Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

**Davis High School, Los Santos**

Behind the school building, a small group of young teens is gathered, passing around a blunt. Among them are Franklin Clinton, 14; Lamar Davis, 15; Tommy Lee Burton, 14; and Tonya Wiggins, also 14.

Franklin is perched on an empty crate, taking a slow drag from the weed. “I don’t know, my nigga. Are you sure JB saw it right?” he asks, glancing over at Lamar.

Lamar rolls his eyes and repeats Franklin’s question in a sarcastic tone, “Are you sure JB saw it right? Yes, I’m sure, fatso. I checked it out myself.” He crosses his arms defiantly, leaning back against the weathered brick wall.

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Tommy holds up one hand while wrapping an arm around Tonya’s waist, who is sitting in his lap, meticulously filing her nails. “You,” he says, pointing at Lamar, “and JB,” he raises a second finger as if counting, “saw a fuckin’ ZR-350 being brought in for maintenance at one of the Auto Glass places nearby in Davis?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Lamar replies, a smug grin spreading across his face as if he’s just solved a complex puzzle.

“...Bullshit.” Tommy responds after a brief pause, skepticism etched on his face.

“Wha—” Lamar’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You really don’t believe me, my nigga?”

“Yeah,” Franklin chimes in, nodding seriously.

Lamar clicks his tongue in frustration. “Fuck y’all.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, letting them fall back down to his thighs.

“I’m sorry, dawg, but you really expect us to believe that a sports car is just chilling here in the hood?” Tommy Lee asks, taking a drag from the blunt before passing it over to Tonya.

“Well, shit…” Franklin sighs, glancing between his friends. “We could check it out…”

“Exactly!” Lamar points enthusiastically at Franklin. “You finally understand my genius.” He taps his temple with pride.

Tonya laughs at Lamar’s antics, while Tommy groans in annoyance. “Nigga, you’re not a genius just because you happened to see a car by chance.”

“Oh, come on…” Tonya interjects, playfully nudging her boyfriend. “At least let’s check it out. If it’s really there, you three could make some decent cash selling it on the black market.” She passes the blunt to Lamar, who takes a draw that’s a bit too ambitious, causing him to cough out a cloud of smoke. “And you could use that money to pay for my nails…!” she adds, swinging her legs playfully.

“You want me to steal a car just so I can pay for your nails? Who do you think I am?” Tommy smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll reward you if you do,” she replies with a cheeky wink.

“...Okay,” Tommy concedes, and the trio erupts into a small cheer of “yay!” as they get caught up in the excitement.

———
Later that night, the three boys gathered in the shadows of the alley, dressed head to toe in black. They wore gloves, black T-shirts wrapped around their faces, and a sense of adrenaline coursed through them.

"Alright, y'all ready to do this?" Tommy asked, his voice low and steady.

"Of course I'm ready!" Lamar scoffed, his bravado shining through the nervousness. "I got that Apache blood in me, homie."

"Man, would you shut the fuck up with that bullshit?" Franklin sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Tommy reached into his waistband and pulled out a pistol, the metal glinting under the dim streetlight. Franklin's eyes widened as he caught sight of it. "Damn, where'd you get that? I didn’t think your mom would have one."

"It's not hers," Tommy replied. "It's Amani's."

"Susan's boyfriend?" Franklin raised an eyebrow as they approached the end of the alley, catching sight of the mechanic shop across the street. The place was dark and closed, giving off an eerie vibe.

"Yeah," Tommy sighed, shaking his head slightly, a mix of disbelief and annoyance evident in his expression.

"I can't believe your sister is fucking with a Ballas member, my nigga," Lamar shook his head in disapproval. "Shit’s tragic."

"Shut up, man. Let’s focus," Tommy snapped, scanning the street for any signs of trouble. A car passed by, but the street was otherwise clear. "Let's go."

With a shared nod of determination, the three boys sprinted across the street, their hearts pounding in their chests. They ducked into another alley, finding themselves in front of the mechanic shop. Tommy kept watch while Lamar and Franklin tried to pry open a window.

Lamar, growing increasingly frustrated, finally pushed Franklin aside and with a determined grunt, smashed his elbow through the glass. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the alley. "What the fuck, L?!" Franklin hissed, his voice low but filled with disbelief.

"What? It's open now, isn’t it?" Lamar smirked, though his face was obscured by the T-shirt. He climbed through the window first, followed closely by Franklin, and then Tommy.

As they entered the dimly lit shop, the first thing that caught their eyes was a striking yellow ZR-350, its two bold black stripes glimmering under the faint light. "What did I tell you two, huh? Bitch-ass niggas," Lamar laughed triumphantly.

"Alright, alright," Franklin replied, a smile creeping onto his face as he felt the thrill of their find.

"Okay, F, L," Tommy called out to them, his tone shifting to one of urgency. "You two jack the car. I'll keep a lookout. You’ll bring the whip to our usual spot. I’ll head out on foot."

The two nodded in understanding, acutely aware that Tommy wouldn’t squeeze into the two-seater.

Franklin and Lamar approached the car, their hearts racing. Franklin fumbled with the driver's side door handle, but it wouldn't budge. "Damn it, it's locked!"

"Move aside," Lamar said confidently. He took a deep breath, then yanked on the handle with force. It popped open with a satisfying click.

"Nice one!" Franklin grinned, sliding into the driver’s seat. He quickly leaned over to check the passenger side. “Your turn, L.”

Lamar followed suit and hopped into the passenger seat, the thrill of the heist hitting him hard. "Now, let's get this baby started."

Franklin searched around the ignition, his hands trembling with adrenaline. He found the wires beneath the steering column and with a swift motion, he connected them. The engine roared to life, a powerful growl that echoed in the stillness of the night.

"Come on, go!" Tommy urged from outside as he hurried toward the garage door, his heart racing.

Franklin threw the car in reverse, glancing back to ensure the way was clear. With a swift turn of the wheel, he sped out into the street, the tires screeching slightly as he swerved but quickly regained control.

Meanwhile, Tommy quickly shut the garage door, jumped out of the window they had entered through, and tucked the pistol into his pants. He ripped the T-shirt from his face and unzipped his hoodie, feeling the rush of the air against him. He sprinted down the street, his legs pumping as he raced toward their usual hideout.

———

Tommy met up with his two friends at their usual spot after about half an hour, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of the night’s escapade. “Finally, bitch!” Lamar smirked, calling out to the exhausted Tommy as he approached.

“Shut... up...” Tommy panted, his breath coming in heavy gasps as he leaned against the hood of the car. He glanced over at Franklin, who was comfortably sitting in the driver’s seat with his legs hanging out. “What time... is it...?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

Franklin checked the watch on his wrist, squinting at the dial in the dim light. “11 PM.”

Tommy nodded, relief washing over him. “Big Mike is still available then.”

“Should I go and call him?” Franklin asked, already preparing to get up.

Tommy nodded again. “You got money for the telephone booth?”

“Yeah, I’m good, dawg,” Franklin replied confidently, jumping up and heading off toward the nearby phone booth.

As Franklin walked away, Lamar turned back to Tommy, his expression turning serious. “You think he’ll pay us good? That nigga is shady, man,” he said, referring to Big Mike with a hint of skepticism.

“Sure,” Tommy replied, shrugging it off. “The nigga likes me; I’ve been selling his shit for a while now.”

“Okay...” Lamar said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, the smoke curling around him.

After a few tense moments of silence, occasionally broken by one of them saying something trivial, Franklin returned, his face lit with excitement. “He’s on his way!” he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face.

The three of them fell into a quiet anticipation. They stood in a loose circle, glancing at each other occasionally.

Eventually, a white Admiral rolled up, its engine rumbling softly as it came to a stop a few feet away. Big Mike stepped out, a cigarette dangling from his lips, its smoke trailing behind him. Accompanying him was a taller man, who also lit a cigarette and leaned against the car, seemingly unfazed by the chill in the night air.

Big Mike walked around the ZR-350, inspecting it with a critical eye, his fingers brushing against the sleek paint as he surveyed their prize. The other man remained rooted by the Admiral, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings.

After a thorough inspection, Big Mike returned to the three boys, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “I’ll give y’all 18k.”

“Not each, right?” Lamar asked, his voice laced with disbelief, but Franklin quickly punched him in the arm to silence him.

Big Mike let out a scoff, scratching his ample belly with one hand, clearly amused. “’Course not.”

“We’ll take it,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the fluttering in his stomach.

