunt Georgia sighed and squinted at the boy. She said, "The Lord loves a cheerful giver, but I'm just not in the mood." The thug moved his hand from his crotch to his scalp, still scratching. "What in the hell's that supposed to mean?" Mrs. Cleveland raised and pumped her walking stick, which, it turned out, was a double-barreled shotgun. "It means take one more step," she said, "and I'll blast you to hell, you ignorant-ass bastard.

Fear is the primary tool of the mafiya. It's how they contain their vast criminal enterprise. For the mafiya, fear is the grease in the wheel. Fear is much stronger than love | Fear lasts much longer. Love fades and is replaced by hatred and contempt. Fear lingers and brings forth other emotions such as doubt. Fear encourages procrastination and cowardice. Besides, you always hurt the ones you love. Most are too afraid to hurt the ones they fear.

He felt no shame in their love. It was great, honest and high. He had never in his life seen a woman like her. He admired her like he had no one before. If she were to go away, he would abandon everyone and everything that he ever cared for and follow her like a dog. He would lose his mind otherwise.

Always remember, no matter what life throws at you, never forget your dreams because the day you stop dreaming, you've officially became the average mother fucker.

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.

I’m not saying I was done with Breesha but right now a nigga just needed some space.

My thing is, why put on all that clothing when I was going to end up ripping that shit off anyways? I never bought my wife lingerie and shit.

were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

We were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

You could not love me for I am a man with a hideous face, but what baffles me is that you cared nought for the fact that my thoughts are not inelegant?

I am not a fool. I have just loved with an honest heart. Ask the moon and the night sky and these jungles, they will bear the testimony. But the world – that is a different matter.

I felt bad that everyone thought she took the abortion pill herself.  A nigga didn’t feel that bad, because if she would have gotten it done, we wouldn’t have to resort to all of this.

Do you know I have lost my heart to you?” His voice rustled like starched silk when trampled upon. “I am losing my sleep as well. And when sleep does come, I dream only of you.” He murmured.

Funny how when I found out that I was pregnant, I didn’t want anything to do with this pregnancy, but now, after coming to terms that I was going to keep my baby, I was learning to embrace my pregnancy.

Like a thief, the image of her taut, well-formed body crept into his mind next. His hair swept backwards, shot up like long needles in the rush of the air and his thoughts grew bolder. He marveled how beautifully her body arched as she stood and gave commands. Vishwakarma, the god of all craftsmen, in an exalting moment had threaded a wire through it to give it that elegant curve. From that instant, the memories of a wife, of dear daughters waiting back in the village seemed hazy as in a dream. Inhibitions became soft barriers. He remembered the gestures of Chanda Bai’s two hands as she talked; her palms like delicate seashells; her elegant fingers. Flashes of her jewel studded ears, another pair of shells; and her long hair lovingly braided by her servants with thick strands of white and yellow jasmine flowers interlaced in them. He wanted to caress those flowers with his finger.

Leave when you’re pissed… that shit triggers me… don’t ever do that shit to me, ight?” I looked into her eyes. “Don’t ever leave me when you’re mad. You mad? Go into another room, but leaving while we’re fighting is a no for me.

Listening to their argument made me aware of how empty my life was, and I hated the life I was living all the more. It was quite obvious to me this lady was deeply in love, for she was fighting for what she thought to be hers. Even though I was dating two females at the time, and stringing a third one along, yet I’ve yet to discover that kind of love. I guess this was why my favorite song was ‘I wane be love’, by the Jamaican reggae super star Buru Banton.

When I was younger, my mother was an elementary school teacher and when she would come home from work, I would help her grade her student’s assignments. It was then, at the age of ten, that I realized that when I grew up, I wanted to become a teacher just like my mom.

I like literature," I said. "We started watching the film version of Romeo and Juliet today." I didn't tell them this, but the love story fascinated me. The way the lovers fell so deeply and irrevocably in love after their first meeting sparked a burning curiosity in me about what human love might feel like. "How are you finding that?" Ivy asked. "It's very powerful, but the teacher got really mad when one of the boys said something about Lady Capulet." "What did he say?" "He called her a MILF, which must be offensive because Miss Castle called him a thug and sent him out of the room. Gabe, what is a MILF?" Ivy smothered her smile behind a napkin while Gabriel did something I'd never seen before. He blushed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Some acronym for a teenage obscnity, I imagine," he mumbled. "Yes, but do you know what it means?" He paused, trying to find the right words. "It's a term used by adolescent males to describe a woman who is both attractive and a mother." He cleared his throat and got up quickly to refill the water jug. "I'm sure it must stand for something," I pressed. "It does," Gabriel said. "Ivy, can you remeber what it is?" "I believe it stands for 'mother I'd like to...befriend'," said my sister. "Is that all?" I exclaimed. "What a fuss over nothing. I really think Miss Castle needs to chill.

