6. Evelyn Knight aka Mrs. Knight
T he Santa Ana winds whipped through my hair, almost taking out my extensions as I stepped out of the car and onto the gravel driveway of the small mansion on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The house stood like a shadow against the dim night sky, a place of secrets and unfinished business. This wasn’t a home—it was a tool, a property kept for moments like these. Moments of reckoning.
Damier climbed out first, his hoodie still up, the wind tugging at the fabric of his jogger set. His movements were brisk and focused, his body whirring with the kind of energy only rage could bring. He didn’t wait for me, didn’t even glance back. He was ready to unleash his wrath.
I stayed outside for a moment, pulling my THC pen from the pocket of my coat. My hands were steady as I inhaled, the vapor filling my lungs and calming my frayed nerves. Exhaling slowly, I leaned against the car and stared up at the night sky. The stars seemed indifferent, distant, like they didn’t give a damn about the darkness we were about to unleash.
“You good, Ev?”
I turned my head to see King walking toward me, his coat billowing slightly in the wind. He looked every bit the stoic enforcer he’d always been, but there was concern etched in his features.
“Not really,” I admitted, taking another drag from the pen before handing it to him.
He took it, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke curl from his lips. “I figured,” he said. “This shit… it’s heavy.”
I nodded, looking past him at the house. “I just… I never saw this coming, King. Those boys were so close growing up. Twins, inseparable. They took pride in it and even dressed alike until they were out of their teens. I thought they’d have each other’s backs forever.”
King sighed, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah, me too. But Damian’s choices... you can’t protect someone from their own greed, no matter how much you want to.”
His words cut deep because they were true. There was nothing I could’ve done to stop this. No way to rewind the years and fix what had gone so wrong.
“I introduced you to Roman, remember?” King said, his voice softer now. “Back in the ’80s. I never thought we’d be standing here, dealing with something like this.”
I smiled faintly at the memory of my husband, Roman Knight, the father of all my children—the brief flicker of warmth quickly swallowed by the cold reality of the night. “You did. And I’ve loved him every day since. That same night you hooked us up, I told him I didn’t want kids, and I ended up popping out five for him.”
King handed me back the pen and rested a hand on my shoulder. “This ain’t on you. It’s not on me, either. Sometimes, people just lose themselves.”
I nodded, straightening my spine. “Let’s get this over with.”
Inside, the house was cold and empty, the perfect place for dirty work. King led me to the basement, and with every step, the air grew heavier. By the time we reached the bottom, the room was thick with rage, disappointment, and something darker.
Damier’s great uncle, Lucian Knight, stood in the center, a cigar perched between his fingers, his long black fur coat brushing the floor. He turned when he saw me, a faint smile breaking through his grizzled features.
“Evelyn,” he greeted, pulling me into a respectful hug. “You always bring the balance to this family.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice steady, though my insides churned.
The rest of the family was already there—Damier’s uncles, cousins, and, of course, Hocus, who leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. And then there was Damier.
He was pacing, shirt and hoodie discarded. Two heavy gold and diamond Cuban link chains rested on his neck, catching the glow of the lone overhead bulb. A blunt hung from his lips, and he exhaled smoke through his nose like a dragon preparing to strike. His eyes flicked to me, dark and burning with impatience.
“’Bout time you came in here,” he growled, picking up a bottle of cognac from the table and taking a long swig. “Haven’t we done enough waiting?”
“Watch it, son, talking to me like I am one of these niggas,” I said, my voice firm, giving him a sharp look.
He smirked but didn’t say more. Instead, he turned his attention to the broken figure hanging from the ceiling by his wrists. Damian was barely recognizable, his body covered in chain marks with blood dripping down his bruised skin. He was stripped to his underwear, his head hanging forward, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
Damier stepped closer, the blunt still smoldering between his fingers. “I can’t believe a nigga I shared a womb with is a bitch,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. “I should have known when you let your homeboys jump me for my chain when we were in high school. You probably set me up, like you’ve done for the last few years.”
