Chapter 15 Damar Scott
DAMAR SCOTT
STARING INTO THE cold, judgmental eyes of Detective Harris, I sat back in the old metal chair in the interrogation room. The metal of the handcuffs bit into my wrists, reminding me how low my life had reached.
Detective Harris leaned against the table, his eyes narrowing as he studied me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
“Where’s Mia?” he asked.
My stomach knotted up at the mention of her name. I had spent so long trying to distance myself from the chaos of my double life, but I had now found myself caught in the web of my own making.
“I thought this was about Jeremy.”
Detective Harris smiled with one side of his mouth. “I don’t have many questions about Jeremy. Like I told you, your son was smart enough to record you all’s altercation. I heard everything, how you choked him to death, then killed your own son—your own flesh and blood.”
My nostrils flared as I stared at the wall behind him.
Jeremy was still defiant beyond the grave.
When the detective told me about the recording, I couldn’t fucking believe it.
I wanted to think that the detective was lying, but the way that he acted as if Jeremy’s case was open and shut, I knew in my gut it was true. Jeremy had recorded his own murder.
“I do want to know how a man can kill his own child. What level of desperation caused a man to wrap his hands around his son’s throat and squeeze until he couldn’t breathe anymore? And it’s obvious that that desperation has something to do with Mia. So…tell me, Damar. Where is Mia?”
My tone sounded innocent, even as my heart raced. “I don’t know where she is.”
Detective Harris leaned in closer with his scowl locked on me. “We’ve got her phone records, Damar. We know you were sleeping with her. Did she threaten to tell your wife?”
I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure, but I could feel the walls closing in. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Why did you have the phone of your missing sidepiece?” he pressed. “Did you kill her? Where is she?”
Panic crept in, but I forced myself to respond. “I want a lawyer.”
As the detective’s gaze hardened, I couldn’t shake the guilt that gnawed at me—not just for Mia, but for Jeremy too.
I thought about how I had failed him, how my choices had led to this moment.
It was all spiraling out of control, and I was trying to act innocent while the truth clawed at me from the inside.
“Let’s cut the games, Damar,” Detective Harris said, his tone shifting. “You’re in way over your head, and it’s time to come clean. Confess, and maybe you can get a deal.”
I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I had to protect myself. As the reality of my situation settled in, I felt sick knowing that I was teetering on the edge of a cliff that could lead to my undoing. “I want a lawyer.”
MYTHIC GREY
I sat at the bar of Enchant, nursing a glass of Don Julio 1942.
The smooth liquid slipped down my throat like silk.
It was a Tuesday, and the place was quieter than usual.
The low hum of R&B music barely cut through the silence.
A handful of patrons dotted the lounge, but the vibrant energy I was used to on weekends had temporarily vanished.
As I took swigs of my drink, my mind drifted back to everything Aviana had shared at Jeremy’s repast. The sincerity and genuineness of her words stalked me and softened places of my heart that had been rigid for a long time.
I was ready to claim her, to make her mine, but the existence of Damar and Lelani loomed over us like a dark cloud.
In the past, I might not have cared about leaving Lelani behind, but I wasn’t heartless enough to add to her heartbreak, especially given everything she was already facing.
I understood that while Aviana loved me, her principles meant even more to her.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who would hurt someone else for her own selfish desires.
I knew it would be incredibly difficult for her to walk away from Damar, no matter how deep our connection ran.
Taking her from him—forcing her hand—would only add more stress to this already complicated situation, and I loved her too much to do that.
While I was lost in thought, I caught sight of a group of men entering the club through the mirror behind the bar.
My instincts kicked in, and my posture stiffened as I recognized one of them.
Fury, the leader of the Urban Enforcers, strolled in wearing a smirk that told me that he was on bullshit.
His gang was notorious in Chicago, known for their savage but immature violence, and I didn’t like the way they carried themselves.
Their crew was reckless, unorganized, and unhinged.
As they moved deeper into the club, my bouncers trailed closely behind, keeping a watchful eye.
The members of my security team discreetly positioned around the venue began to shift, their presence becoming more pronounced.
