Being incarcerated was an exercise in restraint. He was forced to restrain his natural desires. He was forced to restrain his movements. He was forced to bite his tongue. He was forced to restrain his mind from processing his emotions because he had to be on guard. All the time. He was forced to restrain his memory because daydreaming about things outside the walls was the quickest way to get killed.
Today, Reece freed himself of everything. He allowed his mind to drift back to the times he was on top. Through his mind’s eye he saw the mountains of drugs he had peddled, he saw the blood of the adversaries he had crushed beneath his feet, he saw the millions of dollars he had amassed. The visions made him smile. He was a made man who had beaten the system.
Vanilla slurped loudly on his dick and snatched Reece from his thoughts. She tightened her jaws on his erection, and Reece almost lost his mind. He ran his hands through her long blond hair affectionately, then coiled her tresses around his hand. He used his hand to guide her warm mouth to where he wanted it. Unconsciously, he gently pushed his pulsating erection into Vanilla’s mouth. Vanilla wrapped her hand around the base of his dick and jacked him off while she sucked him harder. Reece pumped in her mouth. Vanilla sucked harder. Reece felt electricity zipping through his balls. He pumped Vanilla’s face furiously. She sucked him harder. Reece wailed in amazement.
“Ahhhhhhhh!!!”
In the back of the Maybach with his beautiful ride-or-die bitch, King Reece found his freedom.
* * *
The following morning, Reece and Qwess left Virginia in Qwess’s Bentley. They were driving the four-hour trip back to Fayetteville so the brothers could catch up on things and Reece could acclimate himself to the free world before he was thrust back into his persona as King Reece. Vanilla was flying home and leaving the Maybach in Virginia.
As they careened down the Virginia backroads at high speed, Reece fired away questions like a prosecutor.
“So, your old man home now, huh?” Reece asked.
“Yeah. Him and my mom in the islands somewhere right and now living it up, ya dig?”
“That’s what’s up. I’m trying to hit me an island somewhere, but after we take care of business.”
“Yo, don’t even sweat that. My pops took care of all the paperwork before he left. Him and Amin linked up and squared everything away. The distribution contracts, the manufacturing contracts, everything. I’ma tell you, too. They didn’t want to do it. Talking ’bout ‘who’s your parent company?’ Like we need a parent company to deal with them. Ultimately their greed won out.”
“So, your pops is pretty good at law, huh?” wondered Reece.
“Hell, yeah! I mean think about it. He had fifteen years to do nothing but study law. All types of law. Shit, pops was so tight they was calling him Hammurabi up in that joint!” Qwess joked, referring to the so-called father of modern law.
“Yeah, I know. His name was still ringing back there. I couldn’t believe they shipped him as soon as I got there. Your uncle still maintaining, though.”
“Word?” This was a sore subject for Qwess. Through all his finagling he still hadn’t been able to bring his uncle home. Partly because of what his uncle’s own hands brought forth: He was still dealing drugs behind bars and consequently had accumulated an expensive prison record.
“Yeah. He rolling with the BGF. Those niggas be wildin’, too! They sharp, though.”
“I bet they are. Unc was always sharp. He just like getting that bread, ya dig?”
“I can feel him. So, those dickheads hot, huh?” Reece asked, changing the subject.
Qwess scoffed. “You know it. But I fulfilled my obligations, so it ain’t shit they can do. They tried to offer me an ass of money. I’m talking unprecedented shit.”
“Word? How much?” Reece smirked.
“Nah, negro, don’t even think about it.”
Reece shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just saying, though.”
“Saying my ass. We already rich. What’s another few mil? Plus if we get Niya on our label, that’s a major bread. She guaranteed triple-platinum this time. Independently that’s big-boy cake.”
Reece could see dollar signs already. “So, what’s the hold up? She ready to get out, ain’t she? I know she better be. Hell, family come first!”
“Yeah, but it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll see what’s up. Yo, isn’t that a Shoney’s up there? Let’s stop. I’m ready to eat some real food.”
