Chapter 24 Outlaw
Outlaw
I pull the blazer over my shoulders and smooth it down. Black. Tailored. Paired with black slacks and a crisp white undershirt. My black suede loafers are already on my feet, as I fasten my Rolex. The light hits the face, and it gleams.
One spritz of Creed on my neck. One on my wrist. Rub them together, jaw tight. My reflection in the mirror looks calm, but inside? I’m burning.
Half a million dollars worth of drugs gone.
I head downstairs. Zara’s already at the door waiting, looking at me like she wants to ask something. I give her a firm nod. She follows behind me without a word. I unlock the Benz. I walk around, hold her door and she climbs in.
I try to focus on the party. My father’s party. But my head’s stuck on what Scar said. How the man mean say $500,000 in drugs just disappear? Bullsh*t!
I keep telling myself I’m not going to react. Not tonight. My father deserves the respect. But God knows I can’t think about anything else. The fact say mi drugs missing and it’s just friends round it, man weh mi call mi fam, that part cut mi deep.
Yow, a who wah dead man?
Just a name mi want. I hiss low, grinding my teeth. Mek mi get this party over with before mi start get dawk inna dis. I huff, thumb pressing the start button in my Benz. Engine growls to life.
Zara looks over, eyes sharp. “Babe, wah wrong with you?” she asks.
“Mi nuh inna the talking mood,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tight as I pull out. She turns away, quiet. Probably offended. Right now? Mi deeven care. Maybe later mi care. Right now, mi woulda say it again.
My leg rocks back and forth, focus on the road but my mind spinning fast. Smaddy really tired a life, so much so dem thief man drugs? My drugs?
My subconscious hisses at me, ‘Dem people yah love fi see yuh mad, mi G.’
Money? Mi not even care ‘bout that. $500,000 easy fi chap back. But the fact it’s missing, and only the niggaz in mi circle have access? That puzzle mi. My head chip, sensing a snake round mi. Better not, cause mi a kill any snake.
One G code, go round that, and a dutt.
“Yow mi seh, fi nuh have nuh mercy pan nuh gyal or bwoy weh do foolishness inna yuh circle, a dem fi a keep it 1000. A one G code, enuh mi son. Guh round that and yuh dead,” my father’s voice echoes in my head. Nah figet it. Gwaan wul off the thug mansion, mi fada.
I breathe deep. If mi ever find out seh one a mi nigga did this, no matter who, a dutt.
Suddenly, Zara’s voice breaks through. “He’s here with me,” she says, upset.
She looks at me quick, then back at the phone.
“He’s not in the mood to talk, I guess.” I hiss saying nothing, just drive us to my club.
We pull up. I kill the engine and step out, straightening my blazer.
Finally, I look at her. I pull her door.
She’s thicker than usual. Hair slicked back short.
Crazy how she hid all her hair under that.
I trail her slowly. That black dress clings to her every curve, slit running high up her thigh, ysl heels and that sexy walk like she thinks this is her runway.
She catches my eyes, lips pouty, breath soft. “Suzanne gonna be here?” she asks. I nod.
I reach out and take her hand, leading her forward. She tries to slip her fingers from my grip. I tighten just enough. She stops. I slide my arm around her waist, pull her close as we step inside. The music’s loud, bass pounding through the floor.
Her voice barely breaks through. “Wow, this club nice, eeeh?” she says, but the sound swallows her words. Cyaa even talk loud.
She can moan though.
I chuckle low, radiating confidence as I guide her through the crowd toward VIP.
The crowd parts the second they realize I’m coming through.
Nobody says a word, they just make space.
I keep my face straight. I’m not in the mood to smile, not with half a mil in drugs missing.
I walk past the stares, step up to the bouncers.
They lift the red rope and nod with respect.
“Boss,” one of them says.
Zara glances over at me, then back at them. Her brows lift a little like she wanna ask something, but she tryna hold on to that fake attitude she got from earlier. She folds her arms. Keeps quiet. The bouncers greet her too, then turn their eyes back to me.
“Mr. Orion is here, sir.”
I nod once. My eyes scan the far side of the VIP where Orion’s standing, a drink in his hand, talking and laughing. I’ll deal with him in a minute.
“The Don and him wife!” Scar shouts from somewhere behind us.
I hear the hype building, claps, daps, whistles, voices calling out like this some kinda grand entrance. I keep my expression locked.
No jokes. No smiles. Not tonight.
Man drugs still missing. And everybody acting like everything normal. It’s not.
Not until I find out who took it.
