Taken by a Real Gangsta Romance

Kelly Marie

Sujets

• Urban Books

Informations

• Publié par: Sullivan Group Publishing, LLC
• Date de parution: 18 juillet 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 5
• EAN13: 9781648542022
• Langue: English

Extrait

© 2019
Published by Leo Sullivan Presents
www.leolsullivan.com


All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction, in any manner, is prohibited.

Contents



Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Joelle Foster

Romello ‘Predator’ Grant

Secret Thompson

Secret Thompson

Romello Grant

Sheena Allen

Joelle Foster

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Joelle Foster

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Romello Grant

Sheena Allen

Joelle Foster

Romello Grant

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Secret Thompson

Romello Grant

Joelle Foster

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Romello ‘Predator’ Grant

Secret Thompson

Romello Grant

Sheena Allen

Joelle Foster

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Romello Grant

Secret Thompson

Romello Grant

Joelle Foster

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Romello Grant

Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

Sheena Allen

Joelle Foster

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Di’Aundrie ‘Konvict’ Miller

“A hhhh, Konvict, wait!” this bad ass shorty screamed while trying to push me up, but I slapped her hand away from my stomach and pushed even deeper.
“Nah, shorty, you wanted the dick, now take it.”
“I can’t!” She grunted, and I smirked.
A nigga loved when a bitch cried for the dick and couldn’t take it. They always underestimated me, and I loved showing them that I was that nigga all round. I had shit in the streets on lock, I had more money than I knew what to do with, and I had all the bitches on my dick hard as fuck.
And this sexy as fuck brown skinned shorty was my latest victim.
I grabbed her thighs, pinned them down to the bed, and continued to beat my dick into her. All she could do was take the shit with her mouth hanging open.
“Fuck!” I threw my head back and grunted before pulling my dick out and filling up the condom. “Damn, shorty.” I panted as I stumbled back away from the bed.
She looked up at me with a smile and moved her sweat soaked hair away from her beautiful face.
“If you have a condom on, why do you still pull out when you cum?” she asked.
I watched her sit up and smirked.
“Just a habit, sweetheart.” I winked and went into the bathroom to flush the condom.
Despite wearing a condom, I made sure to always pull my dick out when I nutted. Those motherfuckers broke or bitches liked to tamper with them. I was too damn paid, fine, and smart for someone to trap me with a kid. Kids were definitely something I wanted, just not yet. Not while I was at the height of my life.
At twenty-nine, I was living my best life! I was on my way to becoming the biggest kingpin New York had ever seen. I was taking the streets by force, and whoever got in my way, I was putting the fuck down. At six foot three, I weighed 240lbs. Bitches said I had that caramel complexion. Whatever the fuck that meant!
My hair was low with the waves, and I had a low beard. I had chinky eyes like my mother and a broad nose. My lips weren’t too thick, but they weren’t thin as fuck either. My arms, chest, and back were covered in ink.
I was your typical bad boy, and I didn’t give a fuck.
“Do you have to go?” she asked with her lip poked out as I walked back into the bedroom and fixed my clothes.
As I stared at her, I couldn’t for the life of me remember her damn name. She told me when we met a few days ago at the club, but all I heard was that she was into me and wanted to meet so I could fuck. Her pussy was good, and her head game was better—that was honestly the only thing I needed to know. Her name didn’t matter because she was just another number in my phone that I could call when my balls felt heavy.
“Sorry, I got moves to make. Too much money out there for me to stay inside.” I hit her with a smile.
She laughed and shook her head at me. “Don’t you think you have enough money?”
I had to throw my head back and laugh at that.
“You can never have enough money, shorty. See you around.” I grabbed my shit and turned to leave.
“Akeela.”
I turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry?”
“My name… it’s Akeela.”
I smirked and rubbed a hand down my chin because she had caught on to me not remembering her name. Shit, I felt a little bad because it wasn’t the first time we had fucked. But, like I said, I didn’t care to remember a chick’s name, just what her body was like and how her pussy felt.
