Pursuing The Plug Page 3

  “What is it?”

  “I want to teach you a thing or two. I think it’s time you learned how to use something other than those fists of yours.”

  “Papa, I think my fists work pretty well. We must head back inside before Baby comes to fetch us. You know she won’t be too kind if she has to come looking.”

  “Baby can’t be much else but kind, Momma. The lady doesn’t have an evil bone in her body.”

  “That didn’t pan out the way I expected it.”

  Hampsher was led into her grandfather’s shed, one that she’d frequented as a kid. Walking inside, she was astounded by the reconstruction. What used to be piles of firewood, four wheeler storage, and a place to house other trinkets was something much more relevant, something of better use, and somewhere Hampsher made immediate plans to spend more time. The one place that she felt connected with, instantaneously.

  “I’ve been working on this range for three months now. It’s finally something to see. You know your mother was your age when she took her final breath. Though my son loved her with every fiber in his being, and I don’t doubt the fact at all, I think that he put too much effort in to protecting her himself.

  He never thought to teach her how to protect herself, which is why he was so hard on you as a young one. Me? I tried to teach you every trick I knew. But I knew there would come a time that I’d need to introduce you to something a bit more powerful and bit more reliable.”

  Hampsher waited in silence as her grandfather continued to speak. The .45 that he lifted from the shelf was enough to cause an orgasm simply at the sight. Her throat thickened with saliva, and her skin began to overheat. Papa continued talking, but Hampsher had been dazed, stuck in a trance.

  “Stand right here,” he instructed and maneuvered his body until he was behind Hampsher. “I wished I’d taught you this twenty years ago. You could’ve hit every son of a bitch that was in the house that night. You wouldn’t have missed.”

  Papa lifted Hampsher’s arms and aimed at the target ahead of them, hanging from the ceiling. Hampsher spread her feet wide enough to retain her balance. Squaring her shoulders, she caused her grandfather to take a step back.

  From her stance, he could sense that this wasn’t her first rodeo show. She was poised as a professional, one that he hadn’t had the pleasure of being introduced to. As Hampsher steadied the gun that she held out in front of her on her own at that point, flashbacks of that fatal night came soaring through her mind.

  “Do something.”

  “Do something.”

  “Do something.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  She emptied the clip into the paper, hitting every target she was given. After the gun was emptied, she removed the clip and snatched another from the shelf that held her grandfather’s ammunition. Hampsher stepped aside and began rupturing the second target, shredding the paper without remorse.

  “Do something.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  She emptied a second clip. After her target had been demolished, Hampsher removed the second clip, broke the gun down until it was unrecognizable, and then turned to her grandfather with shallow breaths. Tears stained her cheeks as they stared back at one another.

  “Hampsher!” he bellowed, astounded beyond belief.

  “I won’t miss again. Not ever, Papa.”

  A wad of thick curls clogged his nose. Breathing became a challenge, causing a stir in his limbs. The scorching sun, in addition to his restricted oxygen supply, ripped through his flesh rudely and unconcerned with the discomfort it caused. To make matters worse, his skin had begun to perspire from the petite but heated frame that was pushed up against his own.

  Rafeeq recalled his previous night, one where he’d lured yet another to his bed. Opening his eyes involuntarily, he patted the side of his bed in search of his cell. The prickling of his lids was agonizing, summoning a groan from his lips. Once retrieved, Rafeeq checked the time in the upper right hand corner of his screen.

  Mano. Rafeeq considered, accessing his contacts and dialing the doorman’s cell.

  “Mr. Jones, how can I be of service to you?”

  “I have a young lady sprawled across my sheets. She’ll be needing a way home.” Low and raspy, he laid the situation at hand on the table.

  “Sure. I’ll fetch her a ride. No problem, Mr. Jones. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “Her out of my bed.”