They entered the Shoney’s, and Recce ate what seemed like everything on the menu. Qwess repeatedly joked about his voracious appetite. When they exited the restaurant an hour later, they were both stuffed. They piled into the Bentley amidst stares. They were still in Virginia, and black people didn’t drive 150-thousand-dollar cars in this neck of the woods, especially young black males.
“Yo, man, you don’t have any smoke?” Reece asked once they were on the highway. “I’m ready to get my head bad.”
“No, man. We in the wrong place for that. These are some racist mu’fuckas.” Qwess had already been checking his rearview constantly the whole trip. “Don’t worry. All that and more is waiting when we get home.”
Reece cut his eyes at Qwess. There was a lull in the conversation, so Qwess turned on the radio. There was a time when his cars didn’t even have radios because he simply didn’t do them. Being a CEO, however, one had to monitor the radio to see where his artists charted. A song by Maserati pumped through the JL Audios, which got Reece amped.
“Man, what’s this shit I hear about that nigga punking you at Bike Week,” inquired Reece, turning down the radio. “That shit was all over the radio. Don’t tell me you getting soft. I know this nigga ain’t push you and you did nothing!” Reece was practically squirming in his seat.
Just as Qwess was about to explain, a blue light flashed in his rearview.
“There these mu’fuckas go,” Qwess swore. He instinctively checked his speed. He was doing seventy miles an hour. Not exactly the speed the speed limit, but not exactly speeding. In this neck of the woods, in a Bentley, he might as well have been doing two hundred miles an hour. He debated whether to pull over or not, then decided it would be best. After all, he could outrun the cop on his tail, but he couldn’t outrun those roadblocks. So he slowly pulled over. He looked into the mirror as the highway patrolman exited his cruiser. When the patrolman traced the contours of his brown round and spat a huge wad of tobacco in the road, Qwess just knew they were in trouble.
The patrolman strolled to the car and ducked his head into the window. “Son, do you know what I’m stopping you for?”
“’Cause I’m young and black, and my hat is low. Do I look like a mind reader? Sir, I don’t know,” Qwess retorted, not missing a beat. He read his name tag: Officer Ropes. Shit.
“Okay, smartass. You mind stepping out your vehicle,” Officer Ropes twanged. “And gimme dat der licenses and registration.”
“Like I ain’t stepping outta shit. All my papers are straight.” Qwess passed Ropes the paperwork. Reece was tapping Qwess on the leg, signaling him to comply. Qwess was oblivious to it.
Officer Ropes looked over Qwess’s paperwork. “Son, you baahs long way from home to be actin’ dumb. We don’t like yo’ kind ’round dees parts nohow. Now if I tell you to step out yo’ vehicle, den dat’s what you do.”
Qwess didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation and remained defiant. “Look, I know my rights. It’s not necessary for me to step out my car to complete a traffic stop.”
“Oh, you some type of lawyer ur somethin’, somebody impo’ent ur somethin’? We’ll see when the dogs come.”
With that, Officer Ropes radioed for help. Inside the car Reece chastised Qwess.
“Yo, you just had to show your ass, didn’t you? You just had to!”
“Man, fuck these Keeblers. They ain’t searching my shit. What you acting scared for anyway? You already did the bid now.”
“Da
mn right!” Reece exploded. “And I ain’t trying to go back!”
“Well, just chill. I got this. Don’t even panic.”
Officer Ropes came back to the car. “Now look, baahs, I’mon gib you one mo chance to ac’ right. If you still pussyfooting when my back up get chea—” He removed his dark sunglasses and looked hard at Qwess. “Ooh, boay, you gon’ ’gret it.”
That was all the prodding they needed. Qwess exited the vehicle, submitted to a pat-down, and paid the ticket on the spot. Officer Ropes called off his backup, and Qwess reentered the car, but before he left Officer Ropes had one more thing to say.
He ducked his head into the car and said, “Boays, I s’gest you take it easy ’cause all we do ’round dees parts is hunt and fuck. If we ain’t hunting or fucking, we hunting sumthin’ to fuck or fuck up. Don’t let it be you.”
With those parting shots, he returned to his cruiser and peeled off in the other direction.
