Guillermo was Rolando DeSosa’s youngest son. He was also DeSosa’s illegitimate son; he was the product of his father’s well-known philandering. Guillermo’s mother was a beautiful young girl who had newly arrived in America from Colombia; then she met Rolando DeSosa. Although he was married, DeSosa just couldn’t resist her beautiful dark hair, butter-soft skin and sparkling green eyes. He was twenty-five years her senior when she discovered she was pregnant with his son.
She was the ultimate mistress and played her position well. When she was with DeSosa, she made him feel like he was the only man in the world. When she couldn’t be with him due to his family obligations, she held her head high and waited for him to return. She never forced the issue of being number one in DeSosa’s life; in turn, he respected her and always took care of her and her son.
DeSosa made sure Guillermo was well cared for as a child, although circumstances didn’t allow him to spend as much time with Guillermo as with his legitimate son, Arellio. DeSosa had made sure Guillermo and his mother lived well in a posh New York City condo. He paid tuition for Guillermo’s private schools and made sure he had the best of everything.
DeSosa didn’t want Guillermo to be in the family business; he had been brutally honest with his son that he didn’t believe he had the “heart” to carry out certain business matters. Guillermo had been livid with his father’s proclamation and stormed out of his office. He’d gone on a rampage for an entire week. He needed to prove a point to his father.
Guillermo had broken out several windows in his school and set a fire in the school’s gymnasium; then he took his rampage to the streets. He’d gotten on a city bus without paying his fare and once inside slapped an innocent woman in the face just for “looking” at him. His wannabe-gangster rampage came to a halt after he stabbed one of his classmates during an altercation, just barely missing the boy’s lung.
When DeSosa picked Guillermo up from juvenile hall, he’d calmly asked his son, “You want in so badly, you do all this? Well, you got in. Not because of your stupidity, but because you would go through all of this to be with me . . . to be a part of this family. But you keep doing stupid shit and it will get you killed. Never draw attention to yourself unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Everyone in the DeSosa organization knew that Guillermo was soft, so they gave him all of the easy lifting. He sold weight to low-level drug dealers; he attended meetings with his father as a “second gun”; sometimes he rode shotgun with his brother when something slightly dangerous was going down. It suited him just fine. He was probably the most well-paid second-string gangster in New York City.
* * *
Guillermo pulled up to the Blake, a small hotel situated on a side street, out of the glaring New York City lights. He’d already picked up his room keys earlier in the day; the second key lay in the hands of his new prospect, nestled carefully in the envelope.
Inside the hotel lobby Guillermo looked around suspiciously. He nodded at the front-desk clerk, who stared at him a bit too long and hard. Guillermo always wondered if people recognized him as readily as they did his father and his brother.
The elevator seemed to take forever to get to the sixth floor. The familiar ding as the doors eased open was like music to his ears. Guillermo rushed out, but then he slowed his pace, not wanting to appear too eager. The hallway was a like a ghost town. He exhaled a sigh of relief; he hated seeing people milling about the halls. He always felt paranoid about running into one of his father’s acquaintances, or meeting a set of judgmental eyes.
With trembling hands Guillermo used his key to enter the room. No matter how many times he did this, he was nervous all over again. It was dark inside. The only light came from a small candle, which was on the nightstand. He smirked to himself.
“You trying to be romantic?” he called out as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. There was no answer. Guillermo tossed his jacket aside and moved farther into the room.
“C’mon, I don’t like playing games,” he called out.
Frustration and anxiety could be heard in his voice. He felt spooked by the dim lighting, so he reached over and flicked on a light. His boy toy must be getting ready in the bathroom. Guillermo didn’t like waiting for anyone or anything, especially not after he’d been so long without a man.
“I’m taking off my clothes, which means get your ass out here and give me what the fuck I paid for,” he barked as he unbuckled his pants and stepped out of them. He figured his little plaything was playing hide the dick in the bathroom. Guillermo wasn’t much for games. He planned to bust in that damn bathroom and shock the little punk-ass guy with a stiff dick in the ass. Guillermo stomped over to the bathroom door.
