Chapter 5
“Markus!” Nia’s voice came through the phone like a storm. “Where the fuck is my shipment? I have three salons that are out of relaxer, no damn shampoo. Neveah was supposed to be here hours ago with my shit.”
“Who the fuck you talkin’ to Nia?” Markus semi-barked back.
“You, nigga! I have clients who can’t get their hair washed, pressed, dyed – nothing. I told you once and I’ve told you twice, kick that hoe to the fuckin’ curb. she’s fuckin’ up our money. Y’all too busy in the club and not focused on business,” Nia continued to fuss.
“One thing at a fuckin’ time, shit I just got up. Who the fuck is y’all?” Markus finally sat completely up on the couch he had crashed on the night before.
“I’m sending the videos now. Look closely at this shit too. B, Angel, Neveah partying with G like we cool with Luciano and the West Side. I’m telling you, Markus, she’s bad fucking news,” Nia pressed.
Nia was the most valuable asset he had on his team. She saw everything and heard everything. It was needed because her brother was hyper-focused. So much so, it didn’t faze him that Neveah wasn’t home when he got here. If anything, he was thankful for a night’s rest without her begging for sex.
Markus dragged his tired body out of the living room to the kitchen, where he could hear Neveah fumbling with the front door. “I’ll get your shipment. Everything is in the warehouse. Got there about two in the morning. I’ll make sure you get it.”
“You got an hour, Money, or I’m coming up there and I’m getting it myself,” Nia threatened.
“Who the fuck is afraid of you?”
“You and all your niggas,” she sniped.
“Those niggas are your cousins. Well, not Svyn…”
“And fuck him too. Get me my shit, Money,” Nia emphasized before hanging up.
“Yo, she got to watch her mouth,” he grumbled, opening the fridge. He only found a couple bottles of water and take out Neveah ordered earlier in the week. Pulling in a sharp inhale, the sounds of Neveah finally entering the house spiked his frustration higher.
“Where you comin’ from?” Markus questioned as Neveah stumbled toward the stairs.
She paused as if she hadn’t had time to formulate her lie through and through.
He could smell her before he saw her. The chiming from his phone on the counter indicated that Nia sent over the videos she was fussing about.
Markus couldn’t handle the twenty-five things she shouted, Neveah, and the video.
One thing at a time. First, putting his eyes on the woman who was supposed to be taking care of the house and the minimal amount of things she begged for.
The house hadn’t been cleaned, no groceries, no shipment delivered, but she could roam about freely, could spend money, could party all night on his dime. Nia was right and she only solidified what he knew.
He closed the door to the fridge and studied Neveah. The mini dress she wore twisted as if she threw it on in a frenzy. Makeup smeared, hair a mess. Liquor oozing from her pores and the lingering scent of cologne. He’d never been na?ve but he never reacted without all the facts.
“Angel threw a party, I went. What’s the problem?” she sassed, as though Markus was the one causing her grief.
Licking his dry lips he replied, thick brows barely furrowing. “It’s Friday morning. Where the fuck were you supposed to be?”
Neveah shifted her weight from one heeled foot to another and crossed her arms. “I don’t know. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Nia’s been waiting on you all morning for a shipment.”
“Ah, damn, that was today and I need my hair done too,” Neveah groaned. “Fine, I’ll change and go.”
“Nah, don’t. I got it.”
“Moneyyy,” she whined, trying to soothe his flame. “Baby, I’m sorry, I just needed to blow off some steam. I sit in this house all day alone and I-”
Her words were cut short by his back moving further away from her, phone in tow.
“Get yourself together and go get your hair done.”
Markus showered, dressed in a sweatsuit, and sped toward the warehouse.
The engine to Markus’ BMW M8 roared down the street before coming to a complete halt in front of the warehouse he kept by the pier.
It made receiving shipments easier. The drug shipments came in with the supplies for his hair stores and salons.
Everything was branded and packaged correctly, keeping the port control off his ass and in the event they felt like doing their jobs, he kept their pockets stuffed to keep their mouths closed.
After killing his engine, he hopped out, finding a few workers outside shooting dice.
The warehouses he inherited from Slim were spread out between Union City, Lynnwood, and Edgecrest all disguised by some legal business front.
In Union City the business portfolio was comprised of hair stores, hair salons and spa, check cashing, laundry mats, and a liquor store.
Lynnwood had the same set up. His goal was to expand into more upscale place in Edgecrest, Crystal Bay, and Blair Point.
