Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
They were calling it The Poseidon Massacre.
It was just like the news media to give some real shit a Hollywood-ass title.
But honestly, it all kind of did feel like a movie.
At times, the levels of sensationalism were almost too much to take seriously.
News networks were making fools of themselves, spinning narratives and theories that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
CNN was using the tragedy as a springboard to launch into conversations about gun control.
MSNBC was spinning conspiracy theories about it being some mystery gang shootout.
FOX News wanted to make it about Islam so bad.
None of it was real. The reporters knew just as much as everyone else. Nothing.
The sheer volume of lives lost had turned The Poseidon Massacre into an ongoing FBI investigation. What happened at Poseidon was now a full-on federal case.
But the feds didn’t know shit either.
The case would go cold in less than a year, and the families of those who died would just have to deal with that. They would probably never get closure. Oh, fuckin’ well…
My family does not cooperate with the police. We deal with our enemies on our own terms. If somebody needs to get punished, we don’t wait for court cases and trials.
Strange as it seems, I might’ve forgiven Lyle and Rochelle for trying to kill me. It made sense. My father killed their son, so it was only natural for them to want me dead in retaliation. I could forgive transgressions done in the name of revenge. Revenge is a natural and human motive.
But they didn’t fucking kill me.
So all that extra shit… It was for nothing. Seventy-two random people, and my best friend, died for nothing. Somebody get on FOX News and tell them that shit!
Those lost at Poseidon were all just collateral damage in an otherwise failed mission. Every single last one of them. Meaningless.
I was in Memphis.
The city was unfamiliar to me. Last time I was here was for my grandmother’s funeral.
I think I was thirteen. Memphis had always been a city of death for me.
Not because I found it particularly dangerous, but because the only time I ever paid a visit, somebody in the family was being put in the ground.
“You a’ight, Kain?”
Silas was practically breathing down my neck.
The old man was all too eager to get this over with, and I was tired.
Not physically tired. I’d slept the whole three-hour private flight.
I think I was emotionally exhausted. My mind felt drained, and it felt like I was seeing the world around me with slightly duller coloring.
“I’m good,” I assured, “Where is she?”
Silas lead the way, his arm stretching out ahead of us as he walked me down into the basement of our Memphis home.
God, I really hate this place, I thought to myself as I passed pictures of me from my childhood hanging from the wall. My grandmother used to live here when she was alive. Without her here, this house just felt like an empty shell.
And here I was, ready to besmirch grandma’s house with bloodshed.
As Silas lead me further into the basement, the sounds of heavy breathing echoed throughout the concrete room, bouncing off the solid gray walls.
Soon Rochelle came into view, her slender stature crumpled into a corner, her breathing erratic.
No one bothered tying her up or handcuffing her to anything.
She’d been badly beaten, and I was sure she couldn’t walk up the stairs and out of this house even if given the chance.
“Hey, Auntie Ro.”
Old habits die hard. I was so used to calling her that, that it didn’t even feel strange until after I had time to really think about it. I was here to kill her. Yet I still called her Auntie Ro. Tragic.
Rochelle would be my fourth body in two days.
Last night at Poseidon, I had managed to pick off three of the five gunmen on my own before back up arrived. Still, the three men from last night didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know their stories. I didn’t even know their names.
But I knew Rochelle. She was family—by marriage, but still family.
Silas had killed her husband not long before I arrived, his own brother. I suppose he wanted desperately to kill Rochelle himself as well, but he saved her for me.
Saved her for me.
Sick.
But I wasn’t complaining. I wanted her.
Anyone who’s ever paid attention would know that The Poseidon Massacre was all Rochelle.
Lyle didn’t have the heart (or lack of it) to pull off a stunt like that.
Only Rochelle was calculated enough, smart enough, and batshit crazy enough to do something like this.
The gunmen last night had been members of her family, going all out to avenge the death of her son.
I wondered what the news networks would say to that. The deadliest mass shooting in American history was orchestrated by a devastated mother, putting everything on the line in the name of revenge.
That’s some Hollywood shit, ain’t it?
The gun in my hand raised and stopped between Rochelle’s brows.
