She pulls my jacket away and looks at me, her eyes lifeless. “He started two weeks ago when you took that new job.”
The tears come down my face, and I hate myself even more. I had noticed that Ivory was quieter, more withdrawn last week, but I hadn’t been paying enough attention, too excited to get this new job that would hopefully pay me enough money for me to rent a room somewhere. Anywhere but home. I had plans to take Ivory with me. I was only 17, but lying about my age wouldn’t be a problem. Not with my height and muscles. Being 6 ‘4 already had its advantages. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because they threatened to kill Mama. Then kill you. He was irate because Mama wouldn’t send him money. He made me promise not to tell. Or he was going to hurt you. I couldn’t let him.” She sobs into her palms. This time, she lets me hold her. I pick her up, hugging her to my chest. She feels so small in arms, so helpless.
I swallow again. I have to ask. The clock is ticking. “Did Ray come inside you?” I know she knows what it means because of how we live. I never kept things from her. When she got her period last year, it was I who told her about sex and pregnancy. I bought her pads and anything else she needed. My mother was either working or lost in her own misery to notice that her daughter was having life experiences she was missing out on.
She nods, her low, scared whisper. “Yes.”
I grind my teeth, hating him more with each second. He’s been assaulting my sister for over a week. I can’t even fathom the reality of what might happen. I hate it for her. She’s only 12 years old, and a baby would be a fucking nightmare on top of what she’s already experienced. God, she could be pregnant byher stepfather. What the fuck am I going to do? “I need to get Olu and Reg.”
She lifts her head, looking at me. “Please don’t tell him. Don’t tell Olu, please, he’s going to hate me.” She starts to cry again. She and Olu, or Onyx as we call him, are close. He’s been in our lives since she was five.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I lie to her for the first time in my life. “I won’t tell him.” But I will. I will tell my friends what happened here today. I have no choice. I can’t do this alone. “I’m going to get you some clothes. Do you want to shower?” She nods, and I keep her wrapped in my oversized jacket. Her body is racked with tremors; her skin is pale and sweaty. Once she’s near the bathroom, I let her go, and she goes inside, closing the door softly, quietly.
Again, I’m pissed. I’m usually home to make sure I get Ivory off the bus, but my stupid co-worker didn’t show up for her shift, and I wanted to make more money. Pissed that fate brought me here. I can’t even take her to the hospital for a rape kit because then there would be questions. Questions will lead them to my stepfather. My very dead stepfather.
Standing, I walk back to the kitchen. The pool of blood is bigger now. Who knew that a body held that much blood? But then again, he’s a big fucker. He has 20 lbs on me. Had I corrected myself. He had 20 lbs. I look down at his body again, the urge to stab into his flesh comes over me, and I kneel near his body, removing my blood knife. I stab into his flesh, over and over, the slight resistance of his flesh fucking delicious.
His open eyes stared up at the ceiling, and I stabbed his eyes, wanting to punish him. He ruined our already chaotic lives. His dirty shirt was covered in beer and, God knows, what else. I stab into his stomach, and this time, when my erection comes, I let it. I keep piercing his dead flesh, and orgasms, groaning through the pleasure of mutilating his corpse. I stab his neck,his stomach, all the while my cock is hard. Panting, I turn to his crotch, his flaccid penis hanging out of his pants. The sight of it enrages me more. He raped my sister. Lifting the knife, I viciously hack, his body jerking with the force. Each downward arc splatters blood on my face and chest. It gets in my eyes and my lips, my tongue flicks out, and the taste of it is surprisingly delicious.
My eyes focus on what’s left of his crotch. At the sight of the butchered mess that was once his penis, my orgasm rips through me. I ejaculate over and over, cum filling my underwear, soaking the inside of my jeans. I feel lightheaded, euphoric, the slick blood coating my hands and the handle of the knife. I sit back on my haunches, out of breath, trying to get air in my lungs. The smell of his blood and the gin mix, and my cock twitches, getting hard again. I just came, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Fuck.
Standing, I stumble back, shaky, and head for the sink, turning on the water to rinse his blood off my face. Once my face is clean and I can no longer smell the gore and carnage, the mania that I just felt starts to fade. I reach into my pocket for my cellphone to call my best friends. With gritted teeth, I tell him what happened. Olu’s shouted obscenities on the other end don’t surprise me. But his following statement does.
“My uncle is coming.”
Hearing that the vice-president of the Legion Lords is on his way should scare me, but right now the only fear I have is for my sister.
“Remove his hands and head.Any tattoos too.”
Looking up from the bruised body of my stepfather, I glance over my shoulder at the vice president of the Legion Lords.Onyx’s uncle frightens me, even after all the things I’ve been through with my stepfather and the neighborhood we live in.
Along with the fear, there is respect. The man is enormous, even taller than my 6’4 frame and Onyx’s 6’7 frame. Thickly muscled with tattoos covering his dark brown skin, Rashon Etienne is one of the most feared men in the neighborhood. Onyx’s family comes from a well-known Black family, one that has been in Chicago since the time of Jean Baptiste Point du Sable. Over 300 years of ancestry means he and his family have deep roots. His relatives have been governors, senators, and, yes, gang members too. Either way, they run Chicago right alongside the Legion.
Rashon, being the vice-president of the Chicago branch of the Legion Lords, means he knows everything and everyone. Having him here to help me eases some of my worry.
I’ve known him since I was old enough to realize that the men who rode their bikes along our streets wearing leather jackets and vests with the three skulls and a crown belonged to a band of men who did what they wanted, when they wanted, and also killed without a second thought. Seeing dead bodies wasn’t new in my neighborhood. Junkies were rampant, but the ones that were bloody and missing parts were the most alarming. Those were the result of people who crossed the Legion.
Hearing Rashon say to remove the head and hands confirms what I always knew. They were responsible for the unnamed bodies that the ambulances would pick up.The ones all the teenagers whispered about.
“We don’t have those tools, Uncle Shon,” Onyx said quietly, standing next to me.
“They’re in the car. Get ’em.”
Onyx walks toward the pickup truck that just a few minutes ago had carried the bleeding body of my stepfather in the back, wrapped in a blue tarp. On the trip with his uncle, driving meand Onyx next to him in the front, both of us covered in his blood, our blood to the outskirts of a wooded area, I thought about my life and what I was doing, what I was doing at 18 years old. I had just murdered a man for assaulting my sister, and I would do it again. Hearing that he’d been molesting her for months makes me sick, and staring down at his lifeless body, I wish I could do it again, choke him more.
“Here.”
I look up, shaking off the memory of squeezing the life out of my stepfather’s body, and stare at the saw in Onyx’s hand. A hand that is just as bruised as mine. Another memory hit of Onyx beating his body, even when he was dead. Punching the corpse over and over, the still warm blood splattering on his shirt, on my jeans, on the dirty kitchen floor. I knew the bastard couldn’t feel it since I thought when he stopped breathing, but Onyx didn’t care. His rage was equal to mine. I knew how much he protected my sister. Ivory was his shadow, and he’s protected her since before she could talk.
“Start with the hands first. The head will take the longest. We’ll burn them after and move the ashes to a new location.”
Rashon says matter-of-factly, and I nod, moving automatically.
I swallow at the task before us and look at the older black man. “Do I—do we need gloves?”
He smiles, and I shiver at the cruel look on his face. “Do you want gloves?”