Pharisees invest heavily in extrinsic religious gestures, rituals, methods, and techniques, breeding allegedly holy people who are judgmental, mechanical, lifeless, and as intolerant of others as they are of themselves—violent people, the very opposite of holiness and love, “the type of ‘spiritual’ people who, conscious of their spirituality, then proceed to crucify the Messiah.”[2] Jesus did not die at the hands of muggers, rapists, or thugs. He fell into the well-scrubbed hands of deeply religious people, society’s most respected members.

As Herman explains, a victim of domestic abuse doesn't have this advantage. She is 'taken prisoner gradually, by courtship'. Before she feels trapped by fear and control, it is love that first binds her to her abuser, and it's love that makes her forgive him when he says he won't abuse her again. Abusers are rarely simple thugs or sadists - if they were, they'd be far easier to avoid or apprehend. Instead, like all men, they can be loving, kind, charming and warm, and they struggle with personal pain and uncertainty. This is who the woman falls in love with.

He had the misfortune to fall in love with a thug, who has threatened to kill Malone simply because Malone no longer loves him and was foolish enough to say so. Latins, my dear, are the only ones who take love seriously. Malone is now being chased around Manhattan by knives and bullets. He never has sex.

Because my father has never cheated on my mama. NEVER! My father is rich, filthy rich, and your mama trapped him, so she can get his money. She seduced him into her bed, so he could be with her and get him to leave my mother. You knew all about it and didn’t tell me.” “You sound stupid ass fuck. You just trying to blame my

The joy of killing! the joy of seeing killing done--these are traits of the human race at large. We white people are merely modified Thugs; Thugs fretting under the restraints of a not very thick skin of civilization; Thugs who long ago enjoyed the slaughter of the Roman arena, and later the burning of doubtful Christians by authentic Christians in the public squares, and who now, with the Thugs of Spain and Nimes, flock to enjoy the blood and misery of the bull-ring. We have no tourists of either sex or any religion who are able to resist the delights of the bull-ring when opportunity offers; and we are gentle Thugs in the hunting-season, and love to chase a tame rabbit and kill it. Still, we have made some progress--microscopic, and in truth scarcely worth mentioning, and certainly nothing to be proud of--still it is progress: we no longer take pleasure in slaughtering or burning helpless men. We have reached a little altitude where we may look down upon the Indian Thugs with a complacent shudder; and we may even hope for a day, many centuries hence, when our posterity will look down upon us in the same way.

A life of madness I have been living for fifteen years. I have thrown away everything I had, my devoted wife, two lovely children, my family, my wealth on a hopeless passion. My love that once glowed like a warm flame is gone. A fire burns inside me now. My love, instead of being upheld has been cast aside like dirt. I can weep all I want out of rage and self-loathing but the world will only laugh at the sight of me.

Are you okay? What’s wrong? Melo?" she asked as she looked at me. "I’m sorry, Lydia. This food nasty as hell. I don’t mean no harm, but I can't stand that fucking taste. How the hell you don’t know how to fry a simple piece of pork chop? "That’s rude as fuck, Carmelo. At least you can appreciate me for standing over that hot fucking stove and cooking for your ungrateful ass," she said as the baby started crying, and she walked into his bedroom to get him. I sat there wondering how all that time I was sneaking around with her the food was good as fuck and this shit was nasty. I slid from under the table to go into the bathroom to wash my mouth out since my appetite was gone. I was just going to lie down for the night.

is, of course, in Juvenal’s nature to mock everything. Ordinary people might hate the city and love the country, or they might feel the opposite way. It takes the spleen of Juvenal to loathe the city over several hundred lines of verse, and then mock the only alternative he offers. It is a very urban cynicism, and perhaps that is what the city really offers. A sense of having seen and done it all. Sophistication or jadedness, depending on one’s perspective. If the construct of the countryside is a charming, small-scale, olde-worlde innocence that it doesn’t really possess, then the city is also as much myth as it is reality. The construct of cities is that they are the only places where dangerous, important, society-changing things can happen. Governments sit, law courts judge, traders sell, thugs maraud, all of humanity eventually jostles each other in a city.

