Power (Romantic Suspense) (3 page)

Fuck you, Domingo.

In a flash, I targeted Domingo and pulled the trigger.
Fuck you.
The shot rang in my ears. A bullet hit his leg.
Lucky bastard.
My vision improved, right as he slung a chair my way. It knocked into my shoulder.

“Come stab me!” Pain bit at my chest, but I continued, rushed for him. Too fast, Domingo slid out of the way, stumbling over another table, rushing up from the floor, and then speeding away. With each step, he flung anything he could grab quickly. Chairs and lamps hit my legs and arms. Some of the lights went out caused by the rearranging of furniture.

Motherfucker!

More shadows moved in the area. And somewhere within them, Domingo hid. “Let’s call this square, Noah.”

Rasheed is dead. Fuck you.

Rage coursed through my veins. I didn’t know who would die, but goddamn it, I hadn’t been sure if it would be Rasheed.

“You were going to kill one of us anyway,” Domingo yelled. “I just chose.”

“That’s the problem.” I bit back the pain and scanned the dark room for him. “No one kills without my permission. You weren’t in a position to choose.”

Another chair came my way. I ducked back. His footsteps banged.

He’s heading to the back. Shit.

I raced after him, but not fast enough. The door slammed far ahead. I passed the bathrooms and ran through the tiny kitchen in the back of the club. Pots and pans littered the floor, telling me that Domingo blasted through here. My people kept a tight crew. Always organized and together.

Shots sounded ahead.

Fuck. He made it outside.

More gunfire came. His people were out there, including mine and Rasheed’s. Who knew who was gunning after who? He had a thirty-three percent chance of making it out alive. Car tires screeched outside and then more bullets blazed.

Rasheed’s face flashed in my head. I pushed it away.
Don’t think about.
Legs burning. I ran to the back door and knocked on it first.

Toad answered from the other side. He had a weird voice that always sounded like a
ribbit
at the end of each sentence. Which is why he barely spoke and usually used his gun to relay the message. But tonight, he screamed in his ridiculous voice, “Say your fucking name or die-ibbit!”

“It’s Noah.”

The bass left his voice. “Oh sorry, boss-ibbit. It’s just that—”

“Yeah, Domingo came out.” I opened the door and checked the back.

The full moon hung in the sky. I’d closed the club for the night so the parking lot was empty besides Rasheed’s and my vehicles. Two black men were dead on the ground.

Rasheed’s men.

I handed the gun to Toad. “Domingo got away?”

“Yes. They-ibbit—”

“I got it, Toad. They must’ve had their guns out as soon as the door opened.”

Blowing out a long breath, he nodded.

I checked his chest and legs. “They got you?”

“No, but.” He pointed to Rasheed’s dead men. “They-ibbit—”

Stopping him before he said anything else, I counted all of the shells on the ground and walked over to the corpses. Thank God their deaths were clean without too much blood. I didn’t have the stomach for it this evening. The people dying were too close me. Meanwhile, the streets would be watching my every move in these next days. The last thing I needed was a story about my ass vomiting or passing out around a bloody body. I’d been able to keep the little secret all this time, coming up with excuses whenever I needed to.

Nevertheless, I studied the dead.

Rasheed’s men hadn’t even taken out their guns. Domingo’s boys were ready. He knew he was escaping out the back.

Tire marks streaked across the lot. I followed the lines with my eyes.

They got out of here too fast. How’d they have time to start the car so quickly?

I checked where Domingo had parked earlier. Car fluids, maybe oil, splattered the ground.

They had the car running the entire meeting.

“Domingo rushed-ibbit to the car and slid in the back window like a fucking stunt man-ibbit.”

“That motherfucker was always good at escaping.” I scanned the rest of the area. “And he knew that no one would shoot him. Unlike his ass, everyone else respects my rules.”

Domingo was too high for anyone to be bold enough to take him out. If we’d been Italian mafia, he would’ve been labeled a made-man. Untouchable.

Toad stared at my gun, but wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question that surely had been running around in his head. Everyone knew we would be meeting today and that I might have to make a deadly decision. It was a hard one too. Every soldier under me respected the trio. We’d been loyal longer than most, and tonight, I had to shatter that illusion. Most men didn’t like to work for a boss that killed his friends. The whole thing had to be solved with a smooth elegance.

Plus, thinking of Rasheed’s death made my heart shatter, but I had no time for bitch ass emotions.

Swallow that shit up, man. This is the life. Streets are cold like that.

Still, I fisted my hands and sighed. Everything had been ruined.

Silent, Toad kept a neutral expression, yet his gaze never left my gun.

What are you looking at? Are you wondering if I did him?

“I didn’t kill Rasheed,” I said. “Domingo ended up knifing him. Put the blade straight to the brain and fast. Motherfucker was always Picasso with a knife.”

I rubbed my face and headed back inside the club. “Let’s hope that motherfucker is holding a bigger knife next time I see him. I want him to have a fighting chance when I come for his ass.”

The door slammed behind me.

Toad opened it and called back after me. “You want me to—”

“Don’t do anything.”

“Nothing-ibbit?”

“No.” I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “However, do me a favor and spread the word that anyone who can get a bullet in Domingo’s head gets a hundred thousand dollars. I want proof.”

“His head-ibbit?”