Damian didn’t respond. He couldn’t—the tape over his mouth muffled his cries.
“You’re useless,” Damier continued, pacing around him like a predator circling its prey. “Worse than a snake.”
King walked over to Damier and handed him a knife glowing red from the torch he’d used to heat it.
Damier took it without hesitation, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
“You know what to do,” King quietly said.
Damier nodded, turning back to Damian. With a swift motion, he pressed the heated blade against Damian’s stomach, carving the Knight symbol into his flesh. The sound of sizzling skin filled the room, mixing with Damian’s muffled screams.
I watched with a straight face, my heart hardened by years of witnessing moments like this. Damier’s precision was almost artistic. He had that symbol down pat, even onto flesh.
When he was done, he stepped back, wiping the blade on a rag. Damian hung limply, his body trembling as blood dripped onto the concrete floor.
“You deserve to die slow,” Lucian sneered, stepping closer to Damian. “You will sit in this basement until you deteriorate to hell.”
With that, the chains were released, and Damian crumpled to the ground, unable to hold himself up. He lay there, breathing heavily, his spirit shattered. I’d never seen him so defeated.
Hocus ripped the tape from Damian’s mouth, eliciting a guttural scream of agony.
“Leave him,” Lucian commanded, his voice cold. He pulled a massive key from his pocket and handed it to Damier. “Lock him in.”
Damier didn’t hesitate to follow the others out and slam the heavy door shut. The sound of the lock turning echoed through the space like a final nail in Damian’s coffin.
As the rest of the family filtered out, I lingered with Damier, placing a hand on his arm. “You did what you had to do,” I quietly said. “Don’t let it weigh on you. Take some time for yourself before you go back to Dream.”
He nodded, his jaw tight. “I’m headed to my penthouse in Vegas for a couple of days.”
“Good,” I said, squeezing his arm. “Clear your head.”
I watched as he climbed into the waiting Maybach, and the car pulled away into the night.
$$$$$$
The ride back to the estate with King was silent at first, the weight of the evening pressing down on both of us. Finally, King broke the silence.
“My brother’s probably turning over in his grave, seeing what his sons are going through,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.
I sighed, looking out the window. “He’d hate it, but he’d understand. Blood has rules, and Damian broke them.”
“You know you can grieve for him, right? You don’t have to hide your feelings. He was still your son.”
“I don’t have room to grieve for Damian. I know how this life goes. I will be alright.”
When we arrived at the estate, King announced he was crashing for the night, not wanting to disturb his family. I waved him off. “You don’t have to tell me. Take any guestroom you want.”
After heading upstairs, I made my way to the baby’s room. The space was cozy, with soft lighting and every comfort a newborn could need. The crib was the same one I’d used for my daughters when they were born, and seeing it filled again brought a bittersweet ache to my heart.
The nanny was asleep in the rocking chair, her head tilted to the side. I covered her with a blanket before peeking into the crib. The baby slept soundly, its tiny chest rising and falling.
I hadn’t had a baby in the house since my youngest daughter was born seventeen years ago. All my kids had left the nest, including my seventeen-year-old, who now lived with her older sister. None of them seemed interested in having children of their own. That’s why I was giving Kita the chance to birth Damian’s baby, aside from having a piece of him that was left. And I hoped with all my heart that this newborn in my home was truly Damier’s. Having grandchildren would let me escape from the dark side of my family. I told myself that the first grandkid I had, I was going to retire from the family business. My husband had me set up for a lifetime. So, getting out wouldn’t cost me a thing.
I quietly left the room, heading to my master suite. The bathwater steamed as it filled the jacuzzi tub, the scent of lavender bubbles calming my frayed nerves.
Sliding into the warm water, I let out a deep sigh, my mind drifting. Kita would be dealt with in the morning. I’d get her an in-home OB-GYN and put her on a strict diet to ensure the baby was born healthy.
As I closed my eyes, the weight of the night began to ease, and for the first time in hours, I allowed myself to rest.