Chapter 15 #2
Focused back on making the pasta, the rest of their group trickled in, turning the mood from slightly lighthearted to strained.
Cyn didn’t say a word to Reign before taking the bread Nia sliced and placing into a basket.
Reign didn’t take it to heart. She could ignore women with hatefulness in their bones like the best of them.
Everyone surrounded Nia’s dining room table and Markus fixed his plate. A spoonful of Reign’s alfredo and a piece of bread – purposefully bypassing the store bought dishes made without care or love. Not one for small talk or bullshit, he broke the silence.
“So what the fuck am I here for? ‘Cause it ain’t for Maruccio’s. They deliver.”
“But you’re not even eating Maruccio’s,” Nia spoke up, causing Markus to pause forking a bite into his mouth to reply.
“Yeah ‘cause that shit is nasty.” he grumbled, taking a bite, pausing, moaning and lowly looking at Reign before swallowing and pushing the plate away. “I wanna enjoy this shit but you two niggas are lookin’ in my face like you got some shit to say.”
Reign sat between Nia and the hall entrance and didn’t feel like she needed to be privy to this. Cyn hadn’t even sat down yet. So maybe she could slide out and leave family business to family.
“Nah, we here ‘cause Cyn said he was putting us back on,” Angel stated.
“Oh, boy,” Svyn responded, taking a swig of his water.
“Putting you on the fuck where? Y’all can’t even manage the shit I gave you,” Markus stated. “How you fuck up simple shit?”
“No one fucked up the simple shit, Money,” B fired back, his pride on display. “You got this nigga sitting in my spot and got me servin’ junkies like I’m some bitch ass nigga.”
“There’s a dead fuckin’ kid!” Markus erupted. “We got rules!”
The boom of his voice made Reign jolt.
“It was an accident,” Angel fired back. “I ain’t see that fuckin’ kid.”
“And you want me to trust you with actual business when you don’t have the ability to peep the scene for real? Consider the possibilities of a knee jerk reaction? Fuck outta here.”
She used the back and forth as her exit. Slipping into the hall, bypassing the hoodie needed to combat the coolness. Reign quietly slipped onto the porch trying to figure out which way to go. Subsequently overhearing an intense conversation Cyn was having on the phone.
“How am I supposed to do that when he barely talks to me? My access is damn near nothing,” she gritted. “I know I told you I would get you something but I don’t have anything right now…no nothing. Listen, I’m at dinner I’ll get you something.”
She hung up just as Markus stormed out of the door, almost knocking Reign over. The hoodie she left inside clutched in his hands.
“Oomph,” Reign huffed, grabbing the railing and catching herself.
Markus grabbed her and huffed, “my bad, Speechless.”
“You’re not eating?” Cyn asked, straightening herself.
Reign knew she wasn’t talking to her. Markus looked between the two, prompting Reign to mutter as she wiggled out of his hold, “she ain’t talking to me.”
Cyn cut her eyes at Reign and then looked up at Markus. “I need you to put him back on.”
“Fuck no,” Markus grumbled, ambling down the couple of steps. “You ask that nigga how that kid got hit in the first place?”
“N-no,” Cyn said, frowning.
“Yeah, do that and don’t do no shit like this again. I really wanted to enjoy my fuckin’ food,” he said gruffly, walking down the remaining steps.
This wasn’t Reign’s business and as Cyn walked back into the house, she walked down the steps heading in the opposite direction of where she needed to be going. Markus’ raspiness stopped her.
“Where you going? It’s too cold out here for you.”
Reign stopped barely turned around to say, “I’ll be fine.”
“Oh yeah? You know where you’re going?” he challenged.
Reign turned around, a faux sense of assurance on her face. “I’m sure there’s a bus or a cab.”
“You don’t have no metro card. I know that as a fact because you don’t look like you’ve ever had to take public transportation. And a cab,” he chuckled. “They’re going to see your green ass and charge you triple the fare. Get in.”
