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Authors: T. Styles

Tags: #African American, #General, #Fiction

Prison Throne (3 page)

BOOK: Prison Throne
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Donald provoked fear in everyone outside of his team. Although young, his name filtered throughout the streets of DC and he was feared by some and hated by others. He was a young boss who already held a hood throne. Donald was also Rasim’s best friend and Rasim wanted to be just like him.

Powerful.

As they drove down the road toward a hotel to meet a business associate, something felt off with the mood so Rasim looked over at Donald. Rasim sat in the passenger seat of Donald’s blue Acura Integra and wondered what demon possessed his best friend in the moment.

              Was it the Demon of Desire that had him wanting to fuck any girl who allowed him? Often without protection? Or the Demon of Rage, which always caused him to act on his emotions violently for any reason he deemed necessary?

Whatever afreet held Donald’s soul, Rasim hoped it wouldn’t attack.

              “I’m telling ya’ll,” Donald started as he piloted the car, “I’m sick of my folks. Every time I come home, they got the house smelling like old pussy ‘cause they fucking some dirty ass couple in the living room like they can’t go in the back and shit.” He rubbed his forehead toward his hairline, taking some of the wetness with him.

             
“You already know how they are,” Chance responded as he thumbed through the fifty-dollar bills in his wallet as if they would mutate into Benjamins, “they reliving their youth.”

             
“Fuck that,” Donald responded as he eyed him through the rearview mirror. “They supposed to be civilized and shit! They supposed to take care of they kids!”

             
“But you not no kid no more,” Rasim kidded. “You a grown ass nigga.”

             
Although Donald was angry, Rasim knew where his pain originated. His parents, Alonso and Paulino Guzman, Latinos from Baltimore City, indulged in guilt-free sex for most of his life. From ten-member orgies to public sex exploits, in an effort to bust a nut, they did it all. In fact, his parents met at a swingers party although Paulino came with another man and his father came with another woman. They realized they were more compatible and had been together ever since.

Pregnancy was never for the Guzmanes. In the earlier days, Paulino was good with taking birth control since condoms were out of the question for Alonso. But when cocaine enrolled itself into their lives after awhile she was too horny to take the pill and eventually Donald was born.

When Donald was a week old, the couple played it cool and renounced all erotic activity. That was until Alonso woke up with a hard on one day that couldn’t be satisfied despite the four lovemaking sessions he and Paulino accomplished earlier. It was clear that although they were new parents, his dick had other intentions.

So they dropped the baby off at Paulino’s parents’ house and before long Donald had become a regular fixture in his grandparents’ home. A few packed diaper bags here and a new outfit there were the most Donald got from his parents and his loneliness turned to resentment and stopped abruptly at anger.

“You think I don’t know I’m not a kid no more?” Donald asked Rasim, his eyes twirling around slightly. His demeanor was giving;
please say something wrong so I can push your teeth toward the back of your scalp.

Oh, it was the Demon of Rage that chose to visit and unfortunately for Rasim, he was in the front seat.

Rasim didn’t partake in violence. Besides, he was the jokester of the crew. The one his friends called on when they wanted to chuckle their troubles away. A gangster he was not and, as far as he knew, a gangster he would never be.

“Not trying to get you mad, man,” Rasim said flashing the winning smile he was known for. He nudged him softly on the arm. “Chill out and stop tripping.”

Donald took another look at Rasim, blinked a few times and called the demon off. He had beef in the streets but it was never with Rasim. He loved him more than a brother. “Ain’t nobody mad at your bitch ass,” Donald lied.

“You ain’t mad?” Rasim repeated. “Your face so wet you making my dick hard,” he laughed.

Donald shook his head and chuckled at his friend.

On some personal shit, Brooklyn pulled on Donald’s headrest to scoot forward, which caused Donald’s head to lean back abruptly. Donald hated that shit.

“How far are we from the hotel? I’m hungry,” he asked with his lips too close to Donald’s ear.

