13. Bay
THIRTEEN
bay
Cairo meant well, he did.
But I can still smell him in here.
My fingers rub along the leather steering wheel of Levi’s black Malibu, gripping it to death because he touched it only days ago.
I want to believe he’s here.
I’d love to imagine his massive body in the passenger seat, bullshitting and looking for a cheap race to win some easy cash. I wish I could smell the weed coming from his side of the car instead of mine.
But I’m alone here.
Alone because I didn’t want anyone else near me. Solo because I just wanted this moment to myself so tomorrow I can finally bury my best friend and take one last look at him.
I don’t stop the tears that freely fall from my eyes. Nor can I halt the harsh twist in my gut that feels like it’ll never untie.
I’m not sure how I’m going to survive this long-term. Each hour that passes gnaws at every single ounce of self-control I have. I thought today wouldn’t be so fucking bad. It was a cruise; I’ve been to a hundred of them in my lifetime, and it’d be something to take my mind off shit.
But this one is obviously different.
This particular one is to celebrate the life and death of the King of South Shore. A beloved leader in this town. A man who worked his ass off to bring money to the families who have none. One who has protected me, my sisters, and Dad.
And the best friend I will never have again.
Every dream and joke of us growing old together, tripping each other with our canes, or running each other’s foot over with our wheelchairs are painful deceptions of how naive I believed our lives to be.
Even with Dad, I still considered Levi to be immortal.
No one could touch him.
No one would dare touch him.
Except one.
And he’s the one I will hunt down for the rest of my days until he’s torn apart, bled out, and no longer a fucking conversation or thought I need to have.
But that’s another naive part of me that doesn’t want to accept the reality of what is and what will always be. When Cairo had Levi’s car parked in the driveway of my house this afternoon, I practically had a panic attack.
Levi was supposed to be driving it.
He was supposed to be in it.
Not Cairo putting his ass in the driver’s seat or asking Juice or Hot Rod to bring it over—I don’t know which or how. On a normal day, I’d have his ass. But today, I could only stare at it while trying to catch my breath.
Cairo tightly held my hand and stood there with me until I said something.
I didn’t.
Nothing should hurt this badly, but it does. It’s so unbearable that everything that once brought me happiness brings me dread. Nothing will ever cover this gaping hole in my heart.
Ever.
First, Dad’s loss and now, Levi’s, and this is a trend that starts with me. I’m the black cloud of death bringing the men in my life to uncertain tragedy.
Flexing my fingers along the steering wheel, I take a hit off my blunt and welcome the soothing feeling of the last few.
I follow an old Camaro in front of me down the four-lane road that holds Levi’s memorial cruise. All of South Shore came out to pay tribute to the King they lost too soon as classic cars ride up and down the street to commemorate his memory.
It’s amazing for what it is, and I wish I could appreciate it more. I knew Levi was loved by not only me but the community and this proves it.
Onlookers wave, noticing Levi’s car, and even some clap with tears and hollers. The Bluetooth radio plays a playlist Levi purposely made on my phone so he could listen to his shit while we drove.
More memories.
More flashbacks of conversations, but I can’t feel him.
I think what makes this more frustrating for me is I’m seeking comfort that can’t be. Levi is dead, and he can’t talk me through this or tell me how I need to act. How strong I need to be. How I’m not a basic bitch who will crumble to her knees in sheer anguish because he’s not here anymore.
But I feel like one anyway.
I steal a look at my arm, freshly tatted and red underneath a shitload of Saran Wrap. The tattoo artist couldn’t finish it all, but I have another appointment with him in a few days to finish.
Tomorrow is Levi’s funeral, and I don’t think I’ll be ready to see people, let alone leave the house for a minute.
Making a Michigan U-turn, I’m ready to head back to the parking where Hot Rod and Juice are hanging out for a break. It’s at one of Juice’s favorite bakeries, and he’s got a hard-on for one of the girls inside, so I know he chose it on purpose.
It’s a diversion if I’ve ever seen one. And the boys are trying to remain prideful, men with strength both mentally and physically. However, Hot Rod is barely speaking, and when he does, it’s to ask if I need anything. Juice isn’t as playful as he always is, but he’s attempting to be when he can.
He’s just failing miserably at it as well.
Allowing my head to hit the back of Levi’s leather seat, my eyes mindlessly scan the area, and that’s when I see it .
A shiny red Mitsubishi Eclipse with glistening chrome rims that call out to me like a beacon of hope and reassurance I’m going to get my turn.
The sound of heavy bass thuds violently from its direction. A tell-tale sign of the Pistol Posse’s lack of fucks with their basic-ass mumble rapping into everyone’s ears.
My heart charges into a sprint at my discovery.
He’s here.
He’s here, and he’s fucking dead.
He’s here, and I’m going to rip his entire fucking head off.
With a bunch of people around Astor? Be serious.
But, honestly—will the people of South Shore really get up in arms when I run Levi’s killer down?
Probably not.