  Rafeeq ended the call as he heard Mano agreeing to his command. Maneuvering his way out of bed, he was sure not to wake the sleeping beauty next to him. After he had risen, Rafeeq gawked over the lusciousness before him, contemplating between calling Mano to put a hold on his request while he got his dick wet or starting his busy day.

  Though it was a tough decision, Rafeeq chose the latter. Lunch with his father was in only two hours, and there was a world of progress to make in his morning before heading out. If there was nothing else he lacked tolerance for, it was tardiness, and his father was the same.

  Naked as the day he emerged from his mother’s pussy, Rafeeq strolled into his massive bathroom and stood over the bowl. Standing at six feet seven and hung like a horse, there wasn’t a need to assist his member with its aim. Hands on his hips and head tilted backward, Rafeeq released his bladder.

  The sound of his front door being cracked was to be expected and didn't disturb the relief he was currently in the process of concluding. Rafeeq stepped away from the bowl once finished. The automated machine cleared traces of the brown liquor he’d ingested the night before.

  In the floor-length mirror beside the counter, Rafeeq admired his frame. Each morning, he took his precious time maintaining the body he’d acquired as a sports enthusiast through high school and college. His untamed beard and sleepy eyes were evidence that he could use another hour or three, but time waited for no man, and he didn’t have the luxury of sparing any, not even a second to address the yelling coming from his second bedroom where sleeping beauty had awakened.

  “I need to talk to him. Where is he?”

  “I regret to inform you that Mr. Jones has left for the day. As a courtesy, he sent me up to be sure that you got home safe. Right this way, ma’am.”

  “I just heard the toilet flush. I know he’s still in here.”

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t let you back there. Mr. Jones is not here. I will address your concerns upon his return. For now, you must vacate the premises.”

  “Fuck these premises.”

  Whoa. She’s a feisty one. Rafeeq chuckled as he squeezed toothpaste onto his brush.

  “Understandable, but right this way, ma’am.”

  After a few more choice words and the slamming of his front door, Rafeeq was alone again. Standing at the sink, he rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth with water before grabbing a steamed towel out of the warmer to clean his face.

  “First off, fuck yo bitch and the clique you claim.” Tupac laced the surround sound, pushing Rafeeq to his limits as he performed his final superset.

  “Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Uh.”

  That concluded his workout. Sweat dripped from him as he reached over and grabbed the small bottled water that was stationed on the counter. Checking the time on his Apple watch, Rafeeq narrowed down the time he had before he was meeting his father for lunch.

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Nodding, he pressured himself to shower in record time. Ten minutes was the most he had to offer the cleansing of his perspiration and the previous night’s activities. Rafeeq recapped the empty bottle and tossed it into the waste basket on his way out of his home gym, which led to his bathroom. Scratching his beard, he contemplated on what he’d wear on his walk through.

  At the entrance of the shower, Rafeeq set the timer for eight minutes, knowing that it would take him at least two to prepare for his shower. The timer wasn’t to commence its countdown until he was inside. While the temperature adjusted to his liking and settings, Ra
feeq rushed to his massive closet.

  The dwelling housed a variety of threads from designer suits to corner store t-shirts. Rafeeq didn’t discriminate. He decided on a pair of gray jeans and a gray v-neck tee that made his chest seem larger than life. His two minutes concluded as he chose a pair of gray Jordans.

  The shower caused the bathroom to fog, assuring Rafeeq that he was free to step inside. He unclothed his body and tossed his stained clothes in the basket designated for donation. Rafeeq never wore the same threads twice. Twice a month, a cleaning service came for the gear that he’d worn.

  After the clothing was returned, Rafeeq would visit his uncle’s youth center and fill the racks that were dedicated to his contributions bi-monthly. The young boys were able to choose semi-new pieces from the infamous philanthropist and mentor.

