52. Targen
I slapped my hand on Prime’s desk as I looked down to where he was seated, looking unbothered. That pissed me off worse. Between Sasha ’s situation and Theory’s memory of whatever haunted her, my head was about to explode. Every-fucking-body needed to be bothered until my cousin was healed and my baby felt safe. I’d left her sleeping, exhausted by an enemy she wouldn’t let me help her fight.
“Who the hell is Marguerite Armstrong?” I demanded.
Prime stood slowly. The move would’ve intimidated a lesser man. I’d never been lesser.
“You gon’ sit down so we can have a conversation or you gon’ continue to bellow at me like one of Granny Nette’s sick cows?” he asked calmly.
I felt my top lip curl. “Fuck you, nigga.”
I wanted to reach across the desk and pull his spine through his throat. But I wanted to know who Marguerite Armstrong was even more. Grudgingly, I sat down. Prime did the same.
“Marguerite Armstrong is the matriarch of a very powerful, very dirty crime family based in Mississippi. Why did her name pop up this week? It shouldn’t come up anywhere around this family ever again,” he said, his own tone laced with anger.
“Someone’s been texting Theory, from so many different numbers that she assumed they were burners. But I found out it was just a text app, downloaded on a phone registered under the name of Marguerite Armstrong. Used near a large property belonging to Marguerite Armstrong. Only, we initially found very little on—guess who? Marguerite Armstrong.”
He rubbed his forehead and nodded.
“Definitely takes a lot of digging?—"
“I don’t like not knowing shit, Prime,” I cut him off. “Being in the dark almost cost me my fucking life and I don’t know a lot of shit, right now. I don’t know what happened to Theory, why the family is so protective of her. I don’t know who this Marguerite Armstrong is and why she’s harassing my girl. But the thing about me is, I won’t stay unknowing for long.”
“Targen—"
I shook my head. I needed him to understand.
“Real’s situation was different, so he was willing to try diplomacy first. Reach out to meet with you, compromise on terms. Everly wasn’t in danger, though. Someone is threatening Theory, so all bets are off. I’ll step on your toes, hell, I’ll step on your fucking neck if I have to, to get answers,” I vowed.
Prime’s head tilted as the tension in the room reached boiling level.
“You big, crazy mothafucka. You think you can come into my home and speak to me like that?” he asked, then chuckled. “You know I could kill you now?”
Smirking, I settled deeper into my chair.
“I know you could try. But let me be clear, Fontenot. You would regret that. Now, you can start talking, or I can go pick up that bitch ass nigga who was with Shep and this Ms. Marguerite herself.”
“And start a war that you ain’t prepared for,” he spat. “Most of your resources are hundreds of miles away. These people don’t play. Everything I could find showed the same things. With them, there’s no negotiation, no decency. Even knowing that, I was ready to take them on. Had arranged my people behind me. Theory didn’t want that. She worries about the family, even now.”
“I know.” I growled. “Why?”
His eyes dropped momentarily, then he sighed.
“Targen, man… it’s Theory’s story to tell. She’s been… I can’t violate her more by violating her trust. The one thing she did let me do was electronic cleaning, so you won’t find much that way. You out here claiming her as your woman; get your woman to trust you enough to tell you her story.”
I shook my head, disagreeing with his sequence.
“She’s scared. Angry. She needs peace, first. That’s my job?—"
“You think you can come in, not knowing the situation, blow some shit up, and give that peace to her? Who the fuck do you think you are to do what none of us have been able?”
It was my turn to sigh. I met his eyes, needing to know he was paying attention to my next words.
“I’m sure you did your due diligence on my background before I even set foot here. Yeah, I’m Targen Jones, only son of Professor Joia Jones. Probably did every legit and not-so-legit thing you read about. But you’re not the only one who can wipe away any electronic or paper trail, Prime. Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d introduced myself as Targen Jones, reluctant son of Sergei Sidorov.”
I gave it a moment to sink in, heard his sharp inhale, then a low whistle.
“Sidorov of the alleged?—"
“Yeah,” I confirmed, not needing him to finish. “So, my resources are not hundreds of miles away. If needed, they everywhere. And there will be no war. I will fuck Marguerite Armstrong up beyond anything the bitch has ever heard of.”
Prime sat back, a smile playing around his mouth.
“Vengeance for T,” he murmured.
“I’ll leave the earth around them mothafuckas scorched,” I promised.
