Authors: K Webster
Love and Law
Copyright © 2014 K. Webster
Cover Design: K. Webster
Stock Photo: Big Stock
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Aunt Nae, you’ve always understood my obsession with reading and supported my writing—a bond that I am truly thankful for.
I may be your favorite author but you’ll always be my favorite aunt.
“I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me.”
THE BANGING ON THE DOOR snaps Daddy awake from his nap on the sofa. Mommy always works at the Dollar General on Saturdays, so my daddy takes care of me. Taking care of me usually means sleeping while I play with Barbies. He’s been different lately—more distant. Mommy seems irritated with him, and they fight more than ever, which makes me sad. After jumping from the sofa, he makes his way over to the window and eases the blinds open to see who’s at the door.
“Motherfucker,” he curses under his breath. I hear him, though, and instantly know something is wrong.
“What is it, Daddy?” I ask as I set my Barbie down so I can twirl the hair around in my pigtail.
When things make me uncomfortable, I always twist my hair. I started playing with my hair after I became too big to suck on my thumb. Mommy bought some cream to put on my thumb that was disgusting. Needless to say, I quit the thumb real quick and moved on to another way to comfort myself.
“Go into your room, Maya,” he hisses under his breath as he looks nervously at the front door. Another bang causes us both to jump. “Dammit, Maya. I said now!” he instructs and yanks me up from the floor.
Daddy has never hurt me, so I don’t understand why he’s acting like this. Tears fill my eyes as I run into my room and sit on my bed, unsure what to do with myself.
He hurries into the room behind me and points under the bed. “Listen to me, honey,” he says more gently. “I need you to hide under the bed. Daddy did something bad and some men are coming to visit me. They aren’t going to be very happy with me. You’ll be safe under the bed until they leave. Can you keep quiet for Daddy and hide?” he asks and kisses the top of my head.
I nod and stand from the bed. Throwing my arms around his waist, I squeeze him hard. For some reason, I feel very worried for my daddy.
He grabs my shoulders and pulls me away. “Now, princess.”
Swiping away my tears, I crawl under the bed while he makes his way back into the living room.
I hear Daddy open the front door, and immediately, shouts fill our tiny house.
“Simpson! Where’s our fucking money?” a deep, angry voice demands.
Daddy’s voice is low and muffled as he seems to explain something to the man. I try strain to hear what he’s saying, but I can’t hear a word.
“That’s what I thought. O? Can we kill the fucker?” another voice asks.
There seems to be several people in our house, and I’m scared. Kill my daddy? I can hear Daddy pleading with them. A deeper voice—one much scarier than the other two—cuts him off.
“I gave you so many chances, Simpson. If you steal from me, you pay the price. You took my drugs to sell but never brought me the money. Did you really think you were going to get away with that in my fucking hood?” he growls out his question.
I hear a metallic click, and my heart pounds in my chest.
Daddy’s voice gets louder this time, so I can hear him now. “Please. We had a rough month. I promise I’ll get you the money. My wife gets paid next week. I’ll bring you that plus interest,” he begs.
The room goes quiet for a moment before the boss guy speaks again. “Okay, Simpson. Sure. I’m a nice guy. I’ll let you steal from me. No big deal. We’re straight, dawg,” he says with voice as sweet as syrup.
The hairs on my arm stick up. Even at nine years old, I can see through that man’s lies.
“Thank you, man. I promise—” Daddy begins, but the boss guy once again cuts him off.
“Naw, I’m just fucking with you, playa. You had your chance,” he says coldly.
My heart literally stops for three seconds.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
My mouth is formed in an ‘o’ as I silently scream for my daddy. I’m scared that those men will drag me out from underneath this bed and hurt me too. Even from under the bed, I can smell an unfamiliar scent—gunpowder? The men quickly leave our small home and slam the door behind them.
I lie facedown on the dirty carpet, terrified beyond belief. The house is so quiet. It sickens me.
I scramble back out from under the bed and crawl over to the door. Hesitantly, I peek around my door into the living room. I see Daddy’s body on the floor by the sofa.
“Daddy!” I cry out as I climb to my feet and run to him on wobbly legs.
But as he really comes into view, I stop dead in my tracks. I suddenly feel very sick to my stomach and begin twirling my dark hair like crazy. No. This can’t be.
A dark pool of blood is quickly circling around his chest. He’s not making a sound. He’s not moving. My Daddy is dead.
Tears fill my nine-year-old eyes as I silently promise myself that I will one day catch the bad men who hurt my daddy. I will kill them just like they killed him. That is a promise.
I hurry to the window to peek out to see if I can catch a glimpse of the murderers. The one that I know must be the boss man looks over at the window where I’m peeking out and I freeze in my spot. His right eye is covered with a simple black eye patch and he looks terrifying. Thankfully, he slides into the car and closes the door behind him.
One day he will pay for what he did to my daddy.