Mónéy Matters

Chapter Fifty-Seven

|Icy|

"Chanel it ain't that bad," I spoke calmly into the phone. She looked at me and frowned. I closed my eyes and regretted face timing her. All she even did was complain and it was staring to aggravate the fuck out of me. She was now five months pregnant and a constant pain in my ass.

"Don't fucking lie you bastard. I look like a dinosaur. My favorite dress doesn't even fit me anymore. This is all your fault. I'm a fat pig who can't fit in a size two anymore," she whined as she threw a purple dress down at the screen.

"You really over exaggerating. I'll buy you another purple dress, in a bigger size," I explained. Her eyes lit up and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"You'd do that for me," she asked batting her eyes. I sighed and nodded my head. She smiled small and moved closer to the phone. "I feel so much better now. Are you on your way here," she questioned as she brought the phone closer to herself.

"Yea I'm doing business right now, but I'll be home soon. Try to stay out the closet until I get there," I demanded her. She smirked before my screen went off, indicating that she had hung up. I leaned back in my seat and sighed in frustration.

"We gotta find somebody to take her place. I know she ain't gon wanna do this shit no more, she's about to be somebody's mama. Who gon watch the kid while y'all away," Kree asked. I ran my head over my face and shook my head. Shit was all over and I needed to get everything in place.

"Who the fuck we gon' find to take her place? Where do we find a bitch that's half as crazy as Chanel," I asked. Kree shrugged his shoulders and looked out the widow.

"Ion know but she gotta be bad and smart. She gotta let me fuck too. Not saying Chanel let me smash, I'm just saying. You had all the fun with her so let me and Tech have fun with the new recruiter," Kree said. I shook my head at him. That's why his ass ain't in charge. All he think about is bad bitches, stacks of money, and purple grass. I shook my head and watched as Tech emerged from one of our new enemy's trap house, carrying a duffle bag. I cranked the car up while Kree pulled his gun out and rolled his window down.

"Aye you straight homie," Kree asked as Tech made his way over to the getaway car. He gave the building one last look, before throwing a grenade at it and demanding me to pull off.

"I'm cool, all them niggas in there dead. You'd be surprised what this rusty .44 would do to these weak ass niggas. I pulled this lil baby out and all them motherfuckers got to singing like birds," Tech stated as we drove away from the building. I watched as the nice ass house exploded in flames, like a scene from a movie.

"Let a real nigga hol' that lil bihh," Kree suggested. Tech leaned up to the front seat and carefully placed the ancient gun in Kree's hands. His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. Kree had a thing for guns, especially old ancient ones.

"See I would let you keep it but I can't. This piece been passed down from generation to generation and I don't want yo bitch ass son to end up with it," Tech joked as he leaned back in his seat. Kree waved him off.

"If I had a son, that lil nigga would be the realist motherfucker I know. So shut the fuck up. Let's talk about yo ugly Betty ass daughter you gon have. She ain't gon have no type of edges, might as well name her Alapesha. Nigga gon stay jocing on her at school and home. She gon come crying talking 'bout daddy why can't I have edges like all the other little girls. Then she gon have that fuck boy Jamaican accent like you, awe man bruh. That po' kid ain't gon have no type of hope, she ain't gon make it. C'mon Ice, let's pray for Tech's future ugly ass daughter," Kree said. I shook my head and continued driving down the road. I wasn't about to get in this shit because in the end, it was going to turn out bad.