I hit him again.
Juvie let out a long whistle. “Damn! That one had some feeling behind it.”
“It did,” Mikhail agreed calmly.
Kemp groaned and rolled partly onto his side.
“Wh-why would she want me to tell y'all?” he muttered finally.
“Because she's hoping to keep me off Chauncey's ass. She thinks your words will back up the shit we've already seen,” I said.
“Wow,” he replied under his breath, before laughing.
There was a long pause. I reached for an abandoned tire iron. Kemp's eyes widened.
“Aunt Marguerite b-been talking to people,” he finally whispered.
Ajani’s eyes narrowed as he rolled toward Kemp. “What people?”
Kemp hesitated. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him backward against the concrete.
“Try that again,” I ordered.
“Russian people! Damn!” he snapped.
“What Russians?”
“I'on know names!”
I believed that part. Niggas like Kemp rarely got entrusted with important information. He was loud and reckless. He was the type useful for intimidating women and causing chaos, but nothing else. Marguerite was probably using him exactly the way she should.
Prime tilted his head slightly. “You not helping yourself.”
Kemp spat blood again before answering.
“We… we went to see her in Mississippi earlier this year. She had to take a meeting all of a sudden. I just so happened?—”
Braeden scoffed. “Just so happened? Nigga, you nosier than a bitch. Prolly followed that lady.”
He glared but didn’t deny it. “I saw an old white dude with gold teeth. Inked-up everywhere. Nigga looked mean as fuck.”
Mikhail looked offended. “That tells us nothing. He sounds like some caricature of a Russian villain. How do we know this person is real?”
Shaking his head, Juvie sighed dramatically. “C’mon nigga. You gotta give us more. Did he seem mysterious? Did it rain over just his head, or did snow fall dramatically behind him? Like how you figure out he was the bad guy?”
Even Braeden smiled a little at that. Kemp just looked mad and frustrated that his anger meant nothing in this room.
“They knew about Theory. About the shit she lied—” he looked at my face, then swallowed hard. “Saidabout Chauncey. They knew my auntie woulda been handled that bitch–” Another furtive glance. “Ay, I'm sorry, but you gotta understand why my family don't like her. Anyway, your family got involved. AuntMarguerite is a lot of things, but she ain't no fool. She know when she outmatched.” A little smile curved his mouth then. “But she also know how to make friends, make shit a little more even. My family up here and in Mississippi went through a lot behind that shit. People turned up they noses, didn't want to associate with us. They forgot who we was. My auntie put us in a position to remind these fake mothafuckas,” he gloated.
I crouched again in front of him.
“How long?” I quizzed.
His shoulders lifted the slightest bit. “A while.”
“How long is a while?”
“Since y'all started tryna run him crazy!” he spat defiantly.
