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  The Thug In My Closet

  A Black Vegas Romance

  LA TONYA MORRIS

  MIDNIGHT CONFESSION

  Also by La Tonya Morris

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  The Thug in my Closet

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  Black Vegas Romance Series

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  Contents

  Excerpt

  Just so there’s no misunderstanding on what you’re reading.

  Acknowledgments

  The Thug In My Closet

  Nothing but young love

  Also by La Tonya Morris

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  Excerpt

  Just so there’s no misunderstanding on what you’re reading.

  “C’mon, B,” he said. “Ain’t nobody gotta know.”

  I don't remember if those were the right words or if I was just tired of wrestling with him, or maybe I really wanted to do it. It was such a long time ago.

  I opened for him, and he started fumbling around down there.

  “Easy,” I said. “Lower. No, up. Up. Up. Fuck.”

  Awww man. When somebody else touches you, it's a whole different thing than when you touch yourself. Maybe the pastor told us to stop touching ourselves because it was so much better with a partner.

  Malik had me going crazy in that bed. I was trying to hold still and be quiet, but it was hard.

  I wanted my first time to be special. I was thinking of Will Smith on my wedding night. He’s tall and lean and smelling too good. He crawls between my legs. He’s gentle. He talks to me, tells me how much he loves me. I’m crying as much from his words as I do from how good it feels.

  My first time wasn't like that. It wasn't sweet. It was more like a couple of dogs rutting in an alley.

  He didn't look into my eyes or kiss my neck gently.

  Malik pushed himself into me from behind. I could feel myself tearing down there. I wanted to cry. Instead, I started coughing.

  I had no idea if he was halfway or just starting when he put his hand over my mouth.

  Malik said, "That's what you get for teasing me."

  I had no idea how I was the one teasing in my grandma's housecoat and rollers in my hair. How was I teasing when he pulls his penis out?

  At that point, I had no idea why people made love. It hurt so much I wondered if he had it in the right hole!

  Felt like someone was jabbing me with a steak knife.

  Just when I thought that I couldn't take another second, when I felt that it would kill me, it started to feel real good.

  Every time Malik thrust into me, I saw stars in my eyes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright (C) 2020 by La Tonya Morris

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced; stored in a retrieval system; or transmitted in any form, or by any means including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recorded or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This work contains uncensored explicit material unsuitable for minors. Do not purchase or read if you are under 18 years of age, offended by graphic content, or violating local, state or federal law.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used editorially, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark(s).

  FIRST EDITION

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  A few words of thanks.

  I can’t say the people in my life were perfect. I can say that I had some good people who showed me how to work hard. I can’t exactly name them here, but they know who they are

  And they have my eternal gratitude.

  The Thug In My Closet

  Nothing but young love

  I been stripping at Ba’Donks for a long time, and I seen a lot of shit.

  I seen so much shit that I only get surprised when it’s quiet. I mean a real quiet night with no stabbing, no shooting, no fighting, and nobody fucked that didn’t want to be fucked.

  My shift was almost over when three niggas come in wearing biker shit. They had thick beards and that look a man gets when even his smile is a frown.

  Black bikers were nothing new. Movies have everyone thinking bikers were white and Mexican.

  The usual bullshit.

  Same with cowboys. Most cowboys were black. All that shit on Gunsmoke was just a buncha lies. They always find ways of making us think we didn’t do anything worth doing in America.

  At any rate, when Festiva goes over to get their drinks, I paid close attention. Festiva got dark skin like me, and she got wide hips too. If a brotha not into that, it’s a waste of time, but if a brotha like a big girl, he really like a big girl.

  If these niggas didn’t give her no love, it wasn’t worth me going over there at all.

  Plus, Festiva’s a dike. She don’t like men. She don’t like dick. And, she don’t like either touching her. If a nigga try and shove a dollar between her titties, and he might lose some fingers.

  I’m the opposite. I like men. I like dick. Them mothafuckas can shove dollars where ever the fuck they want to. I gotta make that money.

  They checked Festiva out, appreciating her juicy ass. That was all I needed to see. I swooped in before Festiva killed it with her attitude.

  Unlike a lot of the men that came through, these niggas was pretty nice, so I sat down and spent some time talking. They shoved money at me, bought me drinks, and shared a few stories.

  Before long, I was laughing and having a good time.

  “Why don’t we go in the back?” I asked Snake Bite.

  “In a minute,” he said.

  “Don’t make me wait,” I said. I rubbed his hard dick through his jeans.

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” Snake Bite said.

  “Why not? Don’t you like me?” I asked. He did look good, kinda like Chris Tucker with a beard and lighter eyes.