“You like to play these kinky games? Well, I’m going to show you who can do it best,” he called out, using one hand to rub his flaccid dick. He wanted to be ready to pound into that ass.
Guillermo snatched the bathroom door open, intending to surprise his date with his rock hard dick. Guillermo’s mouth dropped open and his eyes threatened to pop out of their socket. His dick instantly went limp and his bladder released itself.
“What the—” Guillermo had started to speak, but then put his hands up in front of him defensively. It was too late. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was half naked and completely defenseless without his weapon.
“P—please,” he managed to stammer out, but his words died in the air. He screamed like a bitch as he came face-to-face with the devil. He fell to the ground, feeling the cold porcelain tiles on his back. He could taste his own blood pooling in his mouth. Suddenly Guillermo’s vision faded and his world went completely black.
* * *
Elaina barreled into Avon’s chest like a bulldozer as he walked through the front door of her mother’s house. He let out a puff of air and stumbled backward, caught off guard. She was sobbing, her body shaking uncontrollably.
“Shh,” he comforted, wrapping his arms around her protectively. He held her tightly for a few minutes and stroked the top of her head. Her body eased into his embrace and she seemed to calm down significantly in his arms.
Avon pulled her away from his chest so he could look at her face to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Her face was blotchy and red from crying, but beautiful nonetheless. He felt his heart thump in his chest. At that moment he didn’t care about the past, about her betrayal or the affair. Despite all that they had been through, he still loved his wife.
“Elaina, tell me what happened,” Avon said softly, gazing into her eyes.
“They—they . . . shot . . . Pfeiffer and the car. We had just gotten out.... They just missed me, the kids . . . oh my God!” she cried, collapsing back onto her husband’s chest.
“What! Who?” Avon gasped. He felt like the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. They had come after his family, after all. He was livid, beyond rage.
“I don’t know who! The gunshots were so loud! They hit the car like hail pellets. I screamed and grabbed the kids. We had just pulled into the driveway. Then . . . then Pfeiffer fell. He was bleeding all over the place. We pulled him inside the garage . . . but . . . he—he’s dead!” She cried some more, her body quaking all over.
Avon flexed his jaw and hugged her even tighter now. His world was spinning off its axis. He couldn’t believe Stokes actually came after his family like he’d threatened. This shit meant war.
Avon let Elaina go and started for the garage. His nostrils flared so hard that he thought he’d hyperventilate. He gritted his teeth and lifted his forearm over his nose at the unbecoming smell in the air. The metallic raw meat smell of blood threatened to make him hurl. He stepped over the dead dog and looked at the car. He surveyed the damage and surmised that the holes were made with a high-powered semiautomatic weapon.
Avon slammed his fists on the hood of his wife’s car. He could feel adrenaline pulsing through his veins, fast and hot.
“We need to call the police,” Elaina said from the doorway. She interrupted Avon�
��s murderous thoughts.
He looked at her, with fire flashing in his eyes. His hands were balled into knuckle-paling fists. “No, we are not going to call the local police. They won’t do shit but bring more attention to the house. I will find out what happened. I will protect you and my kids, Elaina,” he assured her, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Where are the kids?” he asked, noticing the unusual silence in the house for the first time. “Where did you send my kids?” he persisted, stalking toward his trembling wife.
Elaina threw her hands up in the air. Her mouth was open, but no words were coming out. She seemed to be melting down before his eyes. Her mother in the backdrop scowling did not help the situation.
“Elaina! Where are my fuckin’ kids?” Avon snapped, shaking her shoulders roughly. Panic was choking him around the throat.
“Oh God!” she cried, knocking his hands away, as if she were a victim of domestic violence.
Avon removed his hands from her person as if she were a hot stove that had just burned him.
