Drama

By Osiris

Shawn Blackfoot was the most notorious stickup kid in the five boroughs until tragedy hit home and forced him to relocate. Now, with an Indian heritage that connects him to the spirits of the men he killed, he struggles to keep the past in the past and to make a fresh start. He soon learns that beef is a gangster's never-ending companion and that falling for the wrong woman can be like having a death wish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546264774

Osiris

Goddess Ira was one of the most famous international Dominatrix’s in the world and has many years of experience and Osiris has an in-depth knowledge about ancient history. Goddess Ira was one of the most famous international Dominatrix’s in the world and has many years of experience and Osiris has an in-depth knowledge about ancient history. Goddess Ira is an artist, performer and creator and studied at the academie van schone kunsten in Antwerp (Belgium).Goddess Ira has one daughter. Osiris studied history and was a teacher in history. He has two children. Both have a profound interest in the spiritual world. This common interest led to the introduction of Osiris in the BDSM world. Eventually she became his soul mate and he received from her his collar. It was at a kitchen table in Belgium, were Goddess Ira lives, that the idée arose to write a book together. It was fun to blend our knowledge and experiences together in this book. We learned a lot from each other and from the consulted sources. We learned that the souls spiritual development can be compared to a three which many branches. When one comes to the fork one has two choices. An evil one and a good one but one can only choose one direction. We think that the destiny of humankind is the revelation of truth and the expansion of consciousness and hope that some of the contents of this book will promote the development of friendship in a more elevated sense. Love and friendship should in our view have nothing to do with possessing or ego. We hope that our book will contribute to a better understanding and a better world.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

S hawn Blackfoot watched in horror as the four armed men beat and kicked his father. His once beautiful mother was now battered and bruised and lay naked in the corner of the room begging for her husband’s life. Shawn, who had also been badly beaten, was tied to a chair in the living room where the atrocity was taking place, wondering how his once happy home had become a torture chamber. How had they found him?

I don’t think your old man can take much more of this. You better tell us where the fucking cash and product are! said the leader. He was a tall, menacing-looking brother with a shaved head and a long scar down the side of his face.

Shawn glanced at his father. This aging but proud Native American relic of an all but forgotten tribe was unrecognizable. His face was a bloody pulp. He lay on the floor facedown, motionless, and perhaps dead.

Shawn looked at his mother, a Nubian queen, who was a strong black woman and whose only crime had been giving birth to a killer. Her wrists were bound behind her totally naked body, which was covered with bruises. Their eyes met, and he could see her terror. As a tear escaped his swollen eye, he told her silently that it would soon be over. Death would end their suffering. Shawn hoped they would kill him with a bullet so that he could die a gangster’s death in the same way a samurai prefers to die by the sword.

The man with the scar asked where the cash and the product were, once again. Shawn knew they would kill them anyway. Why make it worth their while? So he stared at the nigga through swollen eyes and said nothing. Scarface nodded in perfect understanding. Put them out of their misery! he ordered his goons. That’s when the first shot rang out.

Shawn Blackfoot awoke as thunder clapped outside his window. Flinging his lean but powerful body into a sitting position, he snatched his Glock .9 from under his pillow and waved it this way and that as the shadows, cast by a flash of lightning, played tricks on his mind.

Trever? said his girlfriend of four years. His movement had awakened her. She was topless but partially covered by a sheet so only one large breast peeked out. She knew Shawn as Trever Parks, her thugable, loveable man.

Shawn hopped out of bed like he had been jolted by electricity and aimed the gun at Tamika. He was covered in sweat from his do-rag to his feet and trembling, although the apartment was warm.

Trever, come back to bed, Tamika said sleepily, ignoring the gun. She had long ago become accustomed to this behavior from her man, though he had never confided in her as to what his nightmares were about. He used to scare the shit out of her, waving his gun around in the middle of the night, but since he had never shot her, she had learned to live with it because she was madly in love with him.

As Tamika stared at Shawn, she had to admit that he looked sexy in nothing but a do-rag, boxers, and a gun in his hand. One of the things that turned her on about him was the strength she could feel in his hands, not to mention his slim but incredibly hard body. He was cut up from lifting weights rigorously.

Shawn breathed deeply through his nostrils and composed himself as the images faded from his tormented mind. He reached for his clothes, which were on the chair between the bed and the window, and began to dress.

Trever, where are you going? asked Tamika.

Out.

Trever, it’s raining cats and dogs, and it’s cold.

I need to think, Shawn said, slipping his black hoody over his head. He then put on his black Timbs.

Trever, you can think in the living room. I won’t bother you.

Shawn ignored her, slipping his Glock into the waist of his black jeans and throwing on his black goose down and black Raiders cap. Go back to sleep, Tamika. I just need some air. I’ll be back in a bit.

I’m not babysitting your ass if you get sick. I’m telling you right now, Tamika huffed, making herself comfortable under the sheet and shutting her eyes. Shawn stopped in the living room and rolled a blunt before grabbing a forty of Old E out of the fridge and snatching up an umbrella on his way out the door

Chapter 1

T o Shawn, it seemed like the starless sky over the New Castle projects was as dark as the depths of his soul and heavy with God’s sorrow. As the Almighty’s tears rained down on the small park just outside the projects where Shawn sat under the shelter of his umbrella, he reflected upon his current situation.

Shawn should be happy. He had the baddest chick in the projects: a caramel-colored honey standing at five feet, seven inches with shoulder-length hair and juicy lips. She was 150 pounds of thick voluptuousness with more curves than a mountain road.

