Page 44 of This Is Law 3

“I ain’t some heartless nigga. I swear, Law.

I’m just fuckin desperate right now, so I had to do what I had to do for me, man.

I knew it was wrong. I didn’t want to do it.

Creed came out there with me, and he kept telling me that he loved me, and how he missed me.

I could tell that he was genuinely having fun being out there, working out with me, but I’m at a point in my life where I don’t have shit right now.

I was kicked out of school, and my mama kicked me out the house.

For the past few months, I been house hopping.

I don’t have anywhere stable to lay my head.

Before Dutch got locked up, I saw him in the projects that I was living at.

I approached him, asking him if I could move weight for him, but he told me that he was about to retire.

He hit me up a few weeks ago, offering me a proposition.

He told me that you and him were beefing, and he wanted to get back at you.

He said that if I killed Creed, that he would help me out of this fucked up situation that I was in.

He said that he had a spot that the feds didn’t know about, and it had drugs for me to push out on the streets, weapons, and money for me.

I ain’t got shit, so that felt like the best thing to me at the moment,” he finished.

I was shocked by his words. Truly shocked.

“That nigga played you, and I really want you to know that. That bitch ass nigga don’t have shit to give you!

The feds took every motha fuckin thing from him.

They been watching the way he move for years.

Took every car that he owns, any cash that was tucked away, his homes, phones, every fuckin thing.

That motha fucka sells lies for a living, and he sold you a big one.

You let a friendship with your brother go down the drain for some drugs, money, and guns?

You had options fuck nigga! You know the kind of person that my son is.

If you had told him how serious the situation was, I know for a fact he would have tried to convince me to let you move in with us.

Even if that wasn’t an option, you could have got your ass back in school, cleaned up your fuckin act, and took your ass back home to your mama because she would always accept you back with open arms. You were ready to throw your life away, so let me help you finish.

Here. Go ahead, and blow your brains out,” I walked closer to him, reaching for the gun that I had on my hip, and I put it right up under his chin.

His eyes grew big, and he tried backing away, but with my other hand, I put it on his back, and I kept the gun under his chin.

“Do it, nigga!” I egged him. He was boo- hoo crying, sounding like a little bitch.

“I… I don’t… wanna... diee… Law, I’m sorry. Please… please man,” he was begging, throwing out all that tough shit.

“Nah, you want to die. You tried to kill my son motha fucka, so you obviously don’t give a fuck about life. Go ahead, and pull the trigger,” I was looking him in his eyes, ready for him to do it.

“I don’t want to die…. I’m sorry,” he kept repeating over, and over.

I took a few seconds, and then I backed away.

I tucked the gun back on my hip, and I slid off the Louis Vuitton belt that I was wearing.

Like someone should have done a long time ago, I swung that belt so hard on him, blacking out for a minute, losing my mind, and beating the shit out of him with that belt.

He was screaming to the top of his lungs as I fucked him up with this belt.

He was down on the floor, hands out, trying to block the swings, but I was on him good.

For well over five minutes, I beat his ass, and when I was done, I whipped the belt back, putting it over my shoulder, as I looked down at him, moaning, and crying, lying in a fetal position.

“Be thankful for my son that I didn’t kill you because you gotta know how bad I want to blow your brains out right now.

Let me put something heavy on you. Stay the fuck away from my son!

Don’t call him, don’t text him to apologize, nothing!

Pretend like you acted out on that plan, and you killed him.

Act like he dead. Let me share something with you.

Just like you, I lost my pops. I was nothing but three years old when he was gunned down.

I spent over thirty years of my life wondering who it was that could have done that shit, only to find out that it was his own best friend that did it.

You gotta know the kind of low-down piece of shit that I think of Dutch now.

You in that same motha fuckin boat right with his ass,” was all I had left for him.

I had to get away from him now because if I kept talking, I was only going to get angrier, and proceed to pulling the gun back out, and killing him.

