Cane drove around aimlessly for hours, rap music blaring inside his Benz and his mind drifting to the problems his family was enduring. With no steady income coming in, their posh lifestyle was quickly fading. The Benz and the watch Cane was wearing were the only valuable assets he had left to flaunt. Everything in their apartment was either pawned or sold off to keep them above water.
Also, Maino wasn’t coming around to check on them, and he wasn’t providing protection like he’d vowed to do. The streets figured it was a separation from the family. That left the brothers exposed to their enemies, and Citi vulnerable to the perverts who’d been lusting after her for a long time.
Cane made turn after turn on the dark Queens streets, his rage displayed on his face. He gripped the steering wheel tightly with a fist and was leaned back in the seat. The only thing he could think about and wanted to think about was revenge.
He came to a stop at a red light on Merrick and Farmers Boulevards. The traffic was sparse at the midnight hour, and the barren streets looked like a ghost town. A warm breeze blew through his car. Cane took a pull from a Newport and exhaled. He sat reclined in his seat, gangsta-lean style, sitting slung low and tilted toward the passenger seat. His eyes narrowed at the road ahead of him. Just like his future, things looked empty and dark.
His cell phone buzzed in the passenger seat. He glanced at who was calling and decided to ignore the call. It was Chris. Cane wanted to be alone. They had been bickering with each other for the past week over money, drugs, and their future. Cane just needed to escape it all. He’d stayed over a few bitches’ cribs, fucking his brains out and getting lifted. There was no need for his family to worry about him. He was a grown thug who knew how to handle himself.
Before the red light changed to green, a dark-colored Charger came to a stop beside his Benz. Two young men in their early twenties were in the car. Cane glanced at them but paid them no attention. The young men nodded to Lil’ Wayne blaring from the car speakers, their interest turned away from Cane.
The light changed green, and Cane sped off. He glanced at the fuel gauge and saw he was running low on gas. He pulled into the nearest gas station on Merrick and drove closer to the gas pump. He took one more drag from the cigarette and dowsed it into the ashtray in the center console.
He stepped out of his car and strode toward the attendant, who sat in the gas booth reading a book. “Yo, let me get twenty dollars on pump six,” he announced. He slid the twenty-dollar bill underneath the small opening in the partition and walked off.
He began fueling up his Benz. Twenty dollars wasn’t much when it came to gassing up the pricy car, but he couldn’t afford to fill up the tank. It was the first time the kids had ever been on a budget. Cane gripped the nozzle and watched the illuminated digital numbers rapidly add up on the tiny screen on the gas pump. Just then he heard his cell phone ringing in the passenger seat. It was his sister calling.
Cane’s mind drifted into a momentarily stupor. He had just come from Daisy’s place, a jump-off he’d met on the avenue a few weeks back. It was where he was resting his head from time to time. They’d met when things with the family were still good, when Cane was able to trick on her every day and shower with money and gifts. In return, she broke him off a piece of that sweet pussy. She was older than him, mid-twenties, and her cunt was like the sunshine. She was Cane’s cougar. The soon-to-be seventeen-year-old didn’t know what hit him.
When Cane gripped the gas nozzle to remove it from the tank, the same Dodge Charger he’d seen earlier at the light zipped into the gas station. Cane turned on his heels and fixed his eyes on the car, his street sense on attentive. His .38 lay under the driver’s seat, far from his reach.
The driver and passenger stepped out the Charger looking intensely at Cane, who quickly placed the nozzle back on the pump. Before he could grip the handle to the driver’s door and reach for his gun, both men took off into a full sprint at him.
The driver reached under his shirt and pulled a 9mm from his waistband.“Don’t make this shit hard on yourself, nigga! Just give up the watch and keys to the Benz,” the driver shouted.
“Y’all niggas know who the fuck I am?”
“A dead nigga, muthafucka!”