  Finally, his body was drenched in steaming water, a privilege that many men weren’t accustomed to. Unlike others who shared the same genitals as him, Rafeeq preferred piping hot water just like his mother and sister. His father wasn’t for it and had been clowned on several occasions due to the fact. Underneath the shower head, Rafeeq closed his eyes, and the countdown began.

  “Father.”

  “Heavy,” RahMeek, Rafeeq’s aging father, responded, standing from his chair and embracing his son.

  Heavy was a nickname he’d acquired as a child because his frame was notably large. He was inches taller than his father, much thicker, and carried much more weight. His dear mother, Bella, had begun calling him Heavy after realizing he was significantly larger than their daughter, his sister. According to his mother, he wore her body down as a baby with the pressure his weight placed her small frame under.

  “Mother?” Rafeeq was astounded by his mother’s presence. Once a week, lunch was dedicated to his father.

  “Rafeeq.” Bella stood from her seat before wrapping her arms around her son as best she could.

  “Your mother claims that she’s bored out of her mind at home these days. I decided to allow her to tag along this afternoon. We’re considering opening a new location for Bella Faces. Maybe this will give her something to do until the new baby comes.”

  “Still, they’re all the way in New York. I need some little people running around my house every day, son.” Bella grabbed Rafeeq’s hands and tilted her head to the side. Her eyeballs blossomed in their sockets and lips protruded. “When will you give me some babies of my own? Your sister is on number two, yet I can’t run to New York every day.”

  “You should’ve left her at home.” Rafeeq chuckled as he turned to his father. “Don’t your ovaries still work, yo?”

  “Yo? Who the hell is yo, Rafeeq?” Bella’s entire demeanor transformed. She held her head straight, neck back, and removed her arms from around him.

  “Chill.” Rafeeq was pudding when it came to the two leading ladies in his life—Reign, his sister, and Bella, his mother.

  Reaching forward, Rafeeq pulled his mother’s folded arms apart and placed them back around his waist before grabbing either side of her face and tilting her head backward. He kissed her forehead and began to calm her raging heart.

  “If babies are what my mother wants, then babies are what she’ll get. How many you want? How many baby mommas should I line up? I can start tonight. You want natural hair babies? Blue-eyed babies? Red head? Dark-skinned cuties? Blonde-haired? Bright skinned? Bi-racial? What you want? I have all types of potential parents.”

  “I can hardly stand you!” Bella snatched away and took her seat, causing Rafeeq and RahMeek to both laugh.

  “You act as if baby making is a sport of mine. If you don’t mind, I’d at least like to be with the woman I impregnate. I’d love for there to be chances that we can wed and live happily ever after. Isn’t that how this works?” Rafeeq cleared his tone of humor.

  “Of course.” Bella simmered down. “I’m just bored out of my mind. Not to mention, I’m ready to see my son with someone he adores.”

  “I’m with her. The other is upstate.” He referred to his mother and sister.

  “It’s time you invited someone else into our circle, Rafeeq.”

  “I have plans to. Just waiting for her to show up so that we can both put one another out of our misery. Mano is about tired of my guests directing their anger toward him.”

  “As he should be. Be sure to keep them away from…”

  “No one has been to my home, Mother.”

  “Good. I’m just making sure.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve been at the loft, and that’s where I’m staying.”

  “Until you…”

  “Until she saunters into my life.”

  Years ahead of him, Rafeeq’s parents had already gifted him his family home. It was the only house within a twelve-mile radius of their own. The home was scarcely furnished and unoccupied. It was to remain that way until Rafeeq wedded, whenever that may have been, and moved inside.

  Bella was obsessed with the thought of Rafeeq’s future family while RahMeek wanted his son to enjoy his youth. RahMeek understood that rushing into marriage could be the splinter that caused the poor foundation to crack under pressure. Yet, he never pressed the issue in his wife’s presence.

  “Heavy,” RahMeek called out to his son, relieving him of the pressure his mother was placing him under.