“I’m good really. I’ll figure it out.”
“Look, Reign, I ain’t in the mood to go back and forth with you.
You can either get your ass in or I can put your ass in.
” Markus’ tone was direct. “Or I’ll let your stubborn ass walk and drive right behind you for the next hour and a half.
That’s how long it’s going to take you on foot with no hoodie. ”
Reign groaned, hating that he was right. She looked around. “No bullshit?”
“Nah, Speechless, I don’t do bullshit. Don’t have time for it,” he assured, opening the passenger side door. “Come on, I got shit to do.”
“Stop calling me that. I don’t like you,” Reign stated firmly.
Markus shrugged. “Don’t like me, that’s cool. Get inside this car. Come on, before I fuck around and shoot my cousin in his fuckin’ face.”
With that, Reign stopped holding him up and slid inside of the BMW. Markus dropped the hoodie in her lap before shutting the door. “Put that on.”
Reign curled her lip and tossed it on the back seat. Before he could get in, she scooched as close to the door as possible. Markus got in and fired up the engine. The motions were accompanied with grunts and groans.
“Where you staying?” Markus questioned trying to get comfortable before pulling off from the curb.
Reign squinted her eyes. “I mean am I going to make it there? Or are you going to die on the way?”
Markus cut his eyes at her behind the blue tint of his glasses. “I’m cool, thank you. Fuckin’ shoulder still hurts.”
“…from?”
“Being shot. Any other questions?”
“Actually, no,” she sassed. “Makes sense though.”
“What makes sense?”
Reign looked over him. “That whoever shot you seemed to have a valid reason.”
Markus chuckled, lip twitching with a need for a comeback but minded his manners because her voice was soothing. “Shooting me was some bitch ass shit. A cheap shot. That’s why he sleep. You never answered the question.”
“I’m staying at the Lynnwood Grand,” Reign turned her attention back to the window.
“The LG. Not to be in your business or no shit like that.”
“Says the annoying man before he gets into my business,” she muttered.
“How you affording that?”
Reign pressed her lips together, “I’m not. Thankfully, your sister isn’t as much of a brute as you are.”
“Woah, you don’t even know me for real.”
“Or for fake. I’m good on that too,” she stated.
“What’s your deal? Where you from with all that mouth and no nigga to back it up?”
Reign looked at him, confusion morphing into irritation on her face. Surely he saw the evidence of abuse on her face but still chose to ask questions. He was testing the waters, seeing how safe it was to dive in. Could he do it effortlessly or was there a need to drop bodies in the process.
“Don’t do that mute shit again,” Markus spoke. “Was it your nigga that did that shit to your face?”
Reign didn’t say anything, the embarrassment of hearing that out loud struck a chord in her.
“He’s a pussy for that and you shouldn’t go back,” Markus continued.
“That’s the plan,” Reign muttered.
“He comes around, make a call. I’ll make sure his ass gets put down,” Markus said.
“Why? You don’t even know me for real,” Reign spoke, looking at him.
“Don’t mean shit. A man who puts his hands on a woman ain’t a man. And he needs to be put down just like a bitch with rabies. Shit is simple. That nigga comes around, you call. It’ll be handled.”
Reign looked at him for a long while before slowly turning away.
She was searching for some inkling that he was just talking shit like most men did when their motives weren’t pure.
Finding none, she curled into herself more.
She didn’t say anything else until he pulled under the breezeway and the valet opened her door.
Markus reached on the back seat and handed the hoodie back to her. “Wear it until you get a jacket. You ain’t built for this weather. For real.”
She took it, offering him a set of pursed lips as a thank you. Pulling her buzzing flip phone out of her back pocket she started inside. Her stomach lurching when she saw Camden’s unsaved number.
Before she could get her greeting out of her mouth the scream from Camden froze her.
