18. Love Is Like a Gun
Chapter eighteen
Love Is Like a Gun
Kazimir
How is my mouse? Is she finally getting the healing she deserves?
The chaotic situation with the Alligator Don had me sprinting back to the hotel, desperate to scrub away the layers of grime, blood, and sweat that clung to my skin. In no time, I changed—black pants, black shirt, black boots. If a corporate idiot’s uniform was a suit, black casual served as my attire for death.
What is my mouse doing now? How is she?
I tried calling Emily.
She never answered, leaving me alone with my racing, anxious thoughts.
Minutes later, I was back in the car.
Only Tisha sat on my right.
The engine hummed.
Five black SUVs—large and imposing—followed behind us. Their exteriors gleamed in the moonlight. Tons of heavily-armed men fill the vehicles.
The Eye of the Gator rested on my lap.
I lowered my view to it and traced the glass’s cool contours with my fingers.
Suspended in a clear, preserving fluid, the eye stared back at me. The pupil was narrowed to a vertical slit.
Long ago, it had been a vital organ, a powerful tool for a predator in some huge swamp, granting the creature night vision and enabling it to be an efficient nocturnal hunter.
Now the eye floated lifelessly in preserving fluid.
Its gaze fixed.
Unblinking.
Its once powerful capabilities now reduced to mere memories.
How will you help my mouse heal?
Sighing, I put my gaze on the window.
As we gradually drifted away from the heart of the French Quarter, a lively atmosphere pulsed around us.
Even though it was just a weeknight, the place was alive with people, each moving in their own rhythm. They strolled, sauntered, and sometimes danced through the streets, adorned in outfits that were a dizzying display of bright reds and deep blues, vivid yellows and glowing greens.
Buildings, aged yet timeless, stood proudly with their wrought-iron balconies and shutters in shades of turquoise or coral, lavender or bold, cheerful yellow.
As we moved along, jazz musicians with trumpets and trombones played soulful tunes, their notes floating out to the street.
Further up, a tap dancer clacked rhythmically on the corner. His feet moved in a blur, creating a percussion that echoed off the old brick buildings.
Tisha pointed at five women crossing the street. “We will have to schedule a night off for us to see the sights.”
I nodded. “Once my mouse is healed, we will have time to party.”
“I have a little bet going with your brother-in-law, Maxwell.”
I grinned. “Then, it will be a night to remember.”
“It sure will be.”
Enticing aromas wafted from the small cafes and restaurants—fresh beignets, spicy jambalaya, and rich gumbo.
But none of it could calm my mind.
Mysh, please be okay.
Tisha’s expression shifted to serious. “Kazimir, I have ordered my top killers to arrive in New Orleans by the morning. Hundreds of men. They’ll be coming from my territories—Dominica, Panama, Uruguay, Paraguay, etc.”
In Latin America and the Caribbean, a lot of countries had problems with how they ran things—like their police and courts being corrupt as fuck. This, along with the fact that the drug business thrived there, made these countries attractive targets to the Brotherhood.
Upon my giving him territory in these regions, Tisha had been gradually spreading his power in these countries, which helped to grow my empire.
Additionally, there was a lack of transparency and effective state monitoring in the banking systems of these nations, which kept them vulnerable to my money launderers.
I gazed at him. “Why order more men?”
“That pansy said the Don was backed by the Cartel.”
“He did.”
“You don’t know them like I do.”
“And they’ve survived because of it.”
Tisha shrugged. “Nevertheless, we leveled that Don’s compound tonight. Like the pansy said, the Cartel will come to investigate.”
“Once your men arrive, set them up by all ports, train stations, docks, highway entrances, airports. Block all paths leading to New Orleans—land, air, and sky.” I bared my teeth. “Any sniff of a Cartel goon coming our way, I want him dead on arrival. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“If you have to kill, instead of asking questions, do so. If our people see one of those bastards simply strolling on the same block Baba walks with the kids, send them back to Mexico in pieces.”