For the next hour, Reece and Qwess cracked up over the officer as the Virginia countryside whizzed by. Once upon a time, Reece would have had the officer tracked down and handled for playing them like that. It didn’t matter that the officer had no idea who King Reece was; Reece’s ego was bigger than the East Coast and all violations were met with violent force—and police weren’t exempt from their wrath. A lot had changed since then, though. The year was 2009, not 2003, and reinvention was the word of the day for Reece.
Hours later when Qwess and Reece pulled into the driveway of Reece’s mansion, they were still tripping off the traffic stop.
During Reece’s incarceration he had liquidated a lot of his assets because he knew the government would be after him like nothing changed. They couldn’t get him on criminal charges, so he knew they would try to hit him in the pocket. He had already paid some back taxes as part of his plea agreement, but that was only a drop in the bucket. He knew it. They knew. He knew that they knew it. So to combat the problem, he sold a lot of his property. His five-star car lot, some of his luxury apartments, and his mansion. (He sold the mansion to Qwess, who promptly sold it back to him for a dollar.) In addition to that, he had sold his whole luxury fleet of automobiles. The only things he owned now were his funeral homes, club, and mansion. Only good thing was he now had part in ABP. It was guaranteed to make him more millions over the next few years.
Reece and Qwess exited the Bentley and stretched, then made the trek up the granite stairs. No lights were on inside the mansion.
“I’ve been maintaining your house for you. Shit, really I’ve been staying in here. This shit is plush,” Qwess was explaining to Reece while he fumbled over the electronic keypad to unlock the door. Reece was surprised, but glad that Qwess had obeyed his requests not to have a homecoming party. This was Reece’s thinking when they entered the mansion; of course, it went quickly because as soon as they walked through the foyer, the lights came on, and a room full of people yelled, “Welcome home!”
Reece saw a lot of familiar faces, mostly original members of the Crew. A lot of women were present, too. Some were from his club. Others were from Fatimah’s, Qwess’s sister’s, salon. They all chanted, “Hail King Reece!” Reece felt a little embarrassed, so he asked them to stop. As Reece made his way through the crowd he spotted Hulk, Muhammad, Born, and other members of the original Crescent Crew. They all wore either green or cream, the colors of the Crescent Crew, to pay homage. Reece dapped each of them up individually. Reece noticed that Hulk looked like he was the one who finished a bid, because he was brolic now. Hulk had always been huge, but now he was chiseled, similar to a statue. Muscles bulged underneath his linen shirt without mercy.
After all of the salutations were rendered, everyone took the party out back to the pool. Draped around the deck were decorations of all sorts. On the table just aft of the Jacuzzi was a huge red velvet (Reece’s favorite) cake with the words “Welcome Home” scribbled on it. Beside the table stood Doe, his wife, Niya, and Vanilla. Doe beckoned Reece over.
“What’s up, cuz-o?” The two cousins hugged. “You too cuz-o.” Reece hugged Niya as well. She giggled heartily. Vanilla then grabbed Reece and stuck her tongue in his mouth, to the jeers of the crowd. Reece played it smooth, though he was pissed. He didn’t do no kissing.
They cut the cake and commenced to party. Reece stood by the table accepting greetings from the numerous people who came by to pay respect.
As Reece looked over the grounds of his home, he analyzed things to see how they had changed since he had been gone. Right off the bat he could sense some tension among the crew.
It seemed that there were two factions of the crew now: one part that was still in the streets, and another part that wasn’t. It was apparent by the way they moved.
Muhammad, for instance, observed any and everybody with a watchful eye. He looked in Reece’s direction a couple times each minute to make sure no harm came his way from “off brands” attending the party. This was supposed to be his movement, as he was a captain in the ranks of the Crescent Crew—street side.
Now, Amin, he played in the water with the ladies. He openly got intoxicated with a blunt in one hand and a bottle of Cristal in the other. He never even shot Reece a glance. It was like he didn’t have a care in the world. Reece wasn’t surprised. He was Qwess’s business manager and thus a Crescent Crew member—legit side.
