Money Devils 1

by Ashley

  “Sit down,” she instructed. “I didn’t come to kill you but if you make me, I have no problem doing so.”

  Sire squinted in confusion. He thought she was there for one thing, but apparently she was there for something totally different.

  Sire inched toward the couch. “Don’t reach for the one between the cushions, either, nigga,” another woman said, lifting it out of the side of her chair. “I already found it.”

  “You a slick mu’fucka.” He snickered. “Who would have thought?”

  He sat down on the edge of the couch, staring at the woman. “What happened to your face?” Her bruises were healing but not gone. A ghost had walked into his life. She was supposed to be dead. Somehow, she was holding him at gunpoint.

  “I encountered some bitch niggas who were never taught to finish their plate,” she said.

  Sire sat back in his seat, intrigued. “Is that right?”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Sire snickered again. “You polite with the pleasantries. Rude as fuck with the holding a nigga at gunpoint and shit, though.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Sire,” he answered.

  “That ain’t what ya mama named you,” she replied.

  “Sire.”

  Ashton already knew his full government name, aliases, and his mama’s name. She just wanted to see if he would lie. He clearly knew the stakes were high because he hadn’t. He was smart to not underestimate her because she was a woman.

  “How do you know West Sinclair?” Ashton asked. She cut straight to the point. Sutton had asked her to get answers and she wasn’t there to play games.

  “Fuck you trying to piece together for?” he asked.

  “How do you know him?” she repeated.

  “We came up together,” Sire answered vaguely. “You can get these answers without the gun, baby.”

  “The gun keeps you cooperative,” Ashton informed.

  Sire snickered. “No lie, the gun makes me want to fuck you,” Sire said.

  Ashton stood and walked into Sire’s space.

  “Pussy all in a nigga face … better put that thang up before I do something with it, shawty.”

  Ashton put the gun to Sire’s head.

  “Baby better pull that trigger. I ain’t never let anybody point a gun at me and live to tell about it.” He bit the front of her jean shorts.

  “First time for everything,” Ashton said, tapping his temple. Her cell phone rang and Ashton answered, putting it on speaker.

  “I’ve got someone who wants to speak with you,” she said.

  “We have a common enemy. That makes you a distant friend.” Sutton’s voice filled the room.

  “Friends don’t hold friends at gunpoint,” Sire said.

  “Associates, then,” Sutton responded. “I hear you’re the man to see about guns and dope.”

  “Nah, you heard wrong, baby,” Sire answered.

  The knock at the door startled him. “You fucked up. She hates to have to do in person what can be handled over the phone. She’s anti like that.”

  Ashton kept her gun trained on Sire and went to open the front door. Sutton stepped inside.

  “Shit just got real interesting,” Sire said, recognizing Sutton instantly. “You work for West.”

  “I work for myself,” Sutton answered. “I think you and I can work together; however, I hear you move product. What’s your game? Cocaine? Heroin?”

  “This ain’t the eighties,” Sire snickered. “I move pills. Fentanyl. Question is, why are you and lil’ mama over here interested in my business when you stand up at press conferences for Sinclair Enterprises?”

  “I like money; doesn’t have to be clean,” Sutton lied. “I have a buyer. Sale is international and I want to use the new rig as the place where we make the drop. I want you to supply the pills.”

  Sire sat up and reached out to Ashton, disarming her without thinking twice. To his clear surprise, she pulled another handgun from her back waistline and pointed it at his head.

  “A’ight, a’ight.” He tossed the gun. “I wasn’t shooting, baby, I just like to break bread in peace,” he said. “Can you call your baby pit off?”

  Sutton sighed and without looking at Ashton she said, “Put the gun away.”

  Ashton sucked her teeth but she did as she was told.

  Sire stood. “Now let’s have a drink and talk bi’ness,” he said.

  He poured three glasses and passed two to Ashton and Sutton. They didn’t take one sip. He chuckled. “This some crazy-ass, gangster bitch-ass shit,” he said in disbelief. He took a sip, proving the drink was pure.

