by Brick
I walked out his bedroom in yoga pants and a tank top to find Drew peeping out the blinds. “Get out of the window,” I told him.
“Think they here for that nigga?” he asked me nonchalantly.
“Drew, you killed a man. This is not funny.”
“Never said it was, but I don’t feel no kind of way ’bout it.” He shrugged and walked to throw the empty water bottle he had in his hand in the trash.
“This isn’t a fucking joke,” I stressed to him.
“Who taking it lightly? You tripping though. I was always taught to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, especially chicks and kids. You ain’t a kid, but you was about to be dog food.”
I just shook my head as he moved around the kitchen looking for something else to eat. How could I express to a kid who really seemed to have no moral compass of right and wrong that he was in deep shit? I watched as he found what he was looking for: a Little Debbie Star Crunch. He ate it, and then discarded the package. Anytime I found him gazing at me, I tried to make myself busy doing something else. He walked into the bathroom and I plopped down on the sofa in defeat.
“Hey, why your shit here? This yours?”
I looked up to see Drew had walked out of the bathroom and was standing there with a pair of my thongs in his hands. After Enzo had left that morning, he’d texted me telling me he had taken a pair of my thongs just to be funny. I’d seen them hanging in the hall bathroom as I passed and thought nothing else of it. Judging by the look in Drew’s eyes though, I knew what was going on in his head. The kid had taking a liking to me, and we all knew that but tiptoed around it because of the circumstances.
“I just left them there after I showered,” I lied.
He didn’t believe me, I could tell by the way he smacked his teeth then squared his shoulders. “But you was in Enzo’s room in the shower. How they get in the hall bathroom so fast?” he questioned.
“Drew . . .”
He shook his head tossing the undergarment at me. “I knew it. He said you was a ho but he ain’t say he like hoes. So you let my bro cut too?”
Frustration riddled me. There were things that a thirteen-year-old just wouldn’t understand and I didn’t want to explain it to him. I told him as much.
“Nah, it’s cool,” he said. He chucked up his deuces. “I’m out.”
I moved from the sofa to block his exit. “No, I can’t let you go out there. Not with all those cops out there. You staying here until we hear from Enzo.”
Drew’s face twisted in anger as he tried to shove his way past me. “Fuck you. You can’t make me stay.” The boy had way more strength than his age gave him credit for, but I wouldn’t be moved.
“No, Andrew. I’m not”—we struggled as I talked through clenched teeth trying to hold my footing—“not letting you leave.”
He pushed me and I pushed back. We both stumbled and ended up falling over the back of the sofa. I landed on his legs still trying my best to keep him pinned down. It was one thing to have him commit a crime in my defense; it would be another altogether to have him get arrested for it. Out of all the things that could have made the night ten times worse, nothing could have prepared me for when Enzo turned the lock and walked in to see me straddled and trying to force Drew back down on the couch.
In an instant I saw the look of utter disgust in his eyes and knew shit was about to go left.
I got up quick as lightning. “Wait, Enzo, this isn’t what it looks like,” I tried to explain.
But there was nothing in his eyes that said he believed me. Just death stared back at me. He dropped the black bag he was holding on the floor and charged at me. I moved backward still trying to explain because I knew in a matter of moments what was about to happen. I’d seen that look plenty of times before. I knew when a man was about to lay hands on me. I felt the same pangs of pain in my chest plenty of times when Dame snapped before taking it out on me and the rest of the girls back then. I mean Enzo had gotten physical with me plenty of times before, but he’d never outright hit me like he was doing in that moment. I was back in that mansion, back in a time when I would try to run away from the devil himself. I could hear Andrew yelling at his brother that I was just trying to keep him from running, but he was too far gone. To him I would always be a whore with no morals and no regard for anything or anyone but myself. Maybe having been wherever he was, doing whatever he had done to Micah, had taken him to a place of no return.