Tisha watched me.
“My mouse is here. My sons. My sister. No one gets harmed in New Orleans.” I fisted my hand. “Even Baba cannot have a scratch. There’s King David to think about.”
“I understand.” Tisha bobbed his head. “And speaking of the King, he must have people monitoring me.”
Although still nervous about my mouse, I smiled. “What makes you say that?”
“As soon as I ordered my men to come, magically he called telling me that he was sending people from Russia too. Then, he fucking demanded that I give him a report of what occurred.”
“David is my number one for a reason.”
I wish he were here.
Sighing again, I pulled out my phone, leaned back in the plush seat, and dialed Maxwell. With each ring, my heart beat faster, anticipating his answer.
Two rings passed.
Then, he picked up.
“Eh, Kaz.” His voice, usually steady and composed, carried an edge of panic that set my nerves on edge. “You need to get back here, man.”
“Why?” I sat up in my seat. “What’s wrong with my mouse?”
“She’s been out for over two hours. I’m getting really nervous here.”
“Out?”
“Delphine gave Em some drink and she just fell out of her chair and went to sleep. Next thing I know, Delphine’s men picked her up and they all went down to the basement. They’ve been drumming and chanting this whole time.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. “Where are you?”
“On the porch.”
“Why the fuck aren’t you in the basement next to her?”
“Man, I don’t fuck with that basement. I’ve got history with it—”
“You were supposed to be next to her—”
“Look. I’m pretty sure she is safe—”
“Pretty sure?” My grip on the phone tightened.
“It’s not like she’s been screaming or anything like that, but she hasn’t come back up either. And I’m not going down there until you are here—”
“Stop being a fucking coward and go down there—”
“Man, you better hurry the fuck up. I’m not dealing with this voodoo shit by myself.”
“Delphine is your aunt—”
“And Em is your fiancé.”
My grip on the phone tightened some more, any tighter and the device would crack. “I’ll be there soon. We’re already on our way.”
“Peace.”
The line went dead.
I moved the phone from my ear and stared at it.
Fear spun in my mind.
Mysh, you must be okay. You are my everything.
Tisha glanced at me. “Something wrong?”
“That idiot isn’t by her side, and she’s been passed out.”
Tisha frowned. “What is this witch doing to her? A ritual or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you trust her?”
“I know she has power. The Butcher and even Baba think it’s a good idea for Emily to be here.”
“Then for now, we will trust that this witch knows what she’s doing.”
I let out a long breath, trying to believe my cousin’s words.
You must be okay, mysh. You must.
I thought about our future, her gracefully strolling down the aisle, radiant in a stunning white gown, clutching a bouquet of flowers. The fabric of her dress flowing like a gentle river, and the flowers in her hands capturing the essence of a blooming spring.
And there I would stand, at the other end of the aisle, my heart pounding with anticipation as I waited to finally make her my wife.
Around us, a pride of lions would roam freely among the guests.
Unbound and majestic.
Symbols of strength and nobility.
We have a lot to do, mysh.
The car drove away from the bustling streets of the French Quarter, and the cityscape gradually gave way to an eerier part of town where boarded-up buildings and graffiti-marked walls towered like ominous creatures of the night.
My heart pounded against my chest. It was a relentless drum echoing my rising anxiety.
Every second felt stretched out.
“This is not a scenic tour!” I yelled at the driver. “Hurry this up! We don’t have all night!”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
We picked up speed.
Neighborhoods blurred by. The five black SUVs held their formation behind us.
I bounced my leg, trying to calm myself.
Tisha watched me. “The Lion in love. What a sight.”
“Am I different than I’ve ever been?”
“Tonight, you dove into a pit of alligators for her.”
I gazed out the window. “And I would do even more.”
The car shot down the narrow streets, swerving around slower vehicles and pedestrians who had strayed too far from the sidewalk.
The phone was still in my hand, and I realized my grip had not loosened. I forced myself to put it back in my pocket.