Cane poised into a fighting stance and balled his fists. He charged forward recklessly, not caring that the man had a gun. He was ready to die for his. No one was going to punk or disrespect him. The man raised and fired his 9mm, but the gun jammed. Cane took full advantage of the situation. He leaped off his feet and came at the two stickup men like a bull. His fist landed upside the man’s head, the one clutching the gun, with a solid thump, staggering him and causing him to drop the gun. Cane continued to punish him with blows.
The second attacker swung at Cane with a baseball bat. Cane moved with blinding speed and ducked then moved sideways from the oncoming attack. He then lunged forward and slammed a brutal combination of blows to the second attacker’s body and head, and the man collapsed to the pavement. But Cane showed him no mercy. He kicked the man in his side, crushing his ribs with the tip of his boot and caving in his chest with the heel.
“Y’all niggas tryin’ to rob me? Y’all niggas fuckin’ crazy? You know who the fuck I am?” he screamed.
Cane suddenly felt a powerful blow to his back that thrust him forward, and a sharp pain rocketed through his body. There was another hit to his back that made him slam against the car. The third hit from the baseball bat dropped him to his knees, and he doubled over on the concrete.
“Yeah, what now, muthafucka? I told you not to make it hard on yourself,” the attacker shouted, standing over Cane with the bloody baseball bat.
In a daze from the hit, his face coated with blood, Cane couldn’t move.
The second man picked himself up from the ground. He was holding his side and scowling at Cane. He walked over to Cane and started to land brutal kicks on him. “Fuck you, nigga!” he shouted.
The men pistol-whipped him and then snatched the watch off his wrist and removed his car keys from his pocket, while he lay slumped on the ground, barely able to move. Next thing he knew, his Benz was speeding out of the gas station.
The gas station attendant was on the phone dialing 9-1-1, but Cane didn’t want to deal with any police. He mustered the strength to pick himself up. He slowly scraped himself off the ground and limped away from the gas station, his face trickling with blood and bumpy with bruises.
He reached the nearest pay phone and dialed home, and Chris picked up the call.
“Chris, come get me,” he said faintly into the phone. “I need you, man.”
“Cane, where you at? What happened?”
Cane, hurting from the pain, was silent for a moment.
“Nigga, talk to me,” Chris shouted.
Cane clutched his side and hunched over. “They fucked me up bad, man. I’m at a pay phone on Merrick, near Farmers.”
“Yo, hang tight, nigga. I’m on my way right now.” Chris hung up.
Cane dropped on his ass and rested his back against a brick wall and waited for his brother to show up.
Chris arrived twenty minutes later and found Cane sprawled out across the boulevard like he was homeless. He stopped short at the curb and sprang from his car to rush to his brother’s aid.
“Cane, get up! What happened? Nigga, who the fuck did this to you?”
“Just get me the fuck outta here and take me home,” Cane replied weakly.
Chris gripped his brother by the arm and slowly picked him off the ground. Cane used his brother for support, staggering in Chris’ hold toward the car. His legs felt like wet noodles, and his back felt like it was broken.
Chris helped him into the backseat, and Cane lay on his side. Cane’s blood-covered face disturbed Chris. He peered at his little brother.
“What the fuck!” Chris muttered.
&nb
sp; “J-just get me home,” Cane stammered.
Chris raced back to the apartment with Cane squirming from the pain in the backseat. He refused to go to the hospital. He kept chanting, “I’m okay. I’m good.”
“Nigga, you need a doctor.”
“I just need to get the fuck home.”
Chris helped Cane into the apartment, Cane’s arm slung over his older brother and barely able to move.
Citi’s eyes widened with terror, seeing her brother’s condition. “Oh my God! What the fuck happened to you?” she cried out.
“I’m okay, Citi. Just relax.” Cane dropped on the couch, relieved to be at home and around family.
“You’re not okay. Look at you! Who did this to you?”
“Niggas that will be dead really fuckin’ soon,” Cane replied cynically.
Citi quickly tended to her brother’s wounds. She cleaned the blood from his face and called Ms. Eloise, a retired nurse. Ms. Eloise rushed over after the phone call and aided Cane methodically. Fortunately, he had no broken bones and no serious injures—only some bruises and cuts that she would be able to bandage.