  “So y’all wanna move drugs off the rig,” he said. “West will never go for that.”

  “West will never know,” Sutton said.

  Sutton had no intention of becoming a drug dealer. It was a ruthless game she wanted no part in, but orchestrating a drug bust on a Sinclair rig wasn’t something West could talk himself out of. He might have been able to finesse the press and dodge tough questions today, but he couldn’t shake a federal investigation and the IRS audit that would come along with a drug bust. Sire had no clue she was in it to sabotage the deal.

  “What type of numbers we talking?”

  “I don’t speak anything under ten million,” she said. “My buyer’s trying to supply cities, not blocks. I don’t deal in chump change. Can you handle that type of exchange?”

  “Ten million ain’t exactly major, shawty,” Sire said.

  “Per week,” Sutton added. The lift of Sire’s brow showed he was intrigued.

  “It’s not a problem,” Sire stated. “What you need?”

  “Xanies and fentanyl,” Sutton said.

  “Got you covered,” Sire said. He reached for Ashton, pulling her into his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, pushing against him as he forced her to straddle his lap. He removed her cell phone from her back pocket and held her in place with a hand to the small of her back.

  “What’s your code?” he asked.

  “I ain’t telling you my code!” Ashton protested.

  “0814,” Sutton said.

  “Sutty!” Ashton shouted.

  Sire snickered and entered the numbers then dialed himself. His phone rang.

  “Now you know how to reach me. Hit me with the time and date. I’ma do my part. Make sure you do yours,” Sire said, staring at Sutton.

  “Can I get up now?” Ashton asked.

  Sire gripped her chin between his fingers. “I’m sorry about that face,” he said.

  “What you sorry for? You didn’t put these bruises here,” she said. She had no idea she was looking into the same eyes that had thrown her into that trunk. She snatched her phone and climbed out of his lap.

  He snatched her back down into his lap.

  “Next time I see you, we gone make a baby, shawty,” Sire said.

  “Not in your wettest dream, country boy,” Ashton said, wrenching away. She walked out and Sutton smirked while shaking her head.

  “You can’t handle her, but nice try.”

  Sire was sure he couldn’t handle these sisters at all. They were a different breed. He was getting money—good money—in the city, but this would be the biggest deal he ever made. He didn’t have the inventory to supply a ten-million-dollar buy. He would have to go to his plug to convince them to up his load. These pretty girls were popping big shit and he knew he was playing a dangerous game because one of them he was responsible for hurting. For some reason, he had an overwhelming urge to know her. In order to do so, he had to step his game up.

  He picked up the phone and called his connect. It was time to do more than reign over Houston. It was time to take over the South.

  CHAPTER 16

  The sun was beaming down, and towering palm trees lined the highway. The backdrop was a beautiful body of blue water with cruise ships in the distance. Sire drove in silence. He wanted to take in what was happening and how it could change h
is life. He had made a call to his friend he’d met on the underground gambling circuit. This friend wasn’t just a regular Joe. Mo was an urban legend and with one snap of a finger, he could make any drug dealer a kingpin. Mo was a direct connection to cocaine heaven, which was also known as the Cartel. They had met at the historic Price Bash that was held in Houston every summer. An ex–music mogul who was well respected would throw this event annually and it was like the Super Bowl for hustlers. Dealers from all over the country congregated there to establish new plugs and relationships each year. Gamblers had a tendency to find other street gamblers when going to different cities. A good dice game was alluring and through these underground games, plugs were met. This was exactly how Sire met Mo Diamond, one of the heirs to the street royalty family known as the Diamonds.

