One Hustler's World: One Hustler's World

By Nikita Stewart

KT is the character readers hate themselves for loving. A drug dealer, his refusal to join the Insane Gangsta Crips leaves KT and his best friend, Dynamo, critically wounded. The same day KT is released from the hospital, his girlfriend, Angel, pulls a gun on him and demands his life savings. She planned for every robbery scenario except one... love. Soon KT is pit against her ex-lover Pierre, a violent Bounty Hunter Blood gang leader. He uses his beautiful, enslaved, sexually abused niece, Terri, to create a triangle of sins that jeopardizes all KT's ever loved.

INSANE Gangsta Crips and Bounty Hunter Bloods vying for KT's demise. Police detectives closing in. When life couldn't get more hectic, KT has an altercation against his best friend, Dynamo. Whom by way of a single, 12 gauge shotgun blast becomes his mortal enemy.

AFTER a failed raid on Dynamo's hideout, Yolonda, KT's only real friend, is captured by the police. KT ambushes the prisoner transport convoy, freeing her from a life sentence. Only for Yolonda to choose to remain behind. Her sacrifice means KT must face Crips, Bloods, and lastly, his most formidable adversary—Dynamo alone.

"The erotica will have fans shouting into ecstasy."

"This action-packed thriller is the gold standard for urban lit!"

"From the first sentence to the last One Hustler's World is simply… amazing!!!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firing Pen Books
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201063191

Book preview

IMPRISONED

ONE HUSTLER'S WORLD II: FOR LOVE AND WAR

101 ORGASMS

More books to come. Be on the lookout for

HONOR KILLING

Copyright © Nikita Stewart 2021

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced to a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

For any information regarding purchases (bulk or otherwise) please email Firing Pen at [e-mail] or call the publisher Firing Pen anytime at 757-322-7719

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my father, the late David Lee Stewart.

Despite my mistakes, your love never waned.

One million thank you's for your love, support, and guidance. Rest in peace, my father, best friend, and mentor.

ONE HUSTLER'S WORLD

By Nikita Stewart

A Firing Pen Book

CHAPTER 1

If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend

to treat everything as if it were a nail

-Abraham Maslow

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Cloaked by the moonlit darkness, rubber-soled boots tiptoed along the precipitation-dampened grass. The boots cleared a forest tree line then crossed a gravel driveway. Dark, penetrating eyes surveyed the rural landscape. Nothing was moving. The eyes studied the front of a modest 3 bed, 1 bath ranch style home. No stickers were on the windows. A major hurdle was cleared. The dark eyes glanced down at a wristwatch. The synchronized countdown was seconds away from running true.

A dark figure stepped onto the porch. Gloves on, the figure used a stolen credit card to quietly jimmy the screen door lock. The dark figure propped the screen door open then removed a small battering ram strap from around his shoulders. The weighty object was examined one final time.

Sweat quickly dampened the inside of the gloves. There was no turning back. The figure took a long, deep breath, then slammed the battering ram just below the front door's deadbolt lock. The wooden frame shattered. The dark figure dropped the battering ram then charged into the home.

A pudgy, half-naked, white man leaped from a nearby expansion sofa. He dove for the nearby coffee table. Just as his hands met his holstered sidearm, a submachine gun shoulder stock was slammed into his jaw. Crackling bone and an agonizing yelp serenaded his collapse.

The dark figure aimed with a Heckler & Koch MP-5 then tossed the man's gun underneath the sofa. A second later, another white man charged from the kitchen into the besieged living room. Eyes as large as billiard cues, he tensed from the weapon being aimed at him. What the fuck!

Drop the blade before I torch yo fat ass!

The man dropped his mustard slick butter-knife then threw his hands in the air. You have any idea who we are?

The intruder tossed a set of flex cuffs at his feet. You know what they are. Now do the honors porky pig.

We Norfolk police officers, you can't just__ His tirade was interrupted by a thunderous roar. A single shell casing ejected, his left thigh was devoured by a 9mm hollowpoint. Screaming horrifyingly, he toppled over.

The intruder quickly retrieved the spent shell casing. Next, he Flex cuffed the injured man's hands in front of him. He did the same to his initial, unconscious victim. He stood over the whimpering police officer.

