Carl Weber's Kingpins: Raleigh-Durham

By Treasure Hernandez

Treasure Hernandez takes readers on a captivating, headlong plunge into the depths of the streets of Raleigh, North Carolina. It will leave you feenin' for more.
 
With the skills of Michael Vick and the looks of Tyreese, Andrew “Amir” Davis, a.k.a. Amir, is destined to be a star. But in the streets of Raleigh, North Carolina, NFL dreams can quickly vanish, and a black man can either go with the flow or become another name added to the local obituaries. Amir has the whole hood behind him. He’s a beacon of hope for young men who feel they’ve been discarded by society. North Carolina is breeding him to be their star, but he has other plans in mind. Amir wants to be like his daddy, a hustler with principles who keeps his enemies close and treats his friends like family. Death Before Dishonor is his motto.

When his childhood friend ends up in prison with a nine-year bid, Amir is true to the game and holds him down. He adheres to the code of the streets, but will that be enough to keep his crew together? Will Amir be able to forgive one of his childhood friends for being unfaithful to the game that made him the man he is today? Sometimes, a big booty and a smile can bring a soldier to his knees, but there are consequences for violating the code of the streets. Once a vow is taken, there’s no turning back.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Urban Books
• Release date: Sep 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781645562610

Book preview

Prologue

What the fuck is you doing? For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I saw Mike pointing his gun at my chest. I gave this bitch-ass nigga a blank stare and waited on his response.

What do you think?

What, you finna kill me?

I ain’t got no other choice. I ain’t finna keep hustling all my life, and I ain’t gon’ be no do-boy for no one else. I ain’t got millions like y’all niggas, and I ain’t got enough money to move away and live some fairy-tale life like you.

"So that’s what this is all about, huh? Is this shit about money, Mike?" I angrily barked. I couldn’t believe Mike was actually standing in front of me, waving a gun in my face. Some muthafuckas are just unfaithful to the game.

Nigga, like I said, I’m not gon’ to keep hustling all my life. Plus, whatever I take from you, I earned.

Mike, you can keep the money you owe me, and you can take this punk-ass two million and go. Leave the state or the country. I don’t give a fuck what you do. Just don’t take my life.

"Oh, you can take a life, but you don’t want yours taken? Nigga, don’t bitch up now. Every dog got his day, and yours has arrived," Mike said with a serious smile.

I knew my life was now in danger. I’ve never been a bitch, and I wasn’t about to bitch up now. Y’all know y’all ain’t going to get away with this.

We already have.

"Mike, no matter what you do to me, no matter what you take from me, no matter how hard you try to stop hustling, you will never be me. Nigga, I made you. I kept you in the game. Y’all right. Y’all have no choice but to kill me, ’cause if I live, I will kill you, your family, and anybody associated with you. So, do what the fuck you got to do."

Who the fuck you think you are? Mike snapped with hostility in his voice.

A jealous nigga never makes it in this game, I said as I pulled my dick out and added, You and your punk-ass partner can both suck my dick. Nigga, every life I took deserved it. Just consider yourself lucky. With that said, I looked Mike in the eyes, letting him know I was not gonna beg for my life.

And who the fuck is you to say who lives or dies? Is you God, muthafucka? Huh?

Chapter 1

I Ain’t Mad at Y’all

My name is Amir, and I wanna give y’all a glimpse of how real thoroughbred niggas can get lost in the game, lose focus, and begin breaking and violating all the rules that determine if a nigga or bitch is cut out for the streets. I’m a product of the streets of North Carolina, and I make no excuses for some of the dumb shit I’ve done in life, but I was never Unfaithful to the Game.

The year was 1989, and I was 13 years old. Even at an early age, I had a hustler mentality. I wasn’t your typical 13-year-old. I clearly understood that my family was poor as shit. Ma Duke was single, struggling to raise me and my trifling-ass sister, Sharon, but somehow, she always managed to make ends meet. Sometimes, I wondered if she was selling ass on the down low because although we were poor, we always kept food in the fridge, clean clothes on our backs, and a clean house.

We lived in a small town called Clayton, just outside of Raleigh. Some of y’all call it the Dirty South. Me, I call it home.... The place that raised me to be a heartless nigga, hungry for what the world had to offer me.