I didn’t know. All I knew was when his hand connected to my face I hadn’t felt that kind of open-palmed pain since before the Misfits burned Dame’s mansion to the ground. I hadn’t been slung around and called so many bitches since then either. By the time Enzo heard his brother, he and I had torn the front room up because I fought back. The straps of my tank had been ripped and my breasts were threatening to fall out of my shirt. I was breathing so hard it felt as if my chest was about to cave in.
Enzo’s fist stopped mid-strike when Drew jumped in front of me. Enzo shoved his brother back, demanding he got out of his face so he could finish his assault on me.
“I was trying to keep him in here until you got back,” I yelled at Enzo wiping the blood away from my nose and face. “Your aunt called, said he was gone. I came home to find him sitting by your door. If you would just listen to me . . .” I didn’t even know I had been crying. “Damn, why you always, always thinking the fucking worst of me? Even after all the shit I do and put myself through just to fucking show you differently?” I continued to yell.
He didn’t even answer me. He just grabbed his brother and pushed him toward the door. I could have gone after him. I could have tried to make him listen to me so I could tell him his brother had found himself in a murder, but I just sat there and let it be what it was until I heard him and Drew in the hall arguing. I got up and rushed out. I tried to explain to him again that it wasn’t what it looked like between me and Drew.
“Back up off us. I ain’t got shit to do with you no more,” he growled out.
Chapter 18
Enzo
Time ticked by as I watched some of my teammates have fun with Micah. He stood circled by six niggas. Nigga’s eyes got so wide that I could see the white of them where I sat. The enjoyment of this moment was sublime. It also gave me time to pop my trunk, leave the keys in the ignition, and step out of my ride. I took my time strolling to the huge fight. Niggas had pipes, bricks, Glocks, and whatever else weapon they all wanted to bring. Me, I kept it simple for right now, because I had more shit I wanted to do to him.
I laughed low and clapped my hands in a rhythm every nigga around me would understand. See, this was a multifaceted type of get-together. I had people who all had beef with Micah, including a few who he thought would have his back, who swore down that they could handle their business, and business they did handle.
I walked through the small crowd and shouted out, “‘Rule one of Fight Club is . . .’”
“‘You do not talk about Fight Club!’” echoed around me in mocking laughter.
My own melded with theirs and I nodded in amusement while walking circles around a fucked-up Micah. He sat on his knees with his fists clenched, breathing hard, and his shirt ripped with blood dropping to the dark asphalt. He had held his own, but it wasn’t enough, he still got his ass kicked and it had only just begun.
“See, Micah, my nigga, you started something that you shouldn’t even have continued or begun. I told you, I ain’t know shit, didn’t want shit to do with shit, and that I was just minding my own shit, feel me? But you just had to keep playing top boss and wake up something that should have been dead,” I cajoled.
The tip of my Nike nudged his at his bent knees, before I kicked, landing my foot right under his chin, snapping his neck back. “‘Rule two of Fight Club is . . .’”
“None of this shit exists! ‘You do not talk about Fight Club!’” everyone echoed.
“Don’t you get it, Micah? You may have power, but you piss off enough people,
my nigga, those ghosts you helped create turn into terrors,” I explained while feeding from the energy of the group. I nodded to some of the teammates in front of me, and they disappeared, coming back with a gift.
My hand went up to my mask just to thumb it and I crouched down to pull Micah up by his shoulders and brush them off, before turning his head toward the men I nodded to.
Micah groggily grumbled. He spit out blood and his head lolled back. “Man, fuck you. I know each and every one of you. Say good-bye to life. Fuck your careers.”
Everyone around me let out a laugh, and my grip on his head tightened. “Clearly you really don’t understand the madness of what you created, my nigga. We don’t give a fuck. Obviously, we got something set up where you can’t touch not a fucking thing with our contracts. You can’t touch what you don’t control, my nigga,” I explained.
Micah violently jerked and swung to get my face, but I pulled back and pointed. “Damn, you not tripping off your gifts.”
