Chapter 1 #2
I didn’t expect a response right away. He’d been ignoring my texts more and more lately.
“Excuse me, miss?” A woman’s voice pulled my attention away from my phone. She was older, maybe in her late forties, dressed nice. “Can I get a glass of Chardonnay?”
“Of course.” I poured her wine and set it down in front of her. “You celebrating something?”
She smiled, and it was genuine. “My daughter’s birthday. She’s one of the dancers here.”
I nodded, not sure what to say to that. Some mothers would be ashamed. This one seemed proud, or at least supportive. “Well, happy birthday to her. This one’s on the house.”
Her eyes lit up. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s very kind.”
“No problem.” I moved on to the next customer, but something about that interaction stuck with me. Made me think about my own mama, about how she’d never been to anything I did, never supported shit. She’d been too wrapped up in her own demons.
I shook the thought away quickly, because there was no point in dwelling on the past.
The night was starting to wind down. It was almost two in the morning, and the crowd was thinning out. The dancers who’d made their money were starting to cash out, and the stragglers were the ones too drunk to realize the party was over.
I was wiping down the bar again, getting ready to start my closing duties, when I saw my best friend since high school, Aurora, rush through the entrance. She was one of the top dancers at Velvet, but she didn’t work tonight, so I wasn’t sure why she was here.
Then I saw the look on her face, and I knew that something was wrong.
She practically ran up to the bar, her eyes wide and her breathing heavy like she’d been running. Her makeup was still flawless, but I could see the panic underneath it.
“Indie,” she said, her voice urgent. “We need to talk. Right now.”
My stomach dropped. Aurora didn’t panic. Ever. If she was shook, something serious had happened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, already coming around the bar to meet her.
She grabbed my arm, pulling me to the side away from the customers who were still lingering. Her nails dug into my skin, and I could feel her hand trembling.
“I just saw Ishmael,” she said, her voice low but intense. “He was on the corner with the dope boys.”
Everything around me seemed to stop. The music, the voices, the clinking of glasses. All of it faded into the background as her words sank in.
“What the fuck you mean you saw him with the dope boys?”
“I was driving past, and I saw him posted up on the corner with like four or five other dudes. They were clearly slanging, Indie. I pulled over and tried to say something to him, but he acted like he ain’t even know me. Just turned his back and kept talking to them.”
I felt my blood start to boil. That hot, familiar rage that I’d been trying to keep under control when it came to my brother. I’d been working my ass off, doing everything I could to keep him away from that life, and this is what he was doing behind my back?
“Which corner?” I asked, already untying my apron.
“Indie, wait—”
“Which. Corner. Aurora.”
She hesitated, probably knowing what I was about to do. “Fifth and Central.”
I threw my apron on the bar and grabbed my purse from underneath. My hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from pure fury.
“Indie, maybe you should—”
“I gotta go,” I cut her off, already heading toward Roman’s office. I banged on the door once before opening it. He looked up from his desk, surprised.
“I got an emergency. I gotta leave. Now.”
Roman must’ve seen something in my face, because he didn’t ask questions. He just nodded. “Aight. Be safe.”
I didn’t respond. I was already out the door, my heels clicking against the floor as I made my way to the exit. Aurora called after me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
My little brother was out there trying to get into the same shit that destroyed so many people I knew. The same shit that could get him killed or locked up. After everything I’d sacrificed, everything I’d done to give him a better life.
I pushed through the club doors into the cool night air, my keys already in my hand. My Lexus truck was parked in the employee lot, and I was in it within seconds, engine roaring to life.
As I peeled out of the parking lot, only one thought ran through my mind: Ishmael was about to get his ass beat.
***
The streets were mostly empty at this time of night. It was just after two in the morning. I flew through yellow lights, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were screaming in protest. My heart was pounding in my chest.
What the fuck was Ish thinking?
I’d been busting my ass for five years to keep us afloat, to keep him fed and clothed and in a decent neighborhood away from all this street shit. And this is what he was doing? Selling drugs on some corner like he was built for that life?
He wasn’t built for shit. He was sixteen years old with a smart mouth and too much confidence. The kind of confidence that got young Black boys killed every single day.
I turned onto Central, my eyes scanning the street corners as I drove. Fifth and Central, Aurora had said. I was two blocks away.
My phone buzzed in the cup holder. Probably Aurora checking on me, or maybe Roman wondering what the emergency was. I didn’t look at it. My focus was singular right now.
Then I saw him.
Even from a distance, I could see him holding something in his hand, talking to some man who looked twice his age. I saw the man grab Ishmael by his shirt.
I didn’t even think. I slammed on my brakes, threw the car in park right in the middle of the street, and popped open my glove compartment. My fingers wrapped around the cold metal of my gun. It was a 9mm I’d bought two years ago after some nigga tried to follow me home from work.
“Indie, what the fuck—” Ishmael’s eyes went wide when he saw me coming, gun in hand. I was still in my work clothes. Jeans stretched tight across my hips, a crop top riding just high enough to show skin, and heels that clicked against the pavement with every step.
The man who’d been grabbing him turned around, and before he could say a word, I swung the butt of my gun and cracked him across the side of his head.
“Bitch!” he yelled, stumbling back with blood already dripping down his face and into his mouth, painting his gold teeth red.
“Indie, chill! What you doing?!” Ishmael tried to grab my arm, but I shook him off.
“Get in the fucking car, Ishmael. Now!”
“You just made a big mistake,” Gold Teeth said, holding his head. His boys had started to circle around us, and I raised my gun, pointing it at each of them.
“I don’t give a fuck about no mistake. That’s my little brother and he’s leaving. Now.”