Chapter 15 #3
“Charlie only needs to be one thing,” Demi stated matter-of-factly.
“She don’t got to do anything else except keep a nigga heart in those hands.
She wants to be all over the place, doing what Lo do, competing cuz she thinks that’s what a nigga expect.
I had that kind of wife. I left that kind of wife.
I want her, but I can’t just ignore all that I owe to Lo.
She’s not my romantic partner anymore, but we partners in this loss.
We in debt on this shit together, and Charlie’s young.
Her feelings so fucking soft, man. She can’t really understand where I’m coming from. ”
“One woman only being able to give one thing sound like a woman that’s easily replaced,” Day stated. “I can see why she’s intimidated by Lo.”
“Nah, my nigga. I don’t want her hands in a million places. She only needs to be an expert on me. Keep them hands on me. I’ma handle everything else for her. I want her to live the softest fucking existence in life, on God. Her and my baby. They won’t ever have to worry.”
“Damn,” Day stated. It was all he could say.
He couldn’t relate and didn’t want to ever be that in love.
That type of love scared him. That type of love was risky.
That type of love had a rich-ass nigga sitting in the dark, putting one in the air after hours instead of falling into the next option.
Whipped. His homie was whipped. Demi was a grieving father and a whipped-ass nigga. Day never thought he would see the day.
“So, it would be a bad time to ask you to get Charlie on board for a showcase with Da’vi, huh?” Day asked.
“She’s pregnant,” Demi said, frowning.
“She can’t sing while she pregnant, my nigga?” Day countered. “I ain’t gon’ overwork your girl. That’s my niece or nephew growing in there, but the public loves to be a part of them nine months. If she goes ghost, she gon’ lose her momentum.”
“I’m fighting for my life over here, and you talking about a performance,” Demi groaned.
“We all need a distraction,” Day said. “This last week felt like it ripped a nigga stomach out. We can host the Dynasty Brunch and add a cause to it in honor of DJ. Maybe something tied to mental health in children. Find a worthy foundation, get all these industry niggas to come out they pockets and donate. We can’t change what happened to nephew, but we can honor him, and maybe prevent it from happening to the next kid.
Raise some awareness. Have you and Lo talk about it.
Nobody talks about shit like this, dawg.
I thought cutting was some white shit, to be honest. His death doesn’t have to be for nothing, bro. ”
Demi leaned onto his knees, pushing the rolling executive chair back slightly. He squeezed the ducts of his eyes with two fingers as he held back emotion.
Day was silent. He knew to remain still. He couldn’t say or do anything, or else Demi may flee.
“Set it up,” Demi stated simply. “All of it. The interviews. The promoting Charlie’s pregnancy. The showcase. The foundation. I’m with it. Put Stassi on it.”
“I was thinking Lo, give her something to put her mind on,” Day responded.
“Stassi will get Charlie on board. If I put Lauren in Charlie’s face one more time, a nigga never coming home,” Demi said. “It’s too sensitive right now. Put her sister on it.”
“Consider it done. You want me to have flowers sent? You know that’s the first step to an apology, my G. The money flowers always a nice touch.”
“It’s gonna take a lot more than that this time,” Demi stated, shaking his head. “I really fucked up.”
Patience was a virtue when you were stalking prey.
Demi sat inside Justin’s crib for hours, waiting for him to arrive.
He had left his car parked at the studio.
His phone had been left there as well, so that it could bounce off the cell towers, marking his presence.
These were necessary precautions in case he lost control tonight.
He had borrowed a car from his mans who ran a chop shop to transport him to this place on this dark night.
A hoodie had concealed his identity from any neighborhood cameras that may have picked up his presence.
He tried to reason with himself and tell himself that all he needed to do was teach Justin a lesson, but the longer he sat there, the more he thought of the bruises on Charlie’s face, the heftier the fine became.
He knew Justin would walk in late, after a set, more than likely.
He lived a night owl’s lifestyle. It didn’t matter.
Demi wouldn’t grow tired. It had killed him to see Charlie’s face bruised and he would wait all night to avenge that.
He wasn’t a fool, however. The confrontation at the club had been put in a police report.
He had to be careful about the way he moved, and he needed to have his alibi airtight.