Several bodies of his boys lay at his feet, the only one missing was Kruger. Each of the men’s heads were chopped cleanly off, and each one branded on the shoulder with Micah’s initials.
“Shit, man, fuck, what did you do, homie?” I joked.
I held tight to Micah’s fighting form as he cursed and spit out, “Fuck you! Set me up all you want but I got each and every one of you, know that shit.”
I started to hum a song, a tone so sweet that it had Micah looking at me sideways. See, my tía said I had a singing voice that could get me a record deal, but I wasn’t about the shit. Yet something had me singing in amusement and had me slamming Micah’s head against the pavement before him. “‘Got killers with me right now, U.O.E.N.O it.’”
“Each missing head will be presented to each and every one of your associates who have dealings with you and dealings with us. That will be their warning, that if they come looking for you, it’s game time. Understood?” I clarified.
Micah sputtered and spit. Sweat ran down his dark face and snot mixed with his blood. Both of his bruised eyes were bloodshot, and I smiled at the flicker of hope that he was about to get away that shone in his eyes.
“Oh shit, is that hope I see, my nigga? Hol’ up, hol’ up, hol’ up, let me set something straight: you, my friend, are officially mine to fuck with. Ain’t no freedom for you.”
Dragon came to my side, whispering that it was close to being time for us all to ride out. I turned my back to speak with the homie, and that was when Micah shot up and moved to come after me. I let him grab me around my waist and slam me to the ground. It was hard for him to get a hold on me because of my padding, and I twisted to elbow him in his ribcage. This allowed me to fall forward and get out of his touch.
“Nigga you dead. No matter what the fuck you do, I’m ending you. All I see is your Maker in you and I was right to come at you like I did,” he spat.
His words, had me giving him a screw face but I wasn’t about to be bothered with whatever insanity was going on in that nigga’s thick skull. I was operating on blackout mode, that mode that had my demons spilling out of me. I shifted on my feet, and the crowd around us used whatever they had to throw at Micah making him duck and try to break through the crowd.
I stood up straight and ran my tongue over my teeth. I tasted blood and saw he had punched me good. It had me walking toward where he was, as he punched, kicked, and pounded his way toward escape. Too bad for him, it was just too many of us, not that I really gave a shit since I had plans to fuck him up like he already was. So, I reached out, tapped Micah’s shoulder, and watched him turn to swing on me.
Ducking, I gave a bright smile, then swung up and snatched that nigga by the throat. Strength fueled me. He tried to buck at me, but I only gripped tighter.
“Final rule to Fight Club!” I shouted.
“Fair exchange is no robbery in Fight Club, once an enemy has entered Fight Club, it is no turning back,” everyone said in unison. I continued the rest with them as Micah’s eyes bucked out of his skull. “If your enemy dies here or elsewhere, it is on your hands. So it’s best to make sure that nigga is DOA.”
“Let’s have a talk, Micah,” I said as I reached behind me, slid out my tanto sword then hit him in the skull with it knocking him out. I watched Micah shake then slump before I turned to look at everyone around me.
“A’ight. You all know the other phase; handle it and I got this,” I ordered.
Dragon made a call sound and the parking lot emptied. A few short minutes later, Micah lay gagged, tied up, and passed out in the back of my plastic-lined trunk.
The fight was a nice buzz for me. Dragon and I finalized some understandings and I drove off with Micah in my trunk. I wasn’t sure what I was officially going to do with him. To kill him or not to kill him was on my mind heavy. Sometimes a situation presented itself where it seemed as if you could get a clear solution, then things changed. The battle with Micah was building, and killing him outright didn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. Especially not after finding out he was FBI. Besides, I wanted to play with him like he played with me. If I killed him, questions would arise I was sure. I had faith in my skills to hide the body, but I didn’t know how much he had in those files Angel told me about. I didn’t know if he had a file on me. With the way Micah had been coming at me to do his dirty, shit, anything was possible. My moves from here on out had to be well thought out and planned accordingly. Which was why hours later, I sat in front of him in the basement of an abandoned house. He hung like a roasting pig. His arms behind his back, and his ankles tied to his wrists.
