She Had Him Arrested For St@bbing Her… He Got Out & Did THIS Through Her Window | HO!!

At 6:20 a.m. on May 22, 2024, the quiet of a small Dayton neighborhood shattered under the crack of gunfire. Within minutes, two people—32-year-old Precious Taste and 16-year-old Deonte Johnson—were dead, and a third, a 14-week-old unborn child, had lost its life before taking a breath. The suspect fled into the dawn, vanishing before police could arrive.

When officers reached the home on Shaffsbury Road, they found a scene so violent that hardened detectives struggled to discuss it. Precious lay at the bottom of her basement stairs, shot multiple times while begging for her life. Deonte lay upstairs, still under the covers where he had been sleeping minutes earlier. He never opened his eyes. He never had a chance.

Within hours, Dayton police named the suspect: 32-year-old Nicole “Nico” Cunningham Jr., a man with a long, documented, escalating history of violence—particularly against the very woman he was now accused of killing.

Two years earlier, he had stabbed her while she was pregnant.

He served time.

He was released on parole in January 2024.

And within four months, three lives were gone.

This is the story of how a known violent offender walked out of prison, returned to the woman he once nearly killed, and shot through her window—ending not just one life, but three.

It is also the story of a justice system that missed every warning sign.

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II. The First Attack: 2022

To understand what happened in May 2024, you must understand what happened two years before.

In 2022, Precious Taste was pregnant when an argument with her on-again, off-again partner, Nico Cunningham, escalated into a life-threatening assault. Cunningham stabbed her, leaving her hospitalized with broken ribs and injuries she later shared publicly on social media.

She wrote about the pain, the shock, and the betrayal. About nearly dying while pregnant. About how her young daughter sat by her bedside. Her posts resembled both a survivor’s testimony and a plea for accountability.

Yet the charge Cunningham received was felonious assault, not attempted murder.

He was convicted.

He served time.

But not enough.

The sentence did not reflect the brutality of the crime, nor the danger experts now say was “clearly escalating.” When he was released on parole in January 2024, he reentered society unsupervised enough to contact—again—the very woman he had previously stabbed.

By January or February, Precious was pregnant again, approximately 14 weeks along by the time of her death.

Her family and friends would later ask the same question:

“How does someone nearly die at a man’s hands and end up pregnant by him again?”

Domestic violence experts had an answer—one that was as heartbreaking as it was familiar.

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III. The Cycle Victims Cannot Always Escape

Dayton’s Artemis Center, which serves survivors of domestic violence, says victims return to their abusers an average of seven times before leaving for good. It is a statistic that disturbs many outside the field—until they learn the complexity behind it.

There is fear.
There is financial dependence.
There is trauma bonding.
There is the delusion—reinforced by apologies—that the violence will not happen again.

In Precious’s case, there was another factor: two four-year-old twins she shared with Cunningham. Their father used his role in their lives to maintain access to her home and her routines.

Friends noticed the pattern. He would come by “for the children,” but stay long enough to reassert control—over her schedule, her transportation, her relationships, and even over whether she could keep her own car.

Text messages later retrieved from her phone revealed a painful truth: Precious knew her ex had a gun. She knew he was capable of violence. She had lived through it before.

“I’m worried you’ll hurt me,” she texted him.

Cunningham replied:

“Someone gave me the gun to protect my family.”

And in another message:

“I would never kill you.”

Two years after stabbing her.
Months before shooting her.

These texts would later become some of the most chilling pieces of evidence in the case.

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IV. May 21, 2024 — A Tension Building

On the night of May 21st, Precious’s home was full of life. Her four-year-old twins were there. Deonte Johnson, a 16-year-old family friend who often stayed over, was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom. Another friend, Joanne Lauren Washington, was asleep on the couch in the living room.

The house felt safe.

Precious was in the middle of rebuilding her life. She had lost more than 200 pounds, improving her health dramatically. She had shifted her priorities toward her children, her family, her home. She was looking forward to the future, including the baby she was carrying.

But she had argued with Cunningham earlier about her car.

She told him she was keeping it. She told him she was moving on. And he did not take it well.

According to testimony, he left the house angry.

Those who knew him would later say the anger was familiar—the same anger that preceded earlier violence. But this time, Precious believed he was leaving for the night.

She went to bed.

Upstairs, Deonte fell asleep under his blankets.

Joanne drifted off on the couch.