“She deserves it.”
I opened my mouth to ask why, and he held up a hand.
“And you still gotta ask her what happened. You got time now. My in-laws and Theory’s parents are back and doing some grilling for anyone still hungry after the picnic earlier. I have to get back to my wife and fix the three hot dogs my baby gon’ make her crave. Pretty sure Ev is still there, and you know if she is, Real is, too. You and T got the Stone House to yourselves. I will tell you… there’s a deal in place. Something that’s supposed to keep Theory’s skeletons away from her. Part of the price is her silence. Go talk to your woman. Let her know she can break that silence,” he advised. “After that, I swear I’ll fill in the blanks for you.”
I nodded once, then stood. Prime extended his hand, and I shook it. I wasn’t happy with the outcome of our meeting, but at least I knew I could come back once I got past Theory’s reluctance and heard her story. Knowing he had said all he would for now, I headed to the Stone House. Real and Everly were walking in when I made it back.
“Don’t worry. We’re just grabbing some wings I want my Daddy to put on the grill for me. We leaving again,” Everly teased as we spilled into the living room.
A slight smile curved my lips, my brain distracted by thoughts of the woman sleeping above us. I moved toward the stairs.
“Targen, is everything okay?” Everly asked suddenly.
I shrugged. “It’s gon’ be.”
I found Theory just as I had left her, in the dark quiet of her room. She was curled into a ball beneath the light bedspread that adorned her bed. I didn’t want to wake her, but I didn’t know how long my patience would last. I didn’t do well with unresolved questions. In my job, I found answers and chose solutions. And the solution I had for whoever had hurt her would involve blood and pain, two of my favorite things.
Sighing, I reached out to trace the sweet curve of her jaw, visible in the low glow of her nightlight. Her eyes flew open, and she sucked in a deep breath as she looked up at me. Caught in the fog of her sleep, it wasn’t me she saw, though. I knew because her eyes held terror. I knew because my milaya released a scream that broke my heart. I frowned.
“Theory, baby?—”
I reached for her, and she screamed again before moving in the opposite direction. Scared and disoriented, she fell off the side of the bed. Fast as fuck, I moved to the side where she was, needing to get to her, to calm her. She whimpered, and I realized how I must look looming over her. Lowering to my knees, I held out my hand again. I watched my baby drag herself away from me as she cried and begged me not to hurt her anymore, killing me inside.
“Theory, it’s me?—”
“Targen, let me get her,” Everly said softly.
I wasn’t even aware that they had come in. My focus was Theory and whatever agonizing memory her mind had immersed her in. I shook my head, blocking Everly as she tried to go around me. Theory needed to see me. She needed to come to me. She needed to realize that I wasn’t the monster haunting her half-awake dream.
“Come on, beautiful. Come to me,” I whispered.
As hard as it was, I didn’t move closer. I waited for my baby to recognize me and that I’d never hurt her. She was breathing so hard, her chest heaving as sobs consumed her breaths. But she was finally looking at me. Two things happened at once, then.
In a soft, bruised voice, she whispered, “Targen?”
And someone behind me flipped on a light.
Theory’s nightshirt had worked its way up during her jerky, distressed movements. I hadn’t seen much of her body unclothed. Suddenly, I was painfully aware of why she was always tugging on the hems of her clothes or redirecting my wandering hands. Above and below the lines of her panties, horrific scars marred her honey-brown skin. Someone had brutally assaulted her abdomen and upper thigh, viciously dug into her body. It’s not your scars , she had whispered to me when I wondered why she was scared of me. My scars didn’t frighten her because she had some of her own.
I didn’t have much time to take in the damage. My milaya was suddenly crawling toward me and launching herself into my arms as she wept. I tried to calm her, to stop her cries. I was glad she finally saw me, that she turned to me for comfort. But I fought to keep my temper from erupting. Even tightly-leashed, my rage was lethal. I wanted to kill. I needed to kill. She shouldn’t have been hurt. She should never be hurt . It was the last lesson someone was going to learn.
Behind me, Real spoke. “I’ma send Juvie and Markel on a pickup. They saw that little nigga you told me about who was with their cousin our first day?”
“Yeah. Get him,” I hissed.
My hand tangled in her hair, gently tugging her face away from my chest. I kissed her forehead and her damp eyes.
“Theory, milaya , I’m gon’ take care of you, now and always. Always, baby. But you have to tell me… who hurt you?”