  Knowing well that his son could handle his own meant nothing. Bella was too obsessed. RahMeek felt as if she was going through a mid-life crisis and needed to be reminded that no one was on her watch. If she wanted a baby badly enough, then he didn’t mind implanting her. It was that simple. As long as her body was still able to produce, then it was possible. There wasn’t an age limit on having children, not when your eggs were still dropping every month.

  “Yes.” Rafeeq faced his father.

  “How was your week?”

  “Decent. Nothing to complain about. There’s a big game tonight.” Rafeeq took his own seat. “I’m looking forward to the crowd and the plays.”

  “Profits for last week?”

  “Through the roof.”

  “As expected.”

  “You should come down tonight.” Rafeeq encouraged his father.

  He owned a prestigious bar, the forefront and cover for a lucrative gambling ring that he housed in the back of the establishment. Only the highest bidders placed bets with Heavy. If you weren’t clocking a certain dollar, then you’d dare not step a foot inside of Heavy’s.

  “I wouldn’t mind, but Reign is due any day. I’ll be delivering your mother to her after we conclude our day.”

  “She is.” Rafeeq beamed, considering the last encounter he had with his sister. “How long will you be staying?”

  “Up until well after the birth. Will you be in…”

  “Mother.”

  “I’m just making sure.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. No matter the hour, I’m on the plane and headed her way.”

  “With me in tow.” RahMeek beckoned for the waitress, who happily addressed their table.

  As expected, the house was full.

  “Crim.” Rafeeq shuffled through the crowd of spectators, watching the monitors and shouting at one another.

  Fairly early, Rafeeq knew that bets would be flying in over the next three hours, which was when he’d conclude the board. Crimson, known as Crim, was handling the early morning rush, knowing that Rafeeq regularly lunched with his father during the early hours of the day.

  “Yo?” Crim and Rafeeq’s hands met as they greeted one another.

  Crim was introduced to Rafeeq six years earlier when his father got wind of his secret bookie operation that was budding during his college years. RahMeek had been waiting to see exactly what part of the family’s business his son was suitable for, but when word returned that Rafeeq was taking bets and putting paws on clients plagued with debt, he knew that there was no steering him in any other direction. Instead, RahMeek embraced his son’s independence and decided that the best he could
do was protect him in the process.

  Crim was sent. He was a former member of The Ring and a certified shooter and had heart. Rafeeq was twenty years Crim’s junior, but he didn’t look a day over thirty.

  The two meshed well, but Rafeeq refused to trust that any man would protect his assets as he would’ve, so he remained the muscle of his own operation, but there were limits.

  Homicides were off the table for him, and that’s where Crim shined like a fresh bulb. Since a boy, Rafeeq had vowed to never determine a man’s fate unless there was no other option or method.

  At a very tender age, he’d caught his first body, which broke his father’s heart. That lone fact haunted him more than the image of the young boy he’d killed, laid out on the marble flooring of their home.

  Twelve Years Earlier…

  Boom!

  The first thud jolted Rafeeq from his temporary gloat.

  Boom!

  He’d finally succeeded at reconstructing the gun that he’d dismantled for ten times in the past four hours. Immediately, he grabbed the small remote that was stationed on the table in front of him. Monitors dropped from the ceiling, and the entire room darkened, giving him a perfect view of the surrounding areas.

  Two masked men were making their way through his family home, guns drawn. Fear pumped through his chest, but the profound sense of bravery overpowered the very feeling. Checking the third camera view from the top, Rafeeq witnessed Reign exiting her bedroom. The figure behind her was startling and uncanny to say the least.

  “Shit, Reign.” Rafeeq, hurriedly grabbed the gun that he’d just finished piecing together and the one beside it, and went in search for more ammunition.

  As his search pursued, Rafeeq remembered his father’s plan in the case of an emergency. With the same remote that he’d just used, Rafeeq smashed his thumb into the red button. Without a doubt, he knew that a signal had been sent to his father and every other male in their family near or far.