Ma Duke owned a beat-up white ’74 Nova. This piece of a car was the ugliest ever to cruise the streets. The kids in the neighborhood called it The One-Eyed Bucket. It had a beige door with rust spots all over it. The windshield was cracked, and it had one headlight that looked like it was winking at you when it was driven down the street. It was our only means of transportation and the only thing Ma Duke could afford on a waitress salary working at the Waffle House. Witnessing Ma Duke driving that car made me want to go out on the block and hustle. I’d rather walk than be caught dead in that car. Fuck that. I knew I had to make shit better for my sister and Ma Duke. Being a broke nigga in the hood wasn’t cutting it.

I played football and was the star of my team. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My coach always told me that I would be special one day and that I had the potential of becoming an NFL running back if I kept my mind on the game. What he failed to realize was that I already was special. Football or not, I was determined to shine regardless of what obstacles stood in my path.

After football practice, I usually had to walk to my aunt Debra’s house in the projects, where I stayed until my mother got off from work, which generally was about ten o’clock at night.

The projects were the place to be. All my friends lived there: Reese, B.B., Tab, Dre, and a bunch of other knuckleheads who were just as hungry as I was to fatten their pockets with some cheddar. But Jarius was my best friend. He was my nigga for real and my partner in crime. We’ve been tight since knee-high. Our mothers were like sisters. They used to live with us, but now they lived with Aunt Debra in the projects.

My aunt’s three-bedroom apartment was always full of muthafuckas. If my mom had allowed it, I would have moved in there even if I had to sleep on the floor.

On Tuesday evening, and my friends and I had just made it back to the projects from football practice. I gave the fellows dap and told them I would catch them later. I had to change my gear.

Aunt Debra, I’m home, I shouted as I walked into the house.

Boy, stop yelling in my goddamn house, Aunt Debra replied. She emerged from the back room with a cigarette in one hand and the phone in the other.

I ain’t yelling. I was just letting you know that I was home, I said as I walked past her and headed straight for the refrigerator.

Your momma called and said you better not leave this house. From the sound of her voice, she sounded like she was upset.

Why? What did I do? I asked, knowing damn well what she was referring to. I was busted.

Boy, don’t play stupid. Why did you sign your momma’s name on your Progress Report? You could’ve brought that shit to me, and I would’ve signed it for you.

I don’t know, I shrugged, knowing I was in deep shit with Ma Duke. I wasn’t worried about the ass whipping. I was worried more about having to hear her damn mouth all week—maybe even a month—about this shit.

Well, you better know, ’cause she said she’s gonna beat that ass when she gets home. Now, make yourself something to eat while I handle my business, Aunt Debra said as she turned around and took her phat ass back into her bedroom.

Aunt Debra was built like a stripper. Everything about her was provocative, but she was cool. She really didn’t care about what I did while in her care. I was her favorite nephew, and she always had my back.

After I changed my gear and got something to eat from the kitchen, I went into the living room where my cousin, Porsha, was sitting on the couch reading a book. She was a li’l freak bitch who tried to play the innocent role when she was around family. Where’s Jarius at? I asked her as I sat down next to her.

Nigga, why is you asking me about Jarius? Do I look like his mother? You need to worry about that ass whipping your momma’s about to put on you instead of worrying about another nigga. Plus, I ain’t his babysitter, Porsha replied and continued to read her book that Iceberg Slim wrote.

The li’l bitch had a vicious attitude. I wanted to slap the shit out of her. I hate you.

Yeah, whatever. I hate you too. You and a whole bunch of other niggas, she said, flashing me a phony smile.

I gave Porsha the middle finger, and she grabbed it and tried to bite it. We started wrestling, and I won’t front. Her li’l phat ass had my dick standing at attention. I could’ve easily pinned her ass down on the couch, but I let her get her shit off on me. I loved the way her body felt against mine.

Girl, get off my li’l nigga. Get off him before you hurt him, Jarius shouted as he walked into the living room.

Being two years older than me, Jarius always felt like he had to protect me. Fuck. This nigga’s always got to be blocking.

I do what I want to do to him. Plus, he’s my family, Porsha responded, still holding my neck and pressing her soft body against mine.

Come on, dog, let’s roll, Jarius said, putting his arm around me. Then he looked at Porsha and smiled.

That li’l knucklehead can’t go anywhere. He has an appointment with an ass whipping.

Shut the fuck up and mind your own business, I said, rubbing my right hand across my injured finger. You tried to hurt me. The fact was, I loved the way her lips felt against my finger, even though she was trying to hurt me.

I’m gonna tell your momma.

Ask me if I care. You be telling anyway, snitch. C’mon, Jarius, let’s roll.

