“The tape,” the voice pressed. “It wasn’t in your SUV.”
What the hell was he talking about? “Ain’t no way you been in my ride.” Bullshit.
“You mean because of the hulk behind the wheel?”
The beam of light circled around Tyrone’s face. He backed up a few steps. “That’s right. My man would’ve killed your ass if you’d come near my ride.”
“That would have been very difficult for him to do, considering he’s dead.”
Fear slammed into Tyrone’s chest. “Antoine! Jerome!”
“They’re dead too,” the voice warned. “It’s quite thrilling how quickly a man bleeds out if you open up the proper artery.”
“You are dead!”
Something hit him in the chest. Tyrone hesitated. Tried to see what the hell it was.
A jolt of electricity loosened his fingers on the gun. It clattered to the floor. Tyrone tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work.
Another jolt hit him.
He crumpled to the floor.
The footsteps came closer and closer. The beam of light shone straight down in his eyes, but he couldn’t close them. Couldn’t even blink.
“What a pity.”
Hands groped his body, searching for the videotape. Tyrone would have smiled if he could have. The bastard wasn’t ever gonna find that tape. Screw him.
Strong hands dragged him across the floor, then lifted him into a chair.
Tyrone tried to make his body move ... couldn’t.
Piece after piece of duct tape was ripped from a roll and wrapped around and around his arms and legs, securing him to the chair. The light was in his face, leaving the bastard in darkness. Tyrone wanted to close his eyes against the light but couldn’t. That Taser had messed him up bad. But it wouldn’t last much longer ... he could feel his strength coming back.
When the bastard finished, he stood back, the light still shining in Tyrone’s face. “Tyrone Nash. The King. You are so full of yourself. It’s time the world saw you for what you really are.No one.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Mill Village
2805 Dubose Street, 9:40 p.m.
CJ sipped a Pepsi as she listened to the women of Dubose Street regale her with tales of life in the village. It wasn’t always pretty, but they made the best of it.
The music was loud in the living room, where those who preferred to dance were bumping and grinding to their favorite rappers. She didn’t even want to think about what was going on upstairs. Didn’t matter. Here, in the kitchen, it was just girl talk.
The foot soldiers she’d met at the clinic puffed on their cigarettes and sucked on Grey Goose and Patrón. Most were inebriated, but CJ didn’t mind. They talked about Shelley and how she had rescued each of them at one time or another.
All this time, CJ had considered her sister so helpless. But the truth was, she’d been far stronger than CJ could have imagined. Strong enough to survive this life. To help those around her and to stand up for what she believed in.
“That’s what got her killed,” the girl with the big hair confirmed. “She wasn’t taking no more of Ty’s shit.”
Pink Shorts Girl, who now wore a skimpy striped sundress, shot Big Hair Girl a look. “I know you drunk, but you better be careful what you say. You know Ty has ears all over the village.” She looked to one of the others. “Could be you.” Her attention shifted to another. “Could be you.”
“It’s okay,” CJ said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve come to terms with my sister’s life and her death.” Emotion tightened her throat. “It’s not how I would have liked it to be, but who am I to judge her?” She met each gaze in turn. “Or any of you. You’re just trying to survive.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Supertight Jeans Girl said. “I ain’t ashamed of how I make my living.” She shrugged. “Hell, somebody’s gotta do it, or all these old rich freaks would go psycho or some shit.”
