All Eyes on Gunz 2 Read online

  All Eyes

  on

  Tommy Gunz

  PART TWO

  Warren Holloway

  AMERICA’S NEW STORYTELLER

  GOOD 2 GO PUBLISHING

  ALL EYES ON GUNZ 2

  Written by Warren Holloway

  Cover Design: Davida Baldwin – Odd Ball Designs

  Typesetter: Mychea

  ISBN: 9781947340282

  Copyright © 2018 Good2Go Publishing

  Published 2018 by Good2Go Publishing

  7311 W. Glass Lane • Laveen, AZ 85339

  www.good2gopublishing.com

  https://twitter.com/good2gobooks

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters, businesses, places, and events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 1

  One Year Later

  I WAS IN ATLANTA loving the city and its women. The black sistas down here all seemed to be exotic in one way or another, plus the strippers took it to a whole another level. They were getting money for real. Their whips were hotter than some of the niggas’ out here. The summer was closing in, so all of the sexy-ass ATL women would be out looking the part. Like most cities, the ballas also came out showing their status as well, with diamonds, cars, watches, and clothing. They were all stunting for real.

  I had a sky-blue Range Rover HSE Sport with chrome 24-inch Antars and custom white leather seats piped in sky blue. This was my toy to run around in the city. Right now, I was on my way back to the Thomasville projects, bumping to Young Jeezy’s Inspiration CD. This shit was hustla music for real. If you weren’t getting it, this would make you go get it. As I drove into the projects, my wrist on ice was hanging out the window, showing off yellow and white diamonds that were sparkling under the sun. My PA swag was on ten with my sky-blue Jordan 23 jersey and shorts flowing with my Air Force Ones. It was my Monday look. My music was blasting loud with the Atlanta native flowing over the beat that was inspiring all go-gettas.

  This city had taken to me, especially the little homies from this project. They were feeling my gangsta and knowing how real I was and what my story was. I managed to put a crew together, too. These little niggas saw me pulling into the projects, so they started walking up to my truck as I slowed before coming to a stop. Yeah, the money I brought down here I just flipped it to get the local numbers from Mr. 17-5 himself. I made do with what was available. Besides, up until this point, I couldn’t do too much. One thing I did know how to do well was build my own empire.

  As my little homies were greeting me and paying me the money they owed, the hood was coming alive as these two bitches started arguing and fighting. Shit like this drew heat on the projects, and we couldn’t have that because we were getting money out here.

  “Yo, somebody break that shit up!” I yelled out.

  “Yeah, them hoes trippin’!” Ra Ra said before making his way over to the chicks with Fat Money.

  Both of them were my little homies, along with Little D and Geez. These ATL niggas were the realest, plus they were about the money and didn’t take shit.

  I turned to put the money the homies gave me into my truck, and then I turned the music down to focus more on the business at hand. Right then the hood came alive as a roaring gunshot sounded off. I immediately reached on the side of my armrest and grabbed my nickel-plated .44mm Magnum snub nose, with two speed loaders. One of these slugs alone would take a nigga out, and the rest would run or take cover once they heard the loudness of it.

  I could hear Little D and Geez yelling. It just wasn’t clear what they were saying, but I was about to find out.

  Little D, Geez, Ra, and Fat Money all grew up in Thomasville Projects, so they were like brothers from another mother.

  Geez was carrying a Glock 40mm while Little D had twin nickel-plated .380s with pearl handles. Ra Ra was standing with his 9mm out and pointing it at the two chicks that were fighting, plus this nigga that they were fighting over. As I came up fast with my Magnum in hand, I noticed Fat Money wasn’t standing, which meant shit was about to go down.

  “What the fuck is going on? Who shot my little nigga?” I asked, ready to put someone down about this, especially shooting him over these bitches.

  Fat Money had been shot in the leg and shoulder.

  “That muthafucka right there hit over these bitches!” Fat Money said.

  The females were fighting over this cat that shot Fat Money.

  “See, bitch, your man got all of this shit started! He should learn how to keep his dick in his pants. Then this type of shit wouldn’t happen!” the opposing female said while pointing her finger in the other girl’s face. “It’s this bitch’s fault, too.”

  “Get ya hand out of my face before I slap the shit out of you!” the other female said.

  “Both of y’all got my little nigga shot, and I ain’t feeling this shit!” I said, placing the .44 Magnum to this nigga’s head and giving him a reality check. “You stupid muthafucka! We out here getting this money, and you want to shoot niggas over bitches! My nigga, Fat Money, was trying to help you get these bitches in check. But he touched yo’ bitch, so you felt a need to do this dumb shit!” I was pissed about this shit, and this nigga could see it in my eyes and hear it in my tone of voice. “What’s your name, little nigga?”

  “My, my, my name is Ace,” the young eighteen-year-old said. He was nervous as hell as he lowered his gun down to his side, feeling the cold steel pressing against his temple.

  When he said his name, it took me back to my little cousin, Ace, up North. I took his gun from him. He didn’t resist, knowing he would die.

