“I’m fine, for now. I miss you,” she admitted. “I just needed to hear your voice. I love you.”
I swallowed. I couldn't say the words back. I cared for her, but love? Drea Jackson had my heart. “Be safe, Sash.”
I hung up and leaned against the wall. Me and Sasha were never supposed to be serious. I ain’t even know she was married when we first started fucking around, and by the time I did, we’d been hooking up over a year.
Her husband Messiah Lawson was the biggest arms dealer on the East Coast. The Reapers moved guns, yeah, but Messiah was the plug’s plug.
If he was behind the shooting, Cash would crash out worse than he did when he thought Nai’s situation caused it.
“Carmelo?” Nana called from the kitchen.
I shook my head. This was a problem for another day.
19 /FONTAINE JACKSON
I tookoff my glasses and rubbed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion behind them. I’d been glued to my monitors for hours, combing through CCTV feeds, lurking on dark web boards, chasing down anything that might point to who was behind the shooting at Cash and Jasmine’s baby shower.
But there wasn’t shit.
No chatter from any crew in the city. Not a peep out of New York or Miami either. It was like whoever did it was a ghost—no paper trail, nothing.
The longer I dug, the more I started second-guessing what Hana said. What if the Order was behind it, and just playing games to keep Nairobi in line? Or worse, they were making this hard on purpose, so we’d have no choice but to come begging them for help.
That’s how people like them moved, always trying to stack the deck in their favor.
Jelani was lounging on the leather couch in my office, scrolling on his phone.
“Still haven’t found anything?” he asked, glancing over.
I shook my head. “Nah. I’m starting to think these niggas are makingit difficult on purpose.”
He sat up and tossed his phone onto the table. “I mean… what’s the worst that could happen if we ask for help? Nai’s already working with them now.”
I gave him a look. “You know better than that. Everything about this life is transactional. You don’t ask people like that for favors unless you’re ready to pay for it later. Money wouldn’t want to be in that kind of debt.”
“Well lucky for my brother,” Jelani said evenly, “he’s not running shit anymore. I’ll run it by him out of respect, but this is my call at the end of the day. If that’s the only way we get answers, it is what it is.”
I had to remind myself—again—that Jelani was the one in charge. Two years later and my default was to go to Cash. Not that Jelani wasn’t doing a good job. Outside of The Order and this shooting looming over us, things were smoother than they’d ever been. He’d even set up a council with the other Atlanta crews to keep egos in check and make sure niggas weren’t stepping on each other’s toes.
There was a knock at the door. I looked up as Slim walked in.
Carmelo “Slim” Hawkins had a look that made people underestimate him. While Cash and I were more solidly built, Slim was tall and lean. At 6’4, he looked like he should be a starting point guard in the NBA. Niggas made assumptions about his stature, never accounting for the fact that despite his lanky appearance, he could put a man on his ass with ease. He was dark-skinned with low cut hair and tattoos that ran up both arms and across his chest and neck. He had one of those faces that always looked unbothered even when he wasn’t.
Right now though he looked like hell—his eyes tired and jaw tight, like sleep had been evading him for days.
“Y’all find anything out about the shooting?” he asked as he sank into the chair across from me.
“Nah. Can’t find anything solid,” I said, crossing my arms. Something in his voice sounded off.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “There’s something y’all need to know.”
“‘Bout what?” Jelani asked.
“Ol’ girl from New York.” Slim lifted his head, looking between us. “She’s Messiah Lawson’s wife.”
Now, we’d all wondered who Slim had been dealing with for the past few years, but he’d always been extremely private. Aside from Drea, he never brought women around. He always had a little roster, but there’d never been anyone consistent—until this chick from New York. And even then, he never revealed her name, no pictures. Just someone he dipped off to see every few months. Sometimes he’d go completely offline for a weekend, and I’d always assumed that’s when she’d come down here to see him.
Her being Messiah’s wife was a big fucking problem.