“DON’T SAY SHIT REIGN! RUN! THEY’RE IN THE HOTEL!” Camden screamed. “I’M SOR-”
A gunshot fired off ending Camden’s shouting before Javier’s wicked chuckle flowed into her eardrums freezing her being. “When KC brings your ass back you’re going to be laying right next to her stinking body.”
Reign backed out of the lobby, no sign of Markus’ car.
With haste she dawned the hoodie and ran for blocks until the bright lights turned dim.
Whatever she had in her room be damned. She was starting over again.
The reality of that inducing panic in her.
Her running came to a halt when she reached Resting Place Motel.
The people were unsightly, the building was run down but KC nor any of Javier’s men would expect her to be here.
She eased into the tiny lobby, the receptionist didn’t even bother looking up.
“It’s forty-five dollars a night. Cash only.”
She blinked away the tears and removed some money and slid it over. In return she got a key. Room 203. Reign cautiously maneuvered past the drug dealers, prostitutes and fiends up the sticky stairs to the room. Locked and barricaded behind the door she let out a sob that was gutting.
For the next three days, she came and went, barely sleeping, paying by the night, wearing the hoodie and some clothes she got from the hair shop. A cheap compact of foundation that almost matched her skin tone, and constantly looking over her shoulder was like slipping back into hell.
It was just before dawn and Reign was slipping out of the motel.
Trying to be undetected by the hustlers holding up the lobby blocking the door.
She’d managed to slip past them for the last three days but today, there seemed to be a target on her.
The oversized hoodie, the leggings and the sneakers were all items that made her undetectable.
The difference this morning was the hoodie wasn’t pulled over her head covering her face.
“Ay, bright-bright,” one of the hustlers called in reference to her skin tone.
Reign noticed how they talked amongst themselves and pointed to their phone as she quickened to the door.
“I know you hear my man’s talkin’ to you, bitch,” the other gnashed, reaching out and pulling her back by the ponytail and pinned her arms behind her back. “This her?”
“Get the fuck off of me!” she shouted, attempting to wiggle and jolt out of the hold of the tart-smelling hustler.
The hustler who initially called her out came over and glared down at her.
Oily skin in need of cleaning, clothes tainted with body odor, a sign that he wasn’t the best hustler.
If he was, he’d probably be higher up on the totem pole and at least have time to clean his ass regularly.
He observed her face and Reign returned the favor.
While fear rippled through her body, she held herself steady. “You fuckin’ stink.”
If this was how she was going to be treated, she at least was going to get some things off her chest. The fear keeping her silent was starting to be overpowered by something else she hadn’t experienced.
One back hand across her face stinging in its wake caused her head to whip from one side to another. “Fuck you, bitch,” Reign said, before spitting on him. “Get off of me!”
“There’s a price on your head. To deliver your pretty ass untouched,” the hustler grumbled, wiping the spit from his face. “But you need to learn a fuckin’ lesson first.”
The hustler holding her hostage moved once hearing the snap of his dirty friend’s fingers. The motion gave him the fuel needed to drive Reign’s face into the wall. She saw it coming and learned how to twist herself to minimize the impact. Sadly, she’d become a professional survivor.
“I told you none of that shit in here!” The man Reign had spoken to nights before to rent her night-by-night room called out from behind the bullet proof glass.
He’d been there the whole time, seemingly attempting to mind his business.
Apparently, her being rammed into the wall was more than he could stomach.
His shout was just enough distraction for Reign to run away.
Face, head, and heart pounding, she ran until she reached the salon.
Using her key to slip into the back door.
There would be no sleep, just tears as she washed her body in the sink of the staff bathroom.
Tired of running and running off fumes, Reign sat on the breakroom couch after covering the marks on her face with the cheap makeup she kept in her locker.
She stared at her hands, watching the tears hit them. They were weighted in her sadness.
“It’s me again,” she muttered, pain breaking her voice. “I don’t know how to pray. And I don’t even think I deserve for you to listen to me. But I need some help. So if you’re real, God, I need you. And if you’re not, I guess maybe being dead is better than this.”