Cane downed a fifth of Hennessy while Ms. Eloise patched him up, telling him he needed some rest.
Citi couldn’t hold back the tears. Her brother’s battered condition struck her, and she couldn’t stand for it any longer. Their family was meant to be impervious to this type of nonsense. These types of things didn’t happen to the Byrnes. They were always respected, and their family’s reputation always preceded them. Now life for them was becoming a series of bumps and bruises.
Citi spun on her heels and went into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She lay across her bed curled into a fetal position and tried to find that happy place in her head, but the darkness surrounding her life was too overwhelming.
****
Cit sat in her father’s bedroom and looked around. It was still. The room was picked clean of any valuables and trinkets. His clothing was either stolen or sold off, his many stylish coats traded away to pay off debts, and his jewelry pawned to keep food in their mouths.
The past two months had been draining and trying for the family. Between the eviction notice placed on their door and lack of income, Citi was embarrassed beyond belief. She was forced to try and take things into her own hands. She felt determined to keep the Byrne name strong on the streets, but she didn’t have an solid plan yet.
Sitting in Curtis’ room brought some comfort to Citi. She could still see his smile and hear his voice booming in her ear. The streets may have snatched him away in the physical world, but spiritually, she could still feel him everywhere.
She stood up from his bed and walked toward the mirror. She gazed at her beauty for a moment and then closed her eyes to capture the good times she had in the room. She was and would always be daddy’s little girl. His princess.
Everything had turned into shit the past two months. Cane had recovered quickly from his injuries, but was still lying about the apartment all day looking defeated. Chris seemed to have lost his leadership capabilities. He mostly smoked and got high all day and fucked bitches. They hadn’t seen their mother since the funeral. The brothers had gotten into selling weed, moving grams and dime bags on the streets, but it was small money, and didn’t come close to what they were used to.
Citi witnessed the deterioration of her family day by day. She’d dropped out of school. She was too ashamed to be seen in the hallways in her troubling condition. Her haters would marvel and snicker at her downfall. Her wardrobe had lessened, and her jewelry became a memory, so she’d decided it was best to not attend school at all.
She continued to gaze in the dresser mirror. She clenched her fists and saw a pretty girl transforming into her worst nightmare—a broke bitch. She was one step away from the Salvation Army and being homeless. The longer she stared at her defeated image, the angrier she became.
Citi was ashamed to see their father’s legacy go down the drain. Curtis had raised them to be hustlers and live a certain lifestyle. She was used to nice things, and Chris was supposed to become the new man of the house. He was supposed to step up in the game and help maintain their lifestyle. The only thing her brothers did was mope around all day, get high, and sell weed.
Citi stormed out of her father’s bedroom and went into the living room to find Cane lounging on the couch with a couple of local hoods, T-Black and Mellow. Cane had a joint between his lips. Empty liquor bottles, dirty laundry, food wrappings, and ashtrays filled with blunt guts and extinguished cigarettes were scattered throughout the living room. The place was a pigpen.
“What the fuck is this? What’s y’all’s problem?” Citi screamed, startling everyone in the room. “It ain’t supposed to be like this!”
“Citi, why you buggin’?” Cane asked.
“’Cuz shit is fucked up around here!”
The sudden commotion caused Chris to come out his bedroom. He was shirtless and seemed to have been busy in his room with someone of the opposite sex.
“What the fuck is your problem, Citi? Why you screaming for?” Cane spat.
Citi knocked the bottles off the table, causing a scene among the guests in her home. “This is my fuckin’ problem. Look around—We have nothing anymore.”
“Citi, you trippin’ right now,” Chris told her. “Why don’t you go cool off in your room?”
“Don’t tell me to cool off!”
“You’re embarrassing yourself right now in front of company.”
“I don’t give a fuck who in here. Fuck company!”
Chris stepped into the living room. Barefoot and shirtless, he gazed at his baby sister and said, “You need to really calm down and chill.”