Big Mike nodded at his companion, who moved toward the trunk of the Admiral. The three boys exchanged curious glances, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. The man opened the trunk and began rummaging around, but they couldn’t see what he was doing. After a brief moment, he closed the trunk and returned, carrying three stacks of cash, each neatly bound and boasting six thousand dollars.

“Th-thanks, man,” Tommy stammered, his hands trembling slightly as he pocketed the money.

“Sure,” Big Mike replied nonchalantly, giving Tommy a light pat on the shoulder before turning back toward his car. He climbed inside, and the other man followed suit, getting into the ZR-350, both of them driving off into the night, leaving the three boys.

“Wooo!” Lamar exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. He pressed the stack of cash against his lips, kissing it.

Chapter Text

Tommy stood by the front door, watching his mom grab her coat and purse as she prepared to leave for work. "Don't forget to lock the door behind you!" she called out, glancing over her shoulder. He nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t be home for long. Moments later, his little sister scampered past him, her backpack bouncing with every step. "Bye, Tommy!" she chirped, waving enthusiastically before disappearing into the hallway.

Once the house was quiet and still, Tommy tossed his empty backpack over his shoulder and stepped outside into the bustling neighborhood. The sun was high, casting warm rays on the pavement as he walked down the street. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. He sighed, realizing it wasn’t much to work with. Shoving his hand into his other pocket, he felt the small packs of weed nestled there. He patted the back of his pants, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of his pistol — just a precaution.

After wandering the streets for about two hours, Tommy’s eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. A woman approached, her expression eager. “Tommy!” she called out, her voice cutting through the ambient noise of the neighborhood.

“What’s up?” he replied, giving her a quick nod.

“Gimme 2 grams,” she said, glancing around to ensure no one was watching.

He nodded in understanding and quickly exchanged the small packets for a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “Thanks,” she said with a smirk before disappearing down a side street, leaving him to continue his trek through the hood.

Not long after, a man approached him, his demeanor confident. “Yo, I need 3 grams,” he said, eyeing Tommy expectantly.

Tommy weighed his options but decided to sell. “That’ll be $150,” he replied, handing over the weed and receiving the cash in return. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he pocketed the money.

Time passed, and Tommy managed to sell the last two grams to another guy for another $100. Feeling the weight of his earnings, he decided to check his stash. Counting the bills, he realized he had a total of $370. Excited, he pulled out his flip phone and dialed Big Mike’s number.

“Yo, Mike, I need to buy more green,” he said when his call connected.

“Got it, kid. One of my guys will be on his way,” Big Mike replied, his voice gravelly but reassuring.

After a short wait, a man arrived, looking around suspiciously. Tommy approached him, and without wasting time, he handed over the $370 for the weed. The man pocketed the money, and Tommy stuffed the weed into his backpack before they both went their separate ways.

With a fresh supply, Tommy hit the streets again, his heart racing with anticipation. He hustled, selling the weed he had until nightfall. By the time he returned home, he felt exhilarated. He counted his total earnings, and his eyes widened in disbelief — he had made exactly $950 that day.

———

Tommy walked over to the house where Tonya lived, the familiar route a part of his daily routine. He approached the door and opened it without knocking, stepping inside as though he owned the place. The living room was hazy, and he caught sight of Tonya's mother, Emily, sprawled out on the couch, a crack pipe resting in her lap.

"Hey, Ms. Emily," he greeted, trying to keep the tone light despite the scene before him.

Emily groaned, waving him off with a dismissive hand. "Shut up and fuck off. Take my bitch daughter wherever you want, I don't care."

"That's what I was planning," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he made his way down the narrow hallway to Tonya's room.

As he entered, he found Tonya sitting on the edge of her bed, struggling to fasten a bright pink sneaker emblazoned with the logo of "Sneaky Footwear." She looked up and flashed him a flirtatious wink. "Hey, baby..."

"You finally decided to wear the shoes I bought for you?" he smirked, nodding toward her feet.

She scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You wouldn't have bought them for me if I didn't give you head."

"...That ain't true," he insisted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Tonya raised an eyebrow, her expression dripping with skepticism.

".....Okay, it's true," he admitted with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

She smirked triumphantly, slipping on her other shoe with a flourish. "Gotcha."

"Anyway, hurry up! Lucky Plucker closes at 11, and it's already 10:30," he urged, glancing at his watch.

"Damn, nigga, chill! I need to do my makeup!" she replied, exhaling dramatically.

"Why didn’t you do it before I arrived? I told you I’d be here around this time," he pointed out, tapping impatiently on his wrist.

She didn’t respond, instead sitting in front of her mirror, applying lipstick with practiced ease. When she caught him watching, she licked her lips slowly, giving him a sultry look through the reflection.

He gulped, feeling a rush of heat. "Damn...," he muttered, shaking his head to refocus. "I’m hungry; hurry up."

"Fine," she relented, finishing her lips and standing up. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and tossed it into her small bag before heading out the door with Tommy.

As they walked to Lucky Plucker, the streets bustled with life. They strolled side by side, their conversation flowing easily.

"You think they’ll have those spicy wings tonight?" Tommy asked, glancing at her.

"Of course! They're the best part. You should try the loaded fries, too—they're killer!" Tonya replied, her eyes lighting up.

"What about you? What are you getting?" he asked.

"I’m thinking about the chicken sandwich. I’ve heard it’s massive! But I’ll probably steal some of yours," she grinned mischievously.

"Haha, no way! You always do that. You’ll just have to get your own," he shot back, feigning indignation.

They reached Lucky Plucker. The aroma of fried chicken wafted through the air, making Tommy’s stomach rumble. They stepped inside, the warm atmosphere buzzing.

They walked up to the counter, where Tommy scanned the menu. "Alright, I’ll get the spicy wings and a large order of loaded fries," he said, glancing over at Tonya.

"I’ll take a chicken sandwich and a side of onion rings," she chimed in, her excitement palpable.

Tommy nodded at the cashier, who rang up their order. The total came to $28. He pulled out his wallet and handed over a twenty and a ten, feeling the familiar thrill of spending his hard-earned money.

"Thanks, babe," Tonya said, flashing him a grateful smile that made it all worth it.

Once they received their food, they found a small table in the corner. The food was steaming, and Tommy wasted no time digging in. He took a big bite of the spicy wings, savoring the heat and crunch.

"How is it?" Tonya asked, already eyeing his plate.

"Great. You’ve gotta try one," he said, offering her a wing.

She took it, taking a small bite and nodding in approval. "Okay, these are good, but wait until you try my sandwich."

They continue chatting and share food until they finish, and leave.

Chapter Text

**Five Days Later**

In the past five days, Tommy followed a simple routine: he bought weed and then sold it. On the second day, he repeated the same cycle—buying weed and selling it. However, on the third day, he had accumulated enough money to make a more lucrative purchase: crack. With this new investment, he sold the crack and profited significantly more than he had with weed. Riding the wave of success, he continued the trend on the fourth day, buying crack once again and selling it. As a result, he now had over $30,000 stashed away in a safe in his room and around $10,000 kept securely in a smaller safe in Tonya's room.

Big Mike had been very pleased with Tommy's progress and offered him a new job—one that was a step up from the nickels and dimes he had been making for the past two years.

---

The clock was beeping incessantly right next to Tommy's head, causing his eyes to flutter open. He groggily pressed a button on the clock, silencing the annoying sound.

As he glanced at the time, he realized it was 4:32 in the morning; it had taken him a full two minutes to fully wake up from the persistent beeping.

He heard an annoyed groan next to him and turned to see Tonya, who was sleeping in just a pair of panties beside him. He had chosen to spend the night at her place because her mother hadn’t been home for about two days. This wasn't unusual; Tonya's mom often vanished for a few days at a time to sell her body, all in a desperate bid to get her next fix of crack.

Rising from the bed, Tommy began to dress. Tonya stirred, turning away from the wall to face him. "Are you heading to Las Venturas already?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Tommy sighed as he pulled up his pants and buckled his belt. "Yeah. It’s about a seven-hour drive..."

Tonya sighed in response. "You better bring back a souvenir or something," she teased with a smirk.

"Sure," he replied, slipping on his black Eris shoes.

After fixing his appearance, he glanced at the clock again and saw that it was already 4:50. He leaned down to kiss Tonya softly on the lips before turning to leave.

"Bye..." she waved sleepily, a hint of longing in her eyes. She wanted to say "I love you," but the words had yet to leave either of their lips, despite their two-year relationship and the intimacy they shared.

