25 year old Shawn Carter also known as Hov in the drug dealer streets is a famous king pin. He has been notorious for selling crack-cocaine, murdering fellow rivals, and dodging prison time. However things may come to a change when a certain person...
"Like a mama you birth me, Brooklyn you nursed me. Schooled me with hard knocks, better than Berkeley."
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"Nigga, I keep telling you it's not the 80s. Why the fuck you keep putting money in a fucking shoe box." I complained to my partner, Rozay. This man keeps all his stash in a shoe box as if that's a good ass hiding spot.
Instead of answering me, the nigga waved me off and put the rest of the money he was counting on to the counting machine.
I licked my lips before taking a sip of my Hennessy as I watched the count rise higher. Nothing turns me on more than money does.
If I didn't introduce myself correctly then my bad. But it should've already been known. My street name around here in this drug dealer business is Hov. I gave myself the nickname years ago when I claimed the title of King Pin. I felt like the god of this business, so calling myself Hov or Hova seemed appropriate.
However my government name, the one my mama gave to me at birth is Shawn. Shawn Corey Cater. There are only a few people who calls me that and I will only respond to those people.
I was a minor when I enter this drug dealer business. Didn't know what the fuck I was doing, but I knew I needed so money. Fast money always seems like the best money at the time.
Besides the two men in my life wasn't here to guide me the right way, so I did what I had to do. At 16 my Uncle got killed right in front of me and two months later my Pops got arrested and charged with first degree murder for killing my uncle's murderer.
So, I did what any real nigga would do. Strapped up my boots and became the man of the family. I had two older sisters and a mama to take care of. I didn't give a fuck if they all had legal jobs. None of their minimum wage income was making the amount I was getting selling crack-cocaine.
But I'm not stupid. Never in life did I ever get caught up by the police bitch asses. Yeah they got a few of my crew members but them niggas knew better then to snitch. They kept their mouths shut and for that their commissary stayed a healthy amount.
I never left my trace, only worked with motherfuckas who knew how to operate and the minute I smelt some funny shit going on, it was off with a nigga head. And no I never shed a tear or felt sympathy when I pull the trigger. Because if roles were reverse they wouldn't have any regret killing me.
Just like the saying goes; kill or be killed.
"Everything came out to be 500,000. I counted this shit three times, but I know yo ass tho. You go, go after me and make sure." Rozay said breaking me from my focus.
I put my cup down and took the money from him. "You're fucking correct. You know I gotta double check after y'all asses. Ain't nobody go be lying to me."
He chuckle and stood up, walking over to the bar to pour himself a drink. Sitting in his spot, I took some of the money and placed it back on the machine. I needed to make sure 500,000 was accurate. I know Rozay wouldn't lie to me, but still I gotta make sure.