“What’s good, Money?” one of his runners greeted with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“So, fuck getting’ money, y’all gon’ play games all fuckin’ day?
The shipment is here, yet I don’t see shit moving,” Markus gritted, as he walked past them.
He was on a mission. Since everyone was losing their damn minds.
He didn’t give a shit about the partying.
He gave a shit about how his entire crew found themselves in the club drawing unnecessary attention to them with niggas he didn’t fuck with.
“Ay, Money,” Angel called out as Markus, Svyn, and Brantley roamed into the warehouse. “What’s good, cuz?”
The jovial greeting from one of his top hustlers fell on deaf ears. For the last week and a half, Markus had been dealing with the fallout from the raids. Going untouched moved him up to the top of the totem pole but it put a target on his back. It also made him suspicious.
“Thought you was pulling up to the party last night? I had the whole city in that bitch. Even Neveah was there,” Angel added, moving closer to Markus.
Angel was the baby cousin in the group. The shortest and most immature out of them.
At five feet ten, with a smirk that could charm anyone.
Anyone but Markus. Nothing charmed him, and nothing took his focus off what fueled him - his money.
Since a young nigga, money had been his motive.
Money solved the rumbling of his stomach, kept the eviction notices off his aunt’s door.
Money kept him and his cousins from sharing clothes and beds.
The raids, spearheaded by the mayor of Majestic Heights, were causing trouble for him and the crew he was charged with keeping on the up and up.
Not everyone within the five boroughs of Majestic Heights had the heart needed to stay steady once doors started getting kicked in.
With men and women being snatched up off the streets and plucked out of warehouses.
niggas were getting nervous, product wasn’t moving, and lips were getting loose.
These raids were taking bread out of his pocket and food off of tables. But how close it came to touching him, he was moments from finding out. Markus examined Angel and pulled in a draft from his blunt. A grunt and a smirk pushed the smoke out of his nostrils.
“Fuck that mean?” Markus questioned. “What a bullshit ass party got to do with me doing my job, nigga? Seems only one of us makin’ sound ass decisions out here.”
“N-nothing,” Angel replied, shifting his weight from one side to the other. “Just wasn’t expecting you. That’s all. And what you mean by that?”
“Your momma is laid up, hooked up to an oxygen tank all fuckin’ day and you haven’t taken your ass to the house to see about her.”
Markus moved his focused glare to Brantley and Svyn. “All three of y’all niggas. Out in the clubs throwing fuckin’ money, bringing unnecessary fuckin’ attention to us. While ya moms and woman who fed y’all ungrateful asses is dying.”
“Keep that shit with them niggas, I was here all night with you and took my ass home,” Svyn sounded off, understanding Markus’ frustration.
“You right, Syv,” Markus said, snapping his fingers. “Since you want to act like fuckin’ runners, y’all gon get all that shit to the designated places. Svyn, load Nia’s shit up for me.”
“I can stay here with you, Money.” Angel attempted to get back in his good graces.
“Nah, nigga, you going with B,” Markus grumbled, locking eyes with him. That intense glare was soul-stirring. It was always the glare he offered before someone met their end. “Y’all can be out all night, y’all can work too. Get the fuck out my face.”
“Money, you serious?” Brantley objected.
“You niggas act like we wasn’t running packs. What? You getting too big for the program?” Markus quizzed.
“Retired runner, Money,” Brantley huffed. “Fuck I look like dropping off work to some little niggas like I’m small time?”
The comment made Markus rumble with laughter. The higher they climbed in the game, it seemed the more Brantley became out of touch with where they came from.
“A gangsta is a gangsta. You don’t ever stop being a jack boy or a runner, nigga. Some shit in life is handed to you. Like pussy. Some shit you got to work for. Plus, I look at it like this. If I’m paying for club tabs, you gon’ work that shit off.”
It was the entitlement that was bound to send Markus to a place that would further bruise Brantley’s pride.
“You playin’, nigga. You ain’t never pay for my tab no fuckin’ where,” Brantley scoffed.
The comment made Angel and Svyn frown on cue. Markus was a generous as he was deadly.
“Nigga, I look like I’m fucking playing?” Markus presented a scowl, daring Brantley to stand toe to toe with him. He would hate to put his ass down in a warehouse full of people.
“Yeah aight, nigga,” Brantley huffed, before trekking out with Angel following behind. Markus kept his eyes on the pair until their cars were loaded, and they were leaving.