As he opened her bedroom door, he turned back with a smile. Tonya thought he was finally going to say those two words, but instead, he quipped, "You better not spend my money." He smirked and dashed out of the room just as she threw a pillow at him in playful annoyance.

Grumbling, Tonya settled back into the warmth of her blankets and drifted back to sleep.

Meanwhile, Tommy sprinted down the hallway but slowed to a walk as he reached the front door. Stepping outside, he spotted a car parked in front of him.

It was a dark blue Huntley, engine running, with someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Recognizing the vehicle, Tommy knew it was sent by Big Mike, so he felt at ease.

He approached the car and got inside. The man behind the wheel extended his hand for a shake, and without wasting any time, he started driving. After all, it was a long journey ahead.

The drive was mostly silent, filled only with the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind outside. Tommy gazed out the window, watching the early morning scenery blur by as they made their way through the quiet streets. He lost himself in thought, contemplating his recent success and the mix of exhilaration and anxiety that came with it.

About an hour later, the driver pulled into an abandoned parking lot and came to a halt. "Why are we stopping?" Tommy asked, confusion written across his face. "Aren't we going to Las Venturas?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "We? Who the hell is we? You're going alone."

"What?" Tommy was taken aback.

The driver groaned in annoyance. "For fuck's sake... What did Big Mike tell you?"

"That a driver would pick me up to deliver some, you know, 'supplies,'" Tommy replied, trying to clarify.

The driver sighed. "Of course, that fat fuck didn’t explain anything..." He turned to Tommy. "Get out." Reluctantly, Tommy complied and exited the SUV, following the man.

They walked a few meters until they reached a worn and dirty Burrito van. The driver patted the side of the van. "You’ll get in this and drive it all the way to LV, to the Sindacco Abattoir. Got it?" He tossed the keys to Tommy.

"I-I got it, but I’ve never been to Las Venturas before, man," Tommy confessed as the driver climbed back into his car.

The driver rolled down the window. "How old are you, kid?"

Tommy was caught off guard by the question. "Sixteen."

"Sixteen." The man nodded. "You're technically a man already. I bet you’ve already had your taste of pussy. Figure it out." The driver’s tone left no room for argument.

"How will I get home after dropping off the supplies?" Tommy asked, hurrying after the car as it began to reverse.

The man looked back at Tommy one last time. "You’re a man. Figure it out." With that, he drove off, leaving Tommy standing alone in the parking lot.

Tommy sighed, watching the car disappear from view. "Fuck..." he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of his new responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders.

Tommy pressed the button on the key fob, and the van responded with a sharp beep, indicating the doors were now unlocked. He swung the door open and climbed inside, the scent of old fast food and stale smoke greeting him. Once seated, he turned the key in the ignition. The van rumbled to life, shaking slightly under him as he gripped the wheel tightly, feeling the vibrations travel through his body. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, glancing around the cluttered dashboard.

To his relief, he spotted a GPS device nestled among the mess of papers and empty soda cans. "Thank God," he mumbled, quickly programming it with the destination: Las Venturas. The screen flickered to life and calculated a route, displaying a bright blue line that snaked through the map. "I'm glad Frank taught me how to drive," Tommy muttered.

He shifted the van into reverse and backed out of the abandoned parking lot, merging onto the open road. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape as he drove through the quiet streets of Los Santos. The familiar sights of the city blurred by, replaced by the expansive stretches of the highway that led out into the desert.

The van bounced along the uneven road, and he found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter as he navigated the twists and turns. The sun climbed higher in the sky, illuminating the desolate beauty of the landscape around him.

The drive felt endless, with the dry desert air whipping through the open windows, but Tommy kept his focus. He passed through small towns and gas stations. The GPS guided him effortlessly, and he was grateful for the technology keeping him on track. After a few hours, the mountains in the distance began to loom larger, signaling that he was getting closer to his destination.

With the sun now high above, casting long shadows on the ground, Tommy finally spotted the neon lights of Las Venturas in the horizon. The vibrant colors were a stark contrast to the muted browns and greens of the desert that surrounded him. His pulse quickened as he approached the bustling city, the excitement of being in a new place washing over him.

Eventually, he arrived at the Sindacco Abattoir, slowing down as he searched for someone who looked like they were expecting him. The air was thick with the smell of meat and the distant sounds of machinery. After a moment of scanning the area, his eyes landed on a bald Asian man sitting on a crate. The man was casually smoking what looked to be a blunt, a shotgun resting on his lap.

Tommy rolled down the window, letting the cool air rush in. "Are you Big Mike's guy?" he asked, trying to sound confident.

"Yeah, I am," the man replied, nodding in acknowledgement.

The man climbed off the crate, and Tommy followed suit, stepping out of the van. The man bent down and retrieved a duffle bag that had been tucked away under the crate. Tommy handed over the keys to the van, and the man exchanged it for the duffle bag. Tommy quickly opened it, peering inside to see stacks of cash. It looked like the right amount—$150,000—but he didn’t bother to count it.

Just as the man was about to climb back into the van, he turned to Tommy, who was now slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Oh! Big Mike told me to give you a message. There’s a Nebula across the abattoir—a black one... He said to use that to get home, and that you can keep it. You’ve been doing a good job."

Tommy's eyes widened, a spark of excitement igniting within him. "Really?" he asked, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

"Yeah. Anyway, get that money to Big Mike," the man said, tossing the keys to the Nebula toward Tommy before climbing into the van and driving off.

Tommy caught the keys with a grin plastered on his face. He looked around for the black Nebula and soon spotted it parked nearby. The car was sleek and shiny. He approached it, running his fingers over the smooth surface before unlocking it and sliding into the driver's seat.

After adjusting the seat, he started the engine, reveling in the purr of the car. A few blocks away, he decided to make a pit stop at Burger Shot. The smell of fried food wafted through the air as he stepped inside, his stomach growling in response. He ordered three burgers, a large eCola, and a sizable portion of fries. After paying, he made his way back to the Nebula, feeling a rush of excitement as he settled into the driver’s seat with his food.

As he drove away from Burger Shot, he took a big bite of a burger, the flavors exploding in his mouth. The first bite was heavenly, and he chased it down with a gulp of the icy eCola. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this free. The music from Glydez J’s latest mixtape filled the car, and he turned the volume up, letting the beats pulse.

Chapter Text

**Next Day**

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of classes, Tommy strolled down the bustling hallway, seemingly oblivious to everything around him. Beside him, Tonya walked with a confident air, both of them casually smoking.

“Hey! Burton! Wiggins! Put those out right now!” shouted a female teacher, her voice cutting through the chatter of students. Tommy and Tonya simply flipped her off, a smirk etched on their faces as they finished their cigarettes.

Once they stepped outside, a commotion erupted nearby, and the pair, along with a throng of other students, rushed towards the source of the noise. Tommy's heart sank as he realized what was happening.

There stood Lamar and Franklin, squared off against five members of the Ballas gang, identifiable by their matching purple attire, which they wore in an attempt to project an air of coolness and toughness—traits all too common among teenagers. Lamar, decked out in full green, was also trying his best to embody that same gangster persona.

“Stay back,” Tommy warned Tonya, who simply pouted in response, clearly unwilling to be sidelined.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Tommy arrived just in time to witness a hefty Ballas member—a notorious football player named Dave—land a punch squarely on Lamar's face. In an instant, chaos erupted. Lamar retaliated with a swift kick to Dave's stomach, while Franklin launched a punch at a lanky Ballas member. Seizing the moment, Tommy elbowed a tall guy in the back of the head, sending him crashing to the ground, out cold.

However, the fight escalated quickly. Dave, furious, grabbed Lamar by the collar and slammed him onto the pavement, mounting him to rain down punches. The school was well aware of Dave’s reputation; his size and strength made him a formidable opponent.

Meanwhile, Franklin was engaged in his own battle, throwing a right straight to the lanky guy’s jaw, then following up with a left hook. He attempted another right punch, but the lanky guy dodged and countered by grabbing Franklin’s arm, pulling him closer for a knee to the stomach, followed by a brutal headbutt that left Franklin with a bleeding nose.

Tommy, amidst the chaos, found himself facing off against two Ballas members. He landed a powerful left hook on the guy wearing a purple bandana, but before he could capitalize, another guy in a backward cap rushed him, trying to lift him off the ground. Anticipating the move, Tommy managed to break free and kneed his attacker in the face, causing the cap-wearing thug to stagger back, blood streaming from his nose. Just as he was about to retaliate, the bandana-wearing thug lunged at Tommy, but was suddenly tackled to the ground by Quincy, one of Tommy's friends, who had jumped in to lend a hand.

