Chapter 8
“What happened to you?” Neveah pressed, hovering over a sweaty Markus.
The pain in his arm was almost too much to bear. The painkillers that had him knocked out throughout most of the day had worn off. In pain, irritable, and unable to snatch Neveah out of her socks and throw her out of his house, only added to the mounting frustration.
He winced as he sat up from his laid position on the couch.
That’s as far as he’d made it when Brantley dropped him off a day ago.
Markus couldn’t focus on her questions, her absence, or her treachery.
His focus – more Percocet to ease the pain.
He snatched the bottle off of the table, popped three into his mouth, chased it with water and slowly reclined back.
“What the fuck does it look like?” he growled. “Where the fuck you been that you don’t know we got ambushed at the warehouse?”
Neveah swayed. “I was at the shop like you told me. I called you after I was done but you didn’t answer and I know how you feel about me calling you back to back.”
He groaned, needing something to drown out all of the pain and her voice. Standing, he stumbled past her to the liquor cabinet, finding a bottle of brown liquor with no regard of the brand, he pulled the top off and moved back to the couch.
“You standing here to help or just fuckin’ look? Go back to wherever the fuck you been.”
“Emilliano,” Neveah huffed his middle name as if he would soften to her.
He’d shown her more grace than she deserved.
He didn’t want to sleep with her, didn’t care about her day-to-day activities as of late or how she felt.
The reason she still had access to his house – he didn’t want her on the streets.
It wouldn’t sit well with his conscience.
What little bit of it the drug game hadn’t stolen.
“Don’t call me that,” he huffed. Only Nia and his aunt would call him that from time-to-time to let him know they meant business.
Neveah’s brows creased, remembering what G said. Part of her preferred to be killed by his hands than Markus’. Markus would go to the deepest, darkest place in his mind and not spare her an ounce of pain. She tiptoed over to him and kneeled before him.
“Can I help take your mind off of the pain?” she asked, reaching up to maneuver her hands into his sweats.
Forcibly, he pushed her hands away. “Not to fuckin’ touch me. Matter of fact, pack your shit and get the fuck out.”
“What?” Neveah asked, as though any of this came as a surprise. “Money. I-I just want to take care of you!”
“Now?” he asked, orbs blazing with a rage she’d only seen for his enemies.
“I ain’t trippin’ on who you fuck. You gon’ do whatever the fuck you want.
That’s been clear. The respect though. I’m going to trip about that shit every muhfuckin’ time.
I ain’t never been the type of nigga to put my hands on a woman but you fuckin’ testin’ me. Get your shit and get the fuck out!”
His voice roared. It was saturated in physical pain that was triggering the mental pain he had in check.
No, it wasn’t his first time being shot but this one seemed like it was unraveling every thread he used to sew himself back together.
He was a leader, and two days of sitting down on the job made him feel like everything he’d sacrificed his life for was slipping away.
He couldn’t do the down time. He couldn’t do the memories and the triggers.
He couldn’t do Neveah kneeled in front of him as though she was only his.
“M-markus,” she pleaded, standing up and moving to a safe distance. “Let me, make it right! Please!”
He grabbed the bottle of liquor and pills before flipping the coffee table over with his uninjured arm. “Get the fuck out!”
Neveah knew any further pleading would yield her being the target next. She threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine.”
“Hurry the fuck up.” The bottles of pills and liquor in tow, he roamed down the hall to the guest room, hoping that this mixture was enough to give him some relief, if only for a night.
He dropped his body onto the bed and stared at the ceiling fan spinning.
Gazing at the motion, he let his mind fall into a trance, promising himself that when he woke up, it was back to business by any means.
The vibrating of his phone next to his head pulled him out his slumber, dry mouth, a sore shoulder and recollection of the dreams that were back to haunt him. He grunted, remembering why he hated the mattress in the guest bedroom. Too soft.
Palming his phone, he eyeballed the name on the screen and answered.
Svyn.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Look we’re trying to let you heal up, but we got a problem,” Svyn shared.
“What’s the fuckin’ problem?” Markus asked, silently wincing as he sat up.
“I’m headed to your spot, I’ll tell you when I get there. Get your ass up, nigga. We got business.”
With that, Svyn hung up.
“These niggas always doing some bullshit, I swear,” he huffed, pulling himself off the mattress, barely stretching and roaming up the stairs to shower and dress.
The coffee table was still flipped over, the contents scattered about.
He hoped that when he reached his bedroom, every trace of Neveah was gone.
It wasn’t. She’d left dumb shit. A toothbrush and other toiletries, a handful of clothes and bags and some jewelry.
Reasons to come back over. He made a mental note to call Nia and have her handle the lightwork.
Almost thirty minutes later, he was dressed, re-medicated and walking out his front door toward Svyn’s car. He pulled the door open and eased in.
“You look like shit, nigga,” Svyn stated. “You ate?”
“Nigga, you wanna know if I took a shit too?” Markus snapped. “Ain’t shit to eat in that fuckin’ house and I’m in too much fuckin’ pain to attempt.”