Stop worrying.
I shoved out as much unease as I could.
New images of my mouse entered my mind—her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she looked at me. These memories were a balm to my fraying nerves.
Yet, they also sharpened the knife of worry.
What if something went wrong? What if this healing changed her, took away the very essence of who she is?
I tried to push these thoughts aside, to trust in Delphine’s powers and in the strength of Emily herself.
But love was both a shield and a tormentor. It protected, but it also left me vulnerable and exposed to fears I never knew existed.
Goddamn it. Never again will I leave her side, while we are here.
Once the car hit the highway, it sped up even more, cutting through the thick air of the swamps.
Still, every second, every passing of a mile marker, felt agonizingly slow.
I bounced my leg some more, trying to calm myself.
I was used to being in control, to being the one who called the shots. But in this moment, hurtling through the darkness, making my way back to Emily, I remained helplessly adrift, caught in a current of fear and uncertainty.
I gazed out the window, watching the landscape change more and more as we ventured deeper into the bayou.
The trees became increasingly gnarled and tangled. Their branches reached out like skeletal fingers. The murky waters of the bayou churned below, reflecting the ghostly glow of the moon.
Mysh. . .
My thoughts went to my mouse down in that basement.
What are they doing to you?
I couldn’t shake the image of Emily—alone and vulnerable—in the grips of some horrific ritual. My imagination painted vivid scenes of her lying there in some shitty, dimly lit basement, surrounded by the drummers and chanting—strangers.
My mind conjured up the rhythmic beat of drums, the flicker of candlelight casting strange shapes over her face.
Fucking Maxwell.
It all sent terror through me.
But, maybe. . .she is okay.
I tried to envision her enveloped in a cocoon of safety, but the darker thoughts kept creeping in. The concept of voodoo was foreign to me, and that was enough to terrorize my heart.
Would this strange, mysterious ceremony heal her fractured mind?
What if this ritual did more harm than good?
What if it altered her in ways we couldn’t have predicted or controlled?
The thought of losing the Emily I knew, the woman I loved in all her complex, multifaceted beauty, was unbearable.
And then, I pictured her delicate form, convulsing under the strain of the ritual, or worse, lying too still, too quiet like she was. . .dead.
I gritted my teeth.
The uncertainty was maddening.
What if this was a bad idea?
Could voodoo really mend the shattered parts of her psyche?
Or would it deepen the divide and leave her lost in a maze of her own identities?
Each possibility that flashed through my mind was more horrifying than the last.
I tried to cling to hope.
Tisha sighed.
I turned to him. “What?”
“You look scared.”
I pursed my lips and turned back to the window.
“It’s never good when the Lion is scared.”
“No?”
“Many people end up dying.” Tisha sighed again. “What can I do, cousin? Who can I kill for you?”
I shifted in my seat and kept my view on the moonlit swamp. The murky waters rippled, telling me that alligators or something else swam just below the surface.
“There’s no one to kill just yet, Tisha.”
“Then, what can I do to calm you?”
“Nothing.” I steadied my voice. “Love is like a gun.”
“A gun?”
“It’s powerful.” I turned my head and met his gaze. “Yet, it can lead to different outcomes depending on how you handle it.”
“I’ve never been in love, but that’s a dark way to look at it.” Tisha raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”
“Not dark. Realistic.” I put my view back on the swamp. “What is a gun? It’s a form of protection. It’s. . .a sense of security. It empowers me and makes me strong in ways. . .I didn’t know I could be.”
Lunita’s violently smiling face flashed in my head.
I stiffened. “It is a realm where heartbeats align like gunmetal.”
A dark chuckle left Tisha. “You have become a poet, Kazimir.”
“But, I am not wrong.” I turned back to him. “You ask me what you can do to keep me calm? And my only answer is to get me to my mouse. Fast. So that I can make sure that she’s safe.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. The strands were damp from the quick shower.
Mysh. . .