With a bloodied face, Lamar fought back fiercely, using his elbows to strike Dave's ribs repeatedly until he finally managed to shove him off. With a burst of adrenaline, Lamar sprang to his feet and kicked Dave square in the face, grabbing him by the collar to unleash a flurry of punches. After landing several devastating blows, he finally knocked Dave out cold.

On the other side of the fray, Franklin was not backing down either. He adeptly blocked a left hook, countering with a swift kick to the groin that left his opponent gasping for breath. Franklin followed up with a powerful left hook, a knee to the face, and a fierce uppercut that sent the lanky thug sprawling to the ground. As he prepared to mount his opponent, the lanky guy managed a desperate kick to Franklin’s face, but Franklin retaliated with a decisive stomp that knocked him out.

Tommy, fueled by adrenaline, swung a powerful right hook at the guy in the cap, but the thug countered with an uppercut that rocked Tommy's chin. Refusing to back down, Tommy clinched his opponent’s head, delivering a series of punishing knees to the stomach. The thug retaliated with a headbutt, but Tommy held on, using his strength to kick the thug's legs out from under him. They tumbled to the ground, and Tommy pinned the guy’s left arm, raining punches down on his cheek with his left hand. As the thug attempted to push him off using his feet, Tommy reacted quickly, delivering a devastating soccer kick to his head, rendering him unconscious.

Meanwhile, Quincy, with his impressive muscular build, easily subdued the bandana-wearing thug, delivering a relentless barrage of elbows to the face until his opponent finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Lamar sat at home, nursing his injuries with a pack of ice pressed against his swollen cheek. He winced every time he moved, feeling the sting of bruises that had already begun to form all over his body. He had taken quite a beating during the scuffle.

Meanwhile, Franklin and Tommy were cruising through downtown, the streets illuminated by flickering neon signs and the distant sounds of nightlife echoing around them. Franklin was behind the wheel of a stolen car, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he maneuvered through traffic. Tommy sat in the passenger seat, his face obscured by a ski mask, with a pistol rested on his lap.

“Those motherfuckers think they can jump you two like that? Who do they think they are? Fucking pussies!” Tommy grumbled, his eyes darting around the streets, scanning for any familiar faces from the fight.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, the caller ID flashing Quincy's name. “What?” Tommy answered, irritation lacing his voice.

“Yo, I see one. It’s that fat fuck’s brother—Dave’s!” Quincy’s voice crackled through the phone.

“Brother?” Franklin mumbled, glancing at Tommy.

“Where’s he?” Tommy asked, his grip on the gun tightening, excitement and anger mingling within him.

“The uh... what’s it called? The gas station near the strip club,” Quincy replied, his voice steady.

“Gas station near the strip club,” Tommy relayed to Franklin, who nodded and executed an illegal U-turn, pressing down hard on the accelerator.

“Which brother is it?” Tommy inquired, his heart racing.

“The older one, the uh... taxi driver,” Quincy answered.

“Alright.” Tommy hung up, adrenaline surging as they sped toward the gas station.

When they arrived, Franklin skidded to a halt in front of the gas station. Tommy rolled down the window and immediately spotted a skinny, short guy loitering outside. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Dave, unmistakable in his nervous demeanor.

“Hold on!” Tommy shouted, aiming his gun out the window. He squeezed the trigger, the sound of the shot ringing out sharply in the night air, but the bullet barely missed its target, ricocheting off the pavement.

The guy’s eyes widened in panic, and he bolted down the street. “Fuck!” Tommy yelled, leaping out of the car and chasing after him. “You should’ve got in your car, nigga!” he shouted, determination propelling him forward.

Tommy sprinted a few meters, adrenaline fueling his speed. As he closed the gap, he fired two more shots. One hit the guy in the shoulder, causing him to stumble, and the other struck him in the lower back. The guy crumpled to the ground, a pained moan escaping his lips.

Tommy didn’t hesitate; he approached the fallen figure and shot him once more, this time in the upper back. The sound of gurgling filled the air as blood pooled around the guy, who struggled to breathe. Bystanders, initially frozen in shock, either fled the scene or stood paralyzed by terror.

Tommy knelt beside the guy, flipping him onto his back so he could see Tommy's masked face. “Thank your brother for this, nigga!” he spat before pulling the trigger again, the bullet finding its mark in the guy’s face.

Heart racing, Tommy turned and sprinted back toward Franklin, who had pulled the car closer. He hopped in, and they sped away, leaving chaos in their wake.

In the car, a manic grin spread across Tommy's face, a wild gleam in his eyes that unnerved Franklin. “Yes! Yes!” he exclaimed, the thrill of the moment overwhelming him. “Fucking pussy! That’s what you get, fucking Dave!”

They drove toward a secluded area, to the river, glistening under the moonlight. Franklin parked the car, and together, they disposed of the vehicle, pushing it into the water where it sank into the depths, taking their crime with it. Tommy tossed the pistol into the lake as well, ensuring there would be no evidence left behind.

As they made their way back to the shore, Franklin glanced at the flames from a small fire they had started, burning their old clothes—the remnants of their chaotic night. The fire crackled and popped, illuminating the darkness as the fabric turned to ash.

Tommy turned to Franklin, a satisfied smile on his face. “This is how we do it, my nigga. That’s how a real gangsta does it,” he proclaimed, his voice filled with pride. With that, he turned away from the fire and began walking home.

Chapter Text

It was evening and Tommy was sleeping on his bed after a tiring day of hustling, but then he got a phone call which ruined Tommy's sleep. Tommy got up to look at his phone and saw that the call was from Tonya. Tommy answers the call and on the other end was Tonya.

"Come over to my house! My crackhead mom are away for the night so we can pull an all nighter and do anything!" Tony's says, he can hear the smile in her voice.

Tonya didn't even let Tommy say anything back and she cut the call. He got up and made his way to her house which was just two minutes walk away. Upon arriving at her house, he entered without knocking. He went into her room. He kicks off his shoes in her room, and he gets on her bed next to her as she watches a series on her stomach, on her TV.

"What took you so long Milán? Don't tell me you got late because you were stroking your cock to some random bitch." She smirked teasingly.

"Nah, I was strokin' it to you." Tommy says.

She laughs a little, then gives him a playful smirk. "Freaky nigga." she says in a teasing tone, "If you were really stroking it to me, you'd be rock hard right now. Let me see..." she reaches over and pats his crotch area suggestively.

She pulls her hand back with a wicked grin. "Hmm, feels like you're telling the truth. Your dick is definitely twitching. I bet you're dying to whip it out and show me what you're packing, aren't you? Go ahead, I won't judge...much." She winks at him mischievously, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of him with her crude innuendos.

She scoots closer to him, her ample breasts straining against her low-cut top as she leans in conspiratorially. She reaches out and traces a finger along his jaw, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

She pouts a little. "What? Are you not gonna do anythin'?" She cups her breasts and jiggles them invitingly.

He pushes her on her back and get on top of her, one hand already on her left breast. "Is this what you want? Hm?"

Her body trembles with excitement at his bold move. "Mmm, now that's more like it!" she purrs, arching her back to press her chest into his palm.

Her nipples stiffen under the thin fabric of her top as he gropes her. She hooks a leg around his hip, pulling him flush against her.

"Ooh, I can feel that hard cock of yours grinding against me..." she pants hotly, rocking her hips to rub herself on his bulge. "You want to fuck me so bad, don't you? Want to shove that thick thing inside my tight little pussy and make me scream?"

She reaches down to fumble with Milán's belt, desperately trying to free his erection. "C'mon, let me see it... I wanna taste it..." she begs wantonly, her inhibitions lowered by lust. She tugs at his pants hungrily as she gazes up at him with hooded, lust-filled eyes.

"Just lie back," he tells her, pushing her down back by her shoulder.

Her eyes eyes widen in surprise and delight as he takes control, pushing her back onto the pillows. She licks her lips hungrily as he frees his throbbing erection, the thick shaft bobbing mere inches from her face.

"Fuck yes, that's what I'm talking about!" she breathes, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his girth, "Mmm, so big and hard...all for me~"

Without warning, she leans forward and drags her tongue along the underside of his cock from base to tip, swirling it around the sensitive head. She looks up at him with a salacious grin, maintaining eye contact as she parts her lips and takes him into her hot, wet mouth.