It was the last peaceful moment any of them would ever experience.

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V. 6:20 a.m. — “Please… I’m sorry. Please no.”

The first sound Joanne heard was arguing.

Half-awake on the couch, she recognized the voices instantly: Precious and Cunningham.

Precious was demanding her car back.

Then came the crash of breaking glass.

From the bedroom, Cunningham’s voice snapped:

“I left my bag. I didn’t mean to do that to the window.”

Then gunshots.

Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow.

Precious screamed.

Joanne bolted for the basement, terrified and barefoot, as shots echoed through the home. From below, she could still hear the chaos—shots fired, a woman’s voice, footsteps moving from room to room.

Then she saw her.

Precious stumbled down the basement steps, her voice breaking, pleading:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please no. I’m sorry. Please no—”

Joanne testified that the more Precious begged, the more Cunningham kept shooting.

The shooter stood above her, aiming downward.

A forensic pathologist later confirmed that Precious died on those basement stairs, shot multiple times while carrying a 14-week-old unborn child.

Upstairs, Deonte never had time to react. The boy was found under his covers, a bullet lodged in his body. A gun was in his hand, though it was never fired. Prosecutors believed he likely grabbed it in fear when he heard the first shots—but never made it out of bed.

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VI. Surveillance Footage Reveals the Horror

A neighbor’s camera captured what happened outside the home minutes before the shooting.

In court, detectives played the footage:

• Cunningham appears at a bedroom window, talking to Precious.
• He leaves.
• He returns.
• This time, he is holding a firearm.

The camera captures him raising the gun, pointing it through the window, and firing into the bedroom—directly toward the spot where Deonte lay under his blanket.

Moments later, Cunningham climbs into the house through the same shattered window.

The basement window flashes white as shots are fired below.

In less than three minutes, he destroyed three lives.

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VII. A Fugitive With Nothing to Lose

By the time police arrived, Cunningham was gone. The white Chevy Malibu he had taken from Precious was found abandoned in nearby Trotwood.

The Dayton Police Department issued an urgent warning:

“Do not approach him. He is armed and dangerous. He has already killed three.”

His dreadlocks—bright red and white—became instantly recognizable across Ohio. The reward for information reached $1 million.

For two months, he vanished.

Tips traced him to Indiana. Then northern Ohio. Then Cleveland. He was believed to be armed, unpredictable, and desperate.

On July 23, 2024, state troopers spotted a silver SUV linked to a robbery. The driver matched Cunningham’s description. When they attempted a traffic stop, he fled.

A high-speed chase tore through Cleveland. OSHP’s aviation unit tracked him from above.

Cunningham eventually ditched the SUV and ran through backyards and wooded areas before hiding in an abandoned house.

Officers stormed the structure and found him.

He surrendered.

His mugshot revealed something telling:
The infamous red-and-white dreadlocks were gone. He had cut them off.

But he could not cut away what he had done.

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VIII. “Why my son?”

As news of the murders spread, the Dayton community focused largely on Precious—a mother of seven, pregnant with her eighth, a survivor who had worked hard to rebuild her life.

But another family grieved quietly in the shadows.

Deonte Johnson’s mother, Jennifer Lewis, felt the world was forgetting her child—one who had nothing to do with Precious and Cunningham’s relationship.

“Why my son? Why?” she said through tears.

“He didn’t know Nico. He didn’t even know him at all.”

Her son was just sleeping over. Just a typical teenager who loved fashion, music, and making people laugh.

“He had nothing to do with this. He was just a kid.”

Her grief would shape the course of the trial—insisting that Deonte’s life not become collateral damage in a domestic violence narrative.

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IX. The Trial Begins

In August 2024, the murder trial of Nicole “Nico” Cunningham Jr. commenced, drawing packed courtrooms and intense media scrutiny.

He faced 10 charges, including:

• Four counts of murder
• Two counts of felonious assault
• One count involuntary manslaughter
• Two counts of domestic violence
• Tampering with evidence
• Weapons charges
• Unauthorized use of a vehicle

He pled not guilty.

Prosecution Strategy

Prosecutors framed the case around escalation:

• The 2022 stabbing
• The violent relationship
• The text messages
• The window entry
• The downward-angled gunshots
• The pursuit and flight

Day one featured Dayton police officers and body camera footage. The images were devastating—Precious at the bottom of the stairs, Deonte upstairs, the house littered with shattered glass.