Svyn pulled off and shook his head. “Fuck you keeping Neveah around if she ain’t helpin’ you for shit?”
“I kicked her useless ass out. But fuck all of that, what the fuck happened and why you calling me and not B?”
Svyn winced. “Because that nigga is trying to cover his tracks. Him and Angel shot at some of Luciano’s people after an argument over territory.”
“Aight, we been bussin’ at them niggas forever.”
“It would be cool, if it was just some of Luciano’s niggas. A little boy was hit. He ain’t make it. You know the code around women and children.”
“Fuck!” Markus roared. “What the fuck is wrong with these muhfuckas? Huh?”
He hit the dash with the palm of his hand and then stroked his beard and mustache in need of a shape up. “Got damn man! It ain’t e-fuckin-nough we got enough heat on us. Where these niggas at?”
“Auntie’s.”
“You fuckin’ lying,” Markus gritted, peering at Svyn. “They hiding at auntie’s?”
Svyn nodded. “Got her thinkin’ they just came by for Sunday dinner.”
“Take me there. Then we got to talk to Luciano and settle this shit before we have bodies dropping left and right. These stupid ass muhfuckas man!”
Svyn sped toward Aunt Lucielle’s spot. Before he could park, Markus jumped out and was headed up the steps.
The painkillers doing their job at making him feel nothing.
He whisked into the brownstone, following the sound of laughter.
His aunt, happy to see her sons, not knowing they were bringing the heat to her door.
Something the four men vowed to never do.
He passed Ms. Ophelia in the kitchen and made his way to the dining room. “We having a family dinner and didn’t mention shit?”
Brantley and Angel lifted their eyes to Markus and immediately knew that he knew. They saved face though, they had to. If Lucielle got a whiff that something had gone down, she would attempt to take matters into her own hands.
Markus pulled a seat out and sat down. “Ms. O made a spread, didn’t she?”
“How’d you know I was going to bring you a plate?” Ms. Ophelia posed, entering the dining room behind Svyn. “I know that girl you got ain’t feeding you.”
“Mm,” Lucielle grunted. “Skinnier every time I see you. Where’s Nia? And Cyn?”
“Cyn took an extra shift at the hospital tonight,” Brantley spoke, sitting back in his chair.
“Nia’s with the mayor’s wife tonight,” Markus replied, not taking his eyes off of his cousins.
“You should’ve been there, Markus,” Lucielle said with a pointed look. “Make sure you’re at the next one.”
Markus nodded in acknowledgement.
“You good, Lucielle?” Ms. Ophelia questioned, placing the plates down in front of Markus and Svyn.
“Could you help me to the restroom?” Lucielle asked and Ophelia jumped at the request.
When alone, Markus finally spoke to the duo. “Any of you dumbasses care to explain what the fuck happened?”
He clenched his jaw, that anger becoming more out of control by the second. The pills didn’t help.
“Money, we were going to talk to Luciano about it. Smooth it over,” Angel spoke up.
“Whose brilliant ass idea was that? Yours or my number two?” Markus asked, glaring at Brantley.
“We were just going to let the streets calm down before I handled it.”
“Calm down?” Markus attempted not to raise his voice but it was becoming a losing battle.
“Nigga, there’s a dead fuckin’ kid! You know the fuckin’ rules.
We made the fuckin’ rules. We all fuckin’ agreed.
No women, no kids. Do you fuckin’ understand that this, on top of supply issues, is going to start a war bigger than either side can afford?
Stealing territory is one thing, I can handle that. A dead kid!”
“Money, I was going to fix it.”
“You wasn’t going to do shit, B, but fuck it some more. Svyn, you’re number two. Eat later. We got to soothe this shit before everyone is fuckin’ dead. As far as you two niggas, let auntie be touched by this, I’m killing you degenerates myself.”
“That’s our momma, nigga,” Angel spoke up.
Brantley said nothing. He was stewing with embarrassment and entitlement.
“Yeah, and a son don’t ever bring heat to his momma’s steps.” Markus stood and cut his eyes to Brantley. “You got some shit you want to say to me?”
“Nah, bro, we good.”
“Better fuckin’ be. Get out of here and go find you some business that don’t involve me cleaning up your mess.”
Markus stomped out of the house and back to Svyn’s car. Svyn fired up the engine and the pair sped away.
“B ain’t happy about this change,” Svyn shared.
“I don’t care. He should have thought about that before he did the shit he did. Niggas been acting like fuckin’ amateurs.”
Svyn reserved any comments. Markus was already in a state, saying anything else to him would ruin the meeting with Luciano before it began. Markus bounced his leg and stroked his beard.
“You got to lay off the pills, nigga. How much you got left in the bottle?”
“A few. I need more.”
“You need to relax on it.”
“I’ll let them go when the pain is gone. Outside of that, I’m cool.”
“Mon-”
“I said I’m cool. Hurry up and get me to Luciano’s spot.”