Justin had probably swept the incident under the rug, but Demi had been brewing.
He saw the glow of headlights as a car pulled into the driveway, and he moved to the edge of the couch.
He sat, legs wide, elbows meeting knees, gun gripped in one hand.
Justin entered the door unsuspectingly. He closed and locked it behind him.
It was the lock that would fuck him up. He had just trapped himself inside with a monster.
When he flicked on the living room light, Demi flipped his hood back and stared Justin in the eyes.
Justin turned to pull the door open, trying to run, but that lock…
oh, that lock. The millisecond it took for him to turn it was all it took for Demi to be on his ass.
He yanked Justin backward by his collar and then dragged him across the room, kicking and screaming before he shoved him onto the couch.
“If you scream, I’ma blow your fucking head off,” Demi said calmly.
“Man, you got it. I’m done with it. I don’t want no trouble, man. I didn’t touch her. I haven’t seen Charlie in years,” Justin admitted. “I lied, man, just to get under your skin. I lied!”
“If you fucked my bitch, that ain’t my bitch,” Demi said. “And that’s her pussy, so that’s her business. She gets to decide how to slang that. That’s neither here nor there. But them marks you put on her face? That’s my business, and I’ma square that business, my nigga.”
The look of dread that crossed Justin’s face amused Demi.
“Nothing to say? You said a lot the other night at the club. I told you them cuffs wasn’t gon’ hold me,” Demi stated.
“Please, man. I’m sorry. I’ll leave it alone. I’ll never go near her again. I’ll apologize,” Justin stammered.
“Put your motherfucking hands on the table,” Demi barked suddenly. He snatched Justin out of his seat, forcing him to his knees.
“Please, man! Please!” Justin begged.
“You fucking with the wrong nigga,” Demi whispered in his ear as he hovered over Justin, digging the gun into the back of his skull.
Demi pulled a driver’s license out of his back pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Justin.
“Who is that?” he asked as he pushed Justin’s head down violently.
His eyes were so close to the table that he couldn’t quite get a glimpse at it.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Justin cried. He was shaking so badly.
“Nah, nigga. You wanted to bait me when you thought it was safe. Had some heat on your chest with them officers around. Where your heat, nigga?” Demi asked.
“You put your hands on her. You must have lost your mind. You lucky that license is the only thing I felt like taking. Could have been her life. Look at it, pussy.”
Demi eased up enough for Justin to lift his head to view the license. His mother’s license. The one she had told him that she must have misplaced.
“I’ma let you keep your life, nigga, but I’ma take that hand you play with, and if you breathe a motherfucking word of this to anybody, I’ma use that address. You hear me?” Demi asked.
Justin was so terrified he peed himself.
Demi rounded the table and placed the tip of his gun next the Justin’s hand.
“Please, man. My hand is my life,” Justin sniveled, his lip trembling violently.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, man. Demi knew he played with that hand.
He also knew it was the hand he hit Charlie with because it was his dominant one.
“Don’t shoot me. You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll never bother Charlie again.”
Demi smiled like he was a good guy and a change of heart had come over him. “I ain’t gon’ shoot you, man, relax.”
Justin felt some relief as he trembled. “Come on, man, get up. I just want you to apologize. I just needed to put some fear in you. Come take a seat at the table. I’ma call Charlie and you gon’ tell her you’re sorry.”
“Yeah, man, whatever you say. I really am sorry. I swear I am. I’m sorry,” Justin repeated as Demi walked him into the kitchen. Demi pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, man,” Demi said. “I ain’t got my phone. Call Charlie, put her on speaker.”
Justin pulled out his phone and made the mistake of dialing Charlie’s number. The fact that he even still had it stored in his phone infuriated Demi. Demi grabbed the hammer he had found in the drawers before Justin arrived, and he brought it down over Justin’s hand.
The scream Justin let out was animalistic as his bones shattered.
Demi gripped Justin’s hand by the wrist, forcing him to withstand every blow as he beat that hammer into Justin’s hand with all his might.
He didn’t stop until he was sure that the hand was irreparable.
Demi had not only taken his hand, but he had also taken his dream.
Justin would never be able to play his guitar professionally again.