  After a smooth initial interaction during one of the dice games, Mo Diamond soon became Sire’s coke connect. For the past few summers, they had done good business and built a good rapport. Sire never purchased more than two or three bricks at a time, but he was consistent. Sire always hinted for Mo to hit him with more weight on consignment, but Mo was wary, and it never went further than a few words. Sire knew he had to have a good proposition to demand the consignment that would take him to the next level. Sire smiled, realizing he finally had the right situation to request a sit-down with Mo. After a few calls and texts, Mo agreed to have him come to Miami to meet with his partner and him. Sire was excited about the endless possibility. Every hustler’s top goal was to have a Colombian connect. Mo liked Sire and it showed through their conversations. The mutual love for sport betting and friendly wagers over the years got Sire in position to make his move.

  The GPS notified Sire to get off on the upcoming exit and he smoothly veered off. He followed the directions and they led to a wooded area where houses were miles apart. The deeper he got into the drive, the more wealth he began to feel. The mansions got bigger and fancier with each block. He looked and admired as he passed homes he aspired to dwell in someday.

  “Your destination is five hundred feet to your right,” the voice from the GPS announced as he pulled up to the gated castle.

  The tall steel gates of the Diamond estate amazed Sire. He had been getting money for a very long time, but the property he was approaching was on a different level. He had heard stories about the Diamond family for years, but now he was feeling the aura of the notorious street family everyone called the Cartel. He saw the intercom speaker to his left. He slightly hung out of the window and touched the red button. He looked up and noticed a security camera looking down on him.

  “What up?” came a male voice through the intercom.

  “Uh … I here to meet Mo,” Sire said as he leaned forward.

  “My nigga,” a voice said from the other end. Sire instantly recognized it was Mo and smiled. There was a brief pause, then the clinking of steel sounded and the tall gates began to part. Slowly, the green grass of a spacious lawn appeared, and a long concrete driveway appeared leading up to the home. Sire slowly pulled forward and drove up. As he got closer, he saw a man standing at the top of the driveway. It was Mo with his shirt off and his tattooed body on display. His long hair was wild all over his head, but his hairline was perfectly trimmed. The crinkles were in his hair from the braids he had just recently unraveled. He smiled with his arms out as he saw his Houston friend approach. Sire hopped out of the car with a smile as well.

  “Welcome to Miami,” Mo said as he slapped hands with Sire and immediately followed it with an embrace.

  “Thanks, bruh. Good to be here,” Sire said as the smell of marijuana smoke filled his nostrils. The potent sour smell that came off Mo told Sire he had just got done lighting up. They ended their embrace and Mo put both his hands on Sire’s shoulders, staring at him with his bloodshot eyes.

  “So, I told my people all about you. My uncle and my cousin are in the back. Come on,” Mo said and led Sire to the tall front doors. A butler was there to open those doors for them, and Sire was impressed as he walked through, greeting the butler with a nod. This was a different kind of money and he could get used to the feeling. The whole vibe of the city gave him a rush and yeah, money was cool … but dope money was the best. It had a different feel. Sire was loving Miami and the way the city made him feel already.

  As they walked through the spacious home, Sire was impressed by the immaculate structure. It reminded him of a museum more than a home. The paintings that lined the corridor and the high ceiling were artsy and nothing short of amazing.

  “So, this is our grandfather’s home and the house our parents were raised in,” Mo said as he turned and walked backward, opening his arms up and giving him a tour of the property.

  “This shit fly as hell,” Sire said, nodding in approval as he looked around.

  “I’m going to take you ’round back where the fam is at. I been telling them ’bout you. That setup you told me about is crazy,” Mo said, referring to the Houston pipeline Sire had mentioned a week prior.

  “Yeah, it’s a win-win, my nigga.” Sire smiled and rubbed his hands together, exuding confidence.

  “What type of shit you got up your sleeve? How did you get a rig plug? We been doing this thing a long time and we never had access to a rig,” Mo asked, knowing that game was for billionaires. It wasn’t that his family didn’t have rig money, but that was a white man’s game outsiders and minorities rarely got into.

  “I fucked around and stumbled on these bitches that’s cold with it. I mean, I never seen anything like it. They move like bosses, all of ’em. They all smart, all beautiful, and know how to get shit done. They had connections that blew my mind. So, we put a play together,” Sire said, repeating what he had been telling Mo that entire week.

