“I was thinking Lo, give her something to put her mind on,” Day responded.
“Stassi will get Charlie on board. If I put Lauren in Charlie’s face one more time, a nigga never coming home,” Demi said. “It’s too sensitive right now. Put her sister on it.”
“Consider it done. You want me to have flowers sent? You know that’s the first step to an apology, my G. The money flowers always a nice touch.”
“It’s gonna take a lot more than that this time,” Demi stated, shaking his head. “I really fucked up.”
Patience was a virtue when you were stalking prey. Demi sat inside Justin’s crib for hours, waiting for him to arrive. He had left his car parked at the studio. His phone had been left there as well, so that it could bounce off the cell towers, marking his presence. These were necessary precautions in case he lost control tonight. He had borrowed a car from his mans who ran a chop shop to transport him to this place on this dark night. A hoodie had concealed his identity from any neighborhood cameras that may have picked up his presence. He tried to reason with himself and tell himself that all he needed to do was teach Justin a lesson, but the longer he sat there, the more he thought of the bruises on Charlie’s face, the heftier the fine became.
He knew Justin would walk in late, after a set, more than likely. He lived a night owl’s lifestyle. It didn’t matter. Demi wouldn’t grow tired. It had killed him to see Charlie’s face bruised and he would wait all night to avenge that. He wasn’t a fool, however. The confrontation at the club had been put in a police report. He had to be careful about the way he moved, and he needed to have his alibi airtight. Justin had probably swept the incident under the rug, but Demi had been brewing.
He saw the glow of headlights as a car pulled into the driveway, and he moved to the edge of the couch. He sat, legs wide, elbows meeting knees, gun gripped in one hand. Justin entered the door unsuspectingly. He closed and locked it behind him. It was the lock that would fuck him up. He had just trapped himself inside with a monster. When he flicked on the living room light, Demi flipped his hood back and stared Justin in the eyes. Justin turned to pull the door open, trying to run, but that lock…oh, that lock. The millisecond it took for him to turn it was all it took for Demi to be on his ass. He yanked Justin backward by his collar and then dragged him across the room, kicking and screaming before he shoved him onto the couch.
“If you scream, I’ma blow your fucking head off,” Demi said calmly.
“Man, you got it. I’m done with it. I don’t want no trouble, man. I didn’t touch her. I haven’t seen Charlie in years,” Justin admitted. “I lied, man, just to get under your skin. I lied!”
“If you fucked my bitch, that ain’t my bitch,” Demi said. “And that’s her pussy, so that’s her business. She gets to decide how to slang that. That’s neither here nor there. But them marks you put on her face? That’s my business, and I’ma square that business, my nigga.”
The look of dread that crossed Justin’s face amused Demi.
“Nothing to say? You said a lot the other night at the club. I told you them cuffs wasn’t gon’ hold me,” Demi stated.
“Please, man. I’m sorry. I’ll leave it alone. I’ll never go near her again. I’ll apologize,” Justin stammered.
“Put your motherfucking hands on the table,” Demi barked suddenly. He snatched Justin out of his seat, forcing him to his knees.
“Please, man! Please!” Justin begged.
“You fucking with the wrong nigga,” Demi whispered in his ear as he hovered over Justin, digging the gun into the back of his skull. Demi pulled a driver’s license out of his back pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Justin. “Who is that?” he asked as he pushed Justin’s head down violently. His eyes were so close to the table that he couldn’t quite get a glimpse at it.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Justin cried. He was shaking so badly.
“Nah, nigga. You wanted to bait me when you thought it was safe. Had some heat on your chest with them officers around. Where your heat, nigga?” Demi asked. “You put your hands on her. You must have lost your mind. You lucky that license is the only thing I felt like taking. Could have been her life. Look at it, pussy.”
Demi eased up enough for Justin to lift his head to view the license. His mother’s license. The one she had told him that she must have misplaced.
“I’ma let you keep your life, nigga, but I’ma take that hand you play with, and if you breathe a motherfucking word of this to anybody, I’ma use that address. You hear me?” Demi asked.
Justin was so terrified he peed himself.
Demi rounded the table and placed the tip of his gun next the Justin’s hand.
“Please, man. My hand is my life,” Justin sniveled, his lip trembling violently. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, man. Demi knew he played with that hand. He also knew it was the hand he hit Charlie with because it was his dominant one. “Don’t shoot me. You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll never bother Charlie again.”
Demi smiled like he was a good guy and a change of heart had come over him. “I ain’t gon’ shoot you, man, relax.”
Justin felt some relief as he trembled. “Come on, man, get up. I just want you to apologize. I just needed to put some fear in you.Come take a seat at the table. I’ma call Charlie and you gon’ tell her you’re sorry.”
“Yeah, man, whatever you say. I really am sorry. I swear I am. I’m sorry,” Justin repeated as Demi walked him into the kitchen. Demi pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, man,” Demi said. “I ain’t got my phone. Call Charlie, put her on speaker.”
Justin pulled out his phone and made the mistake of dialing Charlie’s number. The fact that he even still had it stored in his phone infuriated Demi. Demi grabbed the hammer he had found in the drawers before Justin arrived, and he brought it down over Justin’s hand.
The scream Justin let out was animalistic as his bones shattered. Demi gripped Justin’s hand by the wrist, forcing him to withstand every blow as he beat that hammer into Justin’s hand with all his might. He didn’t stop until he was sure that the hand was irreparable. Demi had not only taken his hand, but he had also taken his dream. Justin would never be able to play his guitar professionally again.
“Lucky I ain’t take your life, pussy. Consider us square. Breathe a word of this, and I’ma put that address to use,” Demi said. “I’m up two. I have to come back again, and I’ma finish the game.” He didn’t need to wipe the hammer down because he wore gloves. He simply tossed it on the floor as he flipped the hoodie over his face, tying it tightly to conceal himself as he walked out the back door.
