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stop sucking his dick until he exploded into my mouth and I happily swallowed. Coming up from under the cover, I wiped what was left of him from my mouth.
    “You good, baby?” I asked with a content smile on my face.
    “Hells yeah.” He panted. “Damn, I love you.”
    I smiled and kissed him on his lips. “You hungry?”
    He nodded.
    After that episode, I was ready to cook my man a meal. I got out of bed and donned my navy blue hooded Velour robe with matching slippers. I went into the kitchen and began whipping together his favorite snack, a tuna fish sandwich, some eggs, and a glass of red Kool-Aid.
    I served it to him in bed and he was like a big kid, devouring his food. I cuddled next to him, and let him eat while massaging his shoulders. I wrapped my arms around him.
    “I love you so much, Omar.”

    “I love you too, baby. You the best,” he replied, with a mouth full of food.
    I chuckled and smiled. He was cute. It was hard to believe that the man I was holding in my arms was the same man who was charged with two counts of criminal possession in the second degree, and assault. My baby may have been a thug, but with me, he was the sweetest thing.
    I know he did wrong in his past, tonight I pray to God that the man I was holding in my arms was a changed man. I wanted better for us. I believed that he was rehabilitated. I love him, and don’t want my heart to be broken either by his thuggish ways or infidelity. I was well aware of back in the day. Love is a funny thing, you dance like nobody’s watching, and love someone like you’ve never been hurt before. Well I plan to love my man that way, like it will never hurt me.

6
    Living everyday like life’s suicide,
corruption and murder he feels within.
Touched by his father’s sins.
His heart beats wickedly inside him…

     
     
    Omega
     
    Sometimes, the only thing a nigga understands is violence. In the streets, it’s the universal language. You put a pistol to a nigga’s head and squeeze, or take a baseball bat and beat someone’s brains out, and muthafuckas know you mean business. You gotta pull your weight around to let niggas know. I’m serious with this and I mean business. You show weakness and niggas will chew you the fuck up and spit you out like spit.
    A rep meant everything to your game. If you didn’t have authority and heart, you were dead. The game made no exception. You fuck up, and the game would come at you like a Mack truck, putting you flat on your ass. There ain’t no room for mistakes, or half ass shit—you got beef, you come at it full force, or don’t come at all. If you don’t then the next nigga will. You respect the streets and the game, and she’ll be good to you, until you fuck up.
    My beef was one block away. I had buildings and heard hustlers from Baisley were trying to setup shop around my way. I already warned them to take that shit somewhere else, but niggas were fucking hardheaded and took my threats lightly. But it’s all good, cuz what my moms always told me, if you don’t listen, then you’ll soon feel. And they were gonna feel my wrath real soon.
    “Mega, what’s good, why we just sitting here? Fo’ real, fo’ real… All ‘em niggas is up da block,” Biscuit said, ready to pop off.
    “Nigga, I said wait, ya heard?” I replied irritated by his mouth.
    “Ahight, nigga, you da boss,” he said impatiently leaning back in the passenger seat.
    Biscuit was my young protégé, sixteen, black, violent and just didn’t give a fuck. He was thirteen when he first came on my team, putting in work for me. He knew how to handle guns like a Middle Eastern soldier.
    I had a beef a few months back with Tiny. He had shop on Foch and Guy R. Brewer. He became greedy and wanted to stretch his business over into my territory, crossing that imaginary line of respect. His ego was out there, and he figured since he was a few years older than me, then it was cool to dip into my pockets.

    Tiny’s crew was on the corner of