“It wasn’t about you, Kain,” she whispered, tears pooling over from her reddened eyes. I drew the gun back, reaching into my back pocket for the silencer. “It wasn’t about you,” she repeated.
I understood. Everything she did was about getting back at Silas.
Softly, I replied, “I know.” Images of last night flashed through my memory as I screwed the silencer onto the gun.
“What I’m about to do ain’t about you either, Ro.
” I pulled my thumb over the gun’s safety latch, cocking it once before positioning it between her eyes.
This was about the brother I’d lost last night. “This is for Amir.”
My family does not cooperate with the police. We deal with our enemies on our own terms.
And for that reason, I pulled the trigger.
***
The days meshed together into one long night. I couldn’t be sure if the sun was up or down from the way I kept the blinds drawn throughout the house.
Silas was still in Memphis, finishing off any and everyone who was in on Rochelle’s scheme. At this point, he was just doing this to save face. If Silas didn’t go all out with this tour of retribution, niggas wouldn’t think twice about crossing him in the future.
My father’s rampage throughout his hometown was now less about revenge and more about getting a message across.
If anyone bothered to ask me, I would have said he was overdoing it. But then again, I was too exhausted to ever be as thorough as Silas. Exhausted as hell.
Getting back into my old habits, I had been having trouble sleeping.
In a moment of desperation, I’d driven to Pembroke Pines in the hopes that I might finally be able to sleep if it was in the bed Lauren and I had once shared. Sleeping in that house had always been easy. It felt like home.
Going there only made the sleeplessness worse. I lied wide awake that night, reliving memories and conversations with a woman that felt worlds away.
The fucking pillows smelled like her hair.
I didn’t sleep a wink. An unsurprising truth hit me as the sun rose and began to shine into that empty bedroom.
It wasn’t the house that felt like home. It never was.
It was her.
If I stayed there, I might’ve never gone back to sleep. So I took my ass back to the big house after that. Aside from Vance, everyone in this house knew to leave me alone. This was not because I’d given Vance any kind of special permission. Vance just didn’t give a shit about my boundaries.
It was day six since The Poseidon Massacre. #PrayForMiami was still trending all over the internet. I was in the living room flicking between the three major news networks.
“You gon’ stay on the news for the rest of your life, Youngblood?”
I tossed Vance a look from where I sat on the couch. Leave me alone, it said.
Vance looked like he might say something else to annoy me, but he was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. It was almost midnight.
“That for you?” I asked. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Vance shot me a grimace, almost rolling his eyes at the stupid question. “Yeah, kid, I’ve made lots of friends since I got out of prison last week.”
I almost smiled at his sarcasm, but the response was also kind of sad.
The doorbell sounded three more times in rapid succession.
“You not gon’ get that?” Vance asked me.
“I don’t answer doors for people who don’t call first.” The live-in staff was off the clock, so whoever was at the door was not getting in.
Vance chuckled at this, walking further into the living room and snatching the remote out of my hand. “Which channel is it for the security cameras?”
“Switch to the HDMI 3 output,” I replied. The doorbell sounded two more times before Vance pulled the security camera feed onto the living room television.
When I saw who was at the door, something in my stomach dropped.
How the fuck…?
“Hmm…” Vance squinted, moving closer toward the big screen to get a better look. Changing my tune, I was already rising to my feet. That was when the banging started. “Shiiiiiit, back in my day niggas got shot for bangin’ on people’s doors like that.”
“They still do,” was all I said as I cut across the kitchen and headed for the house’s main door. It took a lot of restraint to not rush frantically to open it. It took even more restraint to keep a straight face as it opened.
I comfortably leaned against the doorframe, my nonchalant body language the complete opposite of what was swimming around in my head. In my mind, I was losing my shit.
Lauren.
Not a lick of emotion crossed my features as I looked her over. I made sure of it.
Still, I noted everything that was wrong immediately. She had been crying. The white tank top that she had on was dirty like she’d been pushed into the dirt. There were scratches on her arms and hands. Across her left cheek was a visibly deep purple bruise, blemishing her dark brown skin.
Something in my chest tightened at the realization that she’d been hit—hard.
Keep a straight face.