It is, of course, in Juvenal’s nature to mock everything. Ordinary people might hate the city and love the country, or they might feel the opposite way. It takes the spleen of Juvenal to loathe the city over several hundred lines of verse, and then mock the only alternative he offers. It is a very urban cynicism, and perhaps that is what the city really offers. A sense of having seen and done it all. Sophistication or jadedness, depending on one’s perspective. If the construct of the countryside is a charming, small-scale, olde-worlde innocence that it doesn’t really possess, then the city is also as much myth as it is reality. The construct of cities is that they are the only places where dangerous, important, society-changing things can happen. Governments sit, law courts judge, traders sell, thugs maraud, all of humanity eventually jostles each other in a city.

It was about a year ago when I first made contact with members of the British Foreign Office. I volunteered my services and privileged information to a foreign power. Which is effectively treason, or would be, except that I regard it as pure patriotism. You see, Clara, I no longer recognize the Germany I love. I see these brutes strong-arming a small nation like Austria, and now threatening Czechoslovakia, because they can and because no one will stop them. I see them running riot with the rule of law - Germany, whose legal system is the greatest in the world, which has always stood for justice and right. And when I see this gang of thugs flooding the streets of my beloved country with tides of blood, I feel hatred swelling inside me. Damn Himmler and Heydrich and all the other sadists. I hate this false Germany, as much as I love the real Germany. And I intend to do something about it.

King immediately appreciated that Gandhi’s theory of nonviolent resistance was not a moralistic affirmation of love, as nonviolence had been in the teachings of Jesus. Instead it was a set of hardheaded tactics to prevail over an adversary by outwitting him rather than trying to annihilate him. A taboo on violence, King inferred, prevents a movement from being corrupted by thugs and firebrands who are drawn to adventure and mayhem. It preserves morale and focus among followers when the movement suffers early defeats. By removing any pretext for legitimate retaliation by the enemy, it stays on the positive side of the moral ledger in the eyes of third parties, while luring the enemy onto the negative side. For the same reason, it divides the enemy, paring away supporters who find it increasingly uncomfortable to identify themselves with one-sided violence. All the while it can press its agenda by making a nuisance of itself with sit-ins, strikes, and demonstrations.

But the church of this country is not only indifferent to the wrongs of the slave, it actually takes sides with the oppressors. It has made itself the bulwark of American slavery, and the shield of American slave-hunters. Many of its most eloquent Divines. who stand as the very lights of the church, have shamelessly given the sanction of religion and the Bible to the whole slave system. They have taught that man may, properly, be a slave; that the relation of master and slave is ordained of God; that to send back an escaped bondman to his master is clearly the duty of all the followers of the Lord Jesus Christ; and this horrible blasphemy is palmed off upon the world for Christianity. For my part, I would say, welcome infidelity! welcome atheism! welcome anything! in preference to the gospel, as preached by those Divines! They convert the very name of religion into an engine of tyranny, and barbarous cruelty, and serve to confirm more infidels, in this age, than all the infidel writings of Thomas Paine, Voltaire, and Bolingbroke, put together, have done! These ministers make religion a cold and flintyhearted thing, having neither principles of right action, nor bowels of compassion. They strip the love of God of its beauty, and leave the throng of religion a huge, horrible, repulsive form. It is a religion for oppressors, tyrants, man-stealers, and thugs. It is not that "pure and undefiled religion" which is from above, and which is "first pure, then peaceable, easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy." But a religion which favors the rich against the poor; which exalts the proud above the humble; which divides mankind into two classes, tyrants and slaves; which says to the man in chains, stay there; and to the oppressor, oppress on; it is a religion which may be professed and enjoyed by all the robbers and enslavers of mankind; it makes God a respecter of persons, denies his fatherhood of the race, and tramples in the dust the great truth of the brotherhood of man. All this we affirm to be true of the popular church, and the popular worship of our land and nation - a religion, a church, and a worship which, on the authority of inspired wisdom, we pronounce to be an abomination in the sight of God. In the language of Isaiah, the American church might be well addressed, "Bring no more vain ablations; incense is an abomination unto me: the new moons and Sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away with; it is iniquity even the solemn meeting…. Yea! when ye make many prayers, I will not hear. YOUR HANDS ARE FULL OF BLOOD; cease to do evil, learn to do well; seek judgment; relieve the oppressed; judge for the fatherless; plead for the widow.