“His head? Come on, man. I’m a beast, not a monster. We have technology. Tell them to take a picture.” I frowned and headed away. “Now I have to go take care of something else.”

“What-ibbit?”

I cursed under my breath. “A woman.”

Stopping in the hallway, I took my small notebook out of my back pocket.

Since a young kid, I’d always been preoccupied with making lists—Christmas wishes, homework to-dos, birthday gifts, favorite comics, top cute girls, and more. As I grew, the lists became darker—top selling drugs in the North, top dealers in the South, who to kill to get power, and worst. It got to the point where every week I made lists. Once I gained control of Din City, my to-do lists became a daily habit. At the beginning of each month, I had a fresh pack of mini notebooks delivered that were filled by the end of the month.

By now, I’d hoped to be done with list-making today, but Domingo had caused a problem. Pain bit at my temples as a headache came on.

Motherfucker.

I pulled out my pen and wrote everything down.

Friday

Kill Domingo.

Figure out who’s going to take Rasheed’s place in the South.

Let the police commissioner know everything’s been handled.

Deal with the crazy comedienne chick.

Chapter 2

Noah

A man with bad breath is constantly looking to the heavens and saying lots of prayers.
After a quick, baleful glance at him, Zeus calls down,
“Have a little mercy! You’ve got gods in the underworld, too, you know!”

–Philogelos (The Laughter Lover)

I
expected a lot of noises to sound from my apartment—the buzz of my tv maybe or even the chick begging to be let out. But what I didn’t think I would hear was Fuji’s laughter barreling through the place.

What’s so fucking funny, Fuji? You’re laughing? You were already too fat to stop her from coming inside. Now you’re too stupid to keep her quiet.

“That wasn’t that bad.” Fuji chuckled again. “It’s a good impression of Noah, but I wouldn’t do that in front of him.”

She did an impression of me?

“God no,” she said. “It’s easy to do him. They don’t look alike, but for some reason he reminds me of my dad, when he was alive. All stern and too serious for his own good.”

I’m not fucking stern and serious.

“How did he die?” Fuji asked.

What is this, the Oprah Winfrey show?

“He died from cancer.” A sigh left her lips. “Anyway, I can’t tell how tall Noah is—he was sitting. But I bet he’s a big guy. He definitely had those. . .big. . .muscular shoulders, not that I noticed.”

Careful. I’ve got other big things too.

“MJ,” Fuji said. “Tell me another joke.”

MJ? We’re on a fucking nickname basis now?

“Umm. . .so before I do that. I have a question,” she said.

“Shoot.”

Her voice came out shaky. “So. . .do you think I’m going to be safe?”

“You keep asking me that. I’m telling you. Noah don’t kill women and kids, unless he really has to.”

What else have you been telling her, Fuji?

She still didn’t sound convinced. “Okay.”

“Give me another joke,” Fuji begged.

“Alrighty.” Her voice rose in my loft. “Okay. So a packed plane takes off. There’s tons of people and luggage on it, so the plane is having difficulty staying in the air. Too much weight.”

“Oh this is going to be good,” Fuji said. “People are going to die in this joke, right?!”

“No, and I’m going to need you to calm down.”

“Okay, sorry,” Fuji said. “Go ahead.”

Sorry? Go ahead? Are you fucking rubbing her feet and serving tea and crumpets too?

I opened the door a few inches. My place sat above the club. A three bedroom and two bath apartment with all the luxuries that any man would desire—state of the art entertainment system, plush leather, soft carpeting, a bed for a beast, and a kitchen to play in whenever I felt like indulging in making a meal.

At the door, a long hallway led into the main living room. Instead of walking down there, I leaned back and decided to see how much trouble Fuji would be in after this evening.

Mary Jane continued, “So this plane is close to crashing due to the weight. They shove off all of the suitcases. Just sling them out of the plane. It rises a little, but everyone is scared. The pilot gets on the speaker and with a sad voice says, ‘The plane is too heavy to fly and we won’t be able to land without killing us all. We’ll have to start throwing people off the plane, but don’t worry we have parachutes.’”

“Oh yes.” Fuji clapped. “Someone’s going to die.”

“Stop it. No one’s dying in this joke,” she huffed. “The pilot continues to say, ‘We want to be fair, when we throw people out of the plane, so what we will do is start with the alphabet. Can all of the African Americans stand up, grab a parachute, and please jump off the plane?’”

Fuji laughed.

In the hallway, I shook my head.

“No one stands up,” she said. “So the pilot goes to the next letter, ‘Can all of the Black people please stand up and jump off the plane.’ Again, everyone is silent and seated. So then, he goes to the letter C, ‘Can all of the Colored people, please stand up and jump off the plane.’”

“This is good,” Fuji admitted.

Maybe, you can be her manager, after I maim and fire you.

“So in the far back of the plane,” Mary Jane said. “A little black boy sits with his mother and tugs her sleeve. ‘Mama,’ he whispers, ‘Why haven’t we stood? Aren’t we African American? Aren’t we Black? Aren’t we Colored?” His mother just stares down at him and shakes her head. ‘No, baby,’ she says, ‘We’re Niggers today.’”

“Oh shit!” Fuji clapped some more. “That’s so fucked up, but so awesome too.”

A fucking smile cracked onto my face, but I wiped that shit off real fast. I didn’t have time for jokes or this chick. I had a friend to find and kill, before the streets started to wonder if I still controlled everything.