Restless and still primed from the erotic experience in the shower, he took a long time to fall asleep.
Chapter Two
Nine years before…
CHERONE BOUCHARD CREPT stealthily through the darkness of Alvar Street on a two-mile trek to Bourbon Street. It was almost eleven p.m., and she knew her brothers, Jerome and Edmond, would soon arrive home. Roni, as her family called her, was anxious to get back to her room before anyone found that she had left the house. Her two sisters, busy with their own pursuits probably, would not have noticed her absence yet. Her other brother Adam had been killed a few months ago in Iraq. Cherone mourned his death bitterly. Now she knew she was truly alone. Any hope of her being rescued from her siblings’ plans for her was forever lost with Adam’s death. I just have to rescue myself.
She ducked into alleys, avoided the main roads, and passed behind quaint shops, apartment buildings, hotels, and restaurants. Thirty minutes later she arrived onto Bourbon Street. The jazzy music, the laughter, and colorful conversations provided a welcome camouflage for her journey through the streets bustling with people coming and going into nightclubs, bars, restaurants, and hotels. The humid night air made sweat rise to the surface of her brown skin. For these brief moments, she could pretend all was right in her world. Cherone loved the mystery of the evening, where no one paid attention to an unkempt child blending into the background.
Her siblings were entrepreneurs of the night. They engaged in various enterprises to survive in the more unsavory world of the French Quarter on lower Bourbon Street. Their house used to be a boarding house when her parents and grandparents were alive. The authorities thought the establishment was a nightclub and voodoo parlor now, but their old three-story, ten-bedroom house at the intersection of St. Ann Street and Prieur Street was headquarters for gang meetings, sales of contraband and stolen merchandise, and a brothel for the past ten years. Her older brothers were leaders in a gang of over thirty boys and men between the ages of twelve and thirty. While Delarese and Tamara ran the brothel housed with girls from some of the poorest families in the city. Adam, who had been the second youngest, had escaped and joined the Navy when his brothers tried to force him into the gang life. He hadn’t been home since. Despite his death, Cherone was happy that Adam had at least been able to live his life on his terms.
Cherone was certain their puritan parents were rolling over in their graves to see how far from grace the family had fallen. Their maternal great-grandmother whom she had been named after would be especially horrified.
Cherone spent as little time as possible at home, preferring instead to sneak out and leg it to the local library after dinner each night. She was the youngest and had only turned thirteen the week before.
Thank God none of my siblings remembered that fact. Otherwise I would have been forced into the brothel by now. Already tall enough at five-foot-six, it was getting harder to hide my body’s transformation into adulthood.
Her siblings watched her like a hawk, waiting for her to grow into more of a woman so they could trick her out. Cherone knew she had to get out of there. She had learned early to defeat any lock in anticipation of having to escape a room. This had become essential because she sometimes had to free herself whenever her siblings got it in their heads to lock her in her room. There was no place she couldn’t break into or out of.
Only last month her older brother Jerome had reminded her of her future. “You’re going to be thirteen soon, old enough to take a man. I’m sure I can fetch a good price for your virginity.”
“I don’t want a man,” Cherone said softly, cautious not to sound too forceful. “I want to finish high school.”
“You’re still a virgin, right?” Jerome had asked.
Cherone knew better than to agitate him. Even so, when she didn’t respond fast enough, he backhand slapped her.
Cherone fell silently to the ground at the vicious blow, her cheek swelling instantly. I won’t give this prick the satisfaction of hearing my pain.
“Answer me! Or should I check myself?”
Lowering her eyelids to conceal the hatred boiling within her, Cherone made her voice sound as calm and humble as she could, “I’m a virgin, Jerome. You know I am.”
“Good. That’s real good, Roni. I know a rich dude who will pay thousands to pop that cherry for you.” Jerome rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Sick bastard.
