He wanted to see the tattoo of his name stamping her pussy as his and only his.

"I will," she promised.

Naeema gasped at the sight of his chiseled body standing between her legs. His dick hung from his body with weight. She loved how it was several shades darker than the rest of him, with the tip smooth and shining as it eyed her.

With a bite of her lips she maneuvered to her knees before him to lick the deep grooves of his abdomen down to the flat hair surrounding the base of his dick.

"Suck it," he said thickly.

She glanced up at him before she lay across the foot of the bed with her back arched, pushing her hard nipples up high. "Put that dick in my mouth," she said.

Tank stepped down by her head to squat his strong thighs and he pressed his dick down with his thumb until it lightly tapped against the tongue she rolled out. She eyed him as she took the smooth tip into her mouth and sucked it deeply and her tongue cupped it. His face tightened, he released a long breath, and the muscles of his thigh clenched.

Naeema circled him as his hands stroked from her thighs across her pussy and over her belly before he warmly held one breast and then the other and teased her nipples between his fingers with just the right amount of pressure to turn her the fuck on. She lifted her head from the bed, not giving one care about the strain on her neck, as she took more of his long and thick length into her hot mouth.

Tank pumped his hips, stroking her tongue with his dick as he reached to cup the back of her head with his hand and support her.

They locked eyes.

Even during sex he looked out for her.

She lifted one of her legs and let it rest against his hard chest as she spread the other toward the head of the bed. He didn't waste a second easing his hand from her nipple to cup her core before he slid his middle finger deep inside her to circle her tight and wet walls and pressed down onto her clit with his thumb.

"Tank," she whispered. She arched her hips up off the bed and rolled them as she did the same with her tongue before licking the tip with the flutter speed of butterfly wings.

"Ah," he cried out in pleasure, letting his head fall back as his body went stiff.

He didn't need to warn her that he was about to cum. She felt his dick harden in her mouth, his pulse throbbing against her tongue. Naeema freed his dick, giving him a second to let his nut ease away. Tank looked down at her with a shake of his head in thanks.

They knew each other well.

Rising up, she stood and wrapped her hand around his dick as she pushed down onto the bed with her free hand. She straddled his lap backward and spread her legs wide with heels pressed down into the bed as she bent down to wrap her hands around his ankles.

"Shit," he swore, already knowing what was in store for him as he extended his legs and held on to her hips to help her keep her balance.

Tank looked down as he lifted her and guided his dick inside her.

With a moan at the feel of him deep inside her at last, Naeema locked her legs and began to pump her hips up and down like she had the motion of a jackhammer. She stopped and then did a slow grind down the length of him before she sped up again like she was trying to pump water from the earth.

"Naeema," Tank moaned, closing his eyes, his fingers digging into her soft flesh while she rode him like the motherfucking soldier she was.

She let her head drop down to rest her forehead against his shins and her breasts against his knees.

Naeema brought her legs down and released his ankles to work her way up until her back was pressed against his chest. She shivered at the feel of his lips pressed against her skin as his arms came around her body to place one hand on the opposite hip and the other to cup one of her full breasts. She raised her arms and wrapped them behind his head as her head fell back against one of his shoulders. They both worked their hips slowly, sending his dick in one direction and her pussy in the other.

Just pure fucking goodness as they came together and felt the tiny explosions in their bodies.

It was more than sex.

It was the emotions they shared manifested through the physical they both craved.

There was an energy between them that gave Naeema life. And no one could do that for her but Tank.

No one.

"Nobody's perfect . . . but you're perfect for me . . ."

Naeema climbed from the back of the Tahoe before Grip could leave the driver's seat and come around to open the door for her. She closed the door with her hip and winked at the annoyed look on his face as he came around the truck. Dressed in all black he posted up by the passenger door as she stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of A Cut Above. She hated that she couldn't ride her bike, but tenderness from the wound made it hard to steer. As she crossed the lot, all the fellas loitering on the trunks of cars spoke and waved. She half-expected them to run up to her and question her well-being. Of course they didn't. The fact that she had killed, almost been killed, and witnessed a murder last night was known to very few.

Back in her own life this shit seemed surreal.