She moans around his length, the vibrations sending tingles through his shaft. She begins to bob her head, taking him deeper with each pass. Her tongue swirls and strokes his cock as she sucks hard, determined to give him the best blowjob of his life.

One hand grips the base of his dick, pumping what she can't fit in her mouth. The other slides into her sweatpants to rub at her aching clit through her soaked panties, moaning wantonly around his cock as she fingers herself.

She pulls off with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening rod. "Nngh, you taste so fucking good..." she pants, stroking him firmly. "I wanna feel this big dick splitting me open...fucking me so hard I scream..."

"Huh...You like the taste of sweaty cock? Hm?" He continues groping her tits when he goes back on top of her, between her legs.

She moans loudly as Milán gropes her breasts, arching into his touch. She grinds her hips against him, desperate for friction.

"Mmm fuck yes, I love the taste of your sweaty cock!" she admits shamelessly, her cheeks flushed. "It's so musky and manly...gets me so fucking wet~"

She reaches down to pull down her sweatpants, shimmying it off to reveal her drenched panties. The thin fabric clings to her swollen pussy lips, a damp spot darkening the center.

"Nngh, see what you do to me, nigga?" She whimpers needily, hooking her thumbs in her panties and tugging them aside. "My pussy is absolutely dripping for you..."

She spreads her legs wider, giving him an unobstructed view of her glistening folds. Her clit peeks out from beneath its hood, throbbing with arousal.

She runs a finger through her slick folds, gathering the moisture and bringing it to her mouth to suck clean. "Mmm, I taste so fucking good..." she purrs sultrily. "Wanna taste, baby?"

Without waiting for a response, she grabs his wrist and guides his hand between her thighs, pressing his fingers against her soaked entrance.

"Go on, stick 'em in...feel how hot and tight I am for you!" Tonya demands breathlessly, undulating her hips against his digits. "Then shove that big cock in me and fuck me 'til I can't walk straight!"

As Tommy's fingers explore her slick folds, she throws her head back with a throaty moan, her hips bucking instinctively against his touch. Her velvety walls clench around his digits, drawing them deeper.

"Ohhh fuck yesss..." she hisses, eyes rolling back in bliss. "Mmm, your fingers feel so good inside me..."

When he withdraws and tastes her essence, she watches with heavy-lidded eyes, biting her lip. "Nngh, you like that, don't you? Like tasting my sweet little cunt?"

"Hmmm...Of course." He smirks in a lewd way. "You should know that by now."

She mewls as the head of his cock nudges her entrance, her walls fluttering in anticipation. A small gasp escapes her as he pushes forward.

She wraps her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back. Her nails rake down his shoulders as she rocks against him, trying to take more of his impressive length.

"Don't stop...please don't stop..." she begs, her voice trembling.

She captures his lips in a searing kiss, pouring all her pent-up desire into the liplock.

Tonya whimpers softly as he plays with her sensitive nipples and clit, giving pleasurable sensations.

She reaches up to cup his face tenderly, peppering feather-light kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

She clenches around him rhythmically, coaxing him deeper. "Ohhh fuck, you feel so good inside me...like you were made to fill me up just right~"

She hooks one leg over his hip, opening herself wider to his ministrations. Her hands roam across his back, nails digging in as pleasure mounts.

"Harder..." she begs wantonly, undulating her hips to meet his thrusts.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, tugging sharply as she claims his mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss - all tongue and teeth and desperate need. She pours every ounce of her lust and longing into the liplock, silently urging him to lose control and ravage her thoroughly.

She cries out in ecstasy as Tommy picks up the pace, slamming into her sopping wet heat with abandon. Her nails score down his back, leaving angry red welts in their wake as she clings to him for dear life. The force of his thrusts rocks the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips.

"A-ahhhh!! Oh god, oh fuck, yes!!" she wails, her voice rising in pitch with each pounding stroke.

Her eyes roll back, tongue lolling out as she loses herself to the intense pleasure. Lewd squelching noises fill the room as his cock plunges in and out of her drenched cunt, her juices splattering obscenely with each impact.

She wraps her legs tightly around his waist, heels digging into his ass as she urges him deeper, harder, faster. Her pussy clenches like a vice around his pistoning shaft, the velvety walls rippling along his length.

"Fuck, I'm so close...gonna cum all over your cock!" Tonya keens, her body tensing as her climax approaches. "Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop!"

Her head thrashes from side to side, her short hair whipping across the pillow as Tommy ravages her mercilessly. Tonya babbles incoherently, a stream of filthy praise and pleas spilling from her lips.

"Yes, yes, YES!! Milán, fuck, I'm CUMMING!!" she shrieks, back bowing as her orgasm crashes over her. "AHHHHH FUCK!!"

Her pussy spasms almost violently around his cock, gushing thick ropes of cum that soak his pelvis and the bed below. Her whole body convulses, muscles locked up tight as wave after wave of mind-melting ecstasy rolls through her.

She whimpers as he abruptly pulls out, a desperate keen escaping her kiss-swollen lips. Her hips buck reflexively, seeking his warmth, but he's already poised above her - thick cock in hand, glistening with her juices.

But before she can touch him, his is painting her body with his release. Thick ropes of pearly seed stripe across her heaving breasts, splatter across her flushed face. She gasps as a particularly large spurt hits her parted lips, coating her tongue with his musky essence.

She swallows reflexively, moaning at the taste of him. Her hands fly to her tits, smearing the cooling cum into her skin as she massages the soft mounds.

With a wicked grin, she scoops up a dollop of jizz from her cheek, bringing it to her mouth. Her pink tongue darts out, lapping at her fingers clean.

Chapter Text

While Tonya and Tommy enjoyed each other's company, Dave, the stocky high school football player and a member of the Ballas gang, stood solemnly before his brother's grave. Dressed in a cheap black suit, sunglasses concealed his tear-filled eyes. A muffled sob escaped his lips, barely drowning out the other mournful sounds around him.

He glanced to his side, observing the distraught figure of his mother, who was a mess of tears and anguish. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered under his breath, "Whoever did this shit, gon' die," His jaw clenched tightly as anger coursed through him.

Before his mother could plead with her only remaining son, just fourteen years old and burdened with grief, he stormed out of the cemetery, leaving her sobbing behind.

*A few days later.*

Quincy stepped out of his room, pulling on his favorite topaz hoodie. As he made his way down the hallway, the aroma of dinner wafted through the air. He spotted his grandmother in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. “Yo, I’m borrowing your car, Grandma!” he called out, heading toward the entrance.

“Okay, okay!” she replied with a sigh, her annoyance barely concealed. She was well aware that her grandson was involved in drug dealing, but she felt powerless to intervene. While she didn't want to be rude, the truth was that Quincy was making poor choices. Drug dealing was the only path he seemed to find, and sometimes he needed her car to transport large quantities for the person he was working with.

Quincy snatched the car keys from the hook by the door and stepped out of their small cube house. He walked over to the car, opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat. He started the engine and drove off toward the Chamberlain Mall, a modest strip-style shopping center. There, he planned to stop at a fast-food joint called Aguila Burrito for a quick meal before heading to Sandy Shores to move some crack.

Upon arriving at the mall, Quincy parked his blue Stratum and headed inside the restaurant. He ordered his food, devouring a burrito and washing it down with a soda, before making his way back to the car.

As he settled into the passenger seat, ready to turn the key in the ignition, he felt a cold pressure against the back of his head.

Glancing nervously in the rearview mirror, he was startled to see Dave sitting behind him, hood pulled low over his face, a combat pistol aimed directly at him. “Look…” Quincy started to speak, but his voice was cut off by the sudden tension in the air. He tried to project calmness, suppressing the panic that churned within him, determined not to show weakness by raising his hands.

“Shut the fuck up!” Dave shouted, his voice laced with fury. “See you in hell, bitch-ass nigga!” With that, he pulled the trigger twice, unleashing a torrent of blood and brain matter that splattered across the windshield. Quincy’s body slumped forward, lifeless against the steering wheel.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dave exited the car and sprinted across the street, hopping into a waiting black Rancher XL. He tore away from the scene, tires screeching as he sped off into the distance. Inside the black Rancher XL, Dave slumped low in the backseat, his heart racing from adrenaline and fury. His older cousin, Francis, a tall, muscular twenty-year-old with a crooked smile and a devil-may-care attitude, was behind the wheel. He glanced back at Dave, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "You got the lil' nigga?" he asked, his voice barely containing a smirk.