“Elaina, I’m sorry. Please . . . tell me where the kids are.” He softened his tone, moving a few steps away from her. His heart hammered against his chest bone.
Avon grabbed his bald head and squeezed it, trying to calm himself down. He took a deep breath and put his hands out in front of his chest. He would be calm and reasonable with his wife.
“Baby, I’m not going to be angry. Just tell me where they are so I can protect all of you.” He steadied his voice, letting his anger subside like a flame smothered in dirt.
“I have them hiding in a closet downstairs,” she finally admitted, hanging her head as if she were the worst mother in the world. Relief washed over Avon; at least she hadn’t done anything drastic or stupid. “Avon, I was scared. That’s why I put them there.” She seemed to be stumbling in explanation.
He placed his finger against her lips. “Hush, you don’t need to explain, I understand,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat.
Elaina lifted her head; her eyes pleaded with him for answers. “Avon, tell me what is going on? Who is after you? Who would do this to us?” She searched his eyes, his face, for answers from her estranged husband.
Avon didn’t respond. He didn’t have the words. His own mind raced. He brushed past her and rushed from the garage back into the house. He ran over to the basement door and yanked it open; he rushed down the dark stairwell to free his children from their confinement.
He found his kids huddled together in the corner of the closet. The sight of them cowering in fear sent a pang of hurt through Avon’s stomach. His daughter was crying as she held her brother in a death grip, like he was her life raft. His son sat in urine-soaked pants. The sight broke Avon’s heart. Tears burned at the back of his eyes as he knelt down and scooped them both up into his strong arms. He needed them to know he would never let anything happen to them . . . ever.
“C’mere. Daddy is here now,” Avon whispered, the heat of his breath on his daughter’s face, a soothing balm to her tears.
She immediately buried her face in her father’s neck and sobbed, just like her mother had done a few minutes earlier. His son was another story. The boy’s sweat-and-piss-drenched body hung in Avon’s arms, stiff and stoic. He didn’t bend or respond to his father’s soft words. Instead, the boy stared right past his father’s face and looked off into the distance, at nothing. The boy was scared shitless. One tear streaked, unchecked, down his cheek.
“You guys okay?” Avon whispered, kissing both of them on the forehead. He had to make sure his children didn’t see how angry or terrified he truly felt.
“Daddy, somebody shot Pfeiffer!” his daughter wailed. Her little voice quavered with fear. “Oh, baby, I know. I know. I’m so sorry Daddy wasn’t here. I’ll never let anything like this happen again. I promise,” he comforted, meaning every word. His son didn’t say a word and still had not responded to his presence. He just stared blankly above his head. Avon shook him and tried to get him to talk. The boy was still in shock.
“Fuck,” Avon huffed under his breath. There would be fucking hell to pay when he found the bastards who had shot at his family. Avon was taking off the kid gloves and going full-metal jacket with these pricks.
He took the kids back upstairs to their rooms. There was no way he would allow them to stay in a closet like scared puppies.
When his mother-in-law came home, her face was dark and her body stiffened at the sight of Avon. Helen held on to her daughter like she was a treasure beyond worth.
When he moved closer to Elaina, she tightened her grip, turning her face up at him as if he were a smelly skunk. There was really nothing he could say to comfort a woman who had come so close to losing her daughter and grandkids within the blink of an eye. Despite her resistance, Avon needed to make some quick and hard decisions that involved Helen’s acquiescence.
“We all have to leave here,” Avon announced seriously.
Elaina looked up in surprise and fear. Helen looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind. She stared at him with coldly hooded eyes.
“No! We need to call the police and get to the bottom of this! You can’t keep coming here with all of your secrets and spy games, putting my daughter and grandkids in danger!” His mother-in-law lit into him. She was on her feet now, standing toe-to-toe with Avon like a lioness protecting her pride.
He felt her pain, but he also felt his cheeks go flush with anger. It didn’t matter how long he’d been gone in the past and what mistakes he’d made, he was the head of his family. Avon ground his back teeth together and composed himself. He jutted his finger toward his mother-in-law and squinted his eyes.