  “Give me that shit. I was going to kill you for this shit, but you and your bitches got to get out of this hood. You’re not welcome here anymore. I don’t care who you know in these projects. They can meet you somewhere else.”

  Little D, Ra Ra, and Geez looked on at this nigga and wanted to kill him. I lowered my gun while turning back to walk to my truck, when shots rang out again, followed by the screaming of the two bitches.

  When I turned around quick, I saw that nigga Ace’s body falling to the ground. Half of his face was missing from the slugs that violently smashed into his eyes and forced his brain and burning flesh and bones out.

  “You ain’t gotta kill ‘em, I did!” Fat Money yelled out, making his way to his feet. “That muthafucka shouldn’t have shot me.”

  “I guess you okay then putting in work like that?” I asked.

  “These chicks wasn’t even worth the slugs he got. Look at them crying like they really care,” Fat Money said. “They’ll forget about him in a week and be onto the next nigga.”

  Just as the words came out of his mouth, sirens could be heard in the distance. Normally the cops didn’t bother with the projects unless calls came in heavy; and from the looks of it, they had gotten calls.

  “Yo, get F
at Money out of here.”

  They helped him over to his old-school whip. It was a ‘64 Chevy with chrome spokes, two-inch white walls, butter leather, and a candy-apple-red paint job. Geez took the wheel while the others put Fat Money in the back seat.

  “I can’t believe we up in my car getting blood on the seats,” Fat Money said. “We should have got into y’all car or something.”

  “You ain’t fucking my shit up!” Ra Ra said.

  As they took off in the car to take him to the hospital, I jumped in the Range and mashed the gas to exit the area fast. I couldn’t afford to be having any encounters with the police. As for those bitches back in the projects, they were now banned from there. Plus, they wouldn’t say a word to the cops. That’s just how it was done in the ATL.

  CHAPTER 2

  LATER ON THAT NIGHT, I hit up the little homie, Ra Ra, to see how Fat Money was doing.

  “Big homie, what’s good?” Ra Ra asked.

  “Ready to get the night started, but first, how’s Money doing?”

  “He all right. That nigga was more con-cerned about the blood in his whip.”

  I was laughing, knowing how manicured that little fat nigga was, plus he loved his cars.

  “Yo, I’m over at Foxy Lady’s strip joint watching these fat asses.”

  “Say no more! I’m about that life, plus we got BI to talk about. You want me to bring Geez and Little D?”

  “Nah, you can come alone, my nigga.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I was sitting in the VIP area getting a lap dance from this sexy-ass chick with a crazy body, and brown skin glowing even more with the oil and glitter flowing over her body. She had perfect, perky 36C breasts, pretty seductive hazel-brown eyes, and lips that looked like she’d keep a nigga home all day. She was shaking her ass and backing it up as Juvenile’s song played. I was enjoying every bit of it, drinking on my Long Island iced tea and watching a stripper named Rain doing her thing all over me. She was working her hips, with her legs thunder clapping and more. I was feeling every bit of it watching this visual art. She was a masterpiece in motion. The song ended just as her dance did, so she turned to me.

  “You want another dance?” she asked with seduction in her voice and eyes. She knew how to work it.

  “I don’t want another dance. I do want you to sit on my lap while I enjoy my drink.”

  “Time is money,” she responded as if I didn’t know she was all business. “I got the money if you have the time,” I said while tucking two $100-dollar bills into her thong, which made her smile at the sight of the Benjamin Franklins.

  I knew she was a go-getta. She sat down with her soft ass on my lap, grinding in slow motion as she was listening to the music.

  “Yo, swag is on ten, plus it’s something about you,” she said while still slowly grinding on me and making eye contact with them melting hazel eyes of seduction. “Where you from?”

  “I’m from everywhere the money is,” I responded, since it really was none of her business.

  “Really? Okay,” she said, turning around and mounting me as if she was naked riding me.

  At the same time, she massaged my chest, arms, and shoulders with her soft touch. She was trying to work me, and I knew this. I had given her some paper, but she wanted more. I had this all under control. I knew how these ATL strip clubs were. That was how these broads were living so good.

  I looked over at the entrance and saw Ra Ra coming through stunting with his Atlanta swag. The little nigga favored T.I. with his close-cut faded on the sides. He stood five foot eleven and weighed 160 pounds, and he had brown skin with a baby face.

  Ra Ra stopped at the bar and ordered a double shot of Hennessy. He was repre-senting his city with the diamond-studded ATL necklace that was flowing with the diamond bezel on the Rolex and the three-carat diamond stud in his ear.

  Before he walked away from the bar, he tossed fifty ones at the stripper on the stage behind the bar, since she was working the pole and crazy popping her booty in midair.

  “Damn, shawty, your ass is like Serena’s!” Ra Ra said, after seeing Rain stand up and work her ass.

  “You like this, huh?” she said, grabbing her own ass before making it shake and clap to twerking. She was definitely all about her ones.

  “What up, little nigga?” I said, after taking a sip of my drink. “Have a seat and enjoy the views.” He sat down and was still checking out Rain. “You like this?”

  “You already know she got that body.”

