Chapter 24
Mona
Glaring down at the bitch who birthed a fucked-up person, I dropped the tip of my boot on the sobbing bitch’s throat.
Nastily, I hissed, “Time to learn why I’m here.
I’m a mother who was jolted out of my sleep by a call about my barely responsive son.
His drawls and pants were around his ankles.
A container that looked familiar from a house stolen many weeks ago was not far from his bed.
I don’t know the condition of my son because I haven’t answered a phone call from the doctor’s at the hospital.
Why? Because I needed to chat with the immediate family of the bitch who couldn’t stand my fine ass, smart, and talented son, not giving a fuck about her.
So, y’all got the business, but more is coming y’all’s way. Sleep time.”
“Please, that child of mine has alway—” she cried as I kicked her in the face. Immediately, lights out found her ass.
Quickly, I pried her mouth open and stuffed a gas-infused microfiber towel in her mouth. I needed them to understand how important it was to raise their children properly or suffer the fucking consequences. If the little bitch was out of hand, there were ways to rectify that shit.
Feeling butterflies flopping in my stomach, I placed duct tape around the bitch’s mouth and smiled. “Hey, you. I see you are up and moving around. How’s your day? Is Mommy being too active? If so, hang tight. You are on an adventure for a few days.”
Flipping the bitch over with my foot, I slapped her hands behind her back and secured tape around her wrists.
Needing her to be uncomfortable as fuck, I brought her legs to her wrists.
Realizing I needed to carry the bitch into the hallway closest, I rolled my eyes, growled, and dragged the bitch in that direction.
Once inside the cluttered, musty space, I heard my speakers.
“Fuck. I’m not done yet,” I mumbled, moving as fast as possible to have the bitch in a position that would leave her knees to be replaced.
When I finished, breathing heavily, my speakers weren’t singing.
Time was of the essence, but I felt I hadn’t done enough to make the bitch panic once she woke.
So, I knocked the unnecessary church hat boxes on the bitch.
I needed her to panic massively until I returned, close to making her have a fucking heart attack.
Upon closing the closet door, the front door opened. The man I married was before me, making my right eyelid flutter. With death in his eyes, sex appeal pouring from his pores, August Senior asked, “What you need me to do?”
“Fold that funky ass father most uncomfortably and duck his ass off in a tight space,” I told him, walking away from the hallway closet.
“A’ight.” He nodded, limping sexily from the door.
“Are you high?” I asked, stomping into the fashionable, expensive, decorated dining room.
“Yeah,” he answered, walking by me as I stared down at the older sibling of the bitch I couldn’t wait to get my hands on.
Using my foot to roll her ass onto her stomach, I asked, “Does it help with the pain and ability to move more easily?”
“Yeah.” He answered as I kneeled and grabbed the chick’s arms.
“Are you going to do physical therapy?”
“I do it at home,” he replied as I placed tape around the chick’s wrists.
“That’s good,” I said sincerely, wanting to look at him so he could see that I was being genuine.
“Mhm,” he voiced nonchalantly as I dragged my victim toward the opening, ensuring her face fucked the carpet.
I slid that bitch all around the front part of the house, looking for a great confined place to tuck her ass.
When I didn’t find a closet in my desired area, I dragged her ass to the back door.
I smiled upon seeing their low porch. I ran down the steps, causing her face to hit the steps like I drove over speed bumps after taking a nigga’s shit.
“That pain you feel is how I felt hearing what was going on around my son. In my world, it’s one band, one sound.
Thus, your family will get the fucking business from me, and shit won’t be done to me.
Ever. This shit here will teach y’all’s asses to be mindful of the company you keep.
Motherfuckas like me don’t play fair when it comes to those they love.
I surely don’t play fair after the bullshit I endured by a nigga I married.
So, that tells you … I’m a scorned bitch out for blood,” I hissed, crawling under the porch.
Seeing the perfect spot to duck her ass off, I grinned and crawled faster.
“Dark One,” August Senior called from above me.
“Yeah.”
“Secured in the pantry. Food an’ shelves on him,” he replied, flicking a lighter.
“Good. ‘Head to the truck. I’m driving. We aren’t quite ready to see our son. I need the bitch who hurt him,” I admitted, tossing the chick against the base of the house.
