A Gangsta's Son

The money that had paid for his 1971 Impala and the sparkling chrome 28-inch DUB rims it hovered over; the money that had him buying up to twelve kilos of cocaine every month or so; the money that had his entire click of Black Disciples riding around in foreign cars.
“I hope them legs ain't too tired,” Mone said looking back at Cresha’s lower half. “You know I just worked a twelve-hour shift. Gotta get me right before I go to sleep.” He smiled his ugly smile and opened the screen door. “I’ll take you shoppin’ when I wake up; spend a couple bands on you.”
He put his key in the lock and turned it… But the door was snatched open before Mone’s hand could even reach the doorknob.
Lacresha’s eyes opened wide with fear as she witnessed a tall masked man step from behind the door and raise a gun to Mone’s face.
“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?” The masked man stated coldly.