Day two brought Joanne Washington, whose testimony electrified the courtroom.

Her words were raw:

“She was yelling, ‘Please I’m sorry. Please no.’ And the more she begged, the more he shot.”

The room fell silent.

Prosecutors introduced security footage next—video of Cunningham firing through the window.

The jury flinched as the muzzle flash lit up the screen.

The Defense Strategy

Cunningham’s attorney attempted to introduce self-defense, pointing to the gun found in Deonte’s hand.

But prosecutors dismantled the claim:

• Deonte never fired.
• He never moved from the bed.
• Ballistics placed Cunningham as the aggressor.

Self-defense evaporated.

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X. Expert Testimony: A Predictable Catastrophe

Domestic violence experts took the stand, outlining patterns well-documented in criminal psychology:

• Abusers escalate.
• Leaving or setting boundaries is the most dangerous time for victims.
• Prior violence is the most reliable predictor of future violence.
• Parole supervision failures can be deadly.

One expert noted:

“The criminal justice system did not do what it was supposed to do. Not only should he have been monitored more closely, he should never have been near her.”

Parole records confirmed what many feared: supervision had been minimal.

The system had failed Precious.

It had failed Deonte.

It had failed the unborn child.

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XI. The Messages That Haunt the Case

The moment prosecutors read the text:

“I would never kill you.”

A murmur spread across the courtroom.

Delivered two years after stabbing her.

Four months before shooting her.

Hours before breaking into her home.

It became the line that encapsulated everything—denial, manipulation, control, danger.

It also became proof of premeditation.

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XII. The Verdict

On August 28, 2024, after four days of testimony and five hours of deliberation, the jury returned.

The courtroom fell silent as the judge read the verdict:

Guilty.
Guilty.
Guilty.
All 10 counts.

Families cried. Some hugged. Some collapsed in relief.

Precious’s brother, Thomas, stood and addressed Cunningham directly:

“You could’ve walked away. You wasn’t tough enough to walk away.”

He wiped his eyes.

“You ended her life, her baby’s life, that boy’s life. You didn’t care about your kids. Forgive you? I don’t gotta forgive you. I’m just gonna forget you.”

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XIII. Sentencing: 39 Years to Life

On August 29, 2024, Nicole “Nico” Cunningham Jr. was sentenced to 39 years to life in prison.

Before the judge delivered the sentence, Cunningham spoke.

“I’m innocent,” he said.
“I love my kids. God don’t put nobody through nothing they can’t handle.”

From the gallery, Precious’s family shook their heads.

From another corner, Jennifer Lewis stared straight ahead.

There was no remorse.

No apology.

Not even acknowledgment.

Two families left the courtroom knowing that while justice was served, justice could not bring back:

• A mother of seven

• A 14-week-old unborn child

• A 16-year-old boy with dreams

• A life Precious worked hard to rebuild

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XIV. The Aftermath

The Twins

Precious’s four-year-old twins hid during the shooting. They survived. They will grow up without their mother.

Seven Children Without a Mom

Her remaining children, ranging from toddlers to teens, now rely on extended family.

Deonte’s Brothers

Two younger boys lost the brother they looked up to every day.

Two Families, Forever Altered

Balloon releases, vigils, purple decorations—Precious’s favorite color—became symbols of a community trying to process the unimaginable.

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XV. What Went Wrong?

This case forces painful questions:

• Why was a man who stabbed his pregnant partner released so quickly?

• Why was his supervision so inadequate?

• Why was he allowed near his previous victim?

• Why did the system rely on “hope” instead of risk assessment?

• How many domestic violence cases follow this same lethal trajectory?

A criminal justice professor summarized it:

“This was preventable. Every sign was there. The system simply didn’t act.”

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XVI. A Final Reflection

Precious Taste spent the last year of her life rebuilding—losing weight, improving her health, focusing on her seven children, opening her home to friends, offering comfort to anyone who needed it.

Deonte Johnson was a teenager full of light, humor, and potential.

Both were killed by a man the system deemed “ready for release.”

A man who broke into a window.
A man who shot through that window.
A man who ended lives before police could arrive.

She had him arrested for stabbing her.
He got out.
And he came back through her window.

Three lives gone.

Seven children grieving.

Two families forever scarred.

A community left asking how many more warning signs need to appear before the system takes domestic violence seriously enough to prevent tragedy—rather than react to it.