A Glimpse Into My TWISTED Upcoming Releases (Free & Official)

COCAIN, GUNS & VIDEOTAPE (Chapter 3)

The mood and atmosphere of the cocaine white Escalade's interior was as somber as a funeral. It was absolutely silent. The four occupants said not one word or even gave each other eye contact. All that could be heard was the whirring of the heat blowing from the dashboard vents, and the sound of the Pirelli tires as they rolled over the pothole ravaged surface of the ghetto's snow covered streets.

          In the driver seat leaned back into its leather maneuvering whipping the steering wheel with one hand was Nina. She was a redboned stud who stood about 5'11 and had a slim frame. Long black dreads hung down to the center of her back from underneath her beige Cleveland Indians fitted which was broken and tilted to the left. Underneath the corner of one of her green eyes were tattooed teardrops. From her neck down to her waist were countless tattoos; some dates, phrases or Bible scriptures. Others were images and faces. Each showed vividly against the shade of her smooth yellow skin and was amazingly detailed. She was now dressed in a heavy beige colored Polo bubble coat that matched her fitted. Fur laced its hood. She was also rocking a pair of blue Polo jeans and beige Timberlands.

Besides being a female, there was nothing feminine about Nina. Her voice had a light gruff sort of sound to it. She walked rugged. She carried herself masculinely and she only had a sexual interest in women. Her pussy hadn't tasted a dick since she was a teenager and there was absolutely nothing about it she missed.

          In the passenger seat sat Dayvian. He stood six feet even and was handsome. His head was shaved low to the scalp and faded around the sides. He was dressed in a white Chinchilla fur bomber coat. He was also rocking black Cavalli jeans and white Air Forces. From his ears dangled sparkling diamond studs while around his neck and outside his coat hung a platinum necklace and medallion. Both were fluttered with crushed diamonds.

          Of everyone in the crew, Dayvian was the flashiest. He wanted the whole world to know he was getting money and lots of it. He was the one who made it rain in the club every night, kept the newest whip, fucked the most exotic bitches and rode the newest rims at all times.

          Behind Dayvian sat Chop. He stood six feet also and was solidly built. His head was shaved bald and his beard was thick and full like Rick Ross'. He was rocking a black bubble coat, sagging black 501 Levis and black shell toe Adidas with white stripes. On his head was a black skull cap.

          Chop was the truest killer of the crew and always the most serious. He never smiled or laughed and was a man of only a few words. With him, it was gunplay first, questions last. The streets knew he wasn't a joke.

Behind Nina sat Shellz. He was the youngest of the crew. He was half black, half Puerto Rican. His hair was long, black, silky and was done in cornrows from the front of his skull to the back. He was rocking a white bubble coat, white jeans, white Reebok Classics, and a white Yankees fitted.

Shellz was the baby. He'd bussed guns and killed niggas but his baby faced look always made those who didn't know him think he could never be capable of engaging in those types of acts. He looked too innocent.

In silence all four of the SUV's occupants stared out of their individual windows. Dayvian smoked a Newport to deal with the funeral like atmosphere. Nina eyed the windshield rarely blinking. Shellz tapped the fingers of his right hand against the side of his thigh. Chop sat completely still. Of all of them, he was the one who rarely ever let troubled emotions register enough in his face or demeanor for people to see.