Beware 2: The Comeback

by Shanora Williams

  “Oh, God!” she wails.

  I cup her mouth, pulling her aside. “Shut the fuck up and tell me what your room number is?”

  I uncover her mouth. “Seven-zero-seven.” She points down the hallway, and I grip her by the hook of the arm, rushing towards the door as Trent keeps watch.

  I take her keys and unlock the door, and as soon as we’re inside, I toss Baker’s body towards the leather sofa. She cries out, crumpling to her knees as her briefcase slides across the floor.

  Trent walks in, nodding as he shuts the door behind him, a sign that we’re clear. Shoulders hunched, I stalk towards Baker, yanking her up by the hair and rushing for the dining room table.

  “Ace, PLEASE!” she cries.

  I shove her in the seat. “Remember this table?” I question, gripping the back of her head and slamming her face on the glazed mahogany wood. “Bought this table for you, fucked you on this table, and you betray me?”

  “I-I swear I didn’t know!”

  “Didn’t know what?!” I bark.

  “I didn’t know they wanted to kill you!”

  I release the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of hair and snatching her back up. I can’t help but get up close and personal, feel her fear vibrating off of her. It’s been way too long since this has happened. My dark passenger, the darkness inside me, has invaded my entire soul, and he won’t leave until this shit is settled. “Who are they?” I rasp.

  Her bottom lips quivers, and she shakes her head as blood spills out of her nose. I tug harder on her hair so that it’s no longer pain she’s feeling, but torture. “Ouch—Ace, please! No! If I tell you, he’ll kill me!”

  I laugh, releasing her hair. “They won’t get around to killing you. That’s my job.”

  Her head lowers, almost in shame. “Please,” she begs, her black hair shielding her face.

  Impatient, I march for the black bag I dropped on the coffee table and pull out my Swiss Army Knife and a pair of pliers. When I flip open the knife, the sharp metal flies out, the sight of its glistening, pointy edge pleasing me. Trent comes my way, grabbing Baker’s hand and slamming the palm of it on the table. She screams, but he covers her mouth. “Shut up and be still,” he demands in a low growl.

  Baker looks up, eyes wet and pleading. That puppy-dog shit won’t get by me. She played me. She fucked me over. She knows something. “For every minute of time you waste by not giving me answers, I will clip a finger off. If it reaches ten minutes, I run out of fingers, and you still haven’t given me the information I want to hear, I will bleed you dry.” Gripping her face tight in my hand, I ask through gritted teeth, “Do you understand?”

  She nods, her hair flying all over the place.

  Releasing her, I step back and walk around the table, listening as she moans in fear. I pick up the briefcase lying on the floor and bring it to the table. When I open it, I flip through the stacks of paper, lipstick, and some other junk until I reach the bottom.

  A blue folder with my name on the tab.

  My eyes flicker up to Stella, but hers are shut, most likely praying to be spared. Flipping the folder open, I look through its contents. There are pictures of the burnt alley. The brick walls are blackened, cars blown to bits, ashes and remains everywhere. On one of the pictures, there are white outlines of where each body was. Four of those outlines stand out to me the most. I remember the exact spots they lay when they died—how they died right in front of my very eyes.

  Gerrick.

  Tye.

  Wes.

  Even Krane, my betrayer.

  Dead.

  I avoid showing any emotion, dropping the pictures and staring intently at a trembling Baker. “Your first minute starts now.”

  Her eyes pop open, bloodstained, and full of horror. “He came to me,” she whispers. “He came to me personally and told me that he needed me for something. I owed him for getting me my job, so I accepted.” Her throat works hard to swallow. “He wanted me to run into you, talk you into letting me become your lawyer. That’s what I did. You remember.” Yeah I fucking remember, but I don’t say anything. I fold my arms, and she continues.