The door to the barbershop opened and Naeema paused as Mone stepped outside. His thin face was filled with concern. She gave him a soft smile. He was the reason she came to the shop. Well, one of the reasons . . .

"You good?" Mone asked.

Naeema could tell he was just as glad to lay eyes on her as she was to lay them back on him. They both had made it. "Always," she lied.

He nodded and looked off at something in the distance.

"Derek here?" she asked about the shop's owner.

"He just left," Mone said, looking down at her again. "He said he's gone for the day."

"I'll call him," Naeema said, looking over her shoulder at Grip watching them like a hawk.

"You not working?" he asked, pulling the glass door.

The men in the barbershop were as raucous as ever and the sounds of them seemed to fall out the open door to fill the air.

Naeema shook her head. "Nah, not 'til next week sometime," she said, hoping the soreness of her shoulder would be gone by then. "I gotta go."

"A'ight," Mone said.

Naeema loved working at the shop and just being there with all the fellas talking shit about any- and everything, but she had a lot on her mind and their noise was a distraction.

"Yo, Naeema."

She turned just as Grip silently opened the door to the SUV.

Mone opened his mouth like he was ready to fire a dozen different questions at her but she recognized the exact moment he stepped back from his curiosity.

As she gave him another smile and slid onto the backseat she didn't doubt he was remembering that curiosity was indeed the very thing that killed the cat.

"Are you sure about this, Naeema?"

She looked at the detailed sketch the tattoo artist Shades had done, incorporating all nine of her son's school pictures interwoven with roses and scrolls and a cross to create what would be a full sleeve for her left arm. "Yup," she said, looking over at the tall, skinny white dude with blond dreads.

He was the same man that she-and Tank-had trusted to do the tattoo on her mound.

"I need at least two sessions-maybe three because of all the detail, and that swelling's gonna hurt like a bitch," he warned her.

"Two. I'm stronger than I look," she told him, tapping the top of the counter in the front of his one-room tattoo shop on Halsey Street in Newark.

"It's gonna cost you."

"It's already cost me more than you know, Shades," Naeema said, pausing for that familiar soul-searing pain she used to feel when she spoke of her son. It was there but not as strong. Not as piercing. Vengeance was healing her wounds. Time would erase them. Thank God.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the wad of cash to toss at him. "Are you tatting me up today or what, Shades?" she asked. Smiling although she felt the sadness in her eyes.

He caught it with one hand and removed the rubber band to count the stack of fifties. She knew it had to be three grand or better. "Shit, let's get it," he said, replacing the rubber band and tossing the stack into the register.

She dropped her purse on the floor and pulled up the sequined half-sweatshirt she wore, exposing her sports bra and the arm she wanted tatted, while he dropped down onto his stool and slid on a fresh pair of gloves. She lay back on the bench and extended her arm as she stared up at the colorful artwork covering the entire ceiling.

She finally felt free to spend the ill-gotten gwap. The inked memorial to her son-finally claiming him as she should have in the past-was perfect.

Epilogue.

Eight months later

"I guess I should introduce myself," Naeema began, pushing her shades atop her closely shaven head as she looked down at the headstone of Brandon Dashawn Mack. "Then again I know you're in heaven and I believe you're looking down at everything . . . and so I guess you know I'm Naeema. I'm your mother."

She licked dryness from her lips and wished her eyes suffered in the same way. One lone tear raced down her cheek. She let it roll. "And I hope you can see now more than I ever showed while you were here on Earth that I loved you."

Naeema smoothed her hand up and down the length of her arm, stroking the many faces of her son depicted in her tattoo sleeve. "I don't do graveyards. The one and only time I fucked with one is when your great-grandfather Willie made me go for my parents'-your grandparents'-funeral. The whole time my little scaredy ass was thinking about all the dead bodies in the ground looking like zombies and shit."

She looked around at the many headstones and burial plots. "Just like I am now," she admitted softly with a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Using her thumb she stroked the side of his ring that she wore constantly on the middle finger of her right hand. "I just . . . uh . . . . wanted to get as close to you as I could down here and let you know that I have so many fucking regrets when it comes to you. I shoulda did better by you. I coulda did better by you. So please forgive me."

Sniffing back more tears she lowered her shades over her eyes. She felt like there was much more she could or should say, but she released a heavy breath and pressed her lips together. The horse was dead and the milk was spilt.