Several weeks ago, the intruder was on the ground curled into a brutalized knot. Blood spilling from his mouth, he was repeatedly struck with a nightstick. Only when his assailant tired did the beating stop.

Vice Narcotics Detective Fred Winbush gave his partner a pat on the back then took the nightstick. He used it to roll their detainee over. He kneeled beside him and said, Say thank you because we could have just taken you to jail. Given your record, you would've gotten at least a five-piece... Now say thank you.

Tears running down the man's face, he glared at both detectives and whimpered. Thank you. He climbed back to his knees as both detectives walked away with his possessions.

The intruder relishes the blood spewing from his gunshot victim's eradicated leg. He jammed his boot against the man's chest and said, Say thank you.

The man tensed. Looking into the intruder's mask, a chill raced up his spine. Please... whatever you want is yours! Just don't kill us!

I want it all.

We don't operate like that. All we have is... A second thunderous roar engulfed the home. The man wept from his partner's forehead exploding.

The intruder again retrieved his shell casing then snatched the weeping man back to his feet. You got ten seconds and six already gone.

The man led him into the dining area.  He tossed his dining table aside then kneeled. He detached for floor tiles and retrieved two gym bags. That’s everything.

The intruder took a gander. Satisfied by what was inside, he snickered. Porky piglet, where the bread?

Another place out of state. Please... please... just leave. Sweat soaking his brow, he was suddenly ice cold. He couldn’t feel his left leg. He whimpered from the ability to peer inside the intruder’s submachine gun barrel.

The intruder kneeled beside him and said. This could have gone a lot different... Now say thank you.

Just as the man’s lips began to move, a continuous roar of thunder was unleashed. The intruder cut loose with a fully automatic, 9mm hollowpoint onslaught. The man’s face, neck, and chest were vaporized instantly.

He accounted for all spent shell casings then cut the flex cuffs away from both mutilated corpses. The home invasion felt like an eternity yet was a mere 2½ minutes. The intruder retrieved his battering ram then slipped into a early morning, soiled by death.

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Waverly Way, Villa Heights

Norfolk, Virginia

2 hours later

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Aromatherapy candles bathe the dimly lit room with a soothing, reddish hue. An enchanted slurp serenaded slim, naturally moist lips bobbing upon KT’s stoned, dark chocolate manhood. He groaned from the euphoria of soft hands slow jerking his shaft. His bedmate’s saliva trickled along her experienced deep throat. Her large, sparkling eyes locked onto his leer; KT led the intoxicating woman on top of him.

She straddled his manhood cowgirl style.

Her hands on his chest, she was held captive by him, filling her to an erotic brink. She swayed her hips. Constricting her womanly loins along his sensual upstroke, she purred. Mmm... KT... why we keep cheating?

We can’t get enough of each other.

What about__ Slung onto her back, she froze against his primal desire obliterating her guilt.

At home between her thighs, KT seized a fist full of Maxine’s long, naturally curly red hair. He flung her into an impassioned kiss. Breathing patterns synchronized, he could feel her succumbing to the ecstasy of their union. He licked her mouth and said, Maxine, cum on this dick.

I’m not supposed to.

Described how I feel inside you.

She licked his mouth. Her eyes slammed shut, she struggled to regain a proper breathing pattern. Her breasts heaved with acceptance of ultimate nirvana. Her womanhood trembling along his fully embedded masculinity, she purred. You... you, it’s like you be massaging my spot. She was willfully trapped beneath him. In a full mounted buck, she was taken by him stuffing her crème, orgasm moist femininity. She swayed along KT’s angled, G-spot impacting stroke. Oh, gawd... you always make me cum so good!

KT, marveling at her orgasm, took a moment to truly appreciate the beauty spasming beneath him. Her silky smooth, vanilla crème thighs. Her naturally red pubic hairs were soaked in her orgasm nectar. Her moisture trickled along their conjoined organs. Her sensual abdomen led to stout nipples, perched atop succulent 36 Cs.

KT holding her hands against the mattress, suckled her neck. Tell me you glad I snuck you away for a while.

Maxine gnawed his chin. You always getting me in trouble.