"Yeah... put two in his head," Dave replied, nodding curtly. He was panting, keeping low in the seats, his hood casting a shadow over his eyes.

"Good," Francis nodded, a hint of pride flickering across his face.

"I'm fuckin' sure it was one of those three... Either Lamar, Franklin, or Tommy..." Dave muttered darkly. "But I think it was Tommy. Him and Quincy were friends." The thought brought a twisted laugh to his lips, a bitter sound that echoed in the confines of the vehicle.

"What's next? This isn't enough," Francis asked, his brow furrowing as he maneuvered through the streets.

———

Tommy arrived home, the familiar sights and sounds of his neighborhood greeting him. His little sister, still at school. As he stepped through the front door, he felt a strange heaviness in the air, a sense that something was off.

The house was eerily quiet. He called out, "Mom? You home?" but received no reply. An unsettling dread crept into his heart as he walked further inside, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

Entering the living room, the scene before him froze him in place. His breath hitched in his throat, and his heart dropped as he took in the horrifying sight: his mother lay sprawled on the ground, her body naked. Two bullet holes marred her forehead, crimson stains pooling around.

"Mom!" Tommy's voice cracked, a raw panic igniting within him. He rushed forward, collapsing to his knees beside her. The world around him blurred as he reached out, trembling fingers brushing against her lifeless form. His heart raced, each thud echoing in his ears as he struggled to comprehend what he's seeing.

"Mom, please!" he cried, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face. He cradled her head in his hands, feeling the warmth of her blood seep into his skin. "No, no, no..." he sobbed, shaking his head in denial. The weight of grief crashed over him.

His mind whirled with memories—her laughter, her gentle touch, the way she used to tuck him in at night. The love she had poured into their lives now felt like a cruel joke, and the finality of her absence clawed at his insides. "No...! No, no, no, no!" he screamed, his voice raw with anguish.

The tears flowed freely now, blurring his vision as he pulled her closer, the coldness of her body igniting a firestorm of rage and sorrow within him. He rocked back and forth, holding her as if he could somehow bring her back, as if his love could reverse the horror that had unfolded. "Mom! Come back! Please!" he wailed.

With every passing moment, the reality settled deeper into his bones. She was gone. Tommy’s cries grew louder, a primal scream of loss and despair that reverberated through the house, drowning out everything else.

Chapter Text

The church was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the muffled sobs of those who knew and loved Tommy's mother. The air was heavy with grief and the faint scent of flowers, the kind that always seemed to mask the pain of loss but never quite succeeded. Tommy stood at the front, his heart aching as he stared at the casket draped in a cascade of white roses. He could still remember her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. But now, all that was left were memories and the bitter sting of tragedy that had ripped their lives apart.

To his left stood his two best friends, Franklin and Lamar, their expressions somber and supportive. They had been with him through thick and thin, and today was no different. On his right, his girlfriend Tonya clutched his hand tightly, her own face a mask of sadness. They had all gathered to honor a woman who had been taken too soon.

Behind Tommy stood his twenty-year-old sister, Susan, her boyfriend Travis lingering protectively by her side. Susan's eyes were red from crying, and she occasionally wiped away tears with the back of her hand. Beside her was little Zoe, only eight years old, who seemed to grasp the weight of the situation in a way that no child should have to. She clutched a small stuffed bear, her innocent face bewildered by the sorrow around her.

Tommy could see his mother's friends scattered throughout the pews, their faces etched with grief as they whispered among themselves, sharing stories of happier times.

As the service proceeded, Tommy felt a mix of emotions—rage, sadness, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed his mother, that somehow, he should have been able to protect her from the horrors that had befallen her. The preacher spoke softly, offering words of comfort that felt hollow. Tommy's mind wandered as he stared at the casket, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could have been there to save her.

———

A Month After the Funeral

Tommy and Zoe had been successfully adopted by Susan. They had moved into her apartment with Travis, leaving behind the house filled with memories of their mother—a house that had become a painful reminder of their loss. The process of selling it had been bittersweet, a necessary step forward.

On a warm afternoon, Tommy found himself on the balcony, rolling up a blunt. The sun beat down on his skin, and he was half-naked, revealing a tattoo on his stomach that marked him as a member of the Families gang. Just as he lit it, his older sister stepped onto the balcony, dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, her arms crossed over her chest in frustration.

He looked up at her, momentarily caught off guard. "What?"

In one swift motion, she kicked the weed out of his hand, the contents scattering across the balcony and drifting down into the street below. Tommy sighed, feeling the familiar frustration bubbling up inside him.

"What was that for?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I told you not to smoke here!" she shouted, her voice carrying the weight of her grief. People on the street glanced up, momentarily distracted, before returning to their business. "I let you live here when I didn’t have to! This is what I get? Enough is enough, you know?!"

Tommy’s gaze dropped to the floor, his heart heavy.

"I don’t care if I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again—you shouldn’t have been born!" she shouted, the pain in her voice evident. Tommy let her words wash over him, knowing she was hurting just as much as he and Zoe were. "If you hadn’t been born, she’d still be alive! It’s all your fault that Momma's dead!"

"Are you done?" he asked, his voice calm despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

She scowled at him before turning back inside, leaving him in silence. Travis, who had been half-dressed as well, stepped into the living room and witnessed the tail end of the argument. "She ain't ever gonna let you live that down, lil' bro," he said, arms crossed and a hint of sympathy in his tone.

"Shut up," Tommy snapped, shooting him a dirty look.

"Or what?" Travis smirked, unbothered.

"Or I’ll fuckin’ kill you, just like your purple homies." Tommy stood up, closing the distance between them.

"I ain't a gangbanger no more," Travis replied, his expression turning serious. "I left that shit behind."

Tommy scoffed, dismissing the conversation.

"And you should too. If you don’t, you’re gonna end up like your boy Quincy," Travis warned, shaking his head.

Tommy rolled his eyes, putting on a black T-shirt and grabbing his backpack. "Whatever," he muttered, storming out of the apartment.

Travis watched him leave, shaking his head in frustration. "Idiot," he said under his breath, his attention momentarily diverted as he caught sight of Susan taking off her tank top. He smirked, stroking his beard. "Just what I need before my night shift."

Tommy sat in his car, the engine idling at a red light. His thoughts were consumed with his mother and the desire for revenge. He pulled out his phone and dialed Big Mike's number, listening to the ringing until he heard Mike's deep voice.

"What you want?" Mike asked, brusque yet familiar.

Tommy took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I need a favor, man."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "A'ight. What is it?"

"I need to know who killed my mother and my friend. I want to know everything—family, friends, anyone important to him." Tommy’s voice was steady but filled with urgency. "I’ll do anything you want from me. But I need this, man..."

As the light turned green, he pressed down on the gas, his resolve strengthening.

"Gimme a week. I’ll have all the information. Until then, keep selling my shit," Big Mike replied before hanging up.

Tommy put the phone away, continued on his way to Tonya.

———

Tommy pulled into the driveway of Tonya's house, the familiar sight a bittersweet comfort amidst the turmoil in his heart. As he stepped out of the car, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement. Without a second thought, he walked up to the front door and pushed it open, fully aware that this place had become his second home.

As he entered, the air hit him—the odor of brunt plastic that wrapped around him. The unmistakable scent of crack smoke lingered in the air. Instinctively, he headed toward the living room, scanning the space for her mother, who often occupied the couch in a haze of smoke. But today, the couch was empty, and the room felt eerily still.

Frowning, Tommy made his way down the narrow hallway toward Tonya's room. He pushed the door open without knocking, the hinges creaking in protest. What he found made his heart drop. Tonya sat on her bed, a glass pipe clutched in her hand, the smoke curling around her like a wraith. The moment she saw him, her eyes widened in shock, and she froze, the pipe hanging limply from her fingers.

With a surge of anger and desperation, he rushed toward her, snatching the pipe from her grasp before she could react. In one fluid motion, he smashed it against the wall, the glass shattering into sharp shards that scattered across the floor.

"Hey!" she protested, standing up, but her indignation was short-lived. He didn’t hesitate; his hand connected with her face in a sharp slap, sending her reeling back onto the bed, completely petrified. This was different—he had never struck her like this before. The intimate spank during their moments of passion felt worlds apart from this raw, unfiltered rage.

"Wha—" she stammered, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Are you fuckin' insane?!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the walls, filled with a mix of fear and fury.

"What?! It's not a big deal!" Tonya shot back defiantly, but he could see the way she shrank back under the weight of his anger.

