Chapter Five. Eshe
CHAPTER FIVE
Eshe
“Bitch. What part of ‘you’re supposed to be dead because Abena put a hit out on you’ didn’t you understand?” Tera growls in my ear through the mic in my helmet. I grin, steering my ’Busa down Atlantic Avenue.
She’s one of the kapteni under me—one of my Seven.
It’s not her rank that allows her to talk to me like that though.
Someone else could try it and find their tongue stapled to their chest like money on their birthday.
It’s sacrifice, commitment, blood, loyalty, love—that’s the shit that binds us tighter than soldier and kapten. Closer than kapten and olori.
We’re sisters.
Tera, Penn, Tyeesha, Nef, Kenya, Maura, Sienna, and I have been friends since we were in the third grade, stalking and fucking up Marcus Brown for shoving Sienna’s younger sister at recess and then flipping her uniform skirt so his little pervert-in-training friends could get a look at her drawers.
I saw the shit, and apparently so had my girls—who weren’t my girls at the time.
Sienna, slender and tiny even for a nine-year-old, had picked up a stick damn near bigger than her and slammed it into the back of Marcus’s head.
When his boys tried to jump in—even more reason they were pieces of shit—they fucked around and found out when the rest of us left them bleeding and leaking on that playground. We’ve all been besties since.
And fuck yeah, I said besties. Even killers need homegirls.
“Umm, the ‘you’re supposed to be dead’ part?” I snicker.
Abena and I are similar like that. Both of us are ruthless and merciless as fuck.
It’s the why where we differ. And the where and the why sum up the reasons I won’t sleep one night in the compound where my mother raised me.
Yeah, I love my Mwuaji family, but I don’t put shit past a muthafucka.
My mama raised a sociopath, not a fool. If Abena ordered them and the money was right, they’d come for my neck.
We are criminals, after all.
“So what in the fuck made you think it was a good idea to prance your li’l ass down State Street like you’re on a fucking float in the Juneteenth parade?
I swear, Eshe, sometimes I think we should just go ’head and get a check for you.
At least then the trouble you cause would literally be worth it. ”
“Listen, I know you don’t get it, but there’s a method to my madness,” I assure her, weaving in and out of traffic as I near the Boston Waterfront. Not much beats the rush of flying down a road, my motorcycle humming between my legs and nothing but wind caging me. It’s pure freedom.
“‘Madness’ being the key word here,” Tera mutters. “But please, enlighten me.”
“By hiring the Huntsman and putting a hit out on me, she fucked up and violated the cardinal law we have as a family. Even she isn’t above it, and even God couldn’t save her bitch ass if anyone found out.
We both know there’s only one punishment for that crime—death.
So, in a way, I got that ho’s life in my hands since me, her, the Huntsman, and probably Ekon’s follow-the-leader ass are the only ones who know about the dirty shit she up to. ”
There ain’t shit she does that Ekon—or Mirror, as everyone calls him—doesn’t know about or doesn’t have a hand in carrying out. Mirror because he reflects every thought, idea, or action of Abena’s.
“Uh-huh. I already know all this shit since I’m the one who passed along the info about her meeting with the Huntsman to you.
” In another era or lifetime, Tera would’ve made a stellar spymaster.
She possesses a network of spies in the compound that makes the CIA look like pussy amateurs playing at G.I.
Joe. Her information never fails, is never wrong.
Next to her love of guns—and using them—it’s her most lethal quality.
“I still don’t see what that’s got to do with you Meghan Markle–ing your ass down the center of Boston. ”
“Because I want her shaking in her fucking red bottoms with the knowledge that, at any moment, I can fuck all her shit up. That everything she’s lied, bribed, betrayed, and killed to get can blow up in her face if I open up my mouth.
I want her to know fear. Every time she looks at me, I want that bitch to choke on it. ”
Silence beats down the phone line.
“You know she’s not going to admit to shit, Eshe, right?” Tera roughly asks.
On anyone else, it would be an attempt at tenderness, but this is Tera, sooo …
“Of course she’s not. And because she’s who she is, no doubt Abena believes she’s covered her ass so no one can prove she’s behind the attempted hit.”
“Attempted.” Tera snorts. “He’s the fucking Huntsman, Eshe.
We’ve heard so many stories about him, they’re like urban legends by now.