"Happy birthday, Brandon," she whispered just as a cool spring breeze touched her face and swept away her words.

Naeema turned away with many more words left unsaid and made her way across the burial grounds, trying her best to maneuver between the plots to avoid stepping on the resting places of the dead. When she reached the concrete paved lane where she had parked her motorcycle she pulled on her pink helmet.

Soon she was driving through the streets of Newark with the sun warming her back and arms in the off-the-shoulder T-shirt she wore with capri jogging pants. She felt more relaxed and calm than she had in months.

The murders of Nelson, Red, and Bas were never very far from her thoughts. Justifiable? Yes, to her. Criminal? Yes, to the police.

She had moved through her life waiting for the police to bust her door open and drag her ass in. Every day for weeks she had stalked the news about them even being missing. She hadn't seen anything and didn't think it was smart to ask Tank to check with his contacts at the police department. Everything was copasetic and she could finally unclench her ass and get back to normal. For now.

And she wasn't the only one.

Two months after the murders her conscience had led her to hop on her bike and secretly check on some of the pawns in the chess game she won against her son's killer. Driving by Vivica's apartment and seeing Hammer press kisses to Viv's neck as they sat on the porch had almost made Naeema steer into oncoming traffic. The fuck? Guess they're helping each other through their grief. Fuck 'em.

Brianna, her son's first love, was still working at her grandmother's diner and Naeema was glad to see some of the sadness gone from her eyes as she passed the teenager waiting at a bus stop down the street from the diner. God bless her.

Rico hadn't let Naeema whipping his young ass in that hotel in front of his girl stop his fist flow. The black ribbon from the funeral home on the front door of his mother's home was a testament that his fight with Naeema wasn't the last one he'd lost. Rest in more peace than you did while living . . .

Mr. Warren had never returned to West Side High School but when Naeema discovered he was teaching at a private school near where he lived she had politely sent an anonymous email to the headmaster advising him of his newest teacher's sinful desires. Without any other real evidence it was the best she could do to at least put the school on alert. Nasty-ass bastard.

She was surprised when Chance, her sperm donor, showed up on her front step with his eyes more clear of his drug addiction. Thinking he had come to retaliate, she had squared up with her fists ready to fly until he asked her if she had a picture of Brandon. Long moments had passed as she stood there staring at the man who used to be the boy she loved. She was surprised by the pity she felt for him and even more surprised when she gave him not only an already framed photo but also Brandon's chain. With tears in his eyes as he promised to honor her request to never darken her step again, Chance had begun his long walk home with the chain clasped tightly in hand. I can only pray he didn't sell it.

They all had been changed. She knew she would never be the same. She shifted back and forth between being okay with that and not.

Releasing a breath less heavy with troubles, she turned her motorcycle around the corner of Eastern Parkway. Her eyes instantly fell on Coko's small brick home. The lights were on in the house like always but it was definitely empty. Naeema had no clue if the woman was dead or alive. High or sober. She hadn't seen Coko for more months than she could remember. She hoped she was in a long-term rehab facility. Prayers up . . . blessings down.

Naeema had just parked her motorcycle in the garage when her cell phone sounded off. After she removed her helmet she pulled it from inside her bra and checked the screen. With a smile she answered the call. "Hey, Ms. JuJu," she said.

"How'd it go?"

"It went good. Real good," Naeema assured her as she closed the garage door and locked it.

"And you like the headstone I chose?"

"Trust me, Ms. JuJu, when it comes to Brandon there is nothing I could have wanted you to do better," she said, still apologizing for a night when liquor, weed, and her guilt had sent her to the woman's house to accuse and blame.

The line stayed quiet for a few seconds and Naeema didn't fill the silence. Ms. JuJu had told her a long time ago to stop apologizing. Still Naeema knew the woman to whom she'd entrusted her child appreciated Naeema's thanks.

"I got banana nut bread," Ms. JuJu finally said.

Naeema smiled. "Then I got a trip to make to your house to get it," she said, crossing the backyard and stepping over the broken step to reach the back door to her house.

She paused.

The door was slightly ajar.

Her heart pounded.

"Ms. JuJu, let me call you back," Naeema said, ending the call.