The tension in the club began to thicken.
The atmosphere shifted from casual to charged.
Fury approached with a serious yet respectful demeanor. “Mythic, got a minute?”
I regarded him coolly as I set my glass down on the bar with a soft clink. “Depends on what you want.”
“Just wanted to talk business.”
“You could have called first to arrange a meeting.”
He leaned in slightly with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes spreading across his face. “Thought it’d be better to discuss it face-to-face.”
I knew better than to take him at face value, but curiosity piqued my interest. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
Fury motioned toward the barstool next to me. “Can I have a seat?”
I shrugged a shoulder, giving him permission to sit. “I need to purchase weapons from you,” he told me.
I rose an eyebrow. This wasn’t shocking.
Like most of the new era’s inner-city gangs, the Urban Enforcers lacked the sophistication and finances of past gangs and the cartel.
Instead of making legitimate purchases from arms dealers, they usually resorted to stealing guns, street trades, or they would use people with clean records to buy firearms on their behalf.
The thugs of today don’t operate like the gangsters of the past—they had no code or honor and would get me caught because they would easily and quickly turn me in to spare themselves.
Keeping my brow dramatically arched, I sat back on the stool. “What makes you think I’d sell to you?”
Fury’s eyes narrowed, and he gnawed on his bottom lip, clearly trying to choose his words carefully while maintaining his cool composure. “We’re currently at war with the Crimson Order. We need a large quantity of weapons to level the playing field.”
“I’ve heard. The Crimson Order is savage and ruthless, and it’s no secret that they are winning.
You’re desperate, and desperation makes men dangerous.
” I smirked wickedly as Fury’s nostrils flared.
“You don’t have the kind of money to purchase from me anyway.
And even if you did, I’m not about to arm a bunch of wild, uncontrollable foot soldiers who think they can shoot their way out of anything. ”
Fury’s expression hardened, but he pressed on. “We have the money—”
“But your crew lacks a moral code. You think I’d let weapons slip into the hands of a gang that has no regard for innocent lives? The collateral damage from your operations would come back to haunt me.”
“Come on, Mythic! We’re talking about survival here,” Fury argued, frustration creeping into his voice. “You know how it is. This is the game we’re in.”
I leaned closer. “This isn’t just a game for me. I won’t be responsible for the bloodshed that your men would cause. The answer is no.”
Tension sparked in the air between us, and I could see Fury’s anger simmering just beneath the surface. He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “Get out of my club, Fury. If you don’t, I’ll end this war for the Crimson Order right here, right now.”
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I could see the gears turning in his head, but I stood my ground, unyielding. “Leave before I decide to change my mind about what happens next.”
With that, I watched as Fury’s expression shifted from anger to reluctant acceptance. He took a step back, and I knew he understood that I wasn’t fucking around. “I’ll be back because you’re my only option.”
“No, you won’t,” I shot back, watching him turn and walk away.
As Fury and his crew walked out of Enchant, I saw Draven approaching with a questioning look. “What was that all about?”
I let out a cynical laugh, shaking my head. “Fury thinks he can play with the grownups.”
As Draven chuckled, my phone buzzed on the bar. I glanced down to see Aviana’s name and picture flashing on the screen.
I hurriedly answered. “Avi…”
The sound of her tears on the other end sent a chill down my spine. It felt like déjà vu.
“What’s wrong?” I asked gently, knowing she needed me.
“Can you come over?” She sniffed, her voice trembling. “Damar’s been arrested, and I don’t want to be alone.”
Surprised, my head reared back. “Arrested? For what?”
“Jeremy’s murder,” she said, and the shock of her words hit me hard.
“Where are you?”
“I’m back at the hotel.”
“I’ll be there right away.”
As I held Aviana on the couch in the living room of the suite, I wrapped my arms around her tightly, letting her rest her head against my chest. She felt fragile in my embrace, and I could feel the turmoil consuming her.
My fingers gently traced her back, trying to soothe the confusion and fear that radiated from her.
The warmth of her body against mine was comforting, but it only heightened the anger simmering beneath the surface of my skin.