Chapter Seven. Ember #7
“Carter.” Asad strolls over to the street boss, sliding his hands in his suit pockets.
The Glock cradled against his lower back gleams and appears bigger and more threatening against his stark white shirt.
“Yesterday, someone took shots at me while I was headed toward downtown. Well, a few someones, to be specific, in cars and on motorcycles. I’m guessing they didn’t expect my car to be bulletproof or for Eli and me to bust back.
Or whoever paid them didn’t warn them about who they were coming after.
Either way, they’re some dead muthafuckas, and I’m left wondering who sent their roadkill asses after me.
” He stops in front of Carter and bends down, cocking his head. “Or, I was wondering.”
“Prince, man—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Asad quietly says to Demarcus without looking away from his brother.
Demarcus stacks his hands on top of his head, his feet doing a little shuffle, going side to side.
But he does shut up. Carter mugs Asad, but his fear seeps into the air, saturating it like a cloying perfume.
“Carter, do you know why I’m no longer wondering who sent them after me? ”
“Nah, man, I don’t,” he grinds out.
“No?”
“No,” Carter snaps. “D, bruh, this is bullshit.” He looks in his brother’s direction.
The crack of Asad’s open hand across Carter’s face is loud and hard enough to swing the other man’s head back the other way.
No one makes a sound. We are all spectators in this dark show. Even the soldiers lined against the wall don’t move, glued to the play Asad orchestrates.
“I’m talking to you, muthafucka. Didn’t yo mama ever teach you it’s rude to not look at someone when they’re talking to your bitch ass?
” Asad asks, his calm voice contradicting the violence of his assault.
“Now, I’ma give you one more chance to nut up and tell me the truth.
What do you know about those hittas coming after me? ”
A quick glance around the room reveals varying reactions to the display unraveling before us—excitement and satisfaction from the dons, unease and distaste from their wives, anger, apprehension, and fierce pride on the faces of the Cross family members.
I don’t peek over my shoulder at Michelle, but I can practically feel the bloodlust and pride emanating from her.
This ruthless, intimidating, heartless monster …
This is who she created, who she raised.
Disgust should swim in my chest. Horror should churn in my stomach. The itching, clawing need to be far, far away from this chilling tableau should be crawling through me, have me inching toward the door to escape.
Instead …
Instead, a twisted, perverted anticipation—no, eagerness snakes through my veins, lighting up nerve endings and carving out a craving in my belly that can only be filled by pain, screams, blood.
I briefly close my eyes. But only for a second, lest I miss anything.
And there’s my secret, the one I’ve buried so far deep that I have a hard time wiping off the grime and admitting it to myself.
I survived the monsters of my childhood by becoming one.
“I don’t know nothin’,” Carter spits. “And even if I did, I’m no snitch.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. I can almost even admire that kind of loyalty,” Asad says, straightening to his full height. “Almost, if you hadn’t taken an oath of fidelity and allegiance to me rather than the people you’re protecting. That’s some shit.”
“I gave that to Marcus, not you,” he shoots back, and that boomerangs around the room like a ricocheting bullet.
From my position, I can only see Asad’s profile, but with his long, dark hair weaved into beautiful and intricate stitch braids, nothing hinders my view of the arch of a thick eyebrow and slow curl of his lips.
“Is that so? Good to know.” He turns to Demarcus, who’s still barricaded by Cross soldiers. “What about you, D? Is your loyalty to me, or are you still sucking Marcus’s cold, dead-ass dick along with your brother?”
“Both, Prince,” Demarcus says, a heavy resignation and, if I’m not mistaken, sadness weighing his voice as he stares at his brother. “My allegiance was with Marcus and now it’s with you.”
Carter’s chest heaves up and down, his breathing audible in the room, but he doesn’t glance at his brother. His cheek must still be hot from that slap.
“Good answer.”
Turning, Asad strides across the room to a small sideboard that I hadn’t noticed. A linen-covered tray sits on top of it, but when Asad whips the covering off, pastries don’t cover the silver surface.
Knives. A machete. Scalpels. Ball peen hammers. Pliers.
A varied and beautiful array of torture tools.
Murmurs sweep through the room from where the Cross soldiers stand, and excitement quivers within them. I can practically taste the anticipation and lust for blood that saturates the air like droplets.
“Gotdamn, Prince. Please, man. That’s my brother,” Demarcus pleads. “He said he don’t know about a drive-by. Off the strength of your father—”
“Marcus ain’t got shit to do with this, D.
Your brother helped some muthafuckas to try and come for my head.
There’s no fucking exile in this bitch. You been in this life long enough to know there’s only one punishment for that kind of betrayal.
