Harmony is a spirited young woman navigating the vibrant yet gritty world of a strip club, where she dances to support her dreams amidst the shadows of her past. Following the mysterious disappearance of the original owner, the club is abruptly take...
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Torah Dayvon Banks Three Days Later | 03/31/21
In the alleyway, Torah stood over the trembling man named Malik with his fists clenched in anger. Malik, with fear in his eyes, struggled against Torah's grip that was unbreakable due to his immense strength, and the loud sound of his fist repeatedly connecting to his face echoed through the alley.
"You thought I was tweakin' witcho ass, nigga? Whea' the fuck my money at, Malik?" Torah softly yet sternly spoke, unleashing another impactful punch to Malik's face.
"I don't have it right now. Just give me a few days to have it, V.Roy." Malik pleaded, his eye closing from the effective punch that it had endured.
"You already got that extension courtesy the last time. You think ima goofy ass nigga 'round this bitch or sum?" Torah frustratedly scolded after he landed another punch to Malik's face.
"Fuck allat." He murmured, aggressively grabbing Malik by the shirt and mercilessly dragging him towards the car.
Once there, he yanked the door open with a natural frown displayed on his face as he shoved Malik's arm inside, repeatedly slamming the heavy door against it.
"Ahh! Fuck!" Malik shouted in excruciating pain, instinctively holding his broken arm with the other when Torah finally stopped the violence.
"Next time ima kill yo ass. Have my money in three days or that's you and yo otha' brother ass, goofy." Torah threatened, a petty smirk slowly creeping on his face, meaning every word that rolled off his tongue.
He alertly approached his truck as he peeled off the black leather gloves from his hands, stuffing them in his jacket pocket. He opened the heavy door of the truck, settling into the driver's seat and adjusting the rearview mirror, taking a quick glance of himself before he turned the key in the ignition. The engine started, and with a steady hand, he shifted into gear, quickly pulling away and leaving the alley.
Shaving a thirty minute drive into eighteen minutes, he parked in the driveway of Muwop's house, his eyes scanning his surroundings as he quickly walked to the door.
Muwop instantly opened the front door before Torah could knock. "Wassup, nigga. I can hea' yo music a block away." His lips released a soft chuckle, and he stepped aside to allow Torah to enter the house.
"Fuck whatchu talkin' 'bout, Wop. That nigga Malik got three days to have my money or else ima pop his ass." Torah stated, his hand reaching to remove the Louis Vuitton beanie from his head.
Torah and Muwop descended to the hidden basement of the house where Durk was, which was the former area that contained the drugs that they sold and the money that they collected in the past. It was officially their area to chill; somewhat a man cave.
"Whatup, Von." Durk greeted with a nod of the head, their hands meeting in a firm yet dap as Torah settled beside him on the couch.
"So what happened with Malik? How that nigga end up owing you money?" Muwop sat down on the opposite couch before he grabbed the remote to the television, decreasing the volume.