How I Got That Name Marilyn Chin an essay on assimilation I am Marilyn Mei Ling Chin Oh, how I love the resoluteness of that first person singular followed by that stalwart indicative of “be," without the uncertain i-n-g of “becoming.” Of course, the name had been changed somewhere between Angel Island and the sea, when my father the paperson in the late 1950s obsessed with a bombshell blond transliterated “Mei Ling” to “Marilyn.” And nobody dared question his initial impulse—for we all know lust drove men to greatness, not goodness, not decency. And there I was, a wayward pink baby, named after some tragic white woman swollen with gin and Nembutal. My mother couldn’t pronounce the “r.” She dubbed me “Numba one female offshoot” for brevity: henceforth, she will live and die in sublime ignorance, flanked by loving children and the “kitchen deity.” While my father dithers, a tomcat in Hong Kong trash— a gambler, a petty thug, who bought a chain of chopsuey joints in Piss River, Oregon, with bootlegged Gucci cash. Nobody dared question his integrity given his nice, devout daughters and his bright, industrious sons as if filial piety were the standard by which all earthly men are measured. * Oh, how trustworthy our daughters, how thrifty our sons! How we’ve managed to fool the experts in education, statistic and demography— We’re not very creative but not adverse to rote-learning. Indeed, they can use us. But the “Model Minority” is a tease. We know you are watching now, so we refuse to give you any! Oh, bamboo shoots, bamboo shoots! The further west we go, we’ll hit east; the deeper down we dig, we’ll find China. History has turned its stomach on a black polluted beach— where life doesn’t hinge on that red, red wheelbarrow, but whether or not our new lover in the final episode of “Santa Barbara” will lean over a scented candle and call us a “bitch.” Oh God, where have we gone wrong? We have no inner resources! * Then, one redolent spring morning the Great Patriarch Chin peered down from his kiosk in heaven and saw that his descendants were ugly. One had a squarish head and a nose without a bridge Another’s profile—long and knobbed as a gourd. A third, the sad, brutish one may never, never marry. And I, his least favorite— “not quite boiled, not quite cooked," a plump pomfret simmering in my juices— too listless to fight for my people’s destiny. “To kill without resistance is not slaughter” says the proverb. So, I wait for imminent death. The fact that this death is also metaphorical is testament to my lethargy. * So here lies Marilyn Mei Ling Chin, married once, twice to so-and-so, a Lee and a Wong, granddaughter of Jack “the patriarch” and the brooding Suilin Fong, daughter of the virtuous Yuet Kuen Wong and G.G. Chin the infamous, sister of a dozen, cousin of a million, survived by everbody and forgotten by all. She was neither black nor white, neither cherished nor vanquished, just another squatter in her own bamboo grove minding her poetry— when one day heaven was unmerciful, and a chasm opened where she stood. Like the jowls of a mighty white whale, or the jaws of a metaphysical Godzilla, it swallowed her whole. She did not flinch nor writhe, nor fret about the afterlife, but stayed! Solid as wood, happily a little gnawed, tattered, mesmerized by all that was lavished upon her and all that was taken away!

Here are two examples of just how strange and unique humans can be when they go about harming one another and caring for one another. The first example involves, well, my wife. So we’re in the minivan, our kids in the back, my wife driving. And this complete jerk cuts us off, almost causing an accident, and in a way that makes it clear that it wasn’t distractedness on his part, just sheer selfishness. My wife honks at him, and he flips us off. We’re livid, incensed. Asshole-where’s-the-cops-when-you-need-them, etc. And suddenly my wife announces that we’re going to follow him, make him a little nervous. I’m still furious, but this doesn’t strike me as the most prudent thing in the world. Nonetheless, my wife starts trailing him, right on his rear. After a few minutes the guy’s driving evasively, but my wife’s on him. Finally both cars stop at a red light, one that we know is a long one. Another car is stopped in front of the villain. He’s not going anywhere. Suddenly my wife grabs something from the front seat divider, opens her door, and says, “Now he’s going to be sorry.” I rouse myself feebly—“Uh, honey, do you really think this is such a goo—” But she’s out of the car, starts pounding on his window. I hurry over just in time to hear my wife say, “If you could do something that mean to another person, you probably need this,” in a venomous voice. She then flings something in the window. She returns to the car triumphant, just glorious. “What did you throw in there!?” She’s not talking yet. The light turns green, there’s no one behind us, and we just sit there. The thug’s car starts to blink a very sensible turn indicator, makes a slow turn, and heads down a side street into the dark at, like, five miles an hour. If it’s possible for a car to look ashamed, this car was doing it. “Honey, what did you throw in there, tell me?” She allows herself a small, malicious grin. “A grape lollipop.” I was awed by her savage passive-aggressiveness—“You’re such a mean, awful human that something must have gone really wrong in your childhood, and maybe this lollipop will help correct that just a little.” That guy was going to think twice before screwing with us again. I swelled with pride and love.

Hustling was free. It was the grind that cost you.