And the main one? He’s like the gotdamn Terminator; he doesn’t stop until he gets the job done.
Shiiiid, I’m not a hundred percent convinced the mu’fucka ain’t been sent by Skynet.
Eshe, I love you like the half sister from my daddy’s side chick, so no offense, but I’m kinda shocked you’re still breathing. How did you walk away from him?”
“I have my ways.” I smirk.
She grunts. “I don’t even want to know what that means.” The sounds of a horn and traffic hit my ears. “How far out are you? I’m pulling up behind the club now.”
“I’m about five minutes out. You parking in the alley, right?”
“Yeah. See you in five.”
The line disconnects, and I gun the engine, about to turn those five minutes into three.
I turn my mind from thoughts of Abena and the Huntsman to more immediate and pressing matters.
And as I veer off Atlantic and steer my ’Busa down a narrow street, I focus on the meeting—or ambush—I’m about to walk into. The odds are pretty much fifty-fifty.
I can’t even lie. A large part of me hopes for the ambush. It’s been a few days since I’ve killed someone and had the fun of watching their eyes glaze over as their spirit left their body. I’m having mad withdrawals.
Rounding the corner into an alley a couple of streets over from the warehouse where the meet is supposed to happen, I spot Tera leaning against her Kawasaki Ninja.
The hood of the black sweatshirt under her motorcycle jacket is pulled over her head, but I catch a glimpse of her face as she turns toward the mouth of the alley.
I slow down, easing to a stop in back of her bike.
We don’t speak until we both roll our rides behind a large dumpster and cover them with a large tarp I keep in my saddlebag.
Hey, I’m always prepared. You never know when you’ll need to hide something. Or wrap a body.
“Ready for this?” Tera asks, her expression darkened by a deep frown. “I’ll say it again: I don’t trust this.”
“You don’t ever trust shit. Or anybody.” I pull my own hood up and head toward the end of the alley, my boots splashing in small puddles left by an earlier rain.
“Shit, neither do you,” she points out.
“Not true. I trust you and the rest of the Seven. I also trust that at least one Kardashian gon’ fuck a Black man. Not much else though.”
She snorts. “Big facts.” She pauses as we turn onto one of the cross streets adjacent to the warehouse. We scouted out the area last night so we were familiar with it and had every exit or potential trap scoped out. “So, if you believe this meeting is suspect, why’re we doing this?”
“Because it could be legit. And we need every edge over Abena that we can get. But we’re not going into this blindly or stupidly.
I don’t know this bitch. I don’t care that Dakari vouched for her,” I say, referring to one of the Mwuaji soldiers loyal to me.
“I don’t put nothing pass nobody. Which is why we chose the location and have precautions in place. ”
Tera shrugs, her long-legged stride carrying her swiftly down a back street. “You rocking, I’m rolling. But fair warning: This bitch even twitch wrong, I’m putting a bullet in her head before God gets the news.”
See? This is why she’s my girl. All that protectiveness and those homicidal tendencies just warm my heart.
“Understood.”
We near the warehouse and draw to a stop at the corner of the empty and pockmarked parking lot.
The huge brick building looms against the gray sky like a silent, dormant giant.
The windows not cracked or broken are dark and grimy.
The wide steel doors and loading dock stretch across the bottom half like a big smile with dirty teeth.
It’s a lonely, abandoned place. The best thing about it is the scaffolding that rims the upper level.
Perfect for a person to hide and lie in wait with a sniper rifle.
“I’ll see you in there,” Tera says, before taking off across the parking lot and disappearing around the building. From our reconnaissance yesterday, I can picture her accessing the metal fire escape and slithering through a window we left cracked.
Inhaling a deep breath, I tug the hood a little tighter around my face.
Then, sweeping a glance over the area once more, I approach the warehouse, pull open one of the doors, and slip through.
I pause just inside, allowing my eyes to adjust to the shadowed interior.
Reaching behind me, I wrap my fingers around the butt of my Glock, slowly stalking forward.
A tall, slender hooded figure steps out of the gloom on the other side of the dusty, dark space, and I pull my gun free and point it at her.
“That’s close enough,” I order, holding the gun steady and aimed at center mass. I can’t see Tera, but I can sense her. Know she has her scope trained right on the other woman. “Drop that bag and spread your arms out.”