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I rocked him across his jaw. “Did I say you could speak? I’ll tell you when it’s your turn.”

“Now, where was I?” I cleared my throat and flexed my hand. “Right. You been working for me for eight months. Eight months and I didn’t even cut your pay when you fucked up.”

Deonte’s chest started heaving. A line of bloody drool stretched from his lips.

“And the whole time you were stealing and feeding info to your bitch ass uncle.” I leaned closer. “There were two men inside the stash house when Solomon decided to set it on fire.”

“I ain’t know he was gonna kill anybody!” Deonte croaked. “Nobody was supposed to be there that night. He told me he just wanted the money and the product.”

“You gave him the old rotation. How would you know the current schedule when you don’t work for me anymore?” I sucked my teeth. “Priest, give me your belt.”

Priest unbuckled his Gucci belt and walked over to hand it to me. It was thick leather, with a heavy metal plaque buckle. Deonte’s eyes went wide as I wrapped the strap end around my hand once, letting the buckle swing.

I raised my arm and brought the belt down hard across his face. The buckle cracked against his cheek and split the skin open on impact. Deonte let out a raw, guttural sound that bounced off the concrete walls.

“That was for fucking with my money.” I swung again. This time, the belt caught him across the chest. “This is for your dumb ass not being able to do recon properly. Got two niggas killed because of that shit.”

Another swing. It hit his ribs. I heard a wet, muffled pop before he doubled over as far as the zip ties would let him. He heaved once, then threw up. The smell hit me immediately, bile mixing with blood already on the concrete.

Marco wrinkled his nose. I checked my sneakers to make sure nothing had splashed up on them.

Deonte was gurgling now. Blood was running down his face and soaking through his shirt.

“Now I’ma ask you some questions. And for every answer I don’t like, we’re gonna keep going.”

He sobbed harder and nodded.

“What else did you tell Solomon?”

“The—the spots in Brooklyn—” He could barely get the words out. “In Canarsie and Bedstuy.”

I swung the belt across his back. He screamed again.

“What else?”

“The Castellano shipment!” he screamed.

That made me pause. Victor had finally come through with my missing product and it was set to come in next week. With the added interest, it was worth two million dollars.

“How?”

“I still chill with Big P. I heard him mention something about it when we were kicking it not too long ago,” he wheezed. “I told my uncle because he—he’d been asking when your next big shipment was coming in.”

That shit had me so hot, I brought the belt down his back two more times. With each hit, his screams got weaker. The second left a gash that started bleeding through his shirt.

“Who’s helping Solomon?”

“I don’t have names,” he rasped. His voice was basically gone. “All I know is he’s been putting together a crew since before he got out. He keeps a tight lid on everything. I only ever dealt with him directly.”

I dropped the belt and stood over him. “Why’d you do it, D? You know how the fuck I get down, so what was in this for you?”

His busted mouth trembled. “My moms.”

“Fuck we gotta do with your mother?”

Deonte coughed up more blood onto the floor. “She’s Solomon's sister. When he got locked up, Orlando was supposed to take care of everyone, including us. When your father cut my uncle off, we lost everything. My moms couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments on her salary.”

His one good eye found mine. “Solomon came home and found my mom working doubles at a nursing home. I was working at a warehouse, just scraping together enough to help her and my daughter. He asked me to help him and I couldn’t say no.”