Dangerous Love (Urban Fiction)

Emani Justice Johnson

She had everything she wanted. No one knows how she got it. Some say she fucked the real manager just to call herself manager. Some say hard work is key. Only thing really known is the simple fact that both her strip clubs were the most loved in New York. She had them remodeled every 3 months for a new look. New strippers every 6 months. Guest strippers once a month. Guest Artists whenever someone decided to pop up. Her business was blessed. She was blessed. She had a talent that most girls were still taking classes for. She knew how to work the pole. She was the most envied at her strip clubs. When she hit the stage everyone wanted a front row seat. She was good at what she did and of course she was gonna make money with it. Anybody that wanted more than just a feel had to have real money. Brown suga (her strip name) was expensive. Men were still saving up just to even eat taste the luscious pussy that no man could have. $700 just to taste. $1000 to fuck. $500 for your own private lap dance.  She was the manager. Niggas loved her. So why not run they pockets? She gave up on love after being cheated on twice. One nigga got one of her strippers knocked up. The other thought he was gonna beat her and cheat at the same time. WRONG. filed a report on domestic violence, set that nigga up, jail and probation for a very long time after being his ass with a frying pan till the police came. She aint believe in that love shit. She did when she was young but aint no love in her game. Its all about the money. She owned 2 strip clubs, lived on the 6th floor of a beautiful Condo, drove a burgundy Range rover, and lived with her best friend who was New Yorks Trap Queen. Some niggas hated her, some niggas wanted to be her. She went by the name of mini. She was real small but she did big things. There was no love in her business either. She had 2 Ride or Die niggas. They were the ones that bagged and sold anything and everything. They brought home the money and she paid them at the end of the week. They would sell at Emani’s strip club and do they work out in the streets. Mini’s work was most hated because she was sneaky with her shit. You wouldn't just dap Dre or Ricky up and pass the drugs and money along. That was too hot and undercover cops were everywhere. some say you give them money and the weed magically appears in your pocket. some say its delivered to your destination like a house call. no one knows. At the end of the day all we know is Mini’s little minions came home with money. Mini drove a Black Benz and had her windows tinted. She also got her gun license and owned enough guns to kill anyone and anything. Chill, Fuck, Get That Money was their motto. No Love.

 

***

 

“see i wont change my life my lifes just fine, fine, fine oooo” i rolled over and realized that it was my iphone was ringing. Someone please explain to me why mini loves calling me from down the fuckin hall.

 

Emani: what bitch?

 

Mini: you talk to Dre lately?

 

Emani: wtf was i just doing….SLEEPING…..

 

Mini: That nigga aint come with my money last night.

 

Emani: well shit idk where he is did you try calling him?

 

Mini: yupp plenty of times. shit goes straight to voicemail.

 

Emani: alright imma go downstairs and see if hes sleep.

 

i ended the call and walked out my room and walked out the house in a bra and underwear. I quite frankly didnt give a fuck who seen me or who had anything to say. Dre was bouta get punched. He know better. i got on the elevator and went to the 5th floor and walked down the hall to his house door. i knocked on it hard. after 10 seconds Dre came to the door rubbing his eyes.