“You’re young, so I can get decent money out of your ass for at least a few years.” Jerome laughed. “These white old men like young brown sugars.” He grabbed her smaller hands in his and smiled as though he was imparting happy news. “Don’t worry, little sis. You can earn the family a lot. As soon as I see a hint of a breast or you turn thirteen, whichever comes first, I’ll call my guy.”
Unfortunately she had inherited the curse of her great-grandmother, who had been referred to as a Creole Priestess. Because Cherone had a birthmark on the back of her neck identical to the old woman, she had been named after her. Her great-grandmother had been an exceptionally beautiful black woman and was known to have telepathic capabilities—another trait Cherone had inherited, but she hadn’t told anyone about that. She couldn’t afford to give her brother other avenues to abuse and exploit her.
Many had feared her great-grandmother and felt that she had woven a spell over her Spanish husband. Cherone had never met the woman, but she had found a number of her journals. No one else in the family had been interested in the old volumes, but she had used every bit of the information in them to help her understand her ability to read the minds of others and see their futures whenever she touched their palm.
So she knew when her brother held her hand and told her he would sell her that he had been telling the truth. He had every intention of letting these men inspect her in a private auction before buying. Jerome is truly evil.
As Cherone approached the house, she checked that her hair was tucked completely under her cap worn backwards on her head. Her baggy clothes gave no hint of her growing breasts and bottom, or the backpack of books strapped to her back. She wiped her sweaty palms onto her dark pants and began the treacherous climb to her bedroom window situated on the third floor. En route up the side of the house, gripping nearby branches and clinging vines on the brick wall for purchase, she could hear loud music blasting through the house. The walls vibrated under the impact of the thumping bass and boisterous voices.
She continued her climb with practiced agility.
At the second floor, Cherone froze on hearing her older brother in a heated argument with another man. The stranger had a thick French accent, but his anger was palatable.
“No, dis will not do!” the man shouted.
“What the hell do you mean?” Jerome demanded. “We have a deal, mudderfucker!”
“Dis is a fucking whorehouse! My merchandise is valuable. It’s too unsecure here, too many people! No! I won’t deal weapons under circumstances like this.”
“This is the most secure place in the state, André! We can see the police coming a mile away. My boys will guide your package with their lives.”
“I know dis,” André said. “Because if something were to go wrong tomorrow, your entire family will pay.”
“Listen, you French motherfucker. Don’t threaten my family! You’re on American soil now! This is my town! So back the fuck up!”Jerome snarled and took a step toward his adversary. “We can handle a few fucking guns.”
Cherone peeked into the window, wanting to see who was stupid enough to challenge her brother. Her eyes widened with shock on seeing the number of guns drawn, held by angry looking foreign men. There were at least nine men in the room. Jerome had only two of his men at his side, while André had six.
What is Jerome thinking to conduct a business deal with so few men? Jerome’s arrogance is going to get him killed one day. Cherone sighed, knowing her brother would never see his thirtieth birthday.
“I am Algerian, not French,” André sneered. “I
f you knew anything about my people you’d know not to point a gun at us. For the sake of our friendship and business, I’m going to ignore this insult.”
But her brother was not intimidated by his new partner. “I don’t give a fuck where you’re from. But I know where you’re going if you fuck with my boys!”
The stand-off was intense, laced with menacing silence. Jerome and his men trained their guns at André, while the Algerian’s men had at least six guns pointed at Jerome’s head.
“Are you assholes ready to deal, or are you going to bore us to death with this fucking bullshit?”The Spaniard, the newest member of Jerome’s gang, asked from his nonchalant position in the corner of the room.
Cherone hadn’t realized he was there. The Spaniard slouched against the wall, his weapon still holstered. She was certain her brother’s cocky attitude now had everything to do with his knowledge of the Spaniard’s capabilities.
“You are fortunate that our buyer, Terrence Martin, refuses to deal with anyone other than a ‘brother’.” André glared at Jerome, ignoring the Spaniard’s question.
André turned and looked at his men, and they lowered their guns.