  “I want you to break it down to my uncle and cousin so they can fully understand, you feel me? We lose loads all the time dealing with highway patrol, planes, and UPS. This shit right here is next level.”

  “Yes indeed,” Sire said, nodding in agreement and smirking.

  “If it was up to just me, I want to green-light it. But the whole family has to be down for it to be a go,” Mo said as they approached the kitchen. The smell of delicious spices and garlic filled the air. The sounds of sizzling food echoed through the air. An Italian male wearing chef’s attire was moving about the kitchen and cooking on the industrial-style stove. Mo pointed toward the chef and added, “We got Tony hooking up some lunch. Hey, Tony! Say what’s up to my man, Sire,” Mo said nonchalantly as he smiled and steadily walked through.

  “Hello!” the chef greeted joyfully and waved to Sire. Sire nodded and continued his way through the kitchen and out the rear sliding doors. The large glass led to the backyard with an Olympic-sized pool. An older gentleman was on a flotation device with a sun hat on. He smoked a cigar while leaning back and catching the sunrays. Sire looked to the far side of the pool and saw a muscular man with a clean Caesar cut swimming laps. His muscular arms swung ferociously and cut into the water with every stroke, causing small splashes. Sire followed Mo around the platform, and they walked to the edge of the water. The outside speaker system was lightly pumping out Griselda and the sounds of Benny the Butcher serenaded the area, which gave Sire a comfortable vibe. The cocaine talk sent chills up his back and he felt like he was in a dream, a dope boy’s dream.

  Mo placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled, causing the man to stop swimming and look toward them. The older man also looked.

  “Yo, this my man from Houston I was telling y’all about,” Mo said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pre-rolled cigar. The uncle didn’t say anything, just looked at Sire with a stern stare. The swimmer did the same and Sire didn’t like the awkwardness, so he spoke first.

  “Peace, kings,” he said, breaking up the silence.

  “Hop in,” the swimmer said as he made his way toward who Sire assumed was his uncle. The older man slid off the flotation device and joined the swimmer in the water.

  Confused, Sire
looked at Mo, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Mo leaned over and whispered to Sire, the joint between his lips hanging out the left side of his mouth.

  “Yo, they’re not going to talk to you unless you get in the water,” Mo said. He swayed back and placed the lighter to the joint, lighting it. “Just the rules.” He shrugged his shoulders and inhaled the smoke.

  “I didn’t bring any swim clothes,” Sire said as he looked down at his Gucci sweatsuit that cost a few grand.

  “You got drawls on don’t you, mu’fucka? Betta hop in that mu’fucka if you want to do business.”

  “Say less,” Sire said as he began to pull off his jacket and then his gold chain. He stripped down to his Gucci drawls and hesitantly slid into the pool. The cold water made him shiver.

  He made his way over to the older man and the swimmer. As he got closer, he recognized the young man instantly. It was the boxer Carter Jones. Sire was a fan of boxing, so he remembered when Carter was rising as one of the biggest stars in the fighting game. However, after a bad loss, he disappeared.

  Sire approached them and joined in, creating a small circle of men in the water.

  “I’m CJ,” the swimmer said and extended his hand.

  “Peace. I’m Sire,” Sire answered.

  “Nice to meet you,” CJ said very humbly and welcoming. “This my uncle Polo,” CJ said.

  “Nice to meet you, young man,” the older man said as he shook Sire’s hand as well.

  “Likewise,” Sire responded and nodded in respect.

  “Let’s talk. Mo said you got a way for us to get in and out of Texas with no interference.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Sire confirmed as he stood in the water, still freezing. It took a minute for his body to adjust to the water. It didn’t dawn on him until that moment that he was dealing with the best. At first, he thought it was weird when Mo asked him to jump in the water; but after deeper thought, he became impressed. He realized they had him in the pool to make sure he wasn’t wearing a wire or any type of recording device.