“Okay. Don’t get hysterical.”
“Hysterical?” Kate snapped and then in the next second whipped her hand soundly across his face. Slap!
Stunned, Daniel stepped back.
“How’s that for hysterical?” she hissed.
President Walker reined in his temper. “You’re angry. I—”
Slap!
Pissed, he grabbed her hands. “Enough!”
“How could you do this to me?” Kate questioned, feeling that she was indeed growing hysterical. “Huh? All these years I’ve stuck by your side. I knew that you would be just another Bill Clinton!”
“C’mon. Let’s not get carried away.”
“It was nothing. Nothing.”
“No one risks his entire political career over nothing, Daniel!” She raked her hair some more. “I gotta get out of here. I need some air.” She turned for the door.
“Katie . . .”
“Look. It’s not my forgiveness that you should worry about. It’s the entire country’s! When Reynolds gets gaveled in and he starts compiling impeachment charges right before an election year, I’m finished.”
“If I’m impeached, then you’ll get my job.” Daniel joked. “Isn’t that what you always wanted anyway?”
“Not funny. My name will get dragged down in the mud with you, killing any chance of my succeeding you in the next election.
“I’m telling you. You’re blowing everything out of proportion. Reynolds has nothing. He can’t prove anything.”
“Famous last words,” Kate mumbled.
“Katie, I’ll handle it,” he said.
“How? This place leaks like a sieve. You make any kind of move to cover up whatever the hell happened in Brazil and the Republicans will fry you, and you fucking know it. They’ll open congressional hearings to investigate every damn time you go to the bathroom!”
“I know. I know. I know.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“Right now there is no need for a plan. Reynolds isn’t going to find anything.”
Kate’s patience thinned. “Every man who has ever taken his pants down outside the privacy of his own bedroom thinks that he’ll never be caught.”
“Katie, I’ll fix this,” the president said to her retreating back as she opened the office door.
“Sure you will, Daniel. Sure you will.”
10
“What the hell happened in here?” a voice thundered through the apartment, waking Abrianna.
Shit. Moses was back.
“THE FUCK?” he barked, slamming the front door.
Groggy as shit, Abrianna rolled over, grabbed a pillow, and jammed it over her head. She wished that for once he knew how to come in the apartment quietly. Four months wasn’t a long time to live with someone, but it was the longest intimate relationship she’d ever had. Now it was over.
Shawn said that it was because she was dick dumb. He was probably right. Moses’s dick game was the dream of every woman and porno director worldwide. His shit was for serious riders only, and once upon a time, Abrianna had been there for it.
Not anymore. Moses’s temper was another matter completely.
“Look at this shit,” Moses roared, kicking something.
“Keep it down,” Abrianna groaned. She was not a morning person.
Moses stomped through the apartment. Instead of coming into her bedroom, he went into the spare room—where he made an even louder racket.
“Where the fuck is it?!”
She grabbed another pillow to cover her ringing head.
Moses stomped out of the spare room and exploded into her bedroom.
“Bree! Wake your ass up!” The covers were snatched off and she was manhandled and hauled up by her arm.
“What the fuck?” She barely got her feet under her before he jerked her ass out of the bedroom.
“Where’s my shit?” he shouted, dragging Abrianna through the party-wrecked hallway in just her bra and panties, past his buddy Duane in the living room, before dumping her into the spare bedroom.
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
“Zeke’s coke, you stupid bitch! I’m supposed to be delivering those damn pink bricks this morning. Ain’t shit in here!” As proof, he gestured to the panels in the roof of the closet. “The bag is gone. Where the fuck is it?” His grip on her arm tightened as he jostled her around.
“I don’t know where the fuck that shit is.” Abrianna attempted to jerk free but was instead slammed against a wall.
“I ain’t hearing that shit,” he growled. “You know what the fuck I got on the line. How the fuck you got niggas partying all up in here last night, wrecking our shit, when you know those packages were up in here?”
“Our shit? You don’t even fucking live here anymore, remember?”