I put my view back on the moon. “Love is a fucking unyielding firearm. It lies in wait. Its bullets. . .not lead, but raw fucking emotions.”
I lifted my right hand towards the moon and began to form it into the shape of a gun.
Delphine, you better keep my mouse safe.
I extended my thumb upwards, creating the hammer of the gun. My index finger pointed straight out, mimicking the barrel . I folded down the remaining fingers—my middle, ring, and little finger. They touched my palm, creating the grip of my imaginary gun.
There, I targeted the moon. “And if you have the right woman, Tisha, those emotional bullets will pierce through the air with every pull of the trigger.”
“You’re making me not want to fall in love at all.”
I gave him a sad smile. “You think you are protected from falling in love?”
“Perhaps, I should see if there are bulletproof vests for those emotional bullets you’re talking about.”
“Perhaps, because it’s impossible to dodge them.” I shook my head. “You think I went to New York long ago to fall in love?”
Tisha smirked. “I doubt it.”
“I showed up because I didn’t think Sasha was doing his job. My washer for America was dead. I figured I would catch the guilty idiot, kill him, get my cock sucked, and return to Russia.” I let out a long breath. “But then. . .I met the Mouse.”
“And the rest is bombs, blood, and dead bodies.”
“Once I saw Emily. . .” My heart hummed with desire. “And then I learned about her story and. . .”
I swallowed. “Not even the strongest vest could have blocked those bullets. Each shot fired engraved a beautiful scar. . .into my soul. . .”
“Then, I’ll wear ten vests from now on.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed. “Are you afraid to start sounding like me right now? A bumbling nervous fucking pussy-whipped idiot?”
Tisha raised his hands. “You said it, Kazimir. I didn’t.”
“Yet, we both know it is true.” I pulled my phone out, wondering if I should call Max again, but then the driver took us off the highway, telling me we would be there soon.
“I’m happy for you, cousin.” Tisha gazed at my phone. “But for me, love sounds like a double-edged sword.”
“No.” I put my phone back up. “It is a gun.”
“Fine. It is a gun.” Tisha chuckled. “And, a gun can protect. Sure. But it can also hurt, even destroy us. Isn’t love the same? It can be manipulative, possessive, and even abusive.”
I shrugged. “But, is it love, if it is misused?”
“Gunshot wounds can leave deep scars.”
“Still, it’s about how you wield the gun.” I thought of Emily naked and moaning under me. “You must operate with understanding. Care. Trust. Keep it safe and away from the wrong hands.”
The paved street shifted to a rocky, dirt road, flanked by swamp. Tonight, the glow from the headlights easily displayed tons of alligators lounging on the roads’ sides. This was not the sort of place to have a flat tire.
I looked at one as we drove by.
Moonlight glistened over that scaly skin.
That pit of alligators returned to me, stinking of shit and death.
I sneered. “May I never see another alligator in my life, after I leave here.”
Tisha laughed.
Soon, we arrived at Delphine’s place.
In the darkness, the Victorian house took on a gloomier image. The yellow paint seemed to glow. The large bay windows appeared like hollow eyes, gazing blankly at us.
There, on that porch, even more huge Black men stood, their silhouettes stark against the dim light, their hands holding guns.
They watched our approaching vehicles.
My mouse better be okay or all of you will die tonight.
Among them, Maxwell stood out on the porch, pacing nervously with a joint smoldering between his fingers. Each time he took a drag, the glow briefly illuminated his face, revealing his furrowed brow and anxious eyes.
The car pulled up to the front.
“It is time.” Tisha took out his gun and made sure it was loaded. “Let’s go check on that beautiful gun that shot through your heart.”
I remembered what Maxwell had said earlier about Delphine’s limited white men policy and left the car. “Stay here, but if Maxwell or I don’t return in fifteen minutes, shoot your way through.”
“Kazimir, are you sure?”
I picked up the jar. “Cousin, I’m not sure about anything tonight.”