"We don’t fuckin’ smoke crack! We sell that shit!" Tommy shouted, his voice rising with each word. "You wanna become a fuckin’ fiend too?! Like your mom?! You wanna become a whore, fuckin' strangers just to get your next hit?!"

Her defiance shattered, Tonya hung her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "Fuck you!" she spat, but the fire in her voice was gone.

"Shut up! If I find out that you're smokin' that shit again, we’re done!" he roared, his frustration boiling over. He sank down onto her chair, burying his face in his hands. “I have enough problems already, and now this…”

After a moment, he felt her move toward him. Tonya swallowed hard, then wrapped her arms around him in a tentative embrace. "I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice small and trembling.

"Why did you smoke that shit in the first place?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern amid the anger.

"I... I don't know," she admitted, her voice cracking. "It was just there. I guess Momma forgot a few grams, and I was... curious." She sighed.

"Don’t do that shit again. If you’re gonna smoke, smoke cigarettes or weed. Not that shit," he replied, the frustration in his voice softening slightly as he looked into her eyes.

"Okay," she nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Chapter Text

Francis is kissing a young white woman with black hair. He plants kisses on her neck as he begins to take off her tank top.

She places a hand on his chest and pushes him onto his bed. "Whoa." He smirks, clearly pleased by her actions.

She straddles his waist, grinning, and tosses her tank top onto his face.

He laughs, but his amusement is short-lived. After pulling the tank top off his face, a bullet suddenly penetrates his skull, leaving the pillow and sheets stained red. She quickly puts her top back on and flees the house, where a guy in a dark red Emperor is waiting for her. She hops into the car, and they speed away.

*A few hours earlier.*

"So that's it," Tommy Lee says, wrapping up his explanation.

"Are you sure these are the right guys?" Franklin Clinton asks.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tommy replies, rolling his eyes. "Big Mike got me this info. His men are pros." He sighs, then adds, "So, I'm asking... are you all sure you're willing to help me out with this?"

Lamar glances at Franklin. "You listening to this guy? Asking if we're sure." He scoffs.

Tommy chuckles. "Okay, okay..." He crosses his arms.

"Though I do have a question," Lamar says, pointing at three unfamiliar faces. "Who the fuck are they?"

"We have beef with that Dave guy's whole family. Big Mike told us he's" — she points at Tommy — "killing them all, so we're here." She shrugs.

"Yeah, that's about it," Tommy agrees.

*Back to the present.*

The woman who just killed Francis, Dave's cousin, is named Pamela, and the guy who picked her up is Daniel. Pamela's father, a member of the Families gang, was murdered by Francis' father, who belonged to the Ballas. She had always wanted to kill Francis' father, but by the time she had the chance, he was already dead. Meanwhile, Daniel was simply a close friend of Pamela’s.

———

*At Dave's mother's house.*

Dave's mother, Michonne, is in the kitchen, humming her favorite pop song with the radio turned up as she cooks something on the stove.

She stops stirring and moves to the counter to slice up duck meat.

Unbeknownst to her, she is being watched from a car parked outside. The kitchen window faces the road. The third member of the revenge mission is Chris, who joined because Dave had raped his little sister.

Chris watches Dave's mother from the car for a few more minutes before putting on a face mask and sunglasses. He grabs his double-barrel shotgun, exits the car, and runs across the road.

He leaps over a thigh-high fence and rushes to the front door, kicking it down with full force. Though muscular, he wears thick clothing to conceal his physique.

The woman screams in fright immediately. He wastes no time, dashing into the kitchen and firing both shots, killing her instantly. Her body slumps onto the kitchen counter, as the close-range blast knocks her back.

He quickly turns and departs.

———

Franklin gripped the steering wheel of the stolen car, the engine humming softly beneath them as they idled in shadowy corner of the parking lot across from the 24/7 convenience store. His eyes flicked between the rearview mirror and the entrance of the store, watching for any sign of movement. Lamar sat in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the micro SMG resting in his lap.

“Man, we’ve been sitting here for ages,” Lamar complained, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “How long does it take for her to finish a shift?"

“Just chill, nigga,” Franklin replied, his voice calm and steady. “We wait until she comes out. Can’t mess this up.”

“Right, right,” Lamar muttered, leaning back in his seat. “But I swear, I need to stretch my legs soon. This ain’t the most comfortable ride.”

They had been staking out for nearly half an hour, the tension in the car thickening as they exchanged occasional glances. Franklin shifted in his seat, trying to keep his focus sharp while still keeping his mind on the task ahead. The plan was simple but dangerous: take out Dave’s aunt, a woman who had always been a second mother to him but was now caught in the crossfire of their revenge mission.

Finally, the doors of the convenience opened Dave’s aunt, dressed in a faded apron and carrying a small bag of groceries. Franklin’s heart raced as he signaled to Lamar, who immediately perked up.

“There she is,” Franklin said, his voice low. “Get ready.”

Lamar rolled down the window at his side, the cool night air rushing in as he held the micro SMG. He focused on the target.

As she stepped off the curb and began walking toward her car, Lamar took a deep breath, his finger hovering over the trigger.

“Just do it, man,” Franklin urged, his voice tense. “We can’t hesitate.”

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Lamar leaned out the window and aimed the weapon. He squeezed the trigger, unleashing a torrent of bullets. The deafening sound of gunfire echoed through the quiet street as he emptied the entire clip—16 rounds—each one finding its mark.

The bullets ripped through the air, striking Dave's aunt with brutal precision. She barely had time to react as the first few rounds hit her, sending her stumbling back, shock and confusion etched on her face. The last of the bullets tore through her, and she collapsed onto the pavement, lifeless.

Lamar quickly pulled the gun back inside the window, his heart racing. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” he shouted, adrenaline coursing through him.

Franklin slammed the gear into drive and peeled away from the curb, tires screeching against the asphalt. The car shot down the street.

“Did we really just do that?” Lamar asked, breathless, as they sped further from the scene.

“Yeah, we did,” Franklin replied, his grip tightening on the wheel.

———

Tommy Lee's heart raced as he climbed the creaky stairs of the old apartment building. It was a relic from a bygone era, with faded wallpaper peeling off the walls and the musty smell of neglect lingering in the air. Only a handful of residents occupied the sprawling structure, making it feel almost desolate despite its size. As he reached the third floor, he could hear laughter and chatter spilling from one of the apartments, the sounds of a typical gathering.

He adjusted the AP pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants, feeling the cool metal against his skin. The adrenaline coursed through him, pushing aside any lingering doubts. He had come too far to turn back now. With a quick glance around, he approached the door, steeling himself.

Without a second thought, Tommy kicked the door open with a fierce grunt. The wood splintered, and the door swung wide. But in that split second, he realized his mistake; a bullet whizzed past his head, barely missing him. The sudden rush of danger jolted him into action. He ducked behind the wall just in time, heart pounding in his chest.

Gathering his composure, he extended his arm out from behind the wall, squeezing off three shots with the AP pistol. The echoes of gunfire bounced off the walls, and he heard a thud on the floor. His instincts told him he had hit his target.

Peeking around the corner, he saw a teenager his age sprawled face-first on the ground, a pistol slipping from his limp hand. Tommy stepped cautiously into the apartment, but his moment of triumph was short-lived. A shotgun blast roared through the air, pelting the wall next to him with splinters and debris. Instinctively, he ducked back behind cover.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, adrenaline spiking again. He fired off six rapid shots, aiming blindly towards the source of the noise. He heard a loud groan, followed by a heavy thud, signaling that he had found another target.

Tentatively, Tommy peeked out again, spotting a grown man clutching his chest, wheezing as he struggled to breathe. Without hesitation, Tommy aimed and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet in the man’s head. The body slumped to the floor, and Tommy stepped over it, searching for Dave.

He moved through the apartment, scanning each room until he reached the bedroom. As soon as he stepped inside, a stocky 14-year-old lunged at him, grabbing his arms and shoving him against the wall with surprising strength. Shocked, Tommy reacted instinctively, headbutting the kid, but Dave held on fiercely, and they both tumbled to the ground.

In the struggle, Tommy's gun slipped from his grip, clattering out of reach. They scrambled to their feet, and Tommy, fueled by rage, landed a solid punch on Dave's jaw. But Dave, with a burst of adrenaline, charged at Tommy, shoving him backward. Tommy stumbled, his back hitting the window frame, and before he knew it, he was falling through the opening.

