2pac Body Double Above The Rim Novels & Stories

"Grocery mart down the street." He nodded, something more than curiosity was swimming in his dark blue eyes. "How do you plan on paying for this?" He stressed, looking at the back of the car. It sounded simpler than it was. "I'll get another job." I eyed the man up and down quickly. He looked like a male model. I assumed he was a male model. His face was shaven and he looked like the definition of male perfection. His hair was dark and his eyes looked like the waters from crater lake.

Trey's best torturer, Paco, had tortured her. He was a lean-looking man, his head was shaved clean, revealing scars that crisscrossed his scalp. From head to toe, his body was adorned with intricate tattoos, and he wore a tattered pair of black jeans with only a black jacket as a top. The tattoos on his stomach were so elaborate and colorful that they appeared to be a garment of their own. At first glance, no one would have to tell you, it was clear that Paco was a person with a mental disability.

My father yelled. I got up. “Someone tell me what’s going on.” Mateo handed me the phone.It was a surveillance photo. Blurry but unmistakable. Armani Pacino. Standing beside Salvatore De Luca. I stared at the image like it might burn away if I blinked. “Armani…” I whispered. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Don Alessio stood slowly. “There are two fucking Pacinos walking around now.” His eyes narrowed at me. “And you knew about this, Vic?”

But my major interest was to get my double reward and maybe more as he said. The song bled into another, slower, filthier. I turned, hair swinging across my bare shoulders, and there it was—the circle he’d described. Seven men in the VIP pit, leather banquettes curved like a throne. No ropes, just an invisible wall of money. I recognized two faces from the kind of magazines that never made it to the stores I know. Silver at the temples, cufflinks catching the strobes, laughing low and careless. One of them lifted a glass in my direction, lazy approval. My pulse kicked.

"Well, before the bomb could explode, Master Pearce carried Hubert Pascal on his back and jumped from the 15th floor without any safety gear or anything like that. He was like a real-life superhero, bro. Pure GOAT!" "Wait, so you saw that happen with your own eyes? From the 15th floor, dude. And with an old man on his back! That's a recipe for suicide!" "Get that blasphemous question about Master Pearce out of here before I make you! I saw it with my own eyes!" Bon exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. "Master Pearce was like Superman. He flew out of the window just as the explosives detonated, with flames trailing behind him. Picture it: shattered glass and tongues of fire licking th