I’ve been broke too many times to depend on money to put a smile on my face,

She was biting her lip, trying to contain her inner freak, but Nia asked, “My husband’s dick isn’t good?

What do you want me to say? She’s a role model and her sticking by your stupid ass side has made her the joke of the century!” Jordyn responded bitterly.

The loving man I once knew was long gone. He had been replaced with this inconsiderate, unemotional monster.

One of my biggest fears was getting caught up in another’s man web. I had spent so many years loving a man that didn’t mean me any good, that I never took the time to love myself. I’d rather be by myself than go through the same cycle again.

A person couldn’t find love from anyone else if they didn’t love their own self.

Go get Boscey,” one of them said to the other. She

Right now I was sad as fuck because I didn’t feel loved by him.

It was yet again another heartbreak and betrayal from a family member who claimed to love her and not be like the other ones who claimed to love her. I felt so bad for her. “What

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.

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.

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.

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.

All in all, I love my niggas and the loyalty we have to one another is out of this world. ***

You damn right I planned to snake through that operation and take over like I did in the Chi. I planned to get all they bitches and put them on my stroll, too. I could make so much money with they little fine asses working for me. Young pussy always made the most money.

Morgan, I don't see any reason why we shouldn't make this more official. I love you more than anything, and I plan to be with you forever. I promise I will make you happy and be the best father to our baby or babies. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

Asia let everyone know Truth was up and alert now. They all said they would be coming up there in the morning to see him.

Ace just didn’t want to feel like he was missing out on something. The street was all he knew. Sure he finished school, even graduated with his class. He just wasn’t for starting over.

Sally May was just a scare tactic to keep Talia in line. “Noo

Marco was trying to get back in his good graces. There were a few times when he made some “fuck ups”. His dad ran a billion dollar cartel back home in Colombia.

Unbeknownst to her, Trigga was thinking about her too. Whenever he would come over to his brother's house to talk she was there, he asked about Cedes.

Cassandra Jones loved her daughters and cherished every moment with them.

Cassie had just been diagnosed with type II diabetes a month ago and was still in denial so she didn't do what the doctor told her to.

Asia knew of her dad but she didn't really remember having a relationship with him. At the time he walked out she was just five years old.

Rachel didn't know about Raquel's multiple personality disorder so she went in as if everything was normal.

The fact that Raquel didn't even know what had just happened made her realize that she wasn't the one that did it. “Randy, what have you done?

Raquel spent two years in a mental ward. She hated every minute of it. The food was exceptional but the people were crazy. She didn't understand why she was there. She acted so well and behaved that the doctor didn't even know why she was there.

She started using all types of drugs, heroine being the one she did most.

Maurice had been watching Truth and his crew for a good month now and he envied them. He hated people showed them respect when they stepped inside the room. He too wanted that same respect but he couldn't get it on his own.

Cedes didn't find anything funny, she was actually irritated about him wanting her so close.

Trigga and Truth had to step back and realize that they were the bosses but their women possessed boss mentality.

Ace was one of Trigga and Truth’s most loyal crew members. He’d been down with them since they started running the streets.

Reyna wasn't one of these average chicks around Chicago. She used to be a part of a Columbian Cartel before she moved to the U.S.

Ace, Tunes, and Loco were the most loyal people that they ever had met. One thing about Trigga and Truth were that they weren't selfish at all. If you were loyal to them than they were to you as well.

Asia had a very strong dislike for Maurice. She never saw what Cedes liked about him so much. In her eyes he was a lowlife bum, who didn’t deserve someone like her sister.

Asia wasn’t upset about Cedes being shot anymore. Cedes was excluding her because she wasn’t ‘about that life’. She wanted to prove that she could put in as much work as they did.

He explained how he had went to go get her and the teacher said that her mother came to pick her up. He called Asia to confirm what the teacher said was true. Now that he knew it wasn't, he was in full panic mode.

Raquel drove with a wide smile across her face. She had just went and picked her daughter up.

Raquel gasped at the thought of her having to give Talia back.

Asia was ready for war. Raquel had pushed her too many times but this was the final straw. Right then, Truth walked in with his niggas.

All the men in the room looked at her in awe. Asia was carrying herself like a bad bitch with boss mentality. Truth

When Maurice woke up there was no sign of Talia or Raquel. He called her phone numerous times but received no answer.

Trigga and Truth now looked just as confused as she did. Even if this man did want to see his daughter, Truth wasn't allowing it.

Reyna wasn't trying to be insensitive but she wanted to get down to business.

As soon as Raquel started shooting, Cedes took immediate action. She shot Raquel in the stomach, twice. The way she saw it, a bullet for both Asia and Truth.