Cherone shook her head at the man’s stupidity at dismissing the threat that the Spaniard posed.
Jerome laughed. “Terrence and the Brotherhood know that African Americans have to be prepared for the white supremacists. A war is coming, and Terrence wants to be ready for it by stockpiling on guns and explosives. You have the weapons, but they don’t trust any white man. When can we expect the shipment?”
“We’ll bring the merchandise tomorrow night.” André looked around the room in distaste. “On another matter, my men tell me you may have a group of young people to enter the trade. We will pay top dollar, the younger the better.”
“I have the best fresh meat in the state.”Jerome smiled gleefully because he had secured a few hundred thousand dollars in commissions on this new deal. “I will have ten of them ready for delivery tomorrow.”
Where would this idiot find children to be sold by tomorrow? Cherone was now hoping that her brother did get shot.
“Agreed.”André snapped his fingers, calling his men to heel. With one more distasteful look, the Algerian and his men left.
Before Cherone could continue her climb to her room, she heard Jerome calling her sisters to him. She couldn’t stop thinking about the silent man in the corner of the room. He had joined Jerome’s gang about two months before. Where he came from, no one knew, but Jerome had been so impressed with his fighting and weapons skills, he hadn’t bothered asking too many questions.
His hair was worn in a ponytail held back with a leather cord. Every time she saw him, her skin pickled in an awareness she didn’t understand. He made her feel extremely nervous and tongue-tied. Not that she had ever spoken to him; the Spaniard rarely spoke, and when he did his succinct words were cold. Cherone couldn’t explain his effect on her. His dark eyes seemed to look through everyone and revealed nothing of what he was thinking.
She had seen him in action only once. As usual, she had been hidden, watching from her spot below the stairs.
A rival black gang, ten of them along with their leader, Deon, had walked into the brothel demanding the services of her sisters and some of the other girls. Most of her brothers’ gang members hadn’t been present, so they were woefully outnumbered with only Jerome, Edmond, and the Spaniard in the house. Not that her sisters objected because the demand for them was always high. They completely exploited the benefits of the beauty they had inherited from their Creole ancestry. Their features were the embodiment of their Creole French, Spanish, Native American, and African lineage.
When the gang leader had finished being serviced and her sister Tamara had come out bloodied and beaten, they had gained the Spaniard’s ire. The gang leader had laughed and said, “I had to teach this one a lesson. Man, I thought by now she would know how to suck my cock.” Deon slapped Tamara behind her head. “Next time, don’t eat my cock. Suck it.”
Before anyone could react, the Spaniard materialized out of nowhere in front of the gang leader, kicked the leader’s legs forcing him to his knees, and rammed his gun into the leader’s mouth.
“Perhaps I should teach you how to suck a bullet.” It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it: calm and unemotional as if he were offering directions.
The other members of the leader’s gang pulled their guns as blood gushed from Deon’s mouth. In a blink of an eye, the Spaniard whipped out another gun and put bullets into the foreheads of two of them without removing the other gun from Deon’s mouth and before anyone had even gotten off a shot. With tears running down his face, Deon screamed around the gun barrel, halting the action of his members.
“You want to apologize to Tamara?” the Spaniard asked.
“Yeah mudderfucker, apologize!” Jerome seemed giddy with victory.
“Shut the fuck up,” the Spaniard advised him without taking his eyes off his prey.
“My bad, man, my bad. Do your ting!” Jerome hadn’t dared take offense. It wasn’t the first time Cherone had witness Jerome back down from the Spaniard.
“Man, this asshole killed Dwayne and Jimmy!” one of Deon’s gang pleaded. He had his gun trained on the Spaniard, chomping at the bits to shoot. “We can—”
The Spaniard put a bullet in the middle of his forehead, and the man fell into a heap.
Dayuumnn! Cherone covered her mouth with her palm.
Deon started crying in earnest. The remaining gang members stuffed their guns back into their back pockets.
