I’ll live up to that faith.
Theirs and the same faith my mother placed in me.
“Bisa and Taraji are also in,” Tera says, turning around, setting her glass down on the bar behind her. Her body loses some of her tension, and I bet it’s due to the slightly fanatical gleam in her dark eyes. “Both of them came up under Dad, and they don’t give a fuck about ‘forgive and forget’ when it comes to him. And Dad told me to tell you he got you.”
I nod again, but under my folded arms, my fingers fist so tight,my nails bite into the tender skin of my palms. Having the support of Bisa and Taraji is big as fuck. Their influence reaches not just among the ranks of our soldiers but to other families as well, since they control the harbor and anything that comes through it—guns, drugs, art, animals. Anything but people. We don’t do that fuck shit. So yeah, having them at my back? It’s major.
But Park Washington? Knowing he’s “got me”? Even from jail that mu’fucka got mad pull in the streets. And when Abena betrayed him and, worse, abandoned his family and gave his li’l girl no choice but to become a killer like him instead of ending up a Yale graduate in somebody’s classroom, she earned herself an enemy nobody in their right mind would want.
Abena stoked the embers of her own downfall nine years ago when she killed her sister, my mother.
But she’s fanned them, flame by flame, by fucking over her own people year after year.
And now those chickens are coming home to roost in the form of a rebellion, and I’m leading the fucking charge.
“For now, we make her think we’re moving like normal,” I instruct them, shoving off the wall and returning across the room to the couch. Sinking down to the cushion, I pick up my drink again and toss the rest of the Patrón back. “So for now, we handle business like usual. Abena can suspect anything she wants, but she won’t get any evidence from us. Treat that bitch like fucking Queen Romanda ‘n’ shit. In the meantime, Nef”—I dip my chin in her direction—“I need you to send out encrypted, completely secure messages to Bisa, Taraji, Moorehead, and Richter to see when’s a good time for all of us to meet. Let them know D-Day has been moved up and I want to strike in the next three weeks. So, the sooner we can meet, the better.”
She’s already moving toward the door before I finish speaking, her head bent over her phone.
“Tera, can you contact Park and find out who else he has in mind about reaching out to? I’m not stepping on his toes orgetting in the way of it. I trust him completely and am willing to let him do his thing. I’d just like to know who he’s thinking of.”
“Gotchu.”
“Kenya, Maura, I need you to return to the obodo and follow up on the list of names all of you compiled from earlier. Just feel them out, see if they’re receptive to you. Also track the temperature there. Monitor any of the chatter. Abena knows you’re mine, and her Mirror wouldn’t dare let anything slip, but those sheep she keeps around her aren’t as careful. And of all of us, people tend to like you two the most.”
“It’s the freckles and the accent.” Kenya points to Maura first and then jabs a finger toward her chest.
“And the pussy, girl. Stop playing.” Penn snorts, flicking a hand.
“Did she just call my pussy ‘friendly’?” Kenya gasps, splaying her fingers wide over her abundant chest, that Southern drawl on full display. The offense would’ve been almost believable if she didn’t ruin it by breaking out in a wide grin and giggle, kicking her feet. “Listen, I can’t help it if the mens likes them some tits and ass. At least I send them out happy.”
Her li’l psycho ass is like a fucking praying mantis, killing men after she fucks them. Hey, who am I to judge? We all have our issues.
“Penn and Doc,” I say, raising my voice before Penn can issue her comeback, “you’ll keep up appearances at Elysian. I don’t put it past Abena or any of her minions to do pop-ups outside of fight nights. At this stage, we can’t afford for anything to go wrong. And, Sienna.” I refresh my glass. “There’s a shipment arriving at the port in three nights’ time.” I grin. “Abena’s accepting guns from the Donatos, and they’ve paid her ten million to get them here safe, through customs, and delivered. For something to happen to those guns… like, say, ending up at the bottom of the river? Well, it wouldn’t be a good day for my auntie.”
“Say less.” Sienna tilts her head. “And what’re you gonna be up to while we’re carrying out our assignments?”
I grin.
“Why, hunting a huntsman, of course.”
“This bitch crazy,” Kenya mutters.
I glare at her, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Don’t think compliments are going to make me forget your earlier blasphemy. We beefing over that Panthro shit.”
About an hour later, they’ve all left, and I survey my living room. For the most part, my girls cleaned up after themselves. But the couple of napkins and empty glasses have my ass itching. If I don’t clean up now, I’ll probably dream about the shit. Sometimes being a neat freak can be a killjoy.
Sighing, I set about straightening up. A half hour later, the dishes are washed, furniture returned to their proper places, curtains draped correctly, and carpet vacuumed. I grab a damp dish towel and head to the coffee table. Sinking down on the couch, I notice Tera’s necklace. The gold and diamonds in the apple-shaped pendant wink under the recessed lights in the ceiling. Wonder if she’s realized yet that she left it behind. Her ass is going to be in a sling if Abena finds out since they were ordered to never remove them.
As if the thing will grow fangs and spit venom at me, I carefully pick it up. It’s a beautiful piece, I can’t deny that. Abena might be a soulless barracuda, but she got taste. Still, generosity isn’t one of her virtues. If anything, she’s much quicker to take from her own rather than spread the wealth. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember a time where she ever spent the kind of money these necklaces must’ve cost on anyone except herself. The shit was suspect as fuck.
I frown.
Nah, something in the milk ain’t clean. That muthafucka stank as fuck.
Studying the jewelry with newer eyes, I slowly run my fingers along the chain, searching for… I don’t know. Not finding any irregularities there, I turn my focus to the pendant. I give it the same treatment. Nothing on the front. Flipping it over, I beginmy search over again. Nothing. It could be exactly what it’s supposed to be—a harmless yet expensive token of appreciation.
But the niggling sense of foreboding won’t let up. It’s an itch on the back of my neck. And I’ve never ignored my version of a Spidey sense.
