Trapstarz

By Hector Stone

Nearly every city has a Ghetto, a Gutta, a Trap, and products of those very environments. In Trapstarz Raine Carter and Davae Sanders are doing all the Trappin; as well as reaping proceeds from their actions.
Along with rubberband bundles of blood-stained cash, expensive cars and promiscuous womenled on by the alluring street lifecomes dishonor, deception, betrayal, and oh, murder, as the two childhood friends fight for a more substantial position on the totem pole of life.
Like every other obstacle-course, theres hurdles and surprises around nearly every corner. So many in Trapstarz that Raine and Davae manage to lose themselves in the thick of things.
Could it be the newly discovered drug Ecstasy abruptly interjected into their world? Wear and tear from the coarse streetz taking its toll on their lives? Or even worse, the wrath of Karma vindictively finding her way back to the two?
Even though the game has a predictable ending in most cases, this grimy street tale will definitely leave your stomach twisted in knots. Will they finally make it up and out of the traps, or will they remain Trapstarz for the rest of their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463422080

Hector Stone

Hector Stone is a 29 year old guy.He's currently in prison and is motivated to write books. He also have few more books coming

Book preview

© 2011 by Hector Stone. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/08/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2210-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2209-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2208-0 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011909579

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prolouge

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Tweleve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Synopsis

This book is dedicated to:

Jamaria, Jada Janae, and Jamarr Stone, Jr.

Doris Hardwick

Doris Stone (RIP)

Eric and Gina Stone

Eric D. Stone

Baby Stone (RIP)

Raham Tweet Twitty (RIP)

Acknowledgements

First off, I must acknowledge the presence of God within my life. Without you, absolutely none of this would be possible; it would’ve remained a dream—a fleeting dream at that.

Again, to my brother, Eric D. Stone. You’ve been my rock through all of this. You helped me through one of the toughest times of my life, bro’, and I truly love you for it. I don’t know what I would have done without you.

To: Andrea Carter. Thank you for giving me my son, accepting my girls as if you birthed them, and teaching me about life, love, and parenthood. I owe you the world, Drea. Love you.

To: Ebony Porter. You have always been a dear friend to me, and you motivated me more than you may know. You are the reason I jumped out into this wonderful world of nouns and verbs, and I am very thankful for you.

To: my loving aunts Pamela, Dana, Jessica, and Shelia.

To: Ebonie Simmons, my black angel. I love you cousin.

To: my sisters Jessye, De’Quoia, Wanisha, Jonte, JaToya, D.D., Aquila, Sarah, Shannon and Sade, and Shawnee and Toya.

To: Derek, Emory, Erica, Quinton, and Shameeka and Simone.

To: Cam, Cash, and Vanity Stevens. Also to Sarah and Frank Wilson.

To: all my, uncles, nieces, nephews and little cousins.

A special thanks to those who assisted with my appeal:

Darnell Wilcox and Ella Mays; Jarron Earley and Rochelle Nicolsen; Jameel Earley; Fred Covington; Christopher Ogletree and Tina McNeil; Stephen McCain; Ernest Edwards; and to Angela Jackson, Kendra Compton, Camille Burton, and Nequila Portis. Thank you all for helping me get my life back. I am forever indebted to you.

To: David, Steve, Eric, Gary, and Darnell Henderson. To: Robert and Juan Wilcox, Fat Mike (Oxford Mike), Robby Mackey, Jason and Jerome Mackey (The Twins), Odie, Shag, Miss Mary (The entire Dayton View still love you, baby!), Sherm and Meat-Man.

To: Carlton Adams, Emerson, Tracey Snig, Antonio Taylor, Munchie, Bruh-Bruh, Dee-Dee, and Little Lamont (Baby Kutie). To: Hopo, Eric and Newt Sanford, Coby and Brian Curry, Rashad Gary, Raru, Lewis, Damon, Richard and Darnell Tillis, Meatball, Darnell and Rayshawn Arnold, Rondell (Cash), Little D and Ray-Luv, Anton and Baller, Austin and Juju, Whiteboy Chuck, Whiteboy Juan, Chris Arnold, Ant, Juan, Maurice, and Damon Arnold, Jason CNN McClurkin, Leamar Jennings, Quan Jennings, Nae Pooh, Tim Jefferson (Don Knots), Damien Hooper and Kenny Revere.

