Chapter 15 #3
Salvatore immediately began hyperventilating. “Please don’t do this! Had I known who you were…”
“You would’ve charged more?” I interrupted, with a little sarcasm in my tone.
His mouth snapped shut.
Behind me, Knox chuckled.
I stepped closer, letting the drill hover inches from his face, watching in satisfaction as his breathing became more frantic.
“You inserted yourself into something that never should’ve crossed your table.
Then you collected your money, washed your hands, and went on with your life like it was just another quiet transaction.
You never stopped to consider whose lives could be destroyed, who could get hurt or who might not survive the fallout. ”
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
“Now you’re sorry.” I shook my head. “Nigga, you committed a felony with confidence and excellent customer service. The least you can do is die with at least a little dignity.”
Tears streamed down his face. “I was just doing my job!”
“An illegal one,” I fired back. “But I’ll give you credit. You showed up, handled your business, and completed the procedure.”
I pressed the trigger again, letting the drill scream between us.
“Now it’s my shift… and I hate leaving work unfinished.”
The first blood-curdling scream erupted through the room the moment the drill made contact with flesh.
Salvatore thrashed violently against the restraints while blood sprayed across the concrete floor beneath him. The sound echoed brutally off the metal walls, mixing with the whirring drill and his choking cries for mercy.
Knox, standing a few paces behind me, winced slightly, his expression a mixture of revulsion and grim fascination.
I pushed onward, each motion deliberate as I focused on my task.
Salvatore’s screams slowly turned wet and broke the longer it continued. By the time it stopped, the lower level looked more like a slaughterhouse than a medical setup. Blood covered the front of my clothes, the floor, the chair, hell, damn near everything around us.
I finally stepped back, breathing hard.
What remained of him barely resembled a human being anymore, just blood, torn flesh, and consequences.
Knox’s eyes were locked onto the grisly remnants before him.
He finally broke the silence with a low whistle. “Yeah… ain’t no coming back from that shit.”
No, there wasn’t… but I damn sure didn’t feel bad about it either.
Certain situations only end one way once my family name gets involved and that was one of them. The fucked-up part was, I still couldn’t decide who pissed me off more: Salvatore for doing it or Zonnique for making it possible in the first place.
“So, you ready to tell me what the hell really going on? I done heard random pieces, filled in a few blanks myself, and created at least three possible storylines in my head… but clearly, I’m still missing some major episodes,” Knox joked.
Behind us, men were already moving through the area handling cleanup like that was just another shift at work.
For them, it was, though.
I glanced down at the blood splattered across my shirt before exhaling slowly.
“Let’s clean ourselves up first, then hit the lounge. I need a drink or ten before I explain this bullshit. Right now, my life feels like a mafia soap opera written by somebody on cocaine.”
“Damn.” Knox cursed under his breath, then looked at his shirt. “But yeah, let’s switch out. Janira definitely gon’ have questions if I walk in smelling like death and gunpowder again.”
Janira knew exactly what Knox did in his line of work, so it wasn’t about suspicion or lies. She just had one strict rule: don’t bring evidence, bodies, blood, or police attention into her damn house. And Knox liked sleeping indoors, so he respected it.
A dry laugh left me as we headed toward the back corridor.
Every property my family owned for business like that was stocked the same way with extra clothes, shoes, weapons, medical supplies, bleach, cash, burner phones, damn near everything somebody might need after a night went left.
Preparedness kept people alive in our world, and if things went bad enough to require bloodshed, the last thing anyone wanted was to be driving across the city covered in evidence looking like a suspect before the cleanup crew even arrived.
***
The bass from the club vibrated beneath my feet as I leaned back against the bar, sipping on a dark drink that barely touched the mess in my head.
“Aight,” Knox said once we settled in. “We here now, so talk to me.”
I exhaled heavily, dragging my hand down my face, feeling the weight of what I was about to reveal.
“Shit wild. I don’t even know how to say this.”
“Just say it, nigga,” he urged, leaning in with curiosity etched on his face.
I stared into my glass for a moment, watching the amber liquid swirl before finally gathering the courage to speak.
“I got a surrogate.”
Knox’s entire face twisted instantly. “A what?”
“A surrogate, nigga,” I repeated dryly. “Zonnique’s doing it… as you might’ve heard already.”
