by Brick
It was then that I noticed a slight accent to his voice. “You really fam then huh?”
Fuego gave a nod then slipped me a card with his contact info. “I’m ya cousin, and I’m the sane one. Let’s ride out, fam.”
Heading through the hall, I eyed the nigga. He carried some of my looks, though I looked better. He had light eyes, and the short locs that fell around his face were actually braided up. On his neck, I could see a Cuban flag and a US flag merging into one. He said he was the sane one but fuck that lie. I got a quart of the same blood and I was fucked up. Shaking my head, I gave an inward sigh not wanting to deal with the bullshit that came with being an Orlando.
Incessant talking sounded around the three of us as we strolled by. I tilted my head up with a smirk, watching Uncle Phil and Deebo stare at me with all hate, but also smelling and reflecting fear in their eyes. I purposely turned my head to smile at them, reminding them of my words. I meant every bit of them. The cold darkness in me was going to hunt down every last member of their families, and end their lives, while saving the main culprits for last. I had no love for those who attempted to destroy my livelihood. If you weren’t family or an ally then you weren’t shit to me.
The feel of Mirror behind me disappeared and I noticed he had vanished. I knew cameras weren’t his thing. Though he could change his appearance, he still was cautious and I had mad respect for him for that. So I stepped out into the cool air, noticing that he was pulling up in his blacked-out Bentley. Mirror stepped out of the ride behind the press and fans and waited.
My PR rep, Dymetra Clarke, stood with her hands out in a tight maxi skirt that had her calves looking like sex as she sported a pair of cream and black heels. She was thick, her ass poking out, and I gave a sigh. She was also linked to the African Queens and I had no clue about that until my mother let me in on that info. She had just finished saying something to the media in defense of me and all that had been going on.
Her hair was sideswiped into a fishtail braid of micro-braids. She had sumptuous tits, lush lips, and was sexy in an “around the way” kind of look. She also was the color of bourbon and smart as fuck. We boned a couple of times when we were both bored. But outside of that, she was married to another sports nigga who played ball, and I really wasn’t invested in her outside of trusting her with my career and trusting in her hand at murder.
“Damn,” I heard Fuego mutter by my side.
A smile played across my face as I stepped forward. “Pussy is like yack, shit is sweet and tight, but she that type who only give it when she want to, so she ain’t worth it, fam. Besides, I had her first and the chick is married. One. We’ll speak later.”
Heading toward my PR rep, I felt the burning sensation of hatred on me and it had me turning to the left with a slick grin. Standing in the doorway of the police station was Micah. He was still fucked up, bruised up, and had a bandage on the side of his face. I gave him the thumbs-up, then turned back to head to my ride where Mirror stood waiting. I could tell he saw what I did to Micah due to the way his shoulders shook with laughter.
Reporters rushed after me asking me various questions and I turned to address them.
“Shawn! Shawn! Are the allegations true? Were you being held for two murders and RICO charges in association with Dame Orlando?” one reporter passionately asked.
My gaze went to Micah who studied me with his own sneer. I knew he had leaked that part of the information. My PR rep stood beside me as I spoke, occasionally whispering in my ear, telling me what to say and what not to say.
“Baby, I am a lover, not a fighter, or a killer. The only deaths I cause are on the field, so yes, the allegations are true, but the facts behind it all are all lies,” I responded.
I hammed it up for the cameras, flashing a smile and acting like the media-loving athlete. “I know nothing about Dame’s hand in any of that except from what I’ve heard in the streets. I was born and raised here in Atlanta and was trained here. All I know about him is that he supported us kids as athletes and created a program to get us off the streets; that’s the only business I did with him indirectly. Men like Micah Tems had direct involvement with him through picking us kids out of the camp. So please understand that my life is the game and not some debasing, slanderous lies meant to stop me from doing what I was born to do: be the King of the A!”
My tongue ran over my lips while I glanced up in that moment at Micah knowing he understood what I was saying in those words. My media training with what Shy taught me gave me all the ammo I needed. Which was why I hoped that my words would also act as bait for one question I was waiting to be asked.