  “Rain, go to the bar and get me and the homie a bottle of Moet. When you come back, give him a few dances.”

  I gave her $400, $300 for two bottles and the other $100 just for her.

  As she turned to walk away, she blew a kiss at Ra Ra and then started walking sexy as hell in her six-inch pumps that enhanced her curves even more.

  “Damn, my nigga, she special for real!” Ra Ra said.

  “Don’t get T-Pained, my little homie,” I said, referring to the song “I’m in Love with a Stripper”—a true classic for the strip club life and the reality of it.

  Ra Ra downed the Hennessy he bought before getting into the moment and business mind-set.

  “So, what’s good, my nigga? What brings us here tonight?” he said.

  I had to give it to this nigga. He was only twenty-one but was the sharpest of his crew. He definitely had a bright future in this game and beyond.

  “I’m going to be leaving town for a few weeks, and I’m going to need you to hold it down with the BI until I get back,” I said, taking a gulp of my drink. “I respect yo’ gangsta and hustle. You know how to get this money. At the same time, you’re not about to let anyone fuck with you or your bread. Little D, Geez, and Fat Money, they got what it takes, too, but as a leader, they’ll follow you.”

  Ra Ra was all ears taking in every word I was dropping on him.

  “I’ll leave you with fifty joints and loyal clientele. Your crew will handle the rest. I’ll be flying out tomorrow. Don’t fuck this up, Ra Ra.”

  “I got you, my nigga. You ain’t gotta worry about that. When it comes to this paper, I’m a get to it.”

  I knew he was going to handle his. It was needed for me to give him the speech. Our business talk ended when sexy-ass Rain came back with our bottles and popped the corks.

  I poured her a drink from my bottle and then said, “This is a toast to my nigga, Ra Ra, and his success.”

  We all toasted at the same time. Then Young Jeezy’s song featuring R-Kelly, “Go Getta,” came on, and all of the strippers turned up. As for the bosses and ballas, they were popping bottles and feeling themselves, too. Ra Ra cupped Rain’s ass and could feel the softness of her body. While at the same time, he could now feel his rise to power with me looking out for him.

  Another chocolate beauty came over, seeing that this was where the money was. She’s stood five foot two, with curves of perfection everywhere. She had light green eyes, a tongue ring, and one in her belly.

  “What’s your name, baby girl?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Goodbar,” she answered as she took her hand through her black, silky hair, dancing at the same time while looking sexy as a muthafucka.

  ATL is definitely the home of the sistas and strippers. Both of these bad-ass chicks were dropping it low and giving me and the little homie the business as we continued to sip on the bottles of Moet.

  CHAPTER 3

  AS THE STRIPPERS CONTINUED putting it on me and Ra Ra, I saw my phone off to the side, lighting up and signaling that I had an incoming call. I reached over past Mrs. Goodbar’s fat ass and grabbed my phone.

  “What’s good?”

  “Yo, my nigga! This is me, Sweets, my nigga. I just got hit, and I know who did this shit.”

  Hearing my nigga on the phone like that made me push baby girl away, so I could focus on the business at hand. This nigga, Sweets, was the first person I met when I came down this way. He was six foot three and a firm 230 pounds, with braids and a close-shav
en beard lined up with the razor. This nigga also owned a rim shop over on Peach Tree Avenue.

  “Sweets, where you at, my nigga?”

  “Over at Club Nikki’s.”

  “I’ll be over that way ASAP,” I said, hanging up the phone ready to help out the ATL homie. I turned to Ra Ra, who was all up in baby girl’s ass. “Yo, playtime is over. We got shit to take care of,” I said, tucking more money into Mrs. Goodbar’s thong.

  Normally I would take her and her girl to the hotel and get it done, but business calls.

  “Let it rain, sexy girl!” Ra Ra said, tossing money in the air over the stripper, Rain.

  Then he followed me out to the parking lot, knowing that it must be serious with me ending the fun we were having with them broads back there.

  “What’s up, big homie?”

  “That nigga Sweets got robbed, and he said he knows who did this shit. We going over to where he’s at now,” I began. “We taking your whip.”

  “Say no more. Where we going?”

  “Club Nikki’s. I think he’s over that way.”

  Ra Ra’s M6 BMW was charcoal black with black Lexani rims and pitch-black tinted windows. This shit was a fast whip, too. Once on the highway, he opened up doing an easy one hundred without trying.

  I called Sweets back to make sure he was still in position.

  “Yo, my nigga, we en route right now. We going to handle this shit, all right?”

  “Yeah, this shit crazy. I got caught slippin’.”

  “Nah, nigga. Whoever did this shit was slippin’, and fucking with anybody is down with me.”

  Ra Ra made it to the other side of the city fast. Being a native, he knew all of the shortcuts and back streets.

  “Yo, we over by that way now.”

  “Them niggas must be in the club. I see the black Escalade they was in,” Sweets said, all hyped up and ready to handle business.

  “All right, my nigga, I see ya whip,” I said and pointed at the cotton-candy-blue Chevy Impala sitting on 24s with light blue tinted windows and a white leather interior.