To: Pops, Machete, Mike Smoot, Jay Star, Larry Wynn, Mike Smith, Jr., Brandon Smith, Little A, Joe Rutledge, Jermaine, Jamar, Juan, and Andre Booker, Rio and Coach Chronic, Keon (Kane), Todd McCain, Josh Williams, Emory Daniels, Devon, Mikey, TY, Robert and Romel, Larron and Jason, Shawn Lillard, Shawn Lemon, Kenny Clark, Te’ Nevins, Stephen White, Tim Richardson, Slugger, Joseph Watkins, James Parson, Tyrone Winston, Big Dog, Rob Dolla, Bree, Fruit, Little Zach, Sinquan, Bounce, Chuck Stargell, Ronnie Steel, Jay Buxton, K. Anderson, Rufus Humphrey, Kirk Gardner, Nick Prigmore, Snake (Badabing), Justin Everheart, Renee Toliver, Ervin Herron, Teon, D. McGuire, Mike Lewis, Anthony Franklin, Sr. and Jr., Jerome Barrett, Kane-Loc, Steve Blackshear, Big Hen, Carlos Whiting, Gabe, Chino, Fu-Fu, Rashee, Patrick Johnson, Tina Mathews, Christopher Martin, Sharock, Daniell, Bubbie, Baby D, Tiny, Giggles, and Baby Curt.

Sadly, to those who’ve passed on:

Rest in Peace: Keith Kutie Watson, Thomas T.T. Watson, Sr., Thomas Tom-Tom Watson Jr. (Whoscowl!), Rashad Byrd McDaniel, Ceeb, Ms. Mable, Aunt Carol, Dante Pinson, B-Raw, Little Smell, Bubba (My little brother from another mother), Uncle George and Timmy, Dave Green, Little Chris (aka Nephew), Beaker, De’Shawn and Jermaine, Erica Rutledge, April Jackson, Buttons, Smack, Camille, Fat Buddy, Lil Ron, Tamara Bop Bell, and Robert Rockin’ Rob Woodward.

And to all my readers: Thank you dearly for supporting me. It means a lot! And I wish I could’ve polished this gem up a bit more, but, unfortunately, my current living arrangement strictly prohibits me from the use of certain programs, and or procedures, that prove vital towards the editing process. I promise you greatness on the next one though (smile). And feel free to contact me (write me at: JAMARR STONE, SR. 475-726, P.O. BOX 69, LONDON, OHIO, 43410) with any suggestions and or questions you may have. Your encouragement is both urged and needed. God bless.

Prolouge

They say that every story has two sides. Well, not this one. This story has four. Three are optional, and the other is the truth; the truth being my side of this story, the side that captures the life of a real trapstar; a real hustler. I’m talkin’ about a cat who’s kneedeep in the game with nothing to lose and everything to gain. That’s me.

My name is Raine Carter (pronounced ‘rain’), and I’ve been a trapstar every since I can remember. I spent practically my whole life in the streets, but it wasn’t until I reached the age of twenty-eight that things got interesting. Or should I say when the stakes got high. Now I have something real to share with you all—not some watered down depiction of what a trapstar really is.

Everybody in the streets want’s to be either a thug, a gangster, or a trapstar. And that’s not a problem. The problem arises when things go bad and these individuals defame the name of the game. That’s where the real problem is. Everybody want’s to be the man, but nobody want’s to stand up and accept the responsibilities of the man. Sure, everything’s gone be fine and dandy when the money is flowin’, and you gettin’ chicks left and right. But what about when things go wrong? What about when your black-ass is snatched up on serious felony charges, huh? What then? Where’s all that gutter shit now? Better yet, tell me what’ll happen when rivals open fire on you, hittin’ you eight times in the stomach, chess, and back with an AK-47 and you’re clinging on to your life? What will you do then? Will you hold on to that fictitious title, or will you fold your hand?