Where we goin’? Jarius asked as we exited the house.

Let’s walk to the store.

A’ight.

Yo, you got any money? I asked, looking at him. I hated looking up at him. Even though he was a tall muthafucka, in my eyes, size meant nothing to me. If he got out of line, I was determined to check him.

Yeah, I got five dollars. Reaching inside his pocket, Jarius pulled out a single bill and said, Yeah, that’s what I got.

Cool, my nig, ’cause I only got two dollars.

Suddenly, I spotted a black Benz 190E coming to a complete stop. The driver was Red, Jarius’s brother on his father’s side. Yo, ain’t that your brother? Why don’t you ask him for some money? I suggested.

Nah, I ain’t asking that clown for shit. That nigga be acting just like my dad, all funny and shit. Plus, I don’t fuck with him like that. You ask him.

Jarius, you need to stop taking shit personally. Your punk-ass brother got what we need: big money. We only have seven funky dollars combined. So, suck up your pride and go ask him for some money.

Nah, he already gave me some.

Fuck that. Get some more. Let’s both ask him.

A’ight, I don’t have a problem with that, Jarius agreed after realizing that I spotted the bitch in him. At that moment, I concluded that he wasn’t as hard as he wanted everyone to think he was. He was pure pussy—a scary nigga afraid to ask his own blood for cheddar.

What’s up, Red? I asked as I walked toward his car.

Ain’t shit up, niggas. Just chillin’. Why? What’s up?

Man, we need some money. We’re trying to get something from the store.

Yo, I just broke Jarius off with a li’l sumptin’ a li’l while ago.

Nigga, that shit’s gone.

I like you, Amir, but we ain’t blood related. I don’t have to give you shit. Now, both of you li’l niggas go on about y’all business.

Damn, Red. If you ain’t tryin’a give us a handout, then let us earn that shit, I said, making him feel as though doing him a favor was a big thing. Nigga, your ass is lucky I ain’t a li’l older. If I was, I’d be robbin’ your cheap ass for all your cheese.

Now, you’re talking my language. Before I give y’all this cheddar, I want y’all to do me a favor. Red chuckled. Fair exchange ain’t a robbery.

What we gotta do for that cheese, nigga? I asked.

Red was acting all hard and fronting as if he were that boy, showing off in front of the chocolate chick who was sittin’ in the front seat of his car, smiling. Go to Ashley’s house and tell C-Low I said to bring his ass on the block.

Cool, I said as Red reached into his pocket and brought out a fat-ass bankroll, peeled off two ten-dollar bills, and gave Jarius and me ten dollars apiece. I looked at him as if he were fucking crazy or something. Ten dollars. What the fuck was I gonna do with ten dollars when I knew this nigga’s pockets were fat as hell? Ten dollars? Man, I can’t buy shit with this. Give us another twenty apiece, I demanded, eyeing the knot of money in his hands.

I shoulda known better, fuckin’ with y’all two li’l niggas, Red said. That li’l nigga got more heart and balls than some of these clowns out here. If he was a li’l older, I’d definitely put him on my team, he thought to himself as he peeled off two crisp twenty-dollar bills and handed them both to me. He then added, Go handle your business. Tell that nigga, C-Low, that Big Daddy wants to see him out here, now.

Ashley was C-Low’s baby momma, and she was one gorgeous chick. Every young bull on the block wanted to stick some dick up in her.

On our way to her house, Tab caught up with us. Yo, where y’all going? he asked, trying to catch his breath and pulling his pants up. Everybody’s at the park.

Yeah, we know, but we got to handle some business for Red first before we head over there.

Well, can I roll with y’all?

You can, but I’m not breaking you off any cheddar.

Neither am I, Jarius said.

Nigga, get off that li’l nigga’s dick, Tab told him, mean-mugging us both.

Tab, you’re the one who asked to roll with us. We’re cool with you—or without you. If anybody is riding anybody’s dick, it’s you, I snapped back.

Y’all muthafuckas are greedy as fuck, but that’s cool. I just wanna roll with y’all for a little while, Tab said.

Greedy? Nigga, find yourself a hustle so your ass won’t have to be broke all the time, I responded, ice grillin’ him.

When we arrived at Ashley’s house, I noticed all the lights were out, but I knew someone was home because I could hear a girl moaning. Plus, C-Low’s car was parked in front of the house. The front door was unlocked, so we decided to creep into the house. Hey, let’s see what’s poppin’ up in this bitch.

It sounds like somebody’s getting fucked, Jarius said.