“A’ight,” August Senior responded as I crawled toward the end of the porch.
Butterflies floated massively in my stomach, prompting me to say, “I told you, Momma was going to be active, sweets. Your brother needs me to get down and dirty. So, you hang tight. I have a lot more shit to do. It’s going to seem as if you are in a jungle gym.”
Upon crawling from under the porch, I ran toward the white fence. I quickly scanned for the best way to get out of it. There was a big black lock on the tall fence. Exhaling sharply, I hissed, “Fuck. I haven’t jumped a gate in months, let alone jump one while pregnant.”
Putting myself in survival mode, I ran as fast as I could, steadied my breathing, and anticipated the high jump, the crawl up, and the jump over the fence. When I neared it, it was as if I had been jumping fences regularly. I did it with ease and landed perfectly on my feet.
While I ran with all my might to my backed-in truck, August Senior stomped toward my passenger door with his head high and shoulders squared.
His facial expression was blank, leading me to believe there wasn’t anything on his mind other than following my demands.
Sliding toward my driver’s door, reaching for the handle, I wasn’t sure if him following my demands was a good thing.
He wasn’t mentally healthy, which could cause me to make mistakes. He was a thinker before anything.
Once inside my whip, breathing heavy and needing water, I drove toward the end of the driveway. My phone’s bone-chilling ringtone slithered around my whip. Looking at my son’s name, my heart galloped as I rushed to answer the call.
“Mona Abbott is speaking,” I said choppily, praying the worst hadn’t landed in my lap.
“Ma, where are you?” August Junior held out as if he was clinging to life—fearful, desperate, hurt.
August Senior’s body jerked harshly as I answered, “I’m in the city. I’ve been here for a while. I had to tie up some shit. I have one more thing to secure, and your father and I will be in your face.”
“Do that later, please. They are discharging me. Come get Germoney and me.” He choked up, causing my eyelids to waver faster as I mashed the pedal.
“I’m on the way, Son,” I spoke brokenly, yielding at the stop sign.
“Yes, ma’am. I love you,” he cried, hurting me to the depths of the atoms that made me who I was.
“I love you more,” I voiced, trying not to growl because my anger was rising more, all because my son was raped and crying.
When our call ended, the music didn’t start.
August Senior paused it. Looking at me, he said, “I want you to give that bitch all you fuckin’ got.
I hate to say this, but this is how you gon’ give that hoe yo’ all.
Reflect on what I did to you, how I fucked up our marriage, an’ how I ain’t a father to our kids. ”
Swerving out of the wealthy neighborhood, I growled, “Say less.”
“Keep the truck’s front end down an’ hazard lights flashin’. If a police squad jump behind you, pull over. They gon’ slide to yo’ driver’s window. They gon’ ask where you going. Then, they gon’ tell you to follow them. X instructions.” He breathed heavily, damned near like a demonic being.
“Thiago completed the demand promptly.” I nodded, sitting upright in the seat.
“Nawl, I completed that fuckin’ demand,” he snarled, curling his fingers.
“Don’t get shit twisted like I ain’t got no fuckin’ pull wit’ X.
She watched over me befo’ them niggas joined her crew.
I been had her number. You’on know what it’s saved undah.
Thus, it went over yo’ eyes. I trump Thiago.
Always an’ fuckin’ forever! Let that shit sit on yo’ brain while you get us to our son. ”
Jealousy slithered through me as I thought I had every female who could’ve had his number out of his phone. Rolling my eyes, I said, “Go to August Junior and my text message thread. Pop that address into the GPS system.”
“Mhm,” he replied before resuming the music.
Within a minute or two, the automated skeezah said that we were twenty-five minutes away from the hospital.
“Not on my watch, we aren’t,” I mumbled, giving my truck all the hell it was built for.
Surprisingly, I didn’t see any police while bobbing and weaving out of traffic. I was thankful for that because I didn’t need any delays getting to my son.
When we arrived at the hospital main entrance, our pitiful-looking son was in a wheelchair as a disappointed Germoney knelt in front of him.
August Senior growled, nastily, and hungrily.
He was ready to activate in a way that scared me.
My stomach tightened as I muted the radio and drove farther toward the entrance.
Having flashbacks, I stuttered, “That growling is not pleasant for me, August Senior.”