I knew that I could do better but fuck it. These women didn’t demand for me to be better—like remembering their names and shit—so, I didn’t see the point in bothering.
Giving her one final wink, I walked out of her apartment.
People called out my name as I made my way down to my car. I made sure to check out a few bitches on my way. Akeisha, Akayla or whatever her name was, she wasn’t my bitch, and there was enough of me to go around!
When I caught sight of a bad ass dark skinned chick, I made sure to hand her my card before jumping in my car and speeding away. It had been a minute since I had seen my parents, so I made my way to their house. I had bought my parents a house in Woodmere, Long Island, within a year of taking over the streets. It was a damn struggle getting them to take it because they weren’t about that street life like I was, so they didn’t want anything that had to do with it.
I didn’t inherit my empire from my pops, uncle, grandfather, or no shit like that. In fact, my entire family was law abiding, church going citizens. I think the only time they ever saw drugs was on television! So, how the fuck did a pastor’s son end up being the biggest kingpin ever? Simple answer is lust!
There was this shorty who every motherfucker—within a ten mile radius—wanted to fuck. Shorty was the baddest bitch I had ever seen. Smooth, caramel skin, long natural hair, slanted eyes, button nose, high cheek bones, thick, shapely lips, and a fucking body that looked like it was made somehow. She was the first chick I ever had a wet dream about. I just knew she was haunting every nigga’s dream.
I wanted her so badly, but I knew I didn’t stand a chance like I was. From the niggas I saw around her, I knew she was into ballers—motherfuckers with money longer than the Hudson River. And my Pops being a pastor didn’t afford us a lavish life; just a comfortable one. No regular job around was going to give me money like that either.
So, that’s when I turned to the streets.
From living in the same neighborhood since birth, I knew who all the dope boys were. I was friends with one and asked him to put me on. People laughed when they heard that the pastor’s son wanted to be a kingpin, but I soon showed them that I was more than just a pastor’s son, and I started making a name for myself.
It destroyed the relationship I had with my parents because, in their eyes, I was shaming them and God. Thoughts of stopping did cross my mind at that time, but by then, I had found myself getting addicted to the fast life, the money, and the bitches who suddenly wanted to know my name. I soon forgot about the shorty I started up for and I became something out in the streets. My Pops used to say that I just wanted to be known as a convict instead of a man of God, so that’s what I decided to call myself—Konvict!
It wasn’t long before I was known as the man on the streets and forgotten as the pastor’s son. A few short years later—and after getting rid of the same guy I worked under—I became that motherfucker. I had been holding it down ever since with my right hand man and younger, half-brother, Romello. He was my mother’s son.
The motherfucker was a skilled killer after being in the marines as a teen. He got kicked out for fighting too fucking much, though, but he kept up with his training. Romello, or Predator, as we called him, was not a nigga to play with. He could track down any motherfucker and their whole fucking family—right down to the great, great Grandmother—and he would wipe them out like they never existed.
The nigga could be nice—well, only to the opposite sex—but when he was quiet, that wasn’t a good fucking thing. Meant the nigga was planning how he was going to kill you. The only problem I had with the nigga was he stayed chasing pussy! The fool was obsessed with bitches, and I always told him that pussy was going to be his downfall. But shit, at twenty-five, he was young. Pussy was the only thing on his mind, despite him having a whole ass baby mama, but that was his story to tell.
I know y’all must be wondering if my parents are married, then how the fuck is he only my mother’s son?
My parents met in high school, fell in love, and had me. When I was two, they broke up and got with other people. My mama met Romello’s pops and had my brother. But by the time he was a few months old, his pops died in a car crash. My dad made sure to be there for my mom and brother. Sometime later, my parents got back together after my dad’s new relationship ended. They got married when I was ten and have been together ever since.
Romello calls him da