I glance to the side and spot Junior and Suzanne talking. The moment Suzanne spots Zara, she slides away from Junior and heads straight for her. See all you, mek the idiot bwoy wul on pan mi woman. Suzanne a mi G still, but an idiot thing she gwaan wid.
“Yuh Gov, mi Genna?” Gutta calls out.
I nod. “Always. Everybody Gov?”
Still holding Zara’s hand, I scan the group.
They all nod, but my eyes narrow at the women around them.
Strange faces. The only women I rate here are Anna and Suzanne.
Everybody else? Question mark. Could be a new girl, could be an escort, mi nuh really care.
Rick’s off to the side whispering in the ear of a dark-skinned girl with long lashes and too much lip gloss.
Just from how she looks, I know she’s an escort.
Well. My eyes shift to Gutta, he’s doing the same thing with Anna.
So them back? Hmm. Dat a dem business still.
Everybody Gov, so mi nah stress. I drop down in my seat and glance up at Zara.
She’s still upset, face turned up. I don’t care.
She don’t even have a reason to be vex. I pull my phone from my waist and place it on the table in front of me.
Then I tap my lap and speak low but firm. “Sit down.”
She pouts, but she sits. She knows better.
I lean back, one hand resting on my thigh, the other gripping the armrest as I tune into the conversation.
The guys laughing, telling stories about my pops.
Old war stories with a little rum in the mix.
But even while they talk, my mind slips.
Back to the missing bricks. Back to the snake in the circle.
Couldn’t be none of these men here… my mind a tell me a one o’ the other man dem. I glance out at the ones who didn’t make VIP cut, the regulars. Affiliates. One a dem look off. My face hardens. Mi soon find out who. And mi a kill it.
Focus on the party for now.
A bottle girl steps up, a tray in her hand. I reach for Zara’s cup before she can. She looks like she’s about to say something, but I cut her off before she gets the chance. “She good. Get her cranberry juice. Add ice inna it.”
The server nods and walks off. I been seeing her drinking that a lot these days.I guess that’s her vibe.
Zara hisses under her breath. I ignore her.
I sip my Hennessy like everything is normal.
The velvet rope moves again and Juaqína walks in, hips swinging.
She greets everybody, then locks eyes with me before heading over to chat with Anna.
Zara still deep in convo with Suzanne. I slide my arm around her waist. She stiffens a little, but don’t pull away. The server returns with the juice and hands it to her.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, sipping it slow.
I keep chugging my drink, eyes scanning the room again.
Even though it’s my father’s birthday party, I don’t do it like no regular birthday thing.
This is a gangster’s gathering, family only.
People who rode for him. Pictures of him on the wall, one in particular, him sitting like a king, my mom standing proud beside him.
“Mari the Great!” my uncle calls out over the music. I chuckle.
He leans in toward Zara, voice raised just enough to cut through the music. “So you’re Zara… how you doing?”
She flashes him a quick smile. “Hey, I’m good. Thanks for asking!” she yells back, her voice bright, even over the beat.
He chuckles, looking her up and down with a fatherly gaze. “Very beautiful lady. You remind me of my daughter.”
I chuckle under my breath, watching the exchange.
Zara glances over at me, trying to hide the way she’s flattered.
I see it, though. I see everything. An hour slips by.
Liquor flowing. Hips rolling. Heads bobbing to a nonstop stream of Vybz Kartel and Bounty Killer.
That’s how my pops liked it, raw, gritty dancehall.
Man fi man music. Woman fi bruk out music.
People leaned up, laughing, bussin’ jokes, while some hit the dance floor.
If only the snake in the circle wasn’t still breathing. But mi nah mek that mess up mi night.
It’s time for the speech. My annual one.
It’s a tradition. People start cheering before I even grab the mic.
Out the corner of my eye, I spot my mom walking in.
Bright smile. Her face beat. Hair neat. She got that powerful Black woman presence, you feel her before she even speaks.
Behind her, Jordane and Janel trail in, chatting low.
“Mi come late,” she laughs as she reaches me.
I hand her the mic. “Do yuh thing, Mommy.”
Then I step back to Zara’s side. As soon as my mom starts talking, the room hushes.
She’s sharing memories about my father, starting off soft with the real moments.
You can feel the love in her voice. Then she dips into the jokes, and laughter spreads through the crowd. Zara starts giggling beside me.
“That must did hot,” she laughs under her breath.
“Wah did hot?” I ask, even though I heard exactly what my mom just said. I just want to hear Zara say it again. She looks at me with the most annoyed face and rolls her eyes.