Why you keep letting me?

Cause you love tasting my cum. She felt the pressure release of his withdrawal. She glowed, watching him slither down her nakedness. Caressing the head now between her thighs, she placed her legs over his shoulders. She trembled from him, smooching her womanly folds. His tongue grazed her clitoris. Swaying along his ever-intensifying suckle, she cried out. This too much... your mouth feels so good on me!

KT cupped her buttock from underneath, then eased his right index & middle fingers inside her. His angled, come-hither, 2 finger upstrokes caressed her orgasm-soaked vagina ceiling. Slurping upon the nectar trickling from her womanhood, he treasured the ability to bring Maxine to ultimate nirvana. Just as she surrendered to his cunnilingus, a doorbell chimed in the distance. Seconds later, the clack of stilettoes impacting wood flooring resonated.

The bedroom door was pushed open.

Samantha wearing an oversized, crème blouse and Mary Jane stilettoes, stood just inside the doorway and said, I know you two heard that damn doorbell.

KT reluctantly wiped the moisture from his lips and chin, then climbed out of bed. How come you didn’t answer it?

Because I don’t live here. Plus, it’s late.

Maxine ‘Maxine’ Blankenship whined. KT, why you gotta answer it?

This time of night, it can only be one of three people. So, it’s probably important.

Samantha asked him. What if it’s HER?

Then somebody sexy ass getting reeducated... again. KT quipped. He put on his gym shorts just as the again doorbell chimed. He retrieved his 9mm Glock 19 then made his way from his master bedroom.

Into the living room of his 2 bed, 1½ bath apartment, he peered into the peephole. Exhaling with relief, KT disengaged the deadbolt lock. Holding his front door open, he allowed two men to enter then asked. What in the hell made y’all swing through this time of night?

Big Suge tossed two gym bags on the black tinted glass coffee table, then plop down on the black, mesa leather sectional sofa. Big bro, we took care of that problem everybody kept having. That shit turned out to be a deceit come-up too.

The second man, Hot Rod, chimed in. Yeah, phew, we thought you might want first dibs before we auction off the merchandise.

KT assessed the men’s identical, black Hi-Tech boots, black cargo pants, and black cashmere sweaters. He shook his head. Tell me whatever yawl did, yawl still not wearing the same clothes. Tracking all type of forensic evidence in my fucking house.

Calm down, big bro, the essentials at the bottom of the Dismal Swamp. Big Suge relayed how he laid siege to Norfolk Police Vice Narcotics Detective Fred Winbush’s Suffolk County, Virginia residence. Immediately afterward, he and his lookout/getaway driver/accomplice, Hot Rod, flung everything into the Suffolk County portion of the Great Dismal Swamp. The marshland extending from southeastern Virginia’s Chesapeake Bay to northeastern North Carolina’s Albemarle Sound.

Big Suge helped himself to the refrigerator. He uncapped a chilled Corona. Parch throat soothed by the Mexican imported beer, he took his seat. Big bro, for the dude to be a rouge piglet, he was super easy to blitz. And guess who just happens to be there for the two for one special?

His bitch ass partner Barney Simms. A jovial Hot Rod interjected. They crooked asses couldn’t get paper like every other dirty cop. They wanna be super gung ho desperados. Out here kicking ass and robbing trap spots. The streets better off now that they asses pine box. We did everybody a favor.

Big Suge concurred. Big bro, no more thanking them for whooping our ass....

With the approach of multiple heels clacking against hardwood resonating, the men fell silent. Maxine came downstairs wearing an oversized raspberry silk shirt and Manolo Blahnik stilettoes. Samantha stepped behind her.

Maxine waved. Hey, Hot Rod... Big Suge.

What’s good? Both men returned.

Samantha pouted humorously. What about me?

Hot Rod hugged her. Kissing her cheek, he whispered. Save some for me.

KT gave Maxine his handgun. Put that on my dresser. I’ll be up in a few minutes.

If I don’t get back soon, she gone snap. As if choreographed, for the umpteenth time, she conceded to his stern silence and intense glare. Let me take a shower so I can be ready whenever you are.

KT eyed Samantha. Again, his glare held.