  He shook his head. “I go back there with you, and I’ma lose my mind, my girl, and my money. Don’t know which is worse.”

  I laughed. I liked the way he said it, but I had to move on. Rent got to be paid.

  Before I could get up, he handed me a couple of twenties. “That’s the money I have. Just stay a little bit and go do your thing.”

  I stayed for about 10 minutes with my hand in his pocket. After that, he musta changed his mind cause he went to the ATM. Snake Bite came back with a lot more twenties.

  It used to be that I could get almost any man to change his mind. I could pull in a couple of thousand dollars on a good Friday night, but I ain’t as young as I used to be. Maybe I had to work a little harder, so what?

  Snake Bite paid the money to take me into the back. He handed over a Benjamin for two songs. I got 40% of it. The rest went to the house.

  I didn’t get a bad feeling until we found a spot. There was a row of chairs with partitions between them. You could get a little privacy, but not be locked in with somebody.

  I usually took the farthest spot from anybody else. Not this time, though.

  Something told me to be careful, and it was right.

  Snake Bite got real handsy. Not where he squeezes your ass or try to suck on your titty. That’s almost normal. I just smile and maybe slap his hand away. If he
was a regular, I let him suck a nip until he passes out.

  That nigga started trying to shove his fat nasty fingers up my butt.

  That’s how quick a good day can get all fucked up. I slapped that mothafucka upside his head. He started laughing like it was nothing like I was nothing. He was laughing when the bouncers came to get his ass.

  If Quassim was on duty that night, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but he wasn’t. Spencer was in charge, so that meant I had to give up cash or ass because I needed help.

  I watched an hour’s worth getting thrown out the door. If I had my razor, I woulda given that piece of shit something to laugh about.

  * * *

  Later, I was sitting at the bar feeling sorry for myself and my money. I thought about going home to put my feet up and maybe watch a few episodes of the Fresh Prince. I’d make myself a rum and coke there because I was one DUI from never driving again.

  Some young blood came through the door. They ain't look like bangers or dealers, which meant I didn't have to worry about getting punched in the back of my head. Then again, that might mean they didn’t have any money.

  One way or another, I had to find out. I started walking toward them when I swear to God that I saw a ghost.

  Malik Johnson.

  It wasn’t the kid that I remember, but it had to be him. His hair was cut right, but he was balding at top and had a fair amount of gray in it. His skin was darker than I remembered.

  It had been almost twenty years, but I’ll never forget that jacked up smile and gold tooth.

  “Malik? You out?”

  “Hey girl,” he said.

  We hugged me as if he'd never left.

  For a moment, I wasn’t tired. I didn’t have a momma who wished me dead. I didn’t have a buncha bills, and my car didn’t have bald tires. My son wasn’t sitting in jail again.

  For a moment, I wasn’t sucking dick to make ends meet.

  “You told me to stay away,” I said. I wasn't sure if I was accusing him or myself of something. We had missed so many years.

  “Don’t worry about that shit,” he said.

  * * *

  Malik and I grew up in the same nasty-ass hood. It was the kind of place that you moved out of the moment you could.

  My family wasn't rich, but we had a little something. Both my parents worked. We would have moved out, but my Daddy had some crazy ideas about how the world should be.

  We went to church. Momma and I thought that everything they was telling us was a suggestion. Daddy, on the other hand, really believed that shit. I don’t know if it was faith or he was just blind.

  Don't get me wrong. I ain't got nothing against the church, but don't tell me to do one thing, and you get to do something else. Everybody knew the pastor liked young girls to the fat-ass bitch he married.

  But Daddy never saw any of it. To him, the church and our pastor was above that.

  He wasn’t a Bible thumper neither. He just believed.

  Daddy had other crazy ideas. I was his little girl, so he had to keep me locked away. To him, going to a party or bowling was the same as running the street.

  He believed in that neighborhood too. He could tell you about every house and every corner.

  Daddy was Google for the hood.

  No, we weren’t gonna move. No matter how ugly that neighborhood got, Daddy wasn’t gonna take us someplace nicer.

  “I grew up here,” he used to say. "You gonna raise your children here."

  If we just got out, maybe none of the other shit woulda happened.

  * * *

  One Sunday, we were coming home from a late church service. I remember it was late in the year, and winter was beginning. Vegas winter ain't like other places, but you didn't want to walk around in shorts when it got cold.

  When we came around the corner of our block, we saw blue and red police lights. It was crazy!

  They made Daddy pull the car over.

  The cop was big and black. Everything on him was big, including his huge shoulders and broad chest. He had a big face and a big nose and big eyes.

  “Everything okay, officer?” Daddy asked.

  “You live on this street?”