“If you want to live, leave,” the Spaniard said. He didn’t remove his cold gaze from Deon as he instructed the other gang members to leave.
The gang members didn’t move.
The Spaniard raised his head and leveled a hard stare at them. “You have ten seconds to comply.”
The gang members scrambled frantically for the exit.
Cherone widened her eyes in shock. I’ve never seen Deon’s gang back down from anyone.
“Tamara, come here, niña,” the Spaniard said.
Tamara limped over to the Spaniard and Deon.
He put the gun’s grip in Tamara’s hand, and Tamara trembled so much the gun barrel rattled Deon’s teeth. “It’s up to you whether you accept his apology or not,” the Spaniard said, exiting the room without looking back.
Cherone couldn’t believe the transformation in her sister’s face. The evil gleam of anticipation in her eyes made Cherone turn away in disgust as her sister pulled the trigger.
That happened a month ago, and still Cherone hadn’t forgotten the Spaniard’s chilling skill and demeanor. She climbed into her bed, happy to have escaped another day from her family’s wicked plans for her.
But she still couldn’t get the Spaniard out of her mind.
Chapter Three
THE DAY AFTER the altercation with the Algerian, Cherone woke to an insistent pounding on her bedroom door.
“Roni, get your lazy ass downstairs.”
I swear, Delarese thinks she’s my mama.
“Jerome has an exciting day planned for you.”
For reasons Cherone never understood, Delarese had always hated her, and Cherone avoided touching her at all costs. The black thoughts emanating from Delarese were truly evil. Cherone didn’t need to touch Delarese to read her mind. Delarese hated everyone and everything.
Cherone rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, and ensured her breasts were tightly wrapped to hide their recent growth. Looking at her cheap Timex watch on her waist, she quickly dressed in her school uniform. Let’s see what these people want. I have twenty minutes to get to school.
She arrived downstairs to find the room in complete chaos. There were at least fifteen children ranging in ages from eight to fourteen being groomed by the beauticians who usually serviced the prostitutes. A feeling of dark foreboding invaded Cherone’s stomach. Remembering the request by the Algerian the night before, Cherone knew these childr
en were being prepared for delivery to him. Fear and hatred of her brothers and sisters almost paralyzed her. She stiffened her spine, ready for whatever foul deed her siblings thought of next. Delarese, Tamara and Jerome were waiting for her.
“Roni, tonight is your big night!” Delarese crowed. “I’m sure once we have you looking more like a girl, you will bring top dollar from the Algerians.”
“What are you talking about, Del?” Cherone asked.
“I finally convinced Jerome that you are nothing special and should join the family business.” Delarese’s cackle was filled with venom.
Cherone did what she promised herself she would never do and grabbed Del’s hand. Initially the angry words and hatred coming at her was overwhelming, but Cherone held tight. She needed to understand why her sister despised her so much. Her sister’s thoughts were ugly: Yes, bitch, you think you’re better than us because you haven’t had a man between your legs, but that will soon change. Our parents and grandparents loved you more than us. They left everything in your name, this house, thousands of dollars in the bank, and an estate in Louisiana. Even Adam was left out. But I convinced Jerome to sell the land, and now most of the money is gone! By the time you get this old piece of shit, the debt against it will be impossible for you to pay in your lifetime! Yes, they loved you best, but soon no one will love you again. You’ll be just like the rest of us!
Cherone pulled her hand away, stunned by her sister’s revelation. She had known not to expect any help from her sisters since they had been forced into prostitution by their brothers when their parents died in an accident ten years ago, but she was still amazed by the depth of their disregard for her welfare. According to Del, they already have possession of my money. So what more do they want?
“Now, Cherone, don’t worry about this,” Jerome said. “I will explain to the Algerians that I don’t want you damaged in anyway. But of all my sisters, you’re the most beautiful and will make the family a small fortune. Again.” Jerome laughed as if he had told the funniest joke.
Twin Souls Page 2