Chapter 9 Orion
Orion
The party was in full swing. The room was buzzing with laughter and old-school jams. Plates were stacked high with food, everybody’s glass was full, and my cousins were talking over each other.
From where I sat, I could see Cayla across the room with my mother.
I was nervous for her until I saw her and Moms smile at each other.
She looked like she belonged and like she’d been here all along.
It was crazy how she fit right into my crazy world.
How she fit right in with my crazy family.
But my head wasn’t all the way in the room. There was too much on my mind.
Omari slid into the seat beside me with a plate of ribs in his hand. This greedy muthafucka had barbecue sauce dripping down his fingers.
“Yo, this shit is lit. Moms look happy as hell.”
I nodded, keeping my voice low. “She deserves it.”
Omari leaned back, chewing, with his eyes darting toward me like he knew something was off.
“You good, bro? You've been quiet all night.”
I let out a short breath while shaking my head.
“Fresh called me earlier.”
Omari froze mid-bite. “What?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, keeping my tone even, though my jaw was tight.
“He said he knows I hit his spot, and that he gon’ get his lick back.”
I was procrastinating with telling the nigga myself, which I now felt in my gut was a mistake.
Revealing that I was the culprit would have put me on my own timeline for anticipating retaliation.
I was grateful that he said anything, though, because now I knew to watch my back.
Omari dropped his rib bone onto the plate, licking his fingers slowly.
“Damn. Fresh really came at you directly?”
I figured that when I started asking around about his crib, things would come back to me. I didn’t think this quickly, though.
“Yeah. No sugarcoating, either. He was straight up with the shit. He knows.”
I glanced around the room, making sure no one was listening, then leaned in closer.
“I heard it in his voice. He wants war.”
Omari cursed under his breath while shaking his head.
“You should have just killed his ass like I said.”
I narrowed my eyes while dropping my voice lower so none of our nosy ass aunts who were staring could hear.
“Nigga, YOU should have just killed his ass. This was your beef to begin with.”
Omari looked at me for a long second. He didn’t say shit immediately because he knew I was right. He twisted his mouth like he was thinking before nodding his head and then responding.
“So, what’s the next move?”
I sat back, watching Cayla laugh at something Moms said. OJ was dancing between his aunts in the middle of the floor. My hand tapped the table slowly and deliberately.
“The move is we stay ready, so we ain’t gotta get ready. If Fresh wants his lick back? Let him try.”
Omari smirked, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Well, at least we get to enjoy this party before the war.”
I took a sip of my drink with my eyes still locked on Cayla and my mother.
“Amen to that.”
The night wound down in waves. The party that was so lively was now coming to an end.
Plates were now dirty and stacked, glasses were empty, and laughter mellowed into slurred stories.
My family was good and drunk, my uncles were talking too loudly, and my aunts were swaying to songs that had stopped playing ten minutes ago.
“Alright now, y’all done wore Moms out,” I joked, helping her into her little jacket.
She chuckled while shaking her head. Her silver hair was shining even in the dim light.
She wasn’t much of a drinker, and I could tell from the stumble and wobbly stand she had going on that she was tore the fuck up.
One of my aunts had already left earlier, taking OJ with her since she was staying at Mom’s house.
That gave me a little peace of mind. At least he was out of the mix.
With him around, I was always guarded. Something about being kid-free just gave me a sense of relaxation.
By the time we stepped out of the party hall, we were the last to exit. It was just me, Moms, Omari, and Cayla.
The air outside was crisp and cool enough to cut through the liquor still humming in my blood.
I walked right behind my mother, with Omari on one side of me, and Cayla close enough on the other side that I could feel her arm brushing against mine with each step we took.
I started to smile at how well the night had turned out for my mother.
She deserved a night filled with love and laughter.
A night dedicated especially to her. She hadn’t had many of those since my dad died.
That’s when I heard it. The sound of tires screeching against pavement. A black truck jerked to a stop at the corner with its engine growling loud enough to rattle my bones.
The windows were down just enough, and through the tinted glass, my eyes locked dead-on with a figure behind the wheel. His mask was pulled down low, but I knew. I knew. It had to be Fresh. My stomach dropped, instincts flaring before my mouth even caught up.
“Get down—”
Gunfire erupted, shattering the night. Screams tore through the parking lot as bullets lit up the air.
My ears rang while chaos broke out all at once.
I spun, shoving Cayla down behind a car as my hand reached for my piece that was buried too deep under my suit jacket.
Omari was already returning fire. Once I got my gun out of my waistband, I halted. I saw her.
Moms staggered in front of me with a deep red spot that started to bloom across the side of her dress.
It caused a huge wet puddle on her already burgundy gown.
She was holding her side right where the bullet had ripped through her.
Everything slowed. Her eyes were wide and her breath hitched as she reached for me.
“Ma!” Omari’s voice cracked with a rawness that held panic in it.
I caught her as she fell, my arms locked around her petite frame. My mind was a roaring storm of rage and disbelief. As quickly as the tires screeched, the truck had vanished, burning rubber down the block. Fresh had really done it. He’d just signed his own death certificate.
“Ma! Stay with me. You hear me?”
My voice was hoarse, and my words broke as I pressed my hands hard against her side.
Blood ran warm and steady through my fingers, soaking everything.
My mother’s silver hair was sticking straight up, and her breath was shallow as fuck, which scared the shit out of me.
Omari was yelling and pacing with his hands on his head.