Soon after, a shower ran in the upstairs distance.

Hot Rod saluted then said, KT, you got them white broads trained. Especially Maxine sexy ass.

Big Suge waved off his brother’s conceited smirk. What if they overheard our convo? Can you be sure neither won’t tell somebody?

KT replied. I doubt if they heard us. And even if they had, they wouldn’t know who we were talking about.

Look... I’m not taking those types of chances.

Don’t ever think about doing what I know yo ass thinking about. Agitated, KT gestured towards the gym bags. So, what are we looking at?

Hot Rod emptied them both on the coffee table. Forty 40 individually packaged zips (ounces) of girl (powder cocaine) and 5Ibs of blueberry Kush cannabis. Top of the line.

KT shook his head pitifully. I understand why yawl rode on them, crooked ass narcs. They been kicking ass and taking everybody's shit for years. At the same time, what I’m seeing won’t even pay for a good lawyer if yawl get bagged by Poe-9.

Big Suge spat. What the fuck, bro? You shook all of a sudden?

I’m concerned. Recognize yawl didn’t ride on some lame gang sect wannabes. Them bitches yawl bodied narcotics detectives. Heads gone roll all over this bitch. Poe-9 (police) dropping the hammer in Suffolk and here. And the dudes they bag gone talk like cellphones. So, yawl better look at this shit for what it is... lethal injection thick. He eyed both men intensely. Common sense says yawl should lay low. But if they notice yawl changed yo routine, they gonna lock-in.

Dudes report they car stolen right after it was used in a shooting and wonder how Poe-9 ran down on em so fast. Hot Rod added. The only ones who know it was us, in this room. What’s done is done. Now... about this business. Give us 35 for the girl. You get two pounds of Kush for 5 stacks (Grand) each. That’s a hellavue bargain.

KT counter-offered. Cause I know y’all didn’t get the girl tested this late, I’ll throw 32 stacks for it and live with whatever results I get. Cause it could be pure trash. Far as the tree goes, I know I’m good giving up three stacks for both pounds. He lobbied that selling everything to him guaranteed no one would be involved in their crime on any level—the trail would end here.

Reluctantly, the men shook his hand.

KT gathered up the goods. I’ll bring y’all the paper tomorrow.

Big Suge erupted. "Fuck nawh bro, I know you got the bread around here somewhere!’

You sure about that? Or what if I don’t want you knowing where my stash is?

Damn, you’on trust me, bro?

How come I don’t know where yo stash at?

Hot Rod interjected. Here it is... Suge, either way, we can’t spend the bread tonight. So let’s just wait till tomorrow.

Big Suge conceded. He pulled KT close and said, Maxine and Samantha, yo people. So, you responsible. Make sure they didn’t hear us. Cause you, they momma or nobody gonna stop me, if they try to play Good Samaritan. If any part of our being here gets out, it’s on you.

Hot Rod held the front door open. Ready to step outside, he chimed in. KT, keep thinking just because you and the Queen close, she won’t cut yo throat over her bitches.

KT locked his front door on the men’s departure. The ill-gotten merchandise back inside the gym bags, he made his way upstairs. He got dressed then led Maxine and Samantha into the early morning night. He helped both women into his raven black Nissan Pathfinder then climbed behind the wheel. As if for the very first time, he relishes the feel of the deeply plush, gold leather driver seat. The gold flaked, wood grain dashboard panel, and electronic everything was his crown jewel. The interior resembled a modernized log cabin. KT, partaking in light conversation, drove into the Norfolk, Virginia, night.

Twenty minutes later, he drove into the Ingleside, Norfolk lower-middle-class neighborhood. He pulled alongside the Trant Avenue curb. Watching both women quietly approach the infamous Yolanda’s residence, he chuckled at the sight of the front door swinging open. A tall, slender, golden brown woman emerged. She allowed Samantha safe passage. She took Maxine by the nape of her neck and shoved her inside. She glared at the Nissan Pathfinder. Her fist-to-chin gesture signified the retribution to be expected.

KT drove away confident Maxine was in for a long day of sexual servitude. He pondered the consequences of his younger brother killing two veteran police officers. He was disturbed by the calmness Big Suge displayed. He drove into the night uncertain whether...