“Speaking of, we heard the name Orlando being tied to your name; is this true?” another reporter asked.
There it was. I let my face drop in sadness, which really wasn’t a hard stretch for me. I bowed my head, ran a hand over my face, and nodded. Dymetra rubbed my back as I spoke. “This is news that I only recently was given but . . .” I gave a sad sigh and that was when Mirror stepped forward, taking over.
“Mr. Banks’ birth was that of an attack on his birth mother. She was but a young girl in college when she was stalked and assaulted against her will. The attack resulted in Mr. Banks and in his mother’s death as well. Sadly, it is this dark past that Mr. Banks is not proud of; however, he wanted those children in the streets of Atlanta to understand and relate with it, that he too knows the struggle. That he too knows how it is to try to survive in a world that would try to hold you back and turn you into something you wish not to be. Mr. Banks has used his past as a strength to help him be the athlete you all love and cherish. He is not a murderer or killer or any other label you wish to give. But he is a young man eager to bring a new change to Atlanta and be a mentor for the youth,” Mirror passionately explained.
Like I said, Mirror didn’t like cameras. But when he had to, he made moves and he usually did it with his face being altered in some manner, like it was tonight. It was those words that had Micah punching his fist into the wall near him and storming off. I gave a flash of a smile and stepped forward with the rest of the icing. A raise was definitely coming for Mirror after this.
“Please respect my need for privacy in this moment. I just learned of this and I wanted to explain that I am a child of Atlanta and Orlando is my blood. I am here for the people. Please don’t lose faith in me. I send my prayers to those who have gone missing who were also found murdered. I offer myself as a help to those people’s families, and I know that justice will be had. God bless.” With that, I turned my back on the flashing lights, climbed into the car, and waited to pull off, leaving Dymetra behind to answer the rest of the questions.
The nigga I learned was my cousin gave me a nod then walked back into the precinct as Mirror hopped in the ride, revved up the engine, and then pulled off.
“You know he’s going to come hard at yuh again, mi friend?” Mirror asked me.
Watching the precinct disappear, I knew he was right. I scratched the side of my jaw in thought about my family and career. “Yeah, just make sure what is mine is protected; then whatever happens after that just happens. I’m game.”
“Sounds like yuh becoming a kingpin already. A’ight, mi friend. Listen though: whatever yuh need, yuh have one house backing yuh as yuh build up yours.” Mirror chuckled while driving.
Sighing, I joined him in the ironic laughter. “I didn’t want this but yeah. Looks like I inherited it, so yeah. Let’s build this shit and let me call my tía to tell her what went down.”
I may have been young as fuck. I knew for damn sure I was too young to be able to hold my own like I just did, but I was schooled by the very best: Shy. My mother was a queen. The streets were my backbone, and the chess piece I just moved was called checkmate. Micah wanted a war and he now just got it. One day he was going to learn not to fuck with what you didn’t understand. It was his move.
Chapter 7
Angel
Bullets. Live rounds. A barrage of those motherfuckers
came at the car Shy and I left the jail in. While all the windows and the truck were bulletproof, Shy assured me, the tires weren’t. And they shot those fuckers right out from under us. My first mind was to protect Shy. Enzo had just asked me as we left the station to look out for his aunt and brother until he could get out. It was as if he expected to be locked up for the long haul, which puzzled and bothered me.
We had been sitting in traffic, heading toward a venue Shy had said she needed to go to and scope out for the charity event she was going to be doing. I didn’t think anybody would be following us because of how cautious Shy was and how thorough she was with her security detail; but, alas, there we were hunkered down in traffic in the middle of downtown Atlanta as someone tried unsuccessfully to riddle the black Escalade with bullets.
“Don’t worry about me,” Shy said as she crouched down in the truck then reached underneath her seat. “You arm yourself,” she ordered as she opened the steel black suitcase she pulled out.