“Call somebody! CALL somebody, man!”
Cayla was already on it while crouched low beside us. Her phone was pressed to her ear as she shouted at the dispatcher. Her voice was trembling but steady.
“She’s been shot! Please hurry!”
Around us, the party dissolved into panic.
My drunk uncles were stumbling toward cars, my aunties screaming.
People were running in every direction, and all I could hear, all I could feel, was my mother’s blood pulsing out under my hands.
I looked to the street. Although the black truck was long gone, the statement was clear.
Fresh didn’t even have to say it. I knew this was his message.
“Stay with me, Ma… please…” I whispered against her hair, rocking her in my arms like I was a kid and not a man.
Her eyes fluttered, and her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came out.
Instead, she coughed up blood, which made Omari panic more.
Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting sharper through the night the closer they got.
Omari dropped to his knees, finally, gripping our mother’s hand tight.
“Don’t you leave me, Ma! Don’t you leave us like this! Where the fuck is the ambulance?”
Cayla reached out and started brushing my back with her hand.
She was showing me that in the moment, she was here for me, even as her own tears streamed.
I could tell she didn’t know what to do; hell, none of us did, but she stayed.
She rubbed harder to let me know she was present.
I could tell that she refused to let me drown in it alone.
The paramedics rushed into the parking lot. They pried Moms from my arms, shouting medical jargon I barely registered.
I stumbled back as I let them work. Watching them load Moms into the ambulance was like watching the ground disappear under me.
And in that moment, standing there in the flashing red and blue lights while inhaling the smell of gun powder, I made myself a promise.
Fresh thought he won tonight, but I was going to make sure he never breathed again, not after this.
The hospital lights were too bright, too sterile, and were burning into my eyes like they were mocking the dried blood on my hands.
Omari was pacing the length of the waiting room like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching.
He was never the level-headed one, and tonight he displayed it.
Cayla sat off to the side, quiet but still letting me know she was here for me by small moments of eye contact every here and there.
She kept grabbing at her calf, and I knew she must have injured it more when I pushed her to the ground.
I didn’t have it in me to check on her right now. My biggest concern was my mother.
The automatic doors opened, and the doctor walked toward us, his expression already telling me everything before he even opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry…” His voice was flat and practiced, but it cut straight through me. “We did everything we could, but… your mother didn’t make it.”
The words slammed into my chest like bullets. My knees went weak, but I refused to fall. I couldn’t. Omari wasn’t so strong. He slammed both fists against the wall and let out a sound that was half-cry, half-roar.
“No! No, man, no!”
His shoulders shook, and for the first time, my little brother looked like a boy again.
He looked like the little nigga who used to wreak havoc in the house, all because our parents used to let him.
All because he was the baby. I knew that tonight would leave him broken and lost. I just stood there.
Frozen. My jaw locked so tight I thought my teeth would crack.
I didn’t cry. Honestly, I couldn’t. I opened my mouth to let some of the steam in my body out, and my throat burned with it, but all that came out was silence.
Cayla rose slowly, like she didn’t know if she had the right to come near me.
But she did anyway. Her arms slipped around me from the side.
Her warmth pressed against my cold body while her head leaned against my shoulder.
I didn’t move. I didn’t even hug her back, but I didn’t push her off either.
I just stared at the floor while her tears wet my shirt.
The doctor murmured something about paperwork, about needing us to follow him, but I barely heard it.
I didn’t even pay the nigga no mind because paperwork was the last thing on my fucking mind.
Omari slid down into one of the hard plastic chairs.
He had his elbows on his knees, and his hands gripped his face like he was trying to rip the pain out of himself.
His breathing was ragged and loud in the quiet waiting room.
I broke free from Cayla’s embrace and took a seat beside my brother.
I appreciated her wanting to be there for me, but the demon I had to bring out to exact revenge was one I didn’t want her to witness.
“They killed Ma, bro,” Omari muttered with his voice cracking. “Fresh killed Ma.”
The words felt like fire in my chest. I turned my head in his direction and locked eyes with him. There wasn’t a trace of doubt between us.
“He did this,” I said low and steady, “And I’m going to make him pay for it.”
Omari’s hands dropped from his face. His eyes were red, wild, and desperate, but there was steel there, too.
“We can’t let this slide, O. We can’t. You hear me? We gotta put this nigga in the dirt.”
Cayla shifted in the corner, like she wanted to speak but didn’t dare.
I was sure she could feel that this wasn’t something she could reach into.
This was blood business. Straight street shit.
No back rubs could help me in this situation.
No encouraging words could tame me. I leaned forward and placed my elbows on my knees before opening my mouth.
My voice was calm but cold enough to chill the air.
“We can’t rush this. Fresh thinks he's smart. He thinks he can run down on us and shoot at our family? I’m pretty sure those bullets were for me and you.
He moved sloppily and loudly.” I shook my head.
“We gotta be smarter. We gotta move quietly and accurately,” I paused, letting the weight of it hang heavy, “when the time is right, we're gonna bury him.”
Omari’s fists balled tight. He nodded in a single sharp motion, like he was sealing a deal.
“Say less. I’m with you all the way.”
His voice was broken, and so were my thoughts. My brother and I didn’t agree on much, but one thing we did agree on was getting Fresh for Moms. I didn’t think I would be able to live with myself if I didn’t. I used the back of my hand to wipe away the tear that had finally fallen.