I walked away, leaving him there, going to let him figure that shit out, and find his own way back home.

“What’s the code to your phone?” I paused, so that I could turn around, and ask.

“031405,” he groaned to me.

I didn’t respond back. I just headed out to my truck, hopped in, and I pulled out, leaving that nigga right there.

11:39 p.m.

It was late at night. I was in bed, lying on my back, with both my hands behind my head, paying attention to the TV that was mounted on the wall.

Soraya was up, with her lamp on that sat on the nightstand on her side of the room, and she was working on a word search puzzle.

She had snacks and shit in the bed, knowing that she would have been ready to kill a nigga if I brought all this shit in the bed.

The glass bowl that was at one point filled with strawberry ice cream, and whipped cream sat on her nightstand, and in the bed were wrappers from chocolate that she ate, Twizzlers, and gummy bears.

The shit that had gone down earlier with Quay, and Creed had her stress eating.

She’d been off, and on crying all day, and you know I had been apologizing since I made it home.

“When you gone turn that light off?” I asked, turning my head to look at her.

“In a minute,” she said, not looking at me.

I reached my hand over, took the puzzle book from her, and the pen, and I put it on my nightstand.

I grabbed her up by her hips, and I placed her in my lap, so that she could mount me.

She wore a light pink, silk pajama set. Her baby bump was clear as day.

I lifted her shirt, so that I could have a better view of it, and I rubbed her stomach, while looking her in her eyes.

“Creed is in his room, Soraya,” I spoke, and she nodded.

“I know,” was all she said to me.

“So why you still stressing yourself out about it, then?” I asked.

“Because the fear of what could have happened is what’s driving me crazy.

What if I had never came back, and decided to sit in the back in my car?

I only got out because from where I was parked, I could see the field, and it looked like they were wrapping up, so I got out to get Creed, and then to have a conversation with Quay.

The walk was so far that they didn’t see when I approached them.

I saw Quay go in his bag and get something, and when he approached Creed from behind, I just knew that he was up to something, and I just screamed.

Sevyn, what if? What if he had killed… my baby?

” her voice cracked, and it wasn’t long until she was crying about it.

I took my hands off her stomach, and I put them on her hips, watching her as she had her moment.

“Bae, I get how scary that shit is, but you can’t be thinking like that.

Creed is in his room. Legend is in his room.

My other two are growing inside you. All our children are where they’re supposed to be right now.

You were the protection over our son today that he needed.

All week, you felt something, and saw something that me and Creed didn’t, and I’m thankful for that because you saved us from losing another child.

Can you please stop thinking about the negative shit, and think about the good?

Please?” I asked, squeezing at her hips.

“Okay, but do you think Dutch is up to anything else from jail? What if he tries something else? I just don’t trust him,” she spoke.

“Dutch don’t have the kind of pull that you think he does.

At least, not like he used to. He had to go through Quay, a nigga that don’t have shit to touch my son.

He couldn’t even get in contact with a real killer because the whole Miami not fuckin with him.

I already got his son handled, now I just gotta finish working on what I’m working on to get him handled behind bars.

Everything going to fall into place, baby, and ain’t nothing going to happen to either one of us,” I assured her.

My mama told me that I couldn’t go back to the facility, and see her until I had Kross, and Dutch handled.

Handling Kross was easy. I went through one of my OG’s to help me out with that.

Freddy helped me pull that shit off. I spoke on Freddy before.

He used to run with my pops back in the day.

He had his own bar. His bar is where Dutch and I pulled up that night those two dudes tried to check me about not representing Reggie, and Dutch ended up pulling out his gun, and killing them.

Because word had been traveling fast around Miami about Dutch being the one to kill my pops, Freddy ended up hitting me, wanting me to pull up, so that we could talk about it.

He knew that I had something planned, so I remember him offering his services, telling me that if there was anything that I needed help with, he was all in because of the relationship, and the love that he still had for my dad.