“I ain’t forgot shit,” Moses roared. “I left that bag here for safekeeping. So what did you do with it?”
“Ain’t did shit with it,” she shouted and then flinched when her own voice echoed inside of her head.
“If you don’t un-ass my shit . . .”
“Fuck you,” she snapped.
“Who the fuck did you have all up in here?” he thundered.
“I didn’t plan it.... It was a surprise party.”
“Well, SURPRISE! My shit is gone. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do? Huh?”
“Let go of my arm,” she demanded.
“Oh. Does that hurt? How about this?” Moses slammed her against the wall in three quick sessions. Pain exploded in Abrianna’s head, shutting off all communication to her legs, so when he released her she dropped like a stone to the floor.
“Tell me, goddamn it!” Moses punched the wall.
Plaster rained around Abrianna.
“You know something,” he insisted. “How the fuck you gonna get jacked in your own crib? Weren’t you watching those muthafuckas?”
The buzzing escalated inside her head. Moses grabbed her, but without a second thought, she caught his arm and twisted.
Moses roared until she kicked him in the groin, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to double over.
He had her twisted.
Moses recovered and grabbed the back of her head and spun her around. A black rage clicked on inside of her head, and Abrianna delivered a jab punch to his throat. Those free karate classes at the YMCA came in handy.
Duane busted up the scene, looking frightened. “Yo, man. Zeke is here.”
Moses and Abrianna froze.
“What?” Moses wheezed.
“Yeah, man. I’m going to head on out and let you handle your business.” Duane’s wide-eyed fear spread like a contagion.
Moses shoved Abrianna away and grabbed Duane before he backpedaled out of the room. “Yo, man, wait. Where are you going? We’re in this shit together.”
“The fuck we are.” Duane attempted to break free. “You put your name on this. Zeke gave those bricks to you—not me.”
“You put in twenty K.”
“Yeah . . . and by the way, I’m gonna need that grip back, seeing how you done lost our shit.”
“Now it’s ours? Make up your fucking mind.”
“Half the money was mine, but you were in charge of holding the product. Where’s the product?” Duane hissed, his own anger overriding his fear.
Abrianna’s heart sank. Zeke was an OG kingpin in Washington D.C. In the streets, most referred to him as the Teflon Don. His hands were in most of the criminal enterprises in these streets, but the muthafucka had never gotten so much as a traffic ticket. On the flipside, there were also whole cemeteries filled with the bodies of folks who’d crossed or tried to cross him.
“Well, I wish you the best of luck, bruh,” Duane said. “Call me when you’re through and let me know how it all pans out.” Duane tried to pry himself loose from Moses.
Moses’s grip held. “Duane, if you take one step out of this crib, I’ll shoot your ass my damn self.”
Duane look
ed crestfallen.
Finally, Zeke’s gravelly baritone rumbled from the living room. “Is this how you muthafuckas treat company?”
Three sets of eyes shifted around the room. None of them knew what to say or do.
When no one answered, Zeke spoke up, “Should I invite myself to the private party back there?”
Moses found his voice. “Nah, Zeke. We’re coming up.” He glared at Duane and stabbed a pointed finger into his chest. “One move for that fucking door . . .”
Slowly, Duane nodded.
“What do you want me to do?” Abrianna asked.
Moses glanced back, but his anger toward her remained visible. “Put some fucking clothes on, and then I want your ass to write a list.”
“A list?”
“Fuck, Bree. I can’t take an eighty-thousand-dollar hit.” He shook his head. “I was already in for forty K with Zeke before this shit. I needed those bricks to break even. I’m a fucking dead man if I don’t get that shit back. Times are hard. Niggas ain’t hearing no fuckin’ excuses. Now I got to go up there with my dick in my hand and tell him I lost his shit? We’ll be lucky if the cops aren’t white-chalking our asses within the hour.”
“Ok. A list.” She nodded, eagerly.
“I need to know the name of every muthafucka that was up in here last night. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the nigga that’s suddenly on the come-up. It ain’t like you hang out with the smartest muthafuckas out here.”