In a moment of panic, he reached out and grabbed Dave, pulling him down with him. They both crashed through the air, Tommy’s back colliding painfully with the railing of a first-floor balcony before they tumbled to the concrete below. The air was knocked out of Tommy's lungs, a stunned silence enveloping him as he struggled to regain his breath. For a few agonizing seconds, it felt like he had forgotten how to inhale.

As he finally gasped for air, he noticed Dave sprawled on the ground, wheezing and struggling to recover from the fall. Seizing the opportunity, Tommy pushed himself up, adrenaline surging through him again. He punched Dave, who was still disoriented from the fall.

Spotting a brick nearby, Tommy snatched it up, rage burning in his veins. He positioned himself over Dave, who was trying to catch his breath, and began to bash the brick against Dave's head repeatedly, each strike fueled by vengeance. With each impact, he felt a sense of catharsis, a release of the pent-up fury he had carried for so long. Until finally, Dave lay still beneath him.

Chapter Text

Tommy had recently sold his Nebula for $10,000. While the car was worth significantly more, he opted to sell it on the black market, uncertain about the potential repercussions of such a decision. Eager to elevate his lifestyle, he wanted to purchase a new car—something far more luxurious. After some consideration, he decided on an Albany Presidente.

The Albany Presidente is a mid-size executive sports sedan, renowned for its blend of style and performance. According to the Auto Eroticar website, the Presidente boasts a formidable 4.5-liter V10 engine, which is paired with a 5-speed manual transmission in a rear-wheel-drive configuration. While the acceleration is decent, the car tends to feel sluggish on inclines due to its weight. Handling is adequate, though it experiences mild understeer because of the hefty engine positioned up front. The suspension system is relatively soft, providing a comfortable ride by absorbing bumps in the road. Its braking system is above average, with ABS standard across the entire lineup, ensuring a safe driving experience.

At the moment, Tommy was dressed casually in a blue-striped Blagueurs track hoodie, gray Blagueurs wide pants, and a pair of stylish black Gnocchi sneakers. He pulled over to the side of the road, spritzing some of Le Chien's "Magma d'or" on his neck before glancing at his Crowex watch. Looking toward the entrance of the house, he muttered, "Where the hell is she? She said she was already ready." With a frustrated huff, he leaned on the horn twice.

A few moments later, the front door swung open, and Tonya rushed out. The chilly air swirled around them, the wind blowing briskly and dark clouds gathering overhead—an unusual sight for Los Santos. She was dressed in an orange and yellow Güffy track hoodie, black Trey Baker sweatpants, and a pair of black Squash sneakers.

She dashed over and hopped into the passenger seat beside him. "There you are!" Tommy sighed.

"Sorry," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Can’t a girl take a piss before a date?"

"Well, shit..." he said, playfully licking his lips and stroking his chin. "Say so next time; I wanna watch."

Tonya shot him a disgusted look. "Seriously? You’re so weird. I’m into freaky shit, but not piss play. You should know." She shook her head, clearly unimpressed.

"I'm just joking," he snorted, a grin spreading across his face.

She rolled her eyes again, fastening her seatbelt. "Let’s just go already."

As they drove through the streets of Los Santos, they chatted about everything and nothing. "So, what’s the plan for tonight?" Tonya asked, glancing at him with a mischievous smile.

"I thought we could hit up Burger Shot at the Vespucci Canals," Tommy suggested.

"Sounds good to me," she replied.

After a short drive filled with laughter and light banter, they arrived at Burger Shot. Tommy parked the Albany Presidente, turned off the engine, and locked the doors with a satisfying click. They hopped out and walked inside, the familiar aroma of fast food wafting through the air.

As they stood in line, Tommy glanced at the menu, his stomach growling in anticipation. When they reached the counter, he confidently ordered, "I’ll have a Money Shot Meal. That’s a large E-Cola, a burger, and large fries. How much is that?"

"That’ll be $6.99," the cashier replied.

Tommy turned to Tonya. "What do you want?"

"I'll take a Torpedo Meal," she said, her eyes lighting up at the thought of food. "That comes with a sandwich, ketchup, mayo, and a large E-Cola."

"Are you sure that’s all you want?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I’m sure," she affirmed, crossing her arms.

"Then you ain’t gonna eat my fries, right?" he teased, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Tonya sighed dramatically. "No, I won't eat your fuckin' fries. Happy?"

"Very," he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as they moved to the side to wait for their food.

A few minutes later, they received their meals and found an empty table to sit down at. As they dug into their food, Tommy took a bite of his burger, savoring the combination of flavors. "So, how was your day?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

"It was alright. Just work, the usual." Tonya replied, wiping her hands on a napkin.

Despite her earlier declaration, Tonya couldn’t resist reaching over to snatch a fry from Tommy’s pile. He looked at her, a knowing smirk on his face as she took a bite of her sandwich, inconspicuously munching on his fries as well.

She shrugged, a bite of fry in her mouth. "It's just too good."

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. He's not mad though. She laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they continued to enjoy their meal together.

———

Lamar Davis paced nervously in the dimly lit alley behind a rundown warehouse in the heart of Los Santos. He had just pulled off a heist that could change everything for him. Big Mike, the notorious plug who controlled the drug trade across Los Santos, Sandy Shores, Paleto Bay, Grapeseed, and even Las Venturas, had been expecting a routine meet-up. But Lamar had other plans. With the stash of cash he’d just swiped from Big Mike’s operation, he felt a mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins.

A sly grin crept across Lamar's face as he counted the stacks of cash, the crisp bills reflecting the fluorescent light from the street lamps. The thrill of the score was intoxicating, but he knew he needed to get out of sight fast. Big Mike was not a man to be trifled with, and Lamar had just made a powerful enemy.

With the money stuffed into a worn-out backpack, Lamar made his way over to Franklin’s place. He needed to share the news, and he could use Franklin’s help to figure out what to do next. As he arrived, he knocked quickly at the door, his heart racing with excitement and fear. Franklin opened the door, his expression shifting from casual curiosity to surprise at the sight of his friend.

“Yo, Lamar! What’s up?” Franklin asked, stepping aside to let him in.

Lamar could hardly contain himself. “You’re not gonna believe what I just did, nigga!” He threw the backpack onto the coffee table, watching as Franklin’s eyes widened.

“What’s in there?” Franklin asked suspiciously, taking a step closer.

Lamar opened the bag and began pulling out stacks of cash. “This right here? This is from Big Mike! I just ran off on the plug!”

Franklin’s face went pale, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. The weight of what Lamar had just done sank in. Big Mike was the kingpin of the drug business in the area, and this wasn’t just a simple theft. “Lamar, are you fuckin' serious? You stole from Big Mike? Do you know what you just did?”

“Yeah, I know what I did! And it’s about to change everything for us, man!" Lamar exclaimed, excitement bubbling over.

But Franklin wasn’t sharing in the elation. “Lamar, you realize he’s gonna come after you, right? And anyone connected to you. That includes me, and Tommy too. This ain’t just some petty crime.”

Lamar shrugged off Franklin’s concern, but deep down, he knew Franklin was right. “Look, I’m gonna share some of this with you. We can figure it out together. You know how to stay low, right?”

Franklin shook his head, still in shock. “You think he’s just gonna let this slide? He runs the whole operation! He’s ruthless.” Franklin’s mind raced as he contemplated the implications of Lamar’s actions. Big Mike had a reputation for making examples of those who crossed him.

“Just take your cut, nigga! And then we’ll lay low for a bit. I’ll go to Tommy tomorrow and we can come up with a plan,” Lamar insisted, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Franklin muttered, his mind still reeling. “I can’t believe you did this, man.”

Just as the tension hung thick in the air, Franklin’s grandma entered the living room. “Franklin! Dinner’s ready!” she called out, her voice breaking the moment. Franklin quickly tucked away the stacks of cash, hiding the evidence of their reckless scheme from her.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there!” he replied, his mind racing with the consequences of Lamar’s actions.
As his grandma walked back towards the kitchen, Franklin turned back to Lamar. “We gotta talk more about this later. Right now, you need to lay low. Big Mike will find out soon enough.”

Lamar nodded, but he was still riding the high of his ill-gotten gains. “I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. We’ll figure something out. Just trust me, man!”

Franklin watched him leave, a mix of worry and frustration swirling in his gut. He knew that what Lamar had done would have serious repercussions, not just for him, but for everyone connected to him. As he walked into the kitchen, the delicious smell of dinner filled the air, but all he could think about was the trouble that was brewing.