I search for Matteo’s black Beamer. And if he didn’t bring it, he’d be in his right-hand man’s red Eclipse.
I don’t know if my ex is aware, but I know all his boys’ cars.
And they’re so predictable they’ve never changed them or their egos because I know for a fucking fact either car is going to hold Matteo in it. He’s too much of a bitch to send just his men as a painful reminder. My ex will want to see me suffer for what he’s done.
And I’m fine with it.
He just sent himself to die.
My eyes quickly scan the strip mall parking lot the vehicle is sitting in. There’re not many people there because folks around here know exactly who Matteo is and don’t want to fuck with that kind of energy.
I pass more crowds enjoying the lineup of cars and souped-out rides, paying tribute to the man who deserves all of this.
But wouldn’t that be something?
Mowing down the piece of shit who murdered Levi on a cold sidewalk, in the middle of said bestie’s commemoration.
I think it’d be even more memorable.
And fitting.
Like a fly to shit, I locate Matteo sitting on the ceiling of his black Beamer with his legs casually crossed over the windshield without a care in the world.
I’m. Going. To. Kill. This. Bitch.
Merging into the farthest lane to get over, my adrenaline is popping off like I took speed while my simmering rage comes to the forefront of my brain.
Matteo sees me, probably way before I saw him, and that’s what pisses me off again. He, more than likely, has been stalking me for well over a few minutes, if not more, and thought it’d be smart and fun to fucking show up here.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the prick did.
It saves me from having to hunt him down myself and break a few promises I made to Cairo about not actively seeking him out.
And this may be my only opportunity to get his ass while proclaiming I wasn’t the one who set this up.
Ole boy did.
Maybe a few shanks to his kidneys, a couple of calculated head slams against the trunk of his car, or one thrusted into his heart—I’m good with either one, preferably the latter.
Actually, no. I’d like to drag him behind my car.
I notice the folks still lingering nearby begin to veer off as I approach Matteo’s car. I’m curious if word has gotten out that my ex was the possible cause of my best friend’s death, but most aren’t capable of murder for such a feat.
I am.
Obviously.
I just popped off Nessa and still feel zero remorse, but they don’t know that.
Shit, I’d do it again if given the chance.
I watch Matteo confidently slide off his car like the sleazy piece of shit he is. Dressed in black jeans and a white tee, he couldn’t appear more accomplished in his success if he tried.
And he couldn’t have underestimated me more if he wanted to either.
At a slow roll, he ambles farther away from his car, literally leaving the confines of his safety net to approach me at Levi’s.
It’s a bad move.
With my left foot babying the brake and my right over the gas, I debate my next move and how I’m using it.
However, it’s all going to end up the same.
Mindlessly, my toes hit the gas and the Malibu barrels ahead. The RPMs beg for a shift, but I lay on it, watching fear launch over Matteo’s face because he’s done fucked up again.
Shifting for more horsepower, Matteo tries to get out of the way, but I clip him along the corner bumper of Levi’s front end.
His body topples over the hard metal, probably leaving a smudge mark, and crashes onto the unforgiving cement.
He’s going to get fucked up for that, too.
I whip on the steering, drifting the back end around and giving myself another go at my ex.
The reason I’m in this situation in the first place.
The car screams bloody murder throughout the space as I command it to do a one-eighty, directing my front to Matteo’s body once more.
A body that’s having a really hard time standing.
Oops.
However, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows on my side, either. Matteo’s men heard and saw what I just did, and they’re gonna protect him at all costs.
With my foot on the brake, I stop the car and peel the rubber off the tires, creating a cloud of smoke to cover their line of sight as I allow Matteo a split second to run…or limp.
Just like the time I smoked out the semi-truck with Levi and the boys when we stole Ramsey’s guns.
Except ol’ boy isn’t getting up very quickly, and I’d like to give him a few seconds to think about what he did, how he got here, and the shit he fucked up on.
And the man he took away from me.
“I hope you rot in hell, you son of a bitch.”
Releasing the brake, the Malibu screams ominously through the air, causing goosebumps to trail up my arms and spine. My headlights illuminate the holy fuck expression on Matteo’s face and how he shot up to his feet.
Because it’s either that or become a hood ornament.
A bullet shatters the back glass of Levi’s car, but my body barely flinches.
I want Matteo De Leon.
And I’ve never wanted him like this before, ever .
I’m bloodthirsty, and I won’t stop until he’s mine. A hungry obsession to see him die before my eyes is all I want. It’s all I need because Levi coming back is impossible.
It’ll never happen.
But if I can avenge him somehow, maybe I’ll feel better. Maybe it’ll make it hurt less in the long run.
Unfortunately, Matteo somehow dodges out of the way, making me miss him entirely as I whip the car back around. A pepper of gunshots nails the front end of Levi’s car, and I weigh out my options.
There are people and kids out here, Bay. Leave.
Throwing the car in reverse, I flick my eyes to my rear-view mirror and send the car back around to get out of there.
I got part of my message across.
Matteo De Leon is a dead man.