Inevitably Love. (Complicated #2)

Chapter 1

One

M y feet hurt. I’m pretty sure they’re blistered again. But there’s no way I’m telling him. The last time I did, it didn’t turn out so well for me. Instead, I followed him, keeping my ears and eyes open “for survival.”

“Where are we, Ishaan?” his deep voice projects as he feels like a giant just feet ahead of me.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Are you hungry?”

As another slender tree branch crackles beneath my boot, excitement blossoms through me. Immediately, I gird my anticipation while studying the Mossberg 500 strapped to his shoulder. His green and tan fatigue gear is still crisp, but his tactical boots are soiled and practiced. I know this at nine years old because he’s taught me to analyze shoes.

“You’re in your head, son. Get the hell out!”

I tremble at his discipline. Dad is right. I’d been in my head. I’m hot, tired, hungry, and bored. But safe. I was always safe with him. Carrying an M others backed up to their hidden stashes. I searched for Troy, my target, when my phone vibrated in my hand.

T. Winfrey: my bad got caught up in some shyte I’ll call the young homie

I snorted.

“I used to be up with the nigga who started this block.” Rory pulled out her gat, checking the chamber. Glancing my way, she asked, “Who going first, chief?” Then Rory pulled out more steel, inspecting that one, too.

“Looks like you’re itching for this shit.”

“Fuckin’ salivating,” her little ass joked. “You know I live for this shit. And if they don’t run fast enough, I’m slappin’ the shit out somebody tonight.”

I snorted again as I turned down the volume of the stereo then leaned back. “Do your thing, girl.”

Rory popped out of the bullet-proof SUV and, immediately, bodies began to scramble and run off like roaches.

“Fuck! Rory!”

“Nah, Rory!”

“It’s Rory, yo!”

I could’ve laughed but wasn’t shit funny. She slowly strolled around the truck with her guns visible. I peeped how she observed the area, and I did the same in a different direction. When Rory’s four-feet, eleven, all alpha ass in a boy’s suit made it to the passenger side, she tapped the window, and I opened the door to leave the ride.

Reggie stood alone in front of the strobe lights of the low-vibrating convenience store. He tried to appear posted up, but the nigga couldn’t even give me direct eye contact as I approached him.

“Where’s your little broadie, Reg?”

“I ‘on’t know, Ish. He flew up outta here around two this afternoon. Said something about he had some shit to look into for nephew.” He sniffled, gazed around me. “He said something about picking nephew up some sneaks…or some back to school?—”

“Cut that shit out, man!” I snapped. “Troy ain’t bought Ki shit for school since second fuckin’ grade.”

Reggie’s palm flew to his chest. “I’m just telling you what the nigga told me!” he whined.

“Nah.” I chuckled. “You used too many words to simply cop to your little bro being a pussy.”

“Ish, man.”

“‘ Ish, man ’ my fuckin’ ass. How many kids you got, Reg?”

Sighing, his punk ass answered, “Four.”

“Four.” I swiped my nose. “Okay. Your sisters got kids, too. Y’all do shit for the kids in your family. Why don’t nobody do shit for Mehki?”

“I’m saying?—”

“Why you ain’t pull up to his tournament not once this week? Every time your sons have a birthday party—if Mehki is invited—he comes. Same with your sisters’ kids. He invited y’all to the Ellis High Academy banquet.”

“That was at the last minute.”

“Bullshit! Two weeks was enough time. That same day, y’all were posted up at a ‘welcome home’ party you threw for your other nephew. Ain’t he Ki’s cousin, too? First cousin, at that.” Reggie’s punk ass dropped his head. “He don’t get many invites but he sees the shit on social media. Why are y’all like this? Don’t family mean something to y’all? Y’all damn sure all live together like a unit. Ki can’t get something out of that?”

“What you mean? Something like what?”

“Fuckin’ interest, bitch! The fuck your kids want: your other nieces and nephews fuckin’ want. I don’t ask for shit from none of y’all. No money, no babysitting. Nothing.”

“Ish, Troy?—”

“Troy’s a fuckin’ simp, and so are you for not checkin’ your whole family.”

I watched as his jaw flexed, a sign of him controlling his emotions. Good. A part of me wished Reggie would lose it, though. He was just over six feet tall and nearing three hundred pounds. I would have loved to lay his ass out as I’d done his little brother and cousin a few times in the past.

His eyes rolled skyward, and his hands pushed into his pockets. “What you want me to do, Ish?”

“Run your fuckin’ family the way you do this block. Remind them how Mehki is family, too. Don’t let the fact of him not having a single financial need confuse you into thinking he doesn’t need his people.” When I understood Reggie would just gaze down at the ground without a word, I began to back away. “You tell Troy I’mma see his scary ass, and when I do…” I left it there, turning for the truck.

I caught Rory tapping the tip of the gun against her head twice then used it to point at Reggie. She was plucking at his heartstrings where fear flowed. They were all scared of her. The woman wasn’t even five feet tall. And not just Irvington: the fuckin’ state quaked in their damn boots when Rory pulled up on their block like the Grim Reaper. I used her presence and rep on the streets when I had to pull up on block huggers like the Winfreys.

While they were a notorious family, they certainly were in the streets. Reggie was a general with youngins under his “leadership,” including his sons and nephews. They were known to have guns, although I’d never be intimidated by them. I’d decimated far more dangerous characters than thugs born out of poverty and posturing as true street warriors.

Rory and I got into the truck and pulled off.

“Pussies. I fuckin’ swear it. Where to now, boss?

I took a deep breath, realizing I didn’t feel better. Ki was still hurting. It was painful accepting I couldn’t control what had been eating at him. “My driver’s at Checkerboard .”

“Oh, word?” Rory scoffed. She switched the stereo to the radio then turned up the volume on a Ragee track. “ Sadik’s over there, too. That’s what’s up. He been waiting on me to check in.”

His song, No Bed Needed, struck another unwelcoming reality in my world. I reached over and lowered the volume.

“Let me ask you a personal question, respectfully as hell.”

Her little finger-waved head swiped left and right as she was preparing to turn a corner. “Shoot, chief.”

“I know you’ve been assaulted…” I had to man up and be direct. Rory was built like a man emotionally. Still, I didn’t want to forget she was a woman. “…sexually.” Rory didn’t respond. “You were violated,” I continued. “And you were fairly young, too.”

“Big man,” she called out, glancing left and right again behind the wheel. “What’s the fuckin’ question?”

That shit made me nervous as hell, and I never get nervy. But this was personal.

I cleared my throat and licked my lips. “Did it make you not trust men anymore? Did it give you a negative view of us in a romantic way?”

After a spell of studying the road, Rory finally graveled, “First of fuckin’ all, it’s a few of y’all niggas I trust with my life. And none of y’all blood. I think we know that. Second, I ain’t never believe in no fuckin’ romance. What’re the questions for?”

I rubbed my palms on my thighs, flustered. “I need to know if women who’ve suffered from sexual assault can trust men again.”

Rory reclined in the seat, eyes still on the road as she shook her head. “That sound real specific, chief. I ain’t touching that shit.” She glanced my way. “Respectfully.”

Shit. She was right.

I lay back against the headrest, my fist pushed into my mouth.

Goddamn Hayden Washington, the fucking riddle in my life.