With a fist full of money and a heart full of lead, Dollar, who got his name honest, is a born hustler. Growing up in the hood, Dollar watched the ballers ball, the pimps pimp and the players play. Most seemed to be tight up on their game, but Dollar knew that sooner or later he'd catch those fools slippin'. So after carefully critiquing the game, Dollar chooses a more concrete type of hustle, straight out robbin' folks. In addition to paper chasin', Dollar tries to uphold his motto: M-O-B (Money Over Broads). It's hard for Dollar not to want to take care of his sweet tooth that craves women. After all, behind every bad boy is an even badder broad. Livin' a life of sin, Dollar quickly goes from a small pup just living and learning to a big dawg learning to live. Stuck on himself, Dollar manages to drag everyone in his life who means anything to him into his deadly game. Eyes wide shut, will Dollar be too blind to see just who's really down for him, who wants to be him, or who simply wants him down? Each page, leading up to a jaw dropping ending, is filled with emotional twists and turns. Expect the unexpected.
Excerpt:"Where the fuck are my boys?" Dollar thought to himself as he held Cartel and his two partners at gunpoint. The four of them, each with their own degree of fear, stood timorous in the middle of Woody's Garage. Way down under in that place called hell, Satan and his advocates were probably taking bets on whose heart was beating the fastest. Niggaz are always loyal at entertaining the devil and his advocates. This situation was no exception. Dollar nervously handled the black semi automatic as he aimed it at the three men. "I swear, not one of you bitches better move," Dollar said to the men. Not taking for granted whether or not Dollar's word was bond, the men obeyed as beads of sweat expelled from their foreheads and could be heard hitting the cement ground of the garage like water droplets from a leaky faucet in the middle of the night. "I bet you're punk ass don't even know how to fire that gun," Tone, Cartel's big mouth, big Jay-Z lip having partner, snickered. Although scared as hell, he had to test Dollar. He had to find out if Dollar was pussy in dick's clothing. "You can probably hardly handle your own dick when you piss, let alone a gun." Before Tone's chuckle could completely spill from his mouth a bullet escaped the barrel of Dollar's gun and whirled pass Tone's dome. Dollar just had to fire off a warning shot to let them muthafuckas know that he meant business. The bullet soared through the air, piercing the red can of paint that was sitting on a work shelf behind where the three men were standing. The red paint from the can oozed on the floor in sync with the trail of piss that was now running down Tone's leg. Tone felt the slight breeze the bullet produced as it whizzed by him. It was as if the kiss of death had been blown at him. "Now what, you bitch as hoe?" Dollar said surprising his own self that he could handle a gun. When he packed the piece, he never had any intention on actually using it. A smile crept across Dollar's full lips, the smile that was a cross between a grin and a pout. The right corner of his mouth would slant upward and the left slanted downward. This was his "I'm that nigga" smile.