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There is no wealth but life

-unknown

CHAPTER 2

God gave us burdens, also shoulders

-Ibid

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Trice Terrace, Ingleside Apartments

Norfolk, Virginia

3 minutes later

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KT, leaving the lower-middle-class homes, turned onto Trice Terrace. He took a casual drive around his childhood Ingleside, Norfolk neighborhood. Within the heart of the two-block, low-income Ingleside Apartments, though it was 3:08 am, the early morning was rife with criminality. Litter was sprinkled about. Several narcotics peddlers occupied their respective distribution hubs. Addicts of various afflictions scurried about the two-story apartment complexes. An array of seasoned automobiles was in clear contrast to the illegal hustler-owned, late model coupes, sedans, and SUVs.

KT slowed his vehicle as he approached his very own distribution hub. He gave his friend Dynamo a respectful salute. He watched the younger man tend to the crack addicts loitering about the courtyard. Next, he glimpsed apartment 915 B. As if hurled into a time warp, he was thrust back to the last time the Garrison family occupied his childhood tenement...

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Summer 1997

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Though the fan situated within the window drew in a cool, late-night breeze, a seven-year-old Khalid Nikita ‘KT’ Garrison was hard asleep. His legs shaken violently, he was thrown awake. Groggily, he stared into the tear-soaked eyes of his four-year-old brother, David Lee ‘Big Suge’ Garrison, and said. Big Suge, what’s wrong?

It’s momma! It’s momma... Uncle Ace hurting momma again!

KT, spilling over with pent-up rage, scurried from his bed. Help me find a weapon, anything.

Big Suge held up his plastic baseball bat.

No other options were available, so KT took it. He thought about David Lee Garrison Sr. Before their father was defeated by lung cancer two years ago, he was their superhero. He was a strong, loving, dedicated family man. Though every day was a financial struggle, he ensured his family was rich in love and devotion. His illness and subsequent death crippled the family. Ever since, KT was the man of the house. As the man of the house, it was his duty to defend the family.

Down the short hallway, he stormed into the master bedroom. Horrified, he found his mother, Ella Garrison, curled into a submissive knot on top of the bed. All the while, a heavily panting Uncle Ace shook away the sting from his open palm—the consequences of being forced to prove his point.

KT, crying tears of unimaginable hatred, charged. Striking his so-called ‘uncle’ several times with the plastic baseball bat, he was slung ragdoll-like halfway across the room. He slammed into the dresser yet quickly shook away the torment. His head throbbing and mouth bleeding, he stood between Uncle Ace and his mother—willing to take his man of the house duties to the grave. Ready to reengage his uncle, KT turned towards the doorway.

Big Suge, teary-eyed, holding a white, plastic knife, stood ready to help defend their mother in any way he could.

KT took the meager weapon from him. Pulling his younger brother into his arms, he could feel Big Suge’s elevated heartbeat drumming against his own. It’s okay, Lil bro, it's over. Momma is not hurt. They was just playing.

Ella Garrison, primed to tend to her children, was grabbed by the shoulder. Inconspicuously, Uncle Ace ordered her to allow him to speak to the boys. Consent extorted, he smiled at the young soldiers. Lemme spit boss game to yawl Lil go-hards. He ignored the boys' apparent disdain and led them back into their bathroom. Yawl lil dudes, take a knee so I can give ya the game... yawl knows I love ya....

As far as KT was concerned, Uncle Ace was speaking a foreign language. Bypassing the thug sermon, his eardrums were fixated on the roar of a powerful motorcycle. Massive brake pads screeched. A multitude of hoarse, deeply slurred voices yelling and screaming, the glorious drumming of a nearby marching band suddenly erupted. Horrifying, blood-gurgling shrieks accompanied the suddenness of exploding glass flying about the boy’s bedroom. A swarm of unseen projectiles slammed into the lead paint-contaminated wall-plaster, nipped at KT’s pajama bottom.

A terrifying shriek resonating nearby, a massive thud shook the bare floor. Uncle Ace was sprawled on his back. Riving agonizingly, with a crimson fluid spewing from the silver dollar size puncture to his throat, he cried out. K...T... help me.

