“If we have any questions for you, you can expect a call from our precinct to bring you in for further questioning.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her tongue across her lips and tasting salty tears.
Standing there with the door cracked, Inari watched them descend the porch stairs and shuffle to their car waiting on the curb. The sudden trickle of raindrops felt appropriate as a gust of wind swept through the crack of the door. Gripping the locket in her hand, she pulled it open, and her chest caved when both of her parents’ smiling faces stared back at her. Sniffling, she lifted her head just in time to spot the red G-Wagon pull up behind hercar. Kong stepped out, shoulders heavy, when he slammed his driver’s door shut.
One look at Inari told him everything he needed to know. She turned and let herself back into the house, leaving the door ajar. Kong dragged his feet, finally climbing the steps and entering her home. He paused in the foyer, the soft aroma of clean linen hitting his nostrils as his eyes landed on a family photo of Ayla with Dane and Inari when he was about twelve years old. He closed and locked the door behind him, then followed the dim light into the living room.
“You talk to Moose?” Inari’s voice trembled.
Kong nodded, and she raked her red, puffy eyes over him.
“The police just left. This was found on the scene.” She held up the locket, and Kong caught a quick flash of Ayla the last time he saw her with that exact locket hanging from her neck. “I bought this for her when she turned sixteen. She couldn’t wear it at first. Said it hurt too much to look at their pictures. I’m surprised she started wearing it.”
“How… how did this happen?” Kong managed to find his voice.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know.” His tone was sharp, eyes piercing hers from across the room in the doorway. “I did everything I was supposed to do to protect her, and somehow this happens. So I need to fucking know how and why?”
“I’m not about to do this with you.” Inari shook her head.
“I need to fucking know, Inari!” Kong barked, startling her.
Balling his fist, he raised them in front of him and emitted a low growl.
“How was she alive not long ago, and now she’s fucking dead! I feel like I can’t fucking breathe, and all I want to do is hurt somebody, so I need you to give me a fucking target!” Kong flexed his arms like a gorilla ready to beat on his chest.
The flickering amber in his eyes was gone, replaced by rage that she found all too familiar. Inari grabbed a bottle of Don Julio off a liquor cabinet with shelves nearby and two glasses. She brought them over to the coffee table and set them on the glass surface. Eyes dead set on him, she popped the cork on the bottle and poured.
“Then you might want to have a seat,” Inari suggested.
When Kong didn’t budge nor reply, she brought her glass to her lips and tipped it to swallow her shot. She did that twice before he realized she wasn’t going to tell him anything until he joined her. Heavy steps padded into the room, and he picked up his glass off the table. Practically inhaling the drink, he let it coat his throat before holding the glass out to her for another.
Inari broke down everything to him, from her past, to Leron and Chantel, and eventually what led to Danilo and Mira going after her sister.
She went from anger, to sadness, and eventually landed on guilt threatening to drown her. Halfway through the bottle, she sat on the floor beside her coffee table, staring at a framed picture of Ayla holding Dane when he was about three years old. The two of them grew up together. She hadn’t even thought about how she was going to break this news to her son.
Kong sat on the couch beside her, gripping his glass in his hand and staring at the same photo.
Ayla always had this innocence about her. If that bitch ass nigga Leron wasn’t dead, he’d damn sure put a price on his head. Inari quietly wept, lying beside the table on her side until she cried herself to sleep. Easing back on the couch, Kong stared straight ahead with nothing but dark thoughts of murder and mayhem bouncing around.
“Coast, I need you to look at me.” Dr. Thorne sat between her legs in the delivery unit, watching Coast’s baby girl make her entrance, and peered up at her.
The only thing Coast could see were her warm brown eyes as Mozzi lingered at her side. He hated seeing her in pain. Her brow was in a permanent wrinkle, with sweat trickling down the side of her face as she took deep breaths.
“We just need one more good push, and she’s here,” Dr. Thorne encouraged.
“I can’t do this.” Coast dropped her head against the pillow and moved it from side to side.
“Trouble, you go around giving bitches the business. Don’t go soft on me now.” Mozzi held her hand between both of his and brought his face closer to hers.
Dropping an arm across the top of the pillow, he tipped her chin with his index finger, still holding her hand. Coast’s eyes popped open and veered into his.
“I hate you,” she grumbled.
“I know.” He grinned before his lips brushed softly against hers. “You one of the strongest people I know, though. So, push that little girl out, so we can love on her.”
A moment of silence passed between them, and she sensed her body working to bring this little baby into the world. Stomach tightening, she gripped the bar on the side of the bed and grimaced. Drenched in sweat, breathing like a dragon, and cursing every life decision that led her here, Coast forced herself to sit up. Mozzi leaned in, voice low and serious, while examining her face.