He made decent money—damn near two Gs a week slinging weed. With his clientele in Coram and Port Jefferson in Long Island, he was moving half a pound a week. Suffolk County’s social services had provided him with very affordable housing, and SSI had set him up with over $600 a month for living expenses. Medicaid paid for his psych pills and any medical expenses he might incur. Even his food was covered. They gave him $200 worth of food stamps every month.

To top it all off, Shawn, being extremely intelligent, had applied for grants from various charitable foundations that supported the disabled. His faked mental illness made him eligible to receive vouchers that covered phone, cable, and most of his already-reduced rent.

So why ain’t I happy? Shawn whispered to himself.

The grounds around his section of the projects were deserted, the remnants of the latest snowstorm that had melted under the rain’s fury. There were benches along the fence that surrounded the small park, some monkey bars, a sandbox, and the swings that were behind Shawn. The monkey bars were to his right, and a fence separated Shawn from the swings.

Shawn puffed his blunt and then glanced at his watch. It was 1:23 a.m. He tucked the blunt between his fingers, gripped the umbrella with his other hand, and reached for his forty. As he swigged the brew, he thought of Tamika. There was no doubt that she loved him. She’d been there ever since he’d come to New Castle and had stuck with him as he struggled to put his life in order. She respected his intelligence, worshipped his body, and craved his thuggish passion. She had even learned to cope with his late-night insanity, those times when he had battled the demons of his past.

Shawn wanted to trust her and to bare his soul to her, but he could not bring himself to do it because of one cold concrete fact. He did not love her. The only two people Shawn had ever loved were dead, and the hood had taught him to always be on point and to never trust a soul.

Feeling sorry for yourself again? Shawn heard a voice on his right. He jerked his head in that direction, dropping his blunt as he reached for his Glock. The figure stepped out from behind the monkey bars. Like your girl, for instance, said Soron.

You wasn’t reading minds when you were alive, nigga. Don’t start now, Shawn said, annoyed by Soron’s ability to read him.

She loves you, man. You should keep it real with her.

I do keep it real. I ain’t fucking nobody else, Shawn said, taking his bottle to the head. It was half-empty.

That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Don’t you think it’s time you told her about your past? Shawn didn’t respond. She loves you to death, and you don’t feel the same. It’s not fair to her, Soron said.

Who the fuck is you? Dr. Love? I takes care of that girl. I pay for her education. So why don’t you poof your ass back to hell and rap to somebody who cares?

Soron came closer, jabbing his finger into Shawn’s face. Don’t fool yourself, son. You smart, and you cold, but you ain’t perfect. Good advice wears different faces but comes from one mouth, and that’s God’s. Act like you know, son.

The dead man had made a good point, and Shawn had to accept it. Soron’s spirit had always seemed to have his best interests at heart. The nigga never steered him wrong. I’ll tell her everything but not right now. I just need a little more time, Shawn said.

I guess that’s a start, but discipline has taught that you must never procrastinate, so don’t take too long.

How did you become so wise? Shawn asked, grinning.

Soron smiled back. The same way you became so hood—experience, son. With that, Soron vanished, and Shawn was once again alone with his thoughts.

Chapter 2

N ot very far from where Shawn sat wrestling with the issues that plagued his mind, a young woman by the name of Silvia Ferino slept peacefully on a recliner in her stepfather’s Terryville house. Silvia was as beautiful as a fairy-tale princess, a fact that was not lost on her stepfather, who was standing nearby and admiring her looks. Silvia slept deeply, which was another fact that was not lost on her stepfather.

When he passed her in the living room on his way to fix himself a late-night snack in the kitchen, he noticed that Silvia was curled up in front of the television wearing only a T-shirt and a skimpy pair of panties. She was sound asleep. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to stare at her.

Silvia felt the need to piss, so she opened her eyes and saw her stepfather watching her. She immediately became furious. What the fuck are you doing, David? Silvia yelled.

David backed away, apologizing. I-I-I’m sorry, Silvia. I don’t know what came over me, he lied, knowing he had done this many times before.

Don’t you know I can have you killed? Silvia screamed.

Yes, I know, Silvia. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, David begged. Then he slipped into his room and shut the door. He knew enough to take her threat seriously. After all, his wife, whom he had been separated from for years, had been married to the mob. It was through her connections that he had landed his job as a supervising carpenter. He would think twice before lusting after Silvia again.

Silvia stormed into the bathroom and yanked her panties down as she plopped onto the toilet, fuming. After she had relieved herself, she walked into the living room and checked the time on the clock next to the recliner. The glowing red digits told her it was 1:55. Her Jamaican boyfriend, Lick-Shot, was over an hour late.

Silvia decided to call her best friend, Nancy Giaconi (Nookie). Nancy had earned the nickname in high school because she was a shameless nympho who had had three abortions before she graduated. She had fucked whomever, whenever, and without protection.

As Silvia dialed the number, she eyed a Biggie Smalls video she had recorded years earlier. Now that’s a gangster, she said to the television. If you were alive, you could definitely get it.

Who dis? asked Nookie, speaking into the phone.

Who you think it is, slut?

Hey, bitch, how you doing? asked Nookie.

Mad as hell right now, girl. You won’t believe what just happened.

Word? Talk about it.

That bitch-ass David was staring at me while I was sleeping. I woke up, and there he was practically drooling.

Get the fuck outa here! You gonna tell Lick-Shot?

Hell no! My baby would murder that motherfucker. You know what I’m saying?

I feel you. I feel you.

"So what you doing tonight? I