“Nigga, get the fuck off of my seat!” he yelled. “And we ‘bout ten minutes out.” He paused. “Stop being so fucking greedy. That’s why your neck beefy as is. You eat too fucking much.”

Embarrassed, he flopped back in the seat and rubbed his coffee colored chin. “Fuck you,” he said under his breath. When Chance and Rasim laughed too he continued, “Fuck all you niggas.”

What Donald said was true. Brooklyn’s body inflated weekly and if it hadn’t been for his cute face and five o’clock shadow, he would’ve had a problem in the ladies department.

Unlike some wannabes who sought street cred by claiming Brooklyn, he was a true transplant from the city that never slept. The funniest thing was he just appeared to come from nowhere.

When Rasim asked Donald where he met Brooklyn, he didn’t say much. Just that he was hanging out front a liquor store one day and dude bought him a bottle and gave him a place to sleep when his parents had the house full of fuck buddies. After that, Rasim and Chance met him, liked him, and they’d been together ever since.

But Brooklyn never, ever, talked about his past. And since the friends didn’t like talking about theirs either, the unsaid agreement worked.

Chance, on the other hand, was tall and light skinned with eyes the color of toffee. His mother and father owned a bakery out Maryland and did alright for themselves. They were good parents but since they had him at the age of forty, they were too old to run after him or warn him about life’s horrors. Because of it, he had a silent case of Chlamydia and a bout of herpes, which he didn’t know about. He assumed he had sunburn on his dick. At least that’s what he kept telling his friends.

The teenagers were bopping their heads along with the music but their happiness evaporated when Donald suddenly whipped the car to the curb. At first Rasim assumed he lost what was left of his senses until he saw a cute girl with a pregnant ass switching down the street.

Donald slithered out of the car, whispered in the girl’s ear and smacked her so hard she took five steps backwards. To make shit worse, he grabbed her by the forearm and escorted her toward the car.

Rasim’s face heated because he wasn’t with the abusing women shit. His father taught him to respect the ladies and the elderly and he upheld that belief.

“What the fuck is this nigga doing?” Brooklyn asked as his jaw hung in amazement.

“Do he even know that bitch?” Chance questioned in a high-pitched voice.

“It don’t look like it to me,” Rasim responded as his eyes blinked as if he were seeing things.

“Man, this nigga ‘bout to get us locked up,” Brooklyn predicted.

Odd to some, but this was what happened with Donald sometimes and it spooked Rasim out. If he fucked with you, he fucked with you hard and for repayment you would be forced to endure his unpredictable behavior.

The back door flew open and the girl was stuffed inside by way of a shove to the back of her head. She plopped in the seat and her titties smooshed against Brooklyn’s lap and her face nestled in the center of Chance’s crotch.

As she attempted to get herself together, Donald slammed the door, missing her ankles by mere inches. When she finally repositioned herself in her own seat, she was on Brooklyn’s left, next to the window. Without the benefit of an explanation, Donald slid back into the pilot position and eased the car into traffic.

Rasim’s heart rate increased as he looked back at the pretty girl with the light brown hair, rosy cheeks and glassy eyes.

Since Donald proceeded as if all was right with the world, although fearful, Rasim could no longer hold his tongue. He wiped his clammy hands on his jeans and asked, “Who dat, man?”

“My personal bitch,” he responded flatly, as he eased onto the highway.

Rasim looked back at the girl to check her mental temperature once more. He wasn’t sure but something told him that the girl was anything but in a relationship with his friend the lunatic. Maybe it was the rainstorm that rolled down her face or the fact that she was trembling so hard Brooklyn’s leg was shaking that gave it away. At any rate, something was off.

“I don’t think she want to be here,” Rasim said softly. “Maybe you should let her go.”

Donald’s neck popped in Rasim’s direction although his foot was still firmly on the gas pedal and he was pushing sixty miles per hour. “She’ll go when I want her to. Now chill out before I lose my patience in this bitch.”

