Rick Ross - Hurricanes: A Memoir

The highly anticipated memoir from hip-hop icon Rick Ross chronicles his coming of age amid Miamis crack epidemic, his star-studded controversies and his unstoppable rise to fame.

Rick Ross is an indomitable presence in the music industry, but few people know his full story. Now, for the first time, Ross offers a vivid, dramatic and unexpectedly candid account of his early childhood, his tumultuous adolescence and his dramatic ascendancy in the world of hip-hop.

Born William Leonard Roberts II, Ross grew up across the bridge, in a Miami at odds with the glitzy beaches, nightclubs and yachts of South Beach. In the aftermath of the 1980 race riots and the Mariel boatlift, Ross came of age at the height of the citys crack epidemic, when home invasions and execution-style killings were commonplace. Still, in the midst of the chaos and danger that surrounded him, Ross flourished, first as a standout high school football player and then as a dope boy in Carol Citys notorious Matchbox housing projects. All the while he honed his musical talent, overcoming setback after setback until a song called Hustlin changed his life forever.

From the making of Hustlin to his first major label deal with Def Jam, to the controversy surrounding his past as a correctional officer and the numerous health scares, arrests and feuds he had to transcend along the way, Hurricanes is a revealing portrait of one of the biggest stars in the rap game, and an intimate look at the birth of an artist.

Rick Ross is an American rapper, songwriter, entrepreneur and founder of the Maybach Music Group. All ten of his albums have landed in the top ten of the Billboard 200, including five number one debuts. He has received four Grammy Award nominations. He has worked closely with Jay-Z, Kanye West, Diddy, Drake, Lil Wayne and DJ Khaled, among many others. He lives in Atlanta, Georgia. Hurricanes is his first book.

Neil Martinez-Belkin is the New York Times bestselling coauthor of The Autobiography of Gucci Mane and the former music editor of XXL Magazine. He has written extensively about contemporary hip-hop for VICE, Apple Music, Mass Appeal and others. He lives in Boston.

Twitter: @RickRoss

Instragram: @richforever

Hurricanes

A Memoir

Rick Ross with Neil Martinez-Belkin

This book is dedicated to my big brother. Carol City.

Contents

Prologue

June 24, 2015
Fayetteville, Georgia
6:30 a.m. EST

Something was going on outside. The Dobermans were barking. I rolled out of bed and walked to the foyer. Out the window I saw them. A SWAT team gathered at the bottom of the hill. It looked to be about twenty of them. They were suited up and ready to kill. They had rifles. They had shotguns. They had battering rams and bulletproof shields. And they were cutting the gates to the studio house.

It was a full house that morning. Lira was still sleeping in my room. Toie was in hers. She was having a sleepover with her sister Lashiain, her cousin Jocelyn, her friend Isis, and Kanos two daughters, Kerina and Jenyea. Black was in his room. Slab was on the couch in the living room. My homie Short Legs, Scrilla and my videographer Ryan were all downstairs in the basement. Meek and Nicki had been there the night before but it looked like they had left.

I woke Black and Slab up and told them to flush the weed and hide the guns. While they argued about whether or not to unlock the front door I went back into my room. I was going to pretend to be asleep.

Slab ended up opening the doors. They slammed him to the ground and put a knee in his back. When they busted into my room moments later I noticed two things. The first was the cluster of green dots. Lasers from the assault rifles pointed at my chest. Then I saw the words printed across their tactical gear.

US Marshals. Southeast Regional Fugitive Task Force.

The feds?

Hands in the air! Everybody on the ground!

I put my hands in the air. I got on the ground.

How many people are in the house?!

I dont know but my daughter and her friends are upstairs, I said. Dont do anything reckless.

Room by room, they started rounding everybody up. When they went downstairs Short Legs wouldnt come out from the corner of the basement he was tucked away in. He seemed unfazed. They had to throw a flash grenade at him to get him to come out.

I was cuffed and taken outside, where I was made to lie facedown in the grass of my front yard. I could hear Blacks voice behind me. He was going bad on the marshal in charge. I believe his name was Jim.

Black, stay with the girls, I shouted. Whatever this shit is about, Ill be out soon.

I cant, Fatboy, he called back. Theyre here for me too.

When I realized theyd come for Black too I started to get an idea what this was about. But it still didnt explain why the feds had come. That part was throwing me off and it was concerning. I wondered if I should have Renee move the money into her account.

Everybody was outside by then. Short Legs had overheard Black and I talking and he said hed drive the girls back to Miami. Lira was in tears. Slab was giving the agents a fake name and they hadnt even asked him shit. Id had Ryan in the basement working around the clock for so long he was probably relieved to be getting a break.

Two of the marshals snatched me up off the ground and escorted me down the driveway. As we made our way I looked back at Toie. She was in shock. She didnt know what was happening. But Kanos daughters did. Three years earlier their father was taken away by the feds. Kano got caught up in a sting operation and they had him on a wire talking about robbing a Haitian freighter for 100 kilos. The girls hadnt seen him since.

From the back seat of a black paddy wagon I could hear the marshals talking outside. They were disappointed Id been at the studio house. They all thought they were going to get to see the big house. The Holyfield estate.

Then I noticed a familiar face: a local cop in the crowd of US Marshals. He was the fat, bald redneck who arrested me two weeks earlier for having a couple joints in my car. Hed been waiting for me outside the big house. As soon as I pulled out the gates in my Mulsanne hed pulled me over. It was Deputy Sheriff Tommy Grier of the Fayette County Sheriffs Office. As soon as we made eye contact he came up to the car.

Didnt I tell you Id see you soon? he laughed.

Rapper Rick Ross Arrested on Suspicion of Pistol-Whipping, Kidnapping Employee

The Los Angeles Times

Warrants: Man Assaulted by Rapper Rick Ross Lost Use of Jaw

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Rick Ross Charged in Assault that Left Victim Unable to Chew Solid Foods

Fayette County News

Black and I were taken to Fayette County Jail, and booked on charges of kidnapping, aggravated assault and aggravated battery. Both of us were denied bond and would sit behind bars until our next hearing the following week.

I spent that week in solitary confinement, locked down for twenty-three hours a day in an eight-by-twelve-foot cell. The fluorescent bulb over my head was kept on at all times. The hole is where they put inmates on suicide watch who require 24/7 visual supervision.

I refused to eat the slop they brought me. Id spoken with my chef and she told me to just fast and stay hydrated. When they tried serving me what looked like possum or racoon stew I flipped the tray over. The red fortified punch that came with it spilled everywhere. I dont know what they put in that punch but it stained the floor of my cell for days. The next day they brought me a white-bread-and-pork-bologna sandwich. I told them I dont eat swine and to bring me something else. I was laughed at. When I told them they couldnt deny me food they laughed harder and claimed they had sovereign immunity. I ended up giving a correctional officer a thousand dollars to bring me some Chinese rice with sweet-and-sour chicken. By that point I was so hungry I didnt even chew it. I inhaled it.