“Fuck, Moses. I don’t remember everybody that was here. It was a fuckin’ surprise birthday party.”
“Birthday?” His face twisted. “How come you didn’t tell me that it was your birthday?”
“It’s no big deal,” she said, swiping her hand across her throbbing bottom lip. “I don’t even like celebrating it.”
“So they just showed up?”
“They were here when I got off work.”
“See? This is why the fuck you don’t hang with criminals and shit.”
She buttoned her lip, opting not to remind him that they were a couple of criminals too.
“Write everyone that you do remember. I got to get that coke back. I already know that bitch Shawn was up in here. That muthafucka was at the top of my list.”
Abrianna sighed. “I told you. Shawn has been clean for two years.”
“Bullshit.” He grabbed her swollen and aching chin and forced her to look at him. “What about you? Your eyes are still dilated. You snort up my shit?”
“I didn’t snort up no damn two keys,” she told him, pulling away.
“No. But you might’ve pulled them out as party favors for your damn friends.”
“I wouldn’t do no shit like that.”
Moses’s eyes hardened. “You wouldn’t do no shit like that?”
“I AIN’T GOT ALL DAY,” Zeke barked.
Moses’s gaze raked Abrianna before he hissed, “Put some fucking clothes on.” With his grip still locked around Duane’s puny right bicep, Moses shoved his boy in front of him to take the lead back into the living room.
Abrianna rushed behind them so that she could dart back into the bedroom and put on some clothes. The whole time she jerked open drawers and tossed out shit that didn’t match, the voices rose in the living room. Her gaze fell to the butt of a .45 tucked beneath a stack of panties in her drawer. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and checked the ammunition.
Full clip.
Duane screamed, hitting a note reserved for operatic sopranos. Loud crashing and thumping followed. Abrianna rounded the corner, still not completely dressed. Three suppressed staccato gunshots flew toward Moses’s head—and missed.
“Stop!” Abrianna aimed the .45 at Zeke’s large head.
His two goons spun with their weapons leveled.
“Hold up.” Zeke put out his arms, stopping his boys. He removed his expensive black shades and stared Abrianna up and down. “Well, if it isn’t sexy-ass Abrianna Parker. I should’ve known that you were hiding somewhere back there.” His thick lips expanded to showcase his unnaturally white teeth. “I really don’t know what you see in this broke muthafucka right here when you could’ve had a made brutha like me at your beck and call.”
Abrianna held her tongue. There was no reason for his ass to know that she and Moses weren’t a couple anymore. She would never get rid of Zeke’s ass then.
Moses’s jaw twitched. Zeke mused aloud, “Maybe I put a hole in your skull and just take Bree here off your hands?”
Abrianna clicked off the safety.
Zeke’s two goons twitched, but Zeke’s hands went back up to stop any itchy trigger fingers.
“Feisty.” Zeke’s smile expanded. “I love a feisty bitch.”
“Let him go,” she ordered evenly.
“Ah. Well. You see. I can’t do that. Sorry. Not even for someone as fine as yourself.” Zeke’s eyes roamed over Abrianna again. “Business. You understand.”
“We’ll get you your money.”
“We?” His eyebrows climbed to the top of his forehead. “You’re taking on some of this debt too?”
Abrianna’s gaze drifted to the small puddle around Duane’s butt.
Chin up, Moses refused to look at Abrianna.
“We just need a little more time,” she told Zeke, her aim steady.
Zeke frowned. “See now. Time is the one muthafuckin’ thing that you don’t have.”
Their eyes locked. “You really are fine as fuck. You know that, don’t you?”
The comment hung in the air.
When he finished raping her with his eyes, he returned his attention to Moses. “Looks like this one must really care for you, man.”
A long silence trailed his open flirtation, but when Moses didn’t bite, Zeke sighed in disappointment. “All right. Now that Ms. Abrianna here has ruined my whole homicidal vibe this morning, I may as well be a little generous. I’m going to give you two a little more time on that . . . money—only because you’re vouching for this cockroach muthafucka. And you know how I feel about you. Let’s say . . . seventy-two hours?”