 

****

 

Rasim was sitting on the side of the bed looking over at Donald and the girl he practically kidnapped, who he now knew as Sheila. Her entire nature changed. She was giggling like a newborn having its feet tickled, courtesy of the cheap Strawberry MD 20/20 she was quaffing down her throat.

Rasim eyed the entire situation with confusion.
What the fuck was going on?

One minute she was terrified and the next she couldn’t keep her palms off of Donald’s dick.

Later, Rasim learned that Donald booked her last week in front of the Shrimp Boat off Benning Road in Southeast Washington, DC. Despite a kiss on his cheek and a promise to stay in contact since he bought her basket of fried shrimp with a large Coke, she failed. So out of revenge, Donald felt warranted in taking her into a semi hostage situation.

Chance and Brooklyn were at the store getting food and would be coming back later. So at the moment Rasim was alone with them.

Suddenly Donald swallowed the rest of the liquor, stood up, gripped Sheila by the forearm and shepherded her toward the bathroom.

When the door was closed Rasim could hear some bumping around before a slight scream rang out on Sheila’s part. But the sound was quickly muffled before growing louder again.

Rasim hopped off of the bed and rushed toward the door. He ran his hand from the front to the back of his head as he considered how to approach the matter.

In Rasim’s humble opinion, it sounded like the girl was getting raped but he couldn’t be sure. He knew his boy could be rough but never heard rape being associated with his brand.

Rasim felt that if he said something wrong, Donald would come thundering out of the bathroom with Rasim in his sights. But, and this was more important, the man in him could not allow what was happening to occur. Not on his watch.

So he not only knocked on the door but he banged on it with authority. Just as he thought, Donald pulled the door open halfway and glared at him. “Be gone, nigga,” he said with fire in his eyes. “I’m not in the mood right now.” Rasim’s eyes trailed from his floating eyeballs down to his dick, which was red and dripping with blood. Donald slammed the door in Rasim’s face before he had a chance to hold the memory.

Worried, Rasim dropped to his knees and lowered his head. The dry, gray carpet brushed against his face as he peered through the slat under the door. Now he could see Sheila bent over the toilet throwing up while Donald raped her from behind.

What part of the game is this?
Rasim thought.

He leaped up and exploded on the door with heavy fists so hard that his knuckles burned. Through it all Donald did not come out.

Rasim didn’t realize until the next morning that he dosed off on the floor from exhaustion. When he finally did, it was far too late.

 

****

 

The cool handcuffs around Rasim’s wrists were uncomfortable as he rode in the back of a police car. It had been a long two days since Donald raped Sheila and his life would be changed forever.

             
For starters, a swift boot to the gut from an angry DC police officer awakened Rasim. Before he could determine what was happening, his arms were seized from the back and he feared his shoulders would pop out of the sockets.

             
Rasim wasn’t alone. His friends Chance and Brooklyn were also arrested and led to the police car as if they all partook in the crime. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that three cars up, he could hear Donald clearly yelling, “Leave my friends alone! They didn’t have shit to do with this! I fucked the bitch not them!”

             
Rasim respected the clarification and he still loved him too. But he wished he hadn’t gone so far. He figured it was because of his parents that he was the monster he was.

It wouldn’t stop the officers from stuffing the teenagers in their cars and chauffeuring them to the station, only to bombard them with a thousand questions.

In a bitch move, Sheila claimed they all were involved even though her statement couldn’t be further from the truth.

The investigation was mental torture on Rasim and his homies. And although spit flew out of the officers’ mouths and slapped against their faces as they yelled at Rasim, Brooklyn and Chance, they didn’t say a mumbling word.

In the end, Donald would be transported to prison. And Rasim Nami, along with his other homies, were transported to Strawberry Meadows, a group home for troubled youth, thereby breaking his parents’ hearts in the process.

BOOK: Prison Throne
13.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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