“What are we going to do?” I asked. I still ducked and cowered as if the bullets could somehow breach the steel contraption and get to us.
“We’re going to fight back because that’s the only way we’re going to get out of here,” she said as she looked up at me and loaded two Desert Eagles.
“Boss, I’ll use myself as a distraction to buy you and the girl time. You two get the fuck up out of here as soon as I step out this door, you hear me?” the driver asked as he stared straight ahead.
“Jennings, you don’t have to do that,” Shy told the man.
“How long I been employed by this family, Iya?” the man asked Shy as he turned to look at her. The gunfire had abruptly stopped and we could see about five men closing in on the vehicle from the front.
“Since I was a child.”
“How long have the Kulu Kings taken care of me and my family?”
“Since before I was born.”
“So don’t you go telling me what I don’t have to do,” the elderly but stout Italian man said sternly. He looked to be Sicilian because of his dark features, but just judging by the look of complete devotion on his face, I knew his loyalty belonged to the African Queens.
“If by chance the wrong thing happens, Bonita, the girls, and your grandchildren will always be taken of,” Shy said as she laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I never doubted it,” was all the man said before he grabbed two M-10s from the seat next to him and opened the car door.
As soon as his feet touched the black asphalt, bullets started to fly. One caught him in the shoulder and another in the leg, but the man stood anyway. When he let his bullets spray, the men took cover.
Shy kicked the back door of the Escalade open on the right side, fell backward, and let her bullets rain down on the streets of Atlanta. I had to admit, I was surprised at her agility since the woman was damn near on her deathbed. Still, I jumped out of the other side of the truck and covered her. My utility boots hit the pavement hard as I ran through a maze of abandoned cars. The two 9 mm Sig Sauer handles resting against my palm as the muscles in my hand struggled to control them sounded off like fireworks. The recoil from the fire of the bullets shook my hands as I ran behind Shy and covered her six.
For her to be a cancer patient, she wasn’t acting like one. As she ran and slid over cars, shooting niggas, I saw a glimpse of the woman she used to be, of a woman she had to become because the devil wouldn’t leave her alone. The woman who had just taken the butt of her gun and knocked a man twice her size on his ass looked like an assassin as she ran in all black with the scarf around her face making her look like she was from a foreign country.
I took her lead, followed her, watched her as I took aim and fired at an approaching man who tried to come from her blind side.
“We need to get to Peachtree Street on the northeast end. There is an abandoned building that used to be a restaurant called the Pleasant Peasant. You’ll know it because it’s a mix between pea green and shit brown in color with a light blue building attached to it. It’s a safe location,” she said as we ran side by side.
A Tahoe came skidding to a halt in front of us, as we ran down Linden Avenue. Shy stopped running and took aim like the skilled shooter she was. Even if the windows in that truck had been bulletproof, the Desert Eagles Shy was busting would have broken through the glass. Two bullets, one to the head and one in the heart, through the windshield took the driver out. When the passenger tried to escape, I was on him. As soon as he turned his back to run, I caught him in his spine. Once he fell, I ran over to him and pumped two into his skull.
I heard Shy yell out as her body hit the ground. I tried to run for her, but I was snatched up from behind by the hood I had on. I did a quick spin move and slid it over my head then kicked the man who had grabbed me in his dick so hard I swore I heard one of his balls pop.
“Arrrghh. You bitch,” he roared out as his knees hit the pavement.
“All day,” I responded before going on the attack again.
I gave a running kick to his face as I heard Shy struggling on the other side of the truck. The man in front of me went down hard. I rushed around the truck expecting to find Shy in a sticky situation. Instead, I found that she had brandished a knife from somewhere and was in the process of slicing a man from ear to ear. Those grunts I heard had been her fighting, judging by the way the man’s face had been busted open. She kneeled over the man and as she cut him there was a look of pure elation on her face, one I had only seen on two other people: Enzo and Drew.
She then stood and brought the sharp, pointy heel of her boot down into the man’s eye. “That’ll learn you not to fuck with a woman in heels, bitch,” she said then spit on the man’s body.
