Page 137 of Certified to Handle You
“Open yo’ fuckin’ mouth,” I told her.
She cried harder, shakin’ her head.
“Please… please?—”
“That ain’t gon’ help you,” I said, pushin’ my knee deeper in her spoke, just enough to make her listen. “Open… yo’… fuckin’ bitch ass mouth.”
She hesitated, so I forced it, pressin’ my fingers against her jaw until she had no choice. I grabbed her tongue and leaned down just enough so she could hear me clear.
“You better start talkin’,” I said. “Or I’m cuttin’ this shit out since you act like you don’t know how to use it.”
She started panickin’, tryna shake away, but she couldn’t move.
The second the blade touched her, and she tasted her own blood, she screamed.
“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I’m so fuckin’ sorry!”
The room went quiet after that. Even them niggas on the floor looked at her different now, like they was pissed that she folded.
“Yeah,” I said, lettin’ go of her. “That sound about right.”
I stood up and looked down at all four of ’em laid out in front of me, then wiped the blade clean slow before speakin’ again.
“They say when you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes,” I said, lookin’ from one face to the next. “And y’all muthafuckas just won a one-way trip to Trill-Land.”
The Jet
We was back on the jet and I ain’t even gon’ lie, the whole ride felt different this time ’cause we wasn’t just flyin’ back empty handed or talkin’ about what we was gon’ do no more.
We had all four of these muthafuckas laid out behind us, tied up tight, mouths duct taped, and still halfway out of it from what we gave ’em just to get ’em on the jet without no extra noise.
They ain’t come in fightin’ or talkin’ crazy. They came in dragged, handled and placed exactly where we wanted ’em.
Blood was already on ’em from the way we dragged these niggas, but I ain’t leave it at that once we got in the air, ’cause the minute one of them niggas started comin’ to and movin’ around like he was tryna figure out what was goin’ on, I got up out my seat and started beatin’ they asses.
Kay’Lo ain’t move from his seat. He just watched it happen, his eyes followin’ every hit like he was countin’ ’em in his head, and from the look on his face, he ain’t feel sorry for not one of ’em.
I let the first nigga drop back down, then stepped over him and kicked the next one in his side while he was still tied up, hearin’ the air leave his chest as he tried to curl up but couldn’t go nowhere.
“That’s for thinkin’ shit sweet,” I muttered, then looked over at the third one who ain’t even try to move no more.
By the time I went back to my seat, all four of ’em was quiet, laid out, and finally understandin’ this wasn’t no situation they was gon’ talk or fight they way out of.
I leaned back in my seat and took a sip from the bottle in my hand, lettin’ the liquor sit for a second while I looked over at Pressure and ‘Lo like this was just another day.
That’s how it always been with us, though. We handled shit, and never let it ride, ’cause we knew if the shoe was on the other foot, niggas wasn’t gon’ spare us.
Pressure was in his seat with one arm draped back while he smoked, and ‘Lo was sittin’ across from me, quiet like he been since we picked them niggas up. He ain’t say much, but I ain’t need him to, ’cause the way he watched them told me everything I needed to know about where his head was at.
They stole his money, and that alone was enough.
I looked over at him and smirked.
“Aye,” I said, tappin’ the bottle against my knee. “What the fuck you forgot earlier?”
He glanced at me, already knowin’ what I was talkin’ about, then shook his head like he wasn’t even about to entertain it.
“Nigga, mind your business.”