A fat blunt rested between my teeth as I sat wide-legged in front of him. I crossed my arms and tugged on the rope that had had him hoisted up. I could see he was awake but playing like he wasn’t.
“Sup, homie. Took you awhile to wake the hell up; you enjoying yourself?” I casually asked with a bored expression on my face. I let the comforting release of smoke from my lips flush his face and I swore that nigga turned ten shades of blacker from it.
“Fuck you! Let me down! You just fucked up your whole life do you understand that?” he shouted at me.
It really was interesting to me that he kept saying that. Especially when I was at a point of not giving two shits. “Naw, see, football players go to prison all of the time. The industry loves its mules and as long as I’m still usable, the game will always have need of me. Unlike you. See, my PR can flip it and call me a bad boy and I’ll still get money, love, and breeches, as my nana used to say. You? You get nothing but to swing here for however long I want you to.”
Micah’s eyes narrowed and he tried to struggle again and buck at me, but it just had me sighing, and tugging on the rope then making him drop into a slant on his head.
“I told you leave me and mine alone.”
“Fuck that. I knew you’d do exactly what I wanted. I knew you couldn’t let the streets not get to you, do you even know who the fuck you are? Damn, nigga, you so much like him it’s fucking comical,” Micah grunted, and laughed before coughing.
“Once I get out, your aunt Iya—ain’t that her name, pretty name—and your brother Andrew are going to taste me in a way you ain’t even ready for!” he choked out. I could see his throat muscles working to hold bile back.
“As if you could find them, but check it. Damn you drunk so much you ready to vomit? I wouldn’t if I were you. How I got you set up, one of two things will happen: you’ll choke on that vomit, and the blood already rushing and pooling to your skull will knock you out, and you’ll still choke on your vomit. Damn kinda fucked up huh?”
My feet kicked out in front of me and I stood grabbing my bag and pulling out my toys. Micah’s coughs stopped and he went back to struggling. “Let me out. Look, we can call this shit even right? I’ll leave you to yours and you leave me to mine. Keep making money on all sides and we can be coo wit’ it yeah?”
“Ah huh?” I said while strolling to him. I moved near him and showed him a wire hanger. “These your
initials right? Let me give to you like you gave to others.”
Micah struggled again and I sighed turning the wire in my gloved hands. “Nigga, ain’t shit you could do to me that will put the fear of . . . Ahhhhh!”
See, he thought I was going to brand him, naw. That wire had a loose part, small enough to enter right into where he pissed. The smell of charcoal filled the room and I pushed that metal probe deeper into his dick before pulling out.
“Might want to see a doctor about that shit, my man. Now what were you saying?” I asked, putting the hanger down. I grabbed my tanto sword and walked back to him, resting my hand on his ribcage. “Because I really don’t give a fuck; everything I’m doing it’s for your understanding, not mine. I told you what I want and need you to do. All you gotta do is hold up on your end with my needs, my wants. Yeah?”
Micah’s sweat dripped down his contorted face. I could see he was trying to stay conscious so I tugged on the chain that held him up and positioned him so his blood could settle in his body again. Unfortunately, for Micah, I also slipped my sword right into his ribcage and turned it as I pulled out.
“Ahhhhhh!” his scream continued. I patted his jaw and went back to his bag, pulling out a needle full of indigo and heroin.
“Can’t let you pass out just yet, nigga. So yeah, by now I’m thinking you thinking, what the fuck is wrong with this nigga? And it’s like this: you fucked with my brother and thought that shit would ignite an ounce of fear in me? Yeah, it did, but, see, I got a fucked-up, twisted way in how fear operates in me. This right here is the results of my fear. I never was a nigga who understood why my old boss felt to have an underworld. But right now, between me and you, I get it and I’m enjoying having this time with you so that you can understand what you need to do,” I purred out in a menacing tone.
“I . . . I understand. I got you. Just let . . . me—”