“You can stay here, but my wife and kids are coming with me!” Avon countered. He looked at his wife expectantly; when she didn’t follow his lead, he grabbed both of his kids by their hands and ushered them toward the front door.
Elaina got up reluctantly and looked at her mother with tear-filled eyes. She was so torn; it was all too much to process.
“You have to come with us, Mama. It’s not safe here,” she begged. Her mother pursed her lips and wrangled her arm away from her daughter’s desperate grasp.
“It’s not safe where he is either,” her mother replied, folding her arms across her chest, refusing to leave her home.
Elaina gave her mother a desperate look, but she knew it was useless. In the end, like a dutiful wife and mother, she followed her husband and kids out of the house.
All she could do now was pray that her mother would be safe. That’s all she could do for all of them—pray that they would be safe.
* * *
“Ma! Ma!” Junior called out in a state of panic as he rushed back into his SoHo apartment. He was sweating profusely and his legs shook. The apartment was not big; so when Betty didn’t answer, Junior’s stomach began to cramp.
“Ma?” he belted out again, his voice cracking with desperation. Then he heard the water running from behind the bathroom door. He rushed to the door and knocked, hoping that his mother simply hadn’t heard him over the rush of the running faucet.
“Ma!” he called out again, twisting the doorknob. Now was not the time for him to worry about invading her privacy. The door gave easily. The shower was running, but the curtain was pulled closed. Junior reached out and snatched back the curtain.
“Oh shit!” he huffed. Those were the last words he spoke before his world went black.
A black hood had been forcefully placed over his head, snatching his breath away. A sharp pain invaded his spine and his legs buckled. His body went limp; his legs betrayed him as he fought against his own body to stay standing. Junior knew falling was the kiss of death; yet it was the inevitable. His back hit the marble tile floor, sending a spine-crushing pain through his back and down his legs. Junior opened his mouth to scream, but the sound was stuck in the back of his throat. Instead, he took in a mouthful of black fibers from the hood, which scratched the back of his throat. He was being dr
agged now; his legs flip-flopping like a fish out of water.
Something crashed into his diaphragm. Vomit involuntarily spewed up from his stomach and into the black sackcloth. His hands clawed at the edges of the material, which threatened to cut off his air supply. His esophagus was being crushed; he felt tiny needles creeping up his body from his feet. Junior knew that meant he was drifting away, losing consciousness. The thought caused him to fight harder.
His assailant’s communications sounded like muffled, hushed whispers in his obstructed ears. A crushing blow to the face caused something to explode behind Junior’s eyes. He could feel the moisture seeping into his death hood from his busted face. A kick in the nuts sent a shock wave of pain through his entire body. He reacted as if someone had put him in an electric chair, his body seizing and jerking violently.
Junior couldn’t hold on for much longer. He could see Broady’s face like a painting on his eyelids. Then his mother’s face—the last vision of it, contorted, stiff, came into focus. Another hit to the body brought Junior back momentarily.
“You fucked with the wrong ones, nigga!” he heard, barely making out the choppy voices. He didn’t know if it was the hood or the fact that his ears were ringing. He was dragged to a new spot on the floor; the carpet was burning his back. More punches, kicks and boot stomps rained down on his body.
“Don’t kill him! The boss wants him alive,” one of his assailants said before he laid his fist into Junior’s gut for good measure.
Junior was transported from one black world into another.
Chapter 23
Upping the Ante
Candice rushed through the familiar doors of the shooting range. Her heart immediately sank. She missed her uncle at times like these. In fact, she had been thinking about him a lot lately. Candice wondered what he’d think about her current predicament.
“Candy, you can’t be a cleaner and be so emotional,” he’d tell her.
The range was a place of solace for her. The smell of lead, the sound of bullets flying and the power she felt when she shot her weapons helped alleviate much of her stress. Also, she needed to sharpen her skills a bit.
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