Letting your boy go? Nah, I ain’t even built like that. ”
He turns around, rolls the sideboard in front of him until it’s next to Carter.
Demarcus looses a low, pained groan, but I have to give Carter his flowers—he keeps silent, doesn’t even flinch when Asad picks up a big stainless steel pair of shears. His eyes though …
They damn near glisten with fear.
I lean forward, my breath catching in my throat, my skin tingling.
I’ve never seen Asad at work, and I’m thirsty to witness it.
Witness him unleash the demon that lurks behind four-thousand-dollar suits, a fortune in watches, and civilized manners.
The powerful yet sexual play of muscles under his shirt, the almost graceful glide of his big body, the loose and familiar clasp of long, elegant fingers around the weapon …
They’re all hints at that monster, and I’m eager for his appearance like a child on the watch for St. Nick.
Or Krampus.
“Now, because I don’t want your brother out here thinking I’m an unreasonable muthafucka, he should know why you about to go to hell a few inches shorter.” Asad pulls a cell phone out of his pocket and passes it to Eli. “Give that to D, Eli. The password is 365432,” he tells Demarcus.
Several seconds later, Demarcus frowns down at the cell.
“This is Tre’s phone.”
“Trust me, he don’t need it anymore.” Asad circles Carter, stands behind him. “Go to messages and find the thread between him and Carter.” Taps the blunt edge of the blade against Carter’s shoulder.
I, like everyone else who’s a captive audience to this theater, wait in complete silence as Demarcus navigates to the app and texts. His frown deepens until his eyebrows practically meet. Finally, he lifts his head and stares at Asad.
“What the fuck is this?” he barks.
Looping his arms around Carter’s shoulders, Asad clasps the machete in front of him, the blade braced up against his throat.
“Read it, Demarcus.”
Demarcus hesitates, but with Asad’s flat, frigid gaze settled on him, he lowers his head over the phone again.
“Tre texted ‘Unc’ at 10:28 a.m. yesterday morning, ‘We’re leaving now.’ Unc at 10:29, ‘Bet. Take the 10 Freeway. They’ll follow you from there.
’ Tre replies back. ‘Bet.’” Demarcus briefly closes his eyes, but a second later, keeps reading.
“Unc texts again ten minutes later. ‘Keep head on swivel. Two Ninjas. Hellcat. Challenger.’ Then an hour later, another text from Unc. ‘You good? Hit me up. Let me know what P sayin.’”
“What was that about he don’t know shit?” Asad asks Demarcus, the first hints of anger seeping into his voice. “I don’t know what I’m more pissed at. That he was in on setting my ass up or that he did it through text messages on an unsecured phone.”
“Prince…” Demarcus whispers.
“Don’t beg him for shit,” Carter snaps. “He gon’ do what he gon’ do anyway. Fuck him.”
“Fuck me?” Asad chuckles and a delicious shiver dances down the middle of my torso, between my breasts, past my navel, and two steps over my clit. I shift in my seat. “Y’know what I say? Fuck those fingers. Grimy muthafuckas who text like bitches don’t need ’em.”
He steps to the side, opens the shears, and closes them so fast that I don’t realize four of Carter’s fingers are severed until his high-pitched screams pierce the air. Blood spurts, spraying Demarcus and the soldiers standing beside him.
Just a couple of days ago, I made a man bleed out of his ears and eyes, but that was in the name of science. This … I stare at the appendages on the floor next to Carter’s feet. This is pure grisly art. And Asad is a macabre Picasso.
In this moment, he has never been more fascinating to me. More savage.
More beautiful.
“Jesus, Prince! Jesus Christ,” Demarcus shouts, surging forward, but he’s held back. “Please, not my brother.”
“Now, Carter, you can tell me who you working with, and I can end this now and your brother can make sure Ms. Rachel has most of you to bury. Or you can keep quiet like the disloyal bitch you are and go back to them in jigsaw-puzzle pieces. Makes no difference to me. Your choice, bruh,” Asad says to a whimpering Carter, ignoring his brother’s cries.
When Carter only continues to groan, Asad nods, and the chandelier’s light glints off the shears once more as Asad takes Carter’s thumb.
Screams assault my ears, and I close my eyes, hold my breath.
Block out everything but that sound. In this dining room, surrounded by some of the underworld’s worst, the man I consider my biggest, worst enemy is unlocking something inside of me.
Introducing me to a side of myself that I’d hidden behind the cold, detached wall of science and sterility.
But this … this is personal. Personal, intimate, and messy.
And I’m utterly captivated.