As for myself, I stood up under the pressure like a true G. I took my lickin’ and kept on tickin’. I never once ratted on a nigga, and I truly persevered. Now I’m here to share my story with you all. The story of a real nigga; the story of a Trapstar.

Now strap in and take a ride with me…

Chapter One

RAINE

Ding, dong, chimed the portable doorbell unit located near the rear of the house. Ding, dong. Ding, dong.

I acted as if I heard nothing. Instead, I remained glued to my seat with the X-Box controller in my hand. At that time I wasn’t thinkin’ ’bout no dope fiends or the crumbled up bills in their pockets. The only thing I was thinkin’ ’bout was dominating the San Antonio Spurs in NBA Live. But I wasn’t alone, and my partners feelings weren’t mutual.

Hey, man, spat Da’Vae, get the door, it’s your turn.

I remained seated, staring at the big screen in front of me.

Raine, I know you hear me. Get the door, man!

I tapped the controller a few more times. Grab it for me, bro’. Please.

Hell, naw, he fussed. I been getting it all night long. It’s about time you put in some work. No! I ain’t doing it.

C’mon, bro’ . . . this the championship game right here. I’m close to beatin’ these chumps. Gone ’head and handle it for me. Please.

No, man. You tripping. It’s your turn, you get it.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t get up to answer the door, either. I continued with my game.

Bam! I yelled as I stole the ball from my opponent and sank a three pointer. Tied up! You nigga’s can’t see me! Ha, ha… ’Vae, you see that shit, boy?

Out of my peripheral I could see Da’Vae shaking his head. He sighed, rose from his seat on the couch and scoffed. You starting to get on my nerves with that game, Raine. I’ma get it this time, but— but before he could finish his sentence I cut in.

Aight, aight, I said, next three on me—promise. Just hurry up and get it before they leave. You know we can’t be missin’ no money. We already been doin’ way too much spendin’ as it is.

Da’Vae looked over at me and, although I couldn’t see his face, I could tell he was upset. He snatched the .357 Magnum from the edge of the glass table and started for the back door. He got halfway there before I shouted, Can’t serve the custy without the product, baby…

Da’Vae grunted, turned back and picked up the product, and just as he headed back towards the back door the doorbell sounded off again.

Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Ding dong.

It was obvious the person on the other side of the door was growing impatient.

Hurry up and get it before they leave, man! I yelled out as Da’Vae walked swiftly through the narrow hallway. Hurry up, B!

When Da’Vae reached the back door I pressed pause on the controller. I leaned back in my seat and stuck my head out into the hallway to observed from behind.

I could see Da’Vae clearly. I watched as he flipped the small latch on the chute and looked out onto the back porch. What you need? What? Speak up!

I couldn’t quite make out what the man on the other side of the door said, but I did get a good glimpse of him when Da’Vae bent down to dig into the bag of capsules he had sat on the kitchen floor. The man had beady eyes, pale skin, scruffy hair and a gray beard.

Money first, man, Da’Vae ordered, product cuffed in his left hand, revolver in the right.

As ordered, the fiendish feller passed his money through the chute, and in return received his fix. Da’Vae closed the chute, fastened the latch, and walked back into the living room. You need to ease up off that game, Raine.

I smiled. Or what?

Or, or, Da’Vae stuttered, or… man, I’m just saying.

You sayin’ what, ’Vae? What you sayin’?

I’m just saying—

Yeah, I heard that part already. Now what you sayin’?

You too relaxed, Raine.

Too relaxed? I asked facetiously.

Yeah, too relaxed. Why you tryna be funny, man.

I laughed. Ain’t that the purpose of being trapstarz, ’Vae? Huh? Ain’t it?

"Yeah,