Reece had heard some ruminations of just this type of thing from Vanilla a while back, but so far, so good. However, he knew that if things weren’t done right, this could potentially be a volatile situation. Ideally, the street side was supposed to hold the other side down. Reece had expressed this to Bone via numerous messages from Vanilla.
“Here, sweets. Eat some cake.” Vanilla interrupted Reece’s thoughts, passing him a piece of cake. He bit a chunk and passed it back.
“You don’t seem too happy. What’s up?” Vanilla wondered.
“Nothing. Just got a little something on my mind,” replied Reece. He was thinking about the letter in his pocket. As of yet, he hadn’t read it, but the suspense was killing him. He couldn’t take it anymore. “Yo, excuse me for a minute.”
Reece left the poolside area and walked to his bedroom. When he entered, all kinds of memories flooded his mind. He vividly remembered how he and Destiny used to have fun in this very room. Playing naked tag, wrestling naked. The numerous role-playing episodes. They would lie in the bed for hours sharing stories from their childhood and expressing dreams of a future together. She had told him how she wanted their wedding day to be. She spoke of lilacs and diamonds and pearls. She spoke of family being flown in from Jamaica. They were so deep in love. So deep . . .
Or was it all a lie?
Reece had so many questions. Reece closed his eyes, and a vivid memory of them making love replayed across the theater of his mind. He could hear Destiny panting in his ear telling him she was about to climax. Reece smiled. He found so much comfort in the vision. In his mind, he looked into her eyes to see her face do that thing that he loved when she came.
Instead, he saw her face on the tarmac that day, the day she pointed a Glock at him and toppled him from his throne. The memory buckled his knees, and his leg throbbed where Destiny had blown a hole through it.
Reece grimaced and walked over to the balcony. He pulled out the letter and ran his fingers over the envelope. He had so many questions, so many holes he needed filled in.
Reece had committed murders and didn’t lose a wink of sleep. He tortured men—cut their balls from their scrotums—with a smile on his face. He tossed adversaries from rooftops and couldn’t even remember their names or the violations that caused their deaths. He had reigned as a king over men, and a god over kings, yet the one thing he couldn’t conquer was his feelings for Destiny.
He was torn beyond measure. Mixed feelings paralyzed him.
One part of him wanted to see her bleed to death . . . slowly. Another part of him wanted to see her head chopped off and thrown in the depths of the sea for her treason. Yet ano
ther part of him longed for her. He desired her stimulating conversation and craved her touch. Her scent, like lavender and love, lay inside his nostrils. He couldn’t help but think about her. She had been a permanent fixture in his mind every day that he was in prison, each day brought on a different angle. One day he wanted her dead, the next day he craved her presence. Then there was the issue of his son.
Hence the complexities of the man called Reece.
Reece looked at the letter again. It was dated two days ago, which meant it had come from the East Coast. Reece was more than a little reluctant to open the letter. Maybe the letter would fill in some of the blanks. Maybe it would lead to more questions. The only way to find out was to risk reading the letter he held. Reece opened the letter and began to read:
Reece,
Congratulations on your release. I pray that you do the right thing. God has spared you your life for a reason, so please take advantage of it.
Like I told you before, I’ve moved back to North Carolina now. I won’t give you my address, but I will give you my number so we can coordinate a meeting with our son, Prince. He is so excited to see you. Until then, take care.
Love Always
K. D. Hill
There was a number at the bottom. Reece filed it away in his memory then closed the letter. He had expected more. He didn’t know what he expected, exactly; he just knew he expected more than that. The more he marinated on the letter, the more he became incensed.
Suddenly, he shredded the letter. “Bitch! What the fuck she talking ’bout God spared my life? We gon’ see if that motherfucker spare her life!”
Reece had always talked to himself from time to time, but since he had gone to prison, it had gotten out of hand. Plenty of times his roommate had thought another person was in the room with them. Then he realized Reece was just off his rocker.
Reece paced back and forth in deep thought, volleying scenarios of how he was going to deal with Destiny. The number was pinned in his head like a billboard. He pulled his phone out. He dialed the number but didn’t push send.
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