“Ah, hell!” he groaned, leaning back immediately like the conversation had already physically exhausted him. “Yeah… I definitely need another drink before this story continues.”
Knox flagged a waitress down, his hand slicing through the air like a man trying to call a therapist during a breakdown.
As the drinks kept coming, I finally laid the whole situation out for him. By the time I finished, Knox was staring at me like I’d just confessed to joining a cult.
“That’s some crazy shit, man,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “So, who’s the chick carrying yo’ baby?”
“Some girl named Talia.” I took another sip, letting the liquid seep in before glancing back at Knox. “Does that name ring a bell to you?"
“Nah. Not off the top of my head.” His frown deepened. “So she’s staying with you?”
“Hell nah! She’s crashing with Zonnique. I told Zonnique that was her mess, so they can lay in it together under the same roof.”
Knox leaned in, clearly intrigued. “So, this is real-life legit? Like, you all did contracts and everything?”
“Yeah.”
That part was true.
After the pregnancy was confirmed, everything moved fast. That same day, the lawyers were called in to draft ironclad contracts covering confidentiality, compensation, medical care, living arrangements, legal protections…
damn near everything imaginable. The next day, me and Talia signed, and the rest was history.
After me and Zonnique’s blowup, things between us shifted naturally into something more professional than personal. Anytime we spoke after that, it was strictly business, covering appointments, updates, and logistics… nothing sexual. And apparently, she had already started moving on anyway.
Through the grapevine, I heard she was dealing with some rich nigga who owned bars and properties around the city. He wasn’t wealthier than me, but still very well off. Strangely enough, I was actually happy for her ass. Me and Zonnique were compatible in certain ways, sure.
The sex was good, she knew when to leave me alone, she understood my lifestyle, and we were toxic enough to keep circling back to each other every few months. But deep down, I think Zonnique finally realized that a man will keep revisiting comfort while still reserving commitment for somebody else.
Some men know exactly where to place a woman in their life, and no amount of waiting changes that position.
Knox laughed into his drink, bringing me back to the moment. “Damn. So, how’s the surrogate, personality-wise?”
I let out a low breath through my nose. “On some real shit… I can’t tell if she’s crazy or just overly excited to be pregnant by a nigga with money. I’m leaning heavily toward crazy, though.”
Knox shook his head. “Damn.”
“Check this. After we had another ultrasound done to confirm the pregnancy in person, I gave her my number. And I made it very clear that it was for emergencies only.”
Knox stared at me, waiting for the problem. “And?”
“And she’s taking full advantage of that shit!
Apparently, every thought that enters her head qualifies as a fuckin’ emergency.
Bruh, that girl has been blowing my phone up every day, calling, sending paragraphs, giving me full reports on what she ate, how long she slept, what mood she woke up in, and whether she thinks the baby gon’ have my eyes. ”
Knox laughed.
“She texted me yesterday talking about, ‘The baby kicked after I ate salmon. Thought you should know. I’m also a little gassy today, but in a good mood.’” I frowned.
“Nigga, she’s seven weeks pregnant. What the fuck kicked?
That baby barely has elbows and a neck. At this stage, it looks like a gummy bear with responsibilities. ”
Knox almost choked on his liquor. “Hell nah. She on some rom-com shit. Next thing you know, she gon’ be wanting you to rub cocoa butter on her stomach.”
“I gave her a number for emergencies, not womb commentary.”
Knox chuckled. “Please tell me that Zonnique’s ass had enough sense to do a background check, or that you followed up with one.”
Every last file Zonnique had ordered on Talia eventually landed in my hands after everything blew up.
Talia’s background was damn near perfect.
She had stable work history, until a recent layoff, which was no fault of her own.
She had no criminal record, no obvious drama, no suspicious financial patterns, or messy public scandals.
It was too clean, almost like somebody sat down and built the perfect candidate in a damn laboratory.
And maybe that was what bothered me the most.
“Zonnique did a legit one… not a thorough one though like I would’ve. I feel like I need to dig deeper, though. Something about this shit still ain’t sitting right with me.”
“You got a picture of her?” Knox asked.
I unlocked my phone and scrolled for a second before pulling up a screenshot from my home security footage from the day Zonnique brought her to my crib. The image caught her standing in my foyer looking up at me calmly while I had a gun pointed directly at her chest.
I slid the phone across the table toward Knox.