  “Yes, sir,” Daddy said and gave him our address.

  “What happened?” Momma asked cause she knew Daddy wouldn’t.

  “Little fool got himself shot dead,” the cop said. “Probably drugs.”

  * * *

  At home, I had dinner and got ready for bed. I laid out a yellow blouse and denim skirt for the next morning. I wear dresses and skirts to school because that’s what the church said I had to do. All the girls at church dressed like that, but they didn’t go to my school. I was the only one.

  I was almost asleep when I heard something in my room. I can’t remember what the sound was, but I knew it wasn’t a mouse. I thought about running or calling for help, but I got a feeling that I didn’t want to do that.

  My room was dark except for the street lamp and the blue and red flashing police lights. That’s all I had to see by when I opened the closet doors.

  A boy sat in my closet. He wore an oversized winter jacket, a thin shirt, and blue jeans.

  He pointed a gun at me.

  “Malik?” I asked.

  At the time, I was just like my Daddy. I had church in my veins. I was all about healing the sick and all that bullshit, so I wasn’t even studying that gun. I saw the swelling and cuts on his face and the way he held his ribs. I knew that I had to help him.

  I could also see that he was scared. His arm was shaking. It was nothing for me to push the gun to the side.

  I would be scared later. So, scared that I cried, but at that moment, I just saw a boy that needed the Samaritan in me.

  “You Beulah, right?” he asked.

  I smiled because he knew my name.

  Malik was one of the popular boys at school. He wasn’t Ray-Ray, who would play six seasons with San Antonio, or DJ who became a model in Europe.

  Malik was more... thuggish.

  Daddy didn’t like me hanging around any boys, especially any thugs. I guess that’s why I wanted Malik.

  He had a good body with thin but muscular legs. His face was cute, and he kept his hair tight with tiny curls on top.

  You don’t ever see him with ratty kicks.

  That’s when I realized that I must look like a grandma. I had rollers in my hair, and my nightgown looked like something from an old lady’s closet.

  Malik coughed with his hand to his mouth. It didn't come away bloody, but that was a surprise.

  “You need a doctor,” I said.

  He grabbed my arm. “Naw, they’ll kill me.”

  “Who gonna kill you?” I asked.

  “Dexter and them,” he said as if I'd know who that was. I didn’t run the streets.

  “You can’t stay here,” I said. I was Christian and all, but if Daddy saw him in my closet, he’d throw Malik out. Then, he’d think I was some fast girl. I'd never get to go anywhere again.

  “C’mon, B,” he said. “You can’t do me like that.”

  I felt my face get hot. Nobody talked to me much at school. When they weren’t calling me names, they just ignored me.

  I had a nickname now. I never had a nickname before.

  Naw, I wasn’t gonna throw him out.

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “Ribs is fucked up. Nigga hit me with a crowbar.”

  I started to remind him that this was a Godly household, that we didn’t curse here. He was in pain and getting blood on everything. It didn’t seem like the right time.

  I heard Daddy in the hallway, and I panicked. I knew he was gonna open the door. He ain’t barged in since I became a young lady, but that coulda been the night he forgot.

  When his footsteps passed, I breathed again.

  “Hold on,” I said.

  “Where you going?”

  “Just wait here,” I said. “Don’t make a sound.”

  * * *

  I c
ame back with bandages, medicine, and some food.

  For years, I thought my Momma was a nurse. That’s what she’d told us. She didn't exactly lie. She worked with nurses, but really, they paid her to sit with old people. The good thing was that she stole from work, which meant that we had bandages.

  I had him take off his shirt. As I wrapped his ribs, I felt my hands shaking. He winced a couple of times and snapped at me.

  “Don’t think they're broken,” I said.

  “How the fuck you know?”

  “My uncle got kicked by a mule.”

  He snickered. “That’s some country ass shit.”

  I was kinda embarrassed. Malik saw the look on my face and asked, "He walk away."

  "Naw," I said. "He died."

  Malik looked at the floor. For a few seconds, I could hear him breathing in and out with raspy gasps.

  "But he didn't die from the kick," I said. "He had a heart attack. Man loved his chitlins."

  Malik laughed before wincing in pain.

  * * *

  I gave him three peanut butter sandwiches, chips, three snack cakes, and sodas from my weekly lunch. I didn’t know how long he was gonna be around. I figured that he could eat on them while I was at school. He ate everything before I could even mention that it would need to last a couple of days.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Momma used to take them when she hurt her back.”

  He shrugged and popped a bunch of pills into his mouth.

  “I don’t think you should take that many…”

  “Fuck it,” he said.

  * * *

  That night, I could hear him tossing and turning in my closet.