Citi glared at her brother. “We need to talk. Everyone, get the fuck out my house!”
No one attempted to budge. They didn’t take Citi seriously.
“Yo, y’all niggas ain’t gotta go nowhere,” Cane said.
“Oh, it’s like that?”
“Yeah, it’s like that. You don’t run things around here, Citi,” Cane returned sharply.
Chris stood there as the two bickered.
“I got company, Citi, so you need to keep quiet in here,” Chris said.
Citi was taken aback when Dana emerged from Chris’ bedroom in her panties and bra. Ever since Curtis’ funeral, Dana had distanced herself from Citi. She stopped coming around and calling. When Citi needed her most, Dana wasn’t there, telling Citi that she was a fake bitch. Citi didn’t have the funds or the means any longer, so Dana jumped on someone else’s bandwagon. She’d heard that Dana and Meeka were close now. Citi couldn’t stand Meeka. But seeing Dana fuck her brother made her want to puke.
“You fuckin’ that bitch, Chris?” Citi was ready to scratch her eyes out.
Dana smirked.
“She my business now, Citi,” Chris replied.
“Shit is goin’ to hell around here, and you have the audacity to bring that fake bitch into our crib after she done dissed me?”
“Who you callin’ a fake bitch?”
“You, bitch! I thought you were my friend.”
“Fuck you, Citi! You always thought you were better than everyone else!”
“What, bitch!” Citi rushed forward, ready for a confrontation.
Cane and his two goons became excited over the fight. They were all high and tipsy.
Chris stepped in between the two girls, pushing them back.
“I just wanna talk to you and Cane, Chris, and I can’t even get that right now, ’cuz you choose to put that bitch and these lame-ass niggas first, before your baby sister,” Citi said loudly. “You chose some pussy over your sister. Fuck that bitch!”
Chris didn’t respond. He only matched Citi’s hard stare at him.
“Fuck it. Fine then.
I’ma get my fuckin’ respect,” Citi said, marching into her father’s room.
Everyone thought the beef was over, but the fuse had just been lit. Citi pulled open the top drawer in her father’s room and grabbed a .45 that was hidden inside. She checked the clip, cocked it back, and marched right back into the living room with the gun in her hand, her eyes red with anger and rage.
Seeing the gun, everyone went into panic.
“Yo, Citi, what the fuck!” Cane shouted.
“Yo, shorty, chill,” Mellow shouted, leaping from the couch in a panic.
Citi, her arm outstretched, aimed it at everyone, darting it around the room wildly. “If you ain’t fuckin’ family in here, then get the fuck out my crib!” she shouted.
“Yo, what is your fuckin’ problem?” Chris spat.
“I wanna talk to my fuckin’ brothers without anyone around in our business.”
T-Black and Mellow rushed from the apartment, sobering quickly from their high.
Dana, still in her underwear, hurried toward Chris’ bedroom to retrieve her clothing, but Citi told her, “Nah, bitch, you leave just like that. Show the building the ho that you are.”
“Citi, is you serious?” Dana asked.
Citi aimed the gun at her head. “I’ll fuckin’ drop your triflin’ ass right now, bitch! I ain’t got shit else to lose.”
Dana took the threat seriously and ran out the apartment in her underwear.
“Citi, you done lost your fuckin’ mind,” Chris barked.
“I lost my mind? Are you serious? Look at us—look at this place. What’s wrong wit’ y’all?” she screamed. “You think Daddy would want to see us living like this? Huh? He would be so fuckin’ ashamed to see what has happened to us. This ain’t right!” Tears streamed down her face.
“We tryin’, sis,” Chris chimed. “Shit is dead out here in these streets. Niggas ain’t tryin’ to get up wit’ us like that. When Pop was alive, it was different.”
“Then we go out there and do our own shit.”
Chris said, “You tryin’ to start a war wit’ rival crews. We ain’t got the muscles or paper for that.”
Guard the Throne Page 15