  “At first, I thought it was stupid. Why did he want me to get close to you? Why would he want me to find things out about you that no one else did? I didn’t get it. And the more I got to know you, I knew I couldn’t be his spy. I… loved you Ace. I cared about you, so I purposely told people the things you were involved in so you would find out and hate me. Drop me. I knew you might have even killed me, but I risked that for you. When you finally broke it off with me, I was set free. I knew if I would’ve broken it off, he would’ve been pissed, and he would’ve taken everything away from me. My job. My life. Everything.” She hiccups, sobbing hard, bubbling over.

  “I wanted to warn you about him. I wanted to tell so you could watch your back, but I knew if I did, he would’ve found out and killed me. I was the only one that knew he wanted to kill Crow at that time. So many years ago.” She shakes her head, as if wishing she could go back to the time before.

  I watch her, and with a furious adrenaline rush, I step forward, place the pliers around her pointing finger, and squeeze the handle until that precious little finger falls right off. She hollers out in pain, body rocking back and forth but unable to go anywhere as blood spills on the glossy tabletop.

  “That love shit you’re trying to pull isn’t going to work on me. Get to the fucking point!”

  “Please,” she begs, voice hoarse. “Please, Ace. I’m telling you the truth! I swear!”

  “I know. Continue.”

  With a voice full of thick tears, she goes on. “He wants what you have. Everything. Call it envy, jealousy—whatever!” She blinks up at me.

  “Who is he?” Her head turns back and forth, and when she doesn’t respond, I clip another finger off, causing her to scream at the top of her lungs. Trent cups her mouth, gripping it tight. “Answer me, Stella!”

  Trent uncovers her mouth. “I thought you loved me, too.” Her voice cracks. “I thought what we had was actually real. H-how can you do this to me?” she hiccups, stuttering.

  “You know I never fucking loved you. Nosey, prying bitch. How could I love that? That didn’t work well with what I had going on.”

  “But I loved you,” she says, tears gushing.

  “You didn’t love me,” I spit. “You loved the idea of me. The idea of danger. Someone that you shouldn’t have been with because of your career. You liked the idea of a taboo love.”

  “No.” She slams her other hand on the table, glaring up at me. I cock a brow, as she shouts, “No!” And then, I don’t fucking believe it, but this bitch laughs. Hysterically. It’s unexpected.

  I expected her to beg for her life, beg for freedom. I thought wrong. Trent pulls away completely, watching with me as she holds herself with her free hand, the other still dripping blood, laughing until her face turns a light shade of red. A hard laugh considering she’s a light-skinned African-American woman. “You aren’t going to kill me,” she says. “Look at you.” Her eyes roam my body. “You don’t have anything. Nothing! Are you still with that girl? The one who left you behind and started completely over?”

  My upper lips twitches, pulse accelerating.

  Laughing dryly, she whispers, “Ace Crow no longer runs this city. Whether you’re here or not, Crow is dead. The way he wanted it to be.”

  Pissed, I reach for her throat, squeezing tight. Her eyes widen, face turning red beneath her tan skin. “Who. Is. He?” I seethe.

  She tries to laugh again. “I’d rather be dead than see an amateur like you run this city again,” she spits.

  Fury overcomes me.

  I go blind with rage. All I see is red.

  A sea of red. Everywhere.

  No bitch is going to laugh in my face and get away with it.

  Growling, I pick up my knife, step behind her, crane her head back, and slit her throat, all in less than three seconds. Way too fast to even seem real. Blood spills
down her chest, and her body goes limp, crumpling back as I snatch away, panting, seething.

  Her blood pools to the floor, and I stare down at the mess I’ve just created. A beautiful mess. A red waterfall. It’s been a while since I’ve killed someone. Adjusting my tie, I look up at Trent who is completely unbothered by what happened. “Look through her phone. See if there’s anyone familiar she may be talking to. Anyone we may know.”

  “You think it’s someone we know?” he asks, pulling the phone out of his pocket.

  “Has to be. She says he’s wanted me gone for years.”

  Trent nods, and I walk around the table, pulling out one of the chairs and staring ahead at Baker’s dead body. The blood drips from her neck, staining her white blouse.

  I don’t blink as I look at her.

  My mind feels clear, but I can’t think straight.