The brothers watched as their ‘uncle's life force escaped through the gunshot wound. The brothers were frozen by the sight of Uncle Ace journeying into oblivion. Four-year-old Big Suge, tears falling amidst the bullet-riddled bedroom, kicked their deceased uncle—a final farewell.

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Beaten people take beaten paths

-George Matthews Adams

CHAPTER 3

Cooking is about not cheating yourself of pleasure

-Nigel Slater

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University Apartments

Lowery Road, Norfolk

8 am Present day

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After delivering the agreed-upon $35,000 to Big Suge and Hot Rod, KT took a Wal-Mart trip. The essentials were purchased; it was time to get to work.

Blueberry Kush cannabis smoke swirled about. A Corona Dutch Master cigar turned into a modified blunt dangled between his lips. Relishing the THC-rich smoke filling his lungs, KT locked himself inside his hideaway, 1-bedroom apartment. The living room consisted of a peach leather sofa and loveseat. He draped his silk shirt across the matching recliner. He placed the gym bag on the kitchen countertop and set the individually packaged 45 ounces of powder cocaine aside. He lit a thick mango incense.

Time to get to work.

Step one... ignite the gas stove. KT emptied several bottles of Corona beer into a jumbo crab cooking pot. Several years ago, while experimenting with a chemistry set, he stumbled upon a method that surprisingly enhanced his illegal culinary skills. The amino acids found in yeast, which is also found in beer, aids the cocaine expansion process far better than water without taking away from the cocaine’s potency. Experimenting with everything from malt liquor to Canadian Ale, KT found Coronas were better suited for his needs. The import beer’s strong aroma also serves as a masking agent. It helps to repel the pungent stench that accompanies the dish he’s preparing.

Step two... with the beer now simmering, KT emptied ten ounces (280 grams) of powder cocaine into a fat-bellied glass container.

Step three... add forty grams of ‘whip or cut’ or add one gram of Arm & Hammer baking soda per seven grams of cocaine.

Step four... pour a bottle of Corona beer into the glass container.

Step five... His cake mixer was set on low; KT carefully mixed the 12½ ounce (320 gram) mixture and then put it to the side. Doing so enables the powder cocaine—baking soda—beer mixture to thin out before continuing.

Step six... he placed another pot on the countertop, emptied several beer bottles into it, then filled it with ice. While atop the stove, the beer inside the initial jumbo crab cooking pot began to boil.

Step seven... KT using an Ove-Glove, gripped the glass container and carefully placed it inside the jumbo crab pot. He stirred the contents for two minutes in a slow circle until the cocaine—baking soda—beer mixture began to simmer. Absorbing the heated beer, the mixture started to expand. In layman’s terms... the powder cocaine, baking soda, and beer blend began the metamorphosis of turning into crack.

Step eight... Using his Ove-Glove, KT pulled the glass container from the boiling beer and placed it inside the pot of ice-chilled beer. Doing so shocked the moist crack with a sudden burst of cold.

Step nine... he poured one cup of ice-chilled beer into the crack-filled container.

Step ten... he spread a sheet of aluminum foil across a baking pan. He curled the edges inward, ensuring nothing would be accidentally wasted.

Step eleven... KT emptied the moist crack onto the foil.

Step twelve... he carefully drained the leftover beer into yet another container. Later, he would recover the unseen cocaine sure to be left behind.

Step thirteen... KT used a small spoon to scrape the last of the cocaine from inside the glass container onto the baking pan as well.

Step fourteen... he curled the aluminum foil into a bowl then placed it on top of his Pitney Bowes digital scales. Subtracting the initial aluminum foil weight and predetermined grams attributed to beer weight, he successfully transformed ten ounces of powder cocaine into 12½ ounces of high potency crack.

Step fifteen... KT placed the aluminum foil bowl inside the bathtub. This allows the average room temperature to slowly dry the merchandise. At the same time, the ceiling exhaust fan removed any traces of the putrid odor.

KT repeated the fifteen-step process until he could transform the entire forty-five ounces of powder cocaine into 52½ ounces of crack. Wholesaled, each ounce would have quickly sold for $900 each. Though wholesaling served a distinct purpose, the purpose