The Score by Kiki Swinson Page B

me. The look in Dane’s eyes was one I had never seen before. There was not one ounce of sorrow or remorse in that kid’s eyes; instead, the piercing glare he locked in on me with was filled with so much hatred, jealousy, and vengeance it literally gave me the chills. I couldn’t let my crew know that the young kid had actually scared the shit out of me.
    â€œToss his sorry ass in the street just like that . . . butt-ass naked. Let’s see how far that nigga gets before the desperate stickup kids grab his ass and fuck him up,” I commanded, breaking eye contact with Dane.
    Dane didn’t cry out. He didn’t beg for mercy anymore. He didn’t show any emotion as Ak and Boone dragged him to the door. I had to admire the nigga’s bravado, though. As I turned away from watching them toss the kid onto the street I felt real uneasy. I had a feeling deep in my gut that it wouldn’t be the last time I seen or heard from Dane. I was right.
    * * *
    Not even two weeks after Dane’s beatdown, Lauren and I were asleep in my mini mansion on the outskirts of the city. We were both stark naked after a night of hot and heavy fucking. Life was still good back then.
    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! It sounded like the house was being bulldozed.
    The thunderous noises had yanked me out of a deep, alcohol-induced sleep.
    â€œOh shit! What the fuck?!” I huffed and immediately grabbed for the gun I kept at the side of my bed. The first thing that came to my mind was a stickup kid robbery. That’s how hood niggas rolled—middle of the night so they could catch a nigga sleeping. This was the best way to catch a nigga off guard. And if you’re lucky, you’d probably walk away with a big payday. Dope, money, and drugs.
    â€œOh my God, Matt! What was that?!” Lauren screamed, her eyes round and wide. We were both dazed and confused by the loud crashing sounds coming from downstairs but I wasn’t trying to let shit happen to her.
    â€œYo! Go out on the terrace and climb down,” I whispered. “You need to get out of here.”
    â€œI don’t want to leave you,” Lauren cried.
    â€œGet up and fucking go!” I whispered harshly. I gripped my gun, but I still needed to put some clothes on. I could hear the footsteps getting closer and closer with each second that passed. With one hand I kept my gun trained on the door. With the other hand I reached down for my clothes that were scattered on the floor. The whole time I was thinking, I can’t let niggas take me out with my dick hanging.
    Before I could fully get into my boxers I heard the words that all hustlers and street niggas dread all their lives.
    â€œPolice! Search warrant! Don’t fucking move! Let me see your fucking hands!”
    I gasped in a lungful of air and never let it back out. My world came crashing down around me minutes after those words sunk into my mind. The footsteps and the crashing noises never stopped after that.
    Police officers and federal agents in raid gear swarmed our bedroom and our entire house within seconds. They were smashing my expensive Italian furniture with sledgehammers. They were drilling holes through the walls. Throwing our clothes and shoes out of the closets. It was massive chaos and all I could do was stand there with my mouth hanging open and my insides burning.
    â€œMatthew Connors, we have a warrant for your arrest and a search and seizure warrant for the property,” a burly, white DEA agent said to me, just before he threw me down on my stomach, dropped a knee into my back, and handcuffed me like an animal. I don’t think I had ever seen that many law enforcement motherfuckas in my entire life. You would’ve thought they had come to pick up a serial killer or some terrorist.
    I could hear Lauren crying and saying something but I knew she wasn’t snitching or telling those pigs anything. Lauren knew the drill. We had been over this shit many times. I