Prison Throne Read Online Free

grandparents’ home. A few packed diaper bags here and a new outfit there were the most Donald got from his parents and his loneliness turned to resentment and stopped abruptly at anger.
    “You think I don’t know I’m not a kid no more?” Donald asked Rasim, his eyes twirling around slightly. His demeanor was giving; please say something wrong so I can push your teeth toward the back of your scalp.
    Oh, it was the Demon of Rage that chose to visit and unfortunately for Rasim, he was in the front seat.
    Rasim didn’t partake in violence. Besides, he was the jokester of the crew. The one his friends called on when they wanted to chuckle their troubles away. A gangster he was not and, as far as he knew, a gangster he would never be.
    “Not trying to get you mad, man,” Rasim said flashing the winning smile he was known for. He nudged him softly on the arm. “Chill out and stop tripping.”
    Donald took another look at Rasim, blinked a few times and called the demon off. He had beef in the streets but it was never with Rasim. He loved him more than a brother. “Ain’t nobody mad at your bitch ass,” Donald lied.
    “You ain’t mad?” Rasim repeated. “Your face so wet you making my dick hard,” he laughed.
    Donald shook his head and chuckled at his friend.
    On some personal shit, Brooklyn pulled on Donald’s headrest to scoot forward, which caused Donald’s head to lean back abruptly. Donald hated that shit.
    “How far are we from the hotel? I’m hungry,” he asked with his lips too close to Donald’s ear.
    “Nigga, get the fuck off of my seat!” he yelled. “And we ‘bout ten minutes out.” He paused. “Stop being so fucking greedy. That’s why your neck beefy as is. You eat too fucking much.”
    Embarrassed, he flopped back in the seat and rubbed his coffee colored chin. “Fuck you,” he said under his breath. When Chance and Rasim laughed too he continued, “Fuck all you niggas.”
    What Donald said was true. Brooklyn’s body inflated weekly and if it hadn’t been for his cute face and five o’clock shadow, he would’ve had a problem in the ladies department.
    Unlike some wannabes who sought street cred by claiming Brooklyn, he was a true transplant from the city that never slept. The funniest thing was he just appeared to come from nowhere.
    When Rasim asked Donald where he met Brooklyn, he didn’t say much. Just that he was hanging out front a liquor store one day and dude bought him a bottle and gave him a place to sleep when his parents had the house full of fuck buddies. After that, Rasim and Chance met him, liked him, and they’d been together ever since.
    But Brooklyn never, ever, talked about his past. And since the friends didn’t like talking about theirs either, the unsaid agreement worked.
    Chance, on the other hand, was tall and light skinned with eyes the color of toffee. His mother and father owned a bakery out Maryland and did alright for themselves. They were good parents but since they had him at the age of forty, they were too old to run after him or warn him about life’s horrors. Because of it, he had a silent case of Chlamydia and a bout of herpes, which he didn’t know about. He assumed he had sunburn on his dick. At least that’s what he kept telling his friends.
    The teenagers were bopping their heads along with the music but their happiness evaporated when Donald suddenly whipped the car to the curb. At first Rasim assumed he lost what was left of his senses until he saw a cute girl with a pregnant ass switching down the street.
    Donald slithered out of the car, whispered in the girl’s ear and smacked her so hard she took five steps backwards. To make shit worse, he grabbed her by the forearm and escorted her toward the car.
    Rasim’s face heated because he wasn’t with the abusing women shit. His father taught him to respect the ladies and the elderly and he upheld that belief.
    “What the fuck is this nigga doing?” Brooklyn asked as his jaw hung in