  All this time she’s been working against me. For a moment, while I was torturing her, I thought she was forced into this, but no. She was in, and she was in deep. How long had she been planning to take me down? Who the fuck is she working with? My temper got the best of me. Maybe I should’ve waited for her to tell me who “he” was, but fuck it. She’s dead just like whoever “he” is will be once I find out.

  Several minutes pass before Trent speaks up. “Busy phone. Too much shit. I noticed she doesn’t call anyone twice in the same day, though. Most people call her. But there’s one number in here that she called eight times last night. No name to it. She also has an anonymous email from someone who sent her this same number a few days ago via email. Email says, ‘Call only when I text you.’ She got out of hand. Why would she call so many times?”

  I stand, taking the phone away from him. I press the “Call” button, place the phone to my ear, and as it rings, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. It rings five times before there’s a response.

  “Stella?” he answers.

  I don’t speak. That voice. Familiar. Too fucking familiar.

  “Stella, baby. I’m busy right now. I told you I would call when I have this settled. What is it?”

  My entire body becomes alert when I realize exactly who this person is. Lowering the phone, I end the call, way too quiet for my own good.

  “Who was it?” Trent asks, stepping towards me.

  How do I respond? I mean, I know how to respond, but how do I react? This person… I trusted him. Trusted him like a fucking brother!

  “Boss?”

  Finally, I blink, realizing I fell right into his trap. He knew I would come back eventually, that I would want to figure something out. London was right. This was a trap. He’s most likely halfway across his globe by now. He doesn’t do his own dirty work. He knew I’d come, and there’s probably someone watching me right now, waiting for the right moment to attack and kill me. When I look at Trent, his eyes are wide, face inquisitive. “You know who it is?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe, tucking the phone in my back pocket. I pick up my knife and the pliers, toss them in my bag, and march for the front door. When we make it back down to the car, I snatch off my gloves and crush my fists into the dashboard, conjuring roars, bruising my hands, and shouting harsh obscenities.

  “YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

  Trent’s door slams behind him, focusing on me. “Boss,” he calls, “…who was it? Don’t keep me in the dark here.”

  I look towards him, breathing hard and fast. I’m fucking furious. I can’t believe the name I’m about to say. “Maurice,” I rasp, dropping my head in defeat. “Maurice fucking Grimes.”

  Bad Religion – Frank Ocean

  Why am I here? Why am I not on my way to Belgium, ready to hunt him down?

  I’m here.

  My hometown.

  My city.

  The memories of Pearl River, New York invade me. It hasn’t changed a bit—old wooden houses, streets full of potholes, and flipped over trashcans.

  From across the desolate street, I stare ahead at the holy temple. Built brick on top of careful brick, a large brown cross outlined with silver and stained cathedral glass reflects onto me. Apart from being in a neighborhood that is considered the slums, this church is a powerful place. It embraces elegance.

  Memories.

  Serenity.

  Peace.

  Things I used to long for but can no longer obtain.

  I swallow hard, giving it one final stare down before making my way across the street. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Going into such a godly place with all I’ve done wrong. I know the error of my ways. I’m a bad person, plain and simple. Although my Lord is a powerful and forgiving God, I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I don’t deserve his mercy. I should’ve died in that alley. I shouldn’t even be walking up these steps, making my way into a temple of such majesty.

  I pause, clutching the door handle. I have so many questions. I have so much on my mind that I can’t even think straight. This has never happened to me before. Having a woman I love and knowing a man I cared about betrayed me many years ago and is still trying to take me down. No one is following us which means he has no clue I’m here or he has other plans for me.

  My fingers go numb, but I pull open the door. I take a few steps inside, familiar with the scent of rich lavender oils and calming incenses. The door shuts behind me, but I don’t move. I’m too afraid to face the man on the cross. The man who died for my numerous sins. I don’t deserve to be in his presence. His cross looms above the altar, watching me.

  I remain bold, fulfilling the internal yearning to clear my head. I walk forward as quietly as possible. The church is empty. A few fresh candles are lit up front, meaning someone was here not too long ago.