People ran around us. Screams and yells could be heard in the melee as sirens closing in on us alerted us to the threat that loomed over us. I grabbed Shy by her hand and hit the corner of Linden and Peachtree. The building that Shy had referenced was one building down. She rushed up to the door, hit a hidden panel, and then punched in a code so quick that I wasn’t even sure she knew what she had entered. We rushed inside and slammed the door behind us.
I finally realized that I needed to breathe. Chest was burning like it was on fire. The establishment was barren except for a telephone and a flat-screen wall monitor. The walls were brick; the area where I was sure the bar had been sat dusty and empty. The floors needed to be swept and polished of the dust and cobwebs.
I watched on in silence as Shy picked up the phone, punched in some numbers, and waited. She was exhausted, barely standing as she waited. Her chest rapidly heaved up and down and I could see what color she had left slowly draining from her face.
Once someone answered the phone, Shy pressed the speaker button and said, “Hello?”
“Good day, love.” A British accent came through the phone. I could tell it belonged to Phenom. Unlike Mirror, Phenom’s Caribbean accent didn’t blend in with his faux British one.
“I wish this were a social call, but it isn’t. I’ve been attacked.”
“What?” Phenom belted out.
“I . . . I was . . .” Shy stopped and caught her breath before continuing. “I was on my way to a venue after leaving Shawn at the jail. Micah sent men to follow me and they attacked me in the middle of fucking downtown Atlanta,” she fussed. Mixed with her fatigue was anger at the audacity that Micah would have the unmitigated gall to come after her. There was a fire burning in that woman’s eyes.
“What in bloody hell do you mean this wangster sent people after you? Does he realize—”
Phenom’s words were cut off when Anika’s voice came on the phone. “You’re at a safe haven. I got you pinpointed on the tracker.”
“Good. Please get here quick, I’m . . . I . . .”
I’d been busy scoping the streets peeking through the blinds when I noticed Shy’s words fading. Shy didn’t finish her sentence. She started coughing and couldn’t stop. She pulled a handkerchief to her mouth and came back w
ith a pool of blood. I quickly rushed to her side. She was weak, had been without rest for too many hours.
“We’re on our way,” Anika spoke loudly.
The phone fell as Shy doubled over in pain.
“Iya,” Anika screamed again.
“Please hurry,” I pleaded frantically when I noticed Shy was bleeding from her side.
My whole world shattered.
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” I cried as I held the woman in my arms.
“I don’t think God ever heard me when I cried out to Him so maybe you can put in a word for me,” she said as she weakly smiled up at me. “Maybe my demons are too much for even God to take.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked at me. “If by chance I don’t make it through, you take care of my sons for me,” she said.
I could see the physical and emotional pain she was in. I was in pain with and for her. Tears rolled down my cheeks the same as hers. I’d only known the woman a short time and she’d been more of a mother than I’d ever had.
“You’re going to make it. I know you will,” I tried to convince her and myself.
She gave a light smile, licked her blood-laden lips, and took a deep breath. “Just in case I don’t though, you keep my boys on the brink of sanity. Don’t let them go to the point of no return. Promise me that, no matter what, you will protect them by any means necessary, as I’ve done. I’m putting all the trust I have left in you to do that for me.”
“Shy, please. Just hold on, okay?”
“Answer me.”
“I will. I promise, I will.”
“I never doubted it. The love you have for Shawn will see to it that you do.”
I was crying like she was my mother or my aunt because, in the last few weeks, she had been like family. All of our little talks and training sessions had led to this. As I got my balance to help her up, she hugged me tightly. I could feel her tears wetting my shoulder.
She took a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t let Micah hurt my baby, Angel. I’m not just talking about on the field, either. I probably won’t get to see my son take the Nightwings to that win in the Super Bowl. If I don’t, you make sure he remembers me not in my weakest moments, not as a victim of anything, but as a woman, a strong woman, who battled through the depths of hell to protect him and his brother,” she whispered in my ear.