How the fuck do you know? You ain’t never had no pussy, nigga, Tad responded.

Neither have you. Trust me; my mom moans the same way when she’s fucking her man. That fishy smell is pussy. Somebody’s fucking.

Why don’t y’all shut the fuck up so we can see some pussy? I whispered as we stood in the living room. To our surprise, C-Low had Ashley on the kitchen table, fucking her brains out. We watched with hypnotic wonderment as he fucked her with long, slow strokes.

O-o-o-oh, C-Low, I love the way your dick feels inside me-e-e-e! Give it to me, C-Low. It feels so hot inside me.

Push that phat pussy back to daddy, Ashley.

Ashley pushed her pussy toward C-Low’s dick, making it penetrate another inch. She gasped and wriggled with delight. She rotated her pussy in tight, hot circles.

Baby, squeeze me with your pussy lips, C-Low commanded as he kept massaging her clit with his fingers, keeping her crazed with passion. Ashley tightened her pussy lips around him. The feeling was incredible.

Jarius and Tab were drooling all over themselves, and so was I. I mean, why not? The truth of the matter is that none of us had seen a real pussy . . . until now. Shit, I jerked off plenty of times watching my mom’s porno flicks and to Black Tail magazine. But seeing Ashley lying on top of the table with her pussy wide open and getting fucked by C-Low was gangsta.

Man, I hate that nigga, C-Low, Tab said as he grabbed his dick.

Nigga, don’t hate; congratulate. One day, we’re gonna get a chance to fuck bitches too, Jarius responded.

Do y’all think C-Low would let us fuck Ashley? I asked Jarius and Tab. I was dead serious about this shit.

Nigga, that’s some wishful thinking, but I dare you to ask him, Jarius said, looking at me as if he were testing my gangsta.

I know this bitch-ass nigga don’t think I’m a pussy like him, I thought to myself. A’ight, I got no problem with asking. If he says yes, I’m first.

Jarius and Tab both busted out laughing.

Who the fuck is in my crib? Who the fuck are you? C-Low shouted as he began to pull his dick out of Ashley.

Jarius stared at C-Low with wide eyes, all scared and shit. He had that I want to run look.

Red wants to see you on the block now, I blurted out.

Yeah, a’ight. But y’all HP niggas better learn how to knock before y’all run up in here again like y’all crazy.

Yeah, whatever, I stated, eyeing Ashley as she lay on the table with her pussy dripping.

Fuck you, punk, Jarius spat before he ran out of the house.

Yo, C-Low, can I ask you something without you getting mad and shit?

Come on, young buck. You already fucked up my mood. What the fuck you want?

I want to fuck your bitch, Ashley.

Young buck, you got a lot of heart to be spitting that dumb shit at me. I’ll tell you what. If Ashley wants to break you in, I won’t be mad. How old are you?

Old enough. I’m 13.

C-Low and Ashley both laughed as if I said something funny.

You’re too young for me, baby. I’m not trying to go to jail. When you get a little older, come see me, and I’ll give you all the pussy you can handle, Ashley said, grabbing my face with both of her hands. She then pressed her big nipples against my face.

Damn, that shit feels good. One day, I will get my turn.... My day will come. Nah, ol’ head. When I get older, I’ma have my own pussy. Fuck you, C-Low, I said as I walked out of Ashley’s house with a serious hard-on.

On our way to the store, we passed a group of little hoodrats. The girls were cousins, but they acted like sisters. Fuck with one, and you fuck with all. Kita, Irish, Christy, and Deemi were hot in the pants. Christy was the most developed out of the group, but make no mistake, they all had phat asses, nice, suckable tits, and they were down for whatever.

Kita had a crush on Jarius, and she let it be known that she was ready to drop her panties and do what she needed to do to lock a nigga down. Jarius, what’s up? she asked, looking at him with lust in her eyes and sucking on a Blow Pop.

You and that Blow Pop you’re sucking on.

You going to the game on Saturday?

Yeah. You know I got to watch my nigga play. But what’s up with you? I wish I was that Blow Pop you’re sucking on.

Kita smiled, and so did the rest of the girls. "Why don’t you walk me back to my house so I can show you how nasty I can get with a real Blow Pop?"

Fuck these nasty bitches, I said, looking at Jarius and Tab, who was trying to get his mack on with Christy and acting as if he didn’t hear me. These li’l bitches think they’re too good to give a nigga like me the time of day. I’m tired of being turned down. I’m not putting up with