  I take a seat that’s not too far or too close to the altar. I haven’t had much time to think with all that’s going on. With London, my son, her difficult decision with leaving Greg, and Maurice… it’s all so confusing.

  But what fucks with my emotions the most is the friend that has betrayed me. I trusted him more than I ever trusted anyone in the business. I grew up with him, watched as he handled transactions with his own father. When I was in middle school, I would go to his house, and we’d play video games all day. We were tight. Close.

  And then, there’s London. She has to make a decision. He may be a good guy, but I am her guy. I’m the one she fell for first. I’m the one she promised to wait for. She wants me. She’s just too sensitive and too afraid to lose someone that’s entered her life. She’s lost so many, and I should understand why the situation is hard for her, but I don’t. When it comes to what I want—what I need—I’m not sympathetic. I will get rid of anyone in my way, and she knows that. Hopefully, the act we committed the night I left gets her to finally go through with it. Until then, I know she’ll be safe around Greg. He won’t let anything happen to her.

  I bring my hand up, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’m overwhelmed. Placing my elbows on my knees, I lean forward and lock my fingers. For the first time in my life, I’m stuck. I’ve never been stuck. I always make a way. Always.

  “Donovan Crow.” A voice rises from beside me. I sit up, but I don’t look because I know exactly who it is.

  I smile. “Pastor Wyatt,” I murmur. I finally look his way. His eyes are wide, his face contorted in total disbelief.

  “Now, wait a minute…” He walks my way, holding up a patient finger. “I could’ve sworn I read your obituary. My eyes… tell me they aren’t deceiving me.”

  I chuckle. “They aren’t deceiving you, Pastor. It’s me. I’m here.”

  He inhales sharply, his blue irises flashing from the candlelight. “I cannot believe it.”

  “Many couldn’t.” I fold my fingers in my lap.

  “What did you do, fake your own death?” he questions.

  “Hmm… something along the lines of that, only I didn’t plan it.”

  Confusion fills his eyes, but surprisingly, he drops the subject, leaning forward. “Well, what brings you in? You know I haven’t seen you sinc
e you were just a boy. Your mother, father, and that crazy little cousin of yours. How is she anyway?”

  “Bianca’s good. Fashion designer. She goes by Bianca Love now. Crazy, right?”

  He laughs. “She was always the wild child. I still remember the day she drank all the communion juice. Our guests were not pleased.”

  I nod, laughing a little. “She claimed she was extremely parched.”

  Laughter fills the temple. Pastor swipes his eyes, ridding himself of the joyful tears. “Good times.” He folds his arms. “But you didn’t answer me… about being here. You aren’t the type that just drops by. The last time you were here, you were asking for advice about taking over your father’s business. That was many, many years ago. You were just a boy. Now look at you. A man with eyes so hard and cold they could cut through diamonds.”

  I smash my lips together, watching as his face grows serious. “This is a much harder decision than taking over Crow… something I need real wisdom for.

  “I’m here to listen.” He adjusts himself, giving me his undivided attention. I meet his gaze, uncertain about sharing something like this with him. I know he’s heard some wild stories, but this—this is unacceptable by all means of the Bible and our religion.

  His eyes soften and small wrinkles form around them. His balding, peppery hair is pushed aside. The comforting smile he wears makes me want to spill it all, but I know to start light.

  “You told me not to take over Crow,” I start, lowering my gaze and turning forward. “You told me it would lead me to nothing but a path of evil. I remember everything you said. How I would become bitter. How I would submit to the darkness, let it take over me. You were right. It did.”

  He nods but doesn’t speak.

  “Pastor, I’ve done many horrible things in my life,” I whisper. “Unspeakable things.”

  “God forgives all, Donovan.”

  “Yes but… I think the sin I’m about to commit will be unforgiveable.” Silence rises. I continue. “I have only have one weakness, and that’s my family and the people I care about. Recently, I found out someone I care about betrayed me. Three years ago, when everyone thought I was dead, he planned it all very well and covered his tracks in the process. He’s wanted to take me down for years, and I was foolish enough not to think so. In my business, everyone outside of it is an enemy no matter how close.