Abrianna swung her gaze back over to Moses, but again he left her hanging. “All right. Seventy-two hours,” she agreed.
“Then we got ourselves a deal.” Laughter exploded from Zeke’s chest while he signaled for his goons to head out. “Seventy-two hours,” he repeated, following them. At the door, he stopped—turned. “But if you don’t have my bricks or my eight stacks—I’ll come see you personally, Ms. Abrianna, on how you can repay the debt.”
11
At TyKon Tech, Kadir Kahlifa sat iron straight in the only interview suit that he owned. He reminded himself not to fidget every five minutes, but after waiting for nearly an hour, the task became impossible. He also kept telling himself to stop glancing over at the receptionist, a petite white woman with a serious staring problem. The behavior was typical whenever he came in for these interviews.
Finally, a short, squat man rushed into the lobby.
Relief swept over the receptionist’s face. The man whispered something to the woman and she pointed a pen in Kadir’s direction.
He took this as his cue to stand and offer out his hand, but the gesture was ignored.
“I’m sorry, Mister . . . Mister?” The man scrunched up his face while reading the name printed on the resume.
“Kahlifa,” Kadir filled in for him, sounding much cooler than he felt. “Kadir Kahlifa. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yes, Mr. Kahlifa. I’m Davy Jones,” he said, pushing up his glasses. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“Not a problem,” Kadir lied, ready to follow the man to his office.
“Yes, well. There has been some kind of screw-up with your temp agency.”
Kadir tensed. “A screw-up?”
“Yes,” Jones said, pushing up his glasses again. “The position has already been filled. I hate that you traveled all the way down here, but we informed them of this last week. My apologies. . . but we most certainly can validate
your parking. Do you have your ticket?”
Lying piece of shit. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Kadir clamped his jaw tight and fumbled inside his suit pockets until he found the parking stub. “Here we go.”
“Ah.” Mr. Jones’s flat lips stretched damn near from ear to ear as he took the stub and marched it back to the receptionist for a stamp.
Kadir fought off a wave of humiliation as best as he could, but failed. The receptionist, forever branded in his mind as a Nazi Barbie, smirked when Mr. Jones returned the parking stub to him.
“Again. Please accept my apologies for this . . . uh.”
“Screw-up,” Kadir filled in for him, still smiling.
“Right.” Jones chuckled. “Well, good day.”
Tucking his tail in between his legs, Kadir turned and headed toward the building’s glass doors. The entire way across the stone floor, he felt the weight of Jones and the Nazi’s judgmental stares. Even outside, strolling down Shaw, Kadir knew he hadn’t escaped them because the whole damn building was made out of glass. I’m never going to find a decent job. Kadir normally batted away negative thoughts, but after months of trying, his optimism was dying a slow death.
The fall breeze also failed to cool him down during the long walk to and through the office’s parking deck. Six years later and Kadir could still hear Judge Sanders rapping that damn gavel while the marshals slapped him back into cuffs and hauled him off. Now he was starting his life over, and his name, race, and record held him back. Rent was due in a few days, and he wasn’t looking forward to calling his parents to ask them to wire money—again. The loan would come with a lecture about how he needed to leave the United States and return to Yemen with the rest of the family.
Kadir wasn’t ready for that step. And his probation wouldn’t allow it.
With his mind on his problems, Kadir nearly walked past his black GMC Acadia. It was a good, solid car that he used for the one job that he’d managed to get since he’d been released from prison: Uber. On one hand, it was great because it allowed him to set his own schedule. On the other hand, it was awful because he had to put up with a lot of bullshit from riders, who always found a reason to bitch and complain. It was a hard job for someone who wasn’t a people person, but any time he thought about quitting, the lint in his pockets reminded him that he couldn’t. Sighing, he started up the car to head home. Then his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen but didn’t recognize the number—so he knew exactly who it was.
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