Page 26 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

Ahmeek nodded and stood, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his sleeves as he rolled them to his elbows.

“Okay,” he said more to himself than to her. “We do this the hard way.”

He went into his pocket, grabbed Christiana by a fistful of hair, and dragged her, kicking and screaming, across the room until he reached a lever in the center of the floor. He lifted the trap door in the floor, a small 5 x 5 opening.

“It’s a hundred degrees under the foundation of this building. Let’s see how long you last,” Ahmeek said.

He stuffed Christiana inside like he was stuffing a top-load washing machine and cut off her screams as he slammed the opening shut. Hak entered the room as Ahmeek caught his breath.

“She’s a stubborn old broad, isn’t she?” Hak commented.

“She’ll break, or she will be buried out this bitch,” Ahmeek stated. “Her choice.”

“She won’t last more than 15 minutes down there. It’s like being trapped in a car in the summertime, but ten times worse,” Hak explained.

Ahmeek pulled the chair to the center of the room and took a seat. He set a timer on his phone. “I’ll pull her out every 14, if necessary,” Ahmeek stated unapologetically.

“That will feel like a constant loop of suffocation,” Hak stated. “It’s psychological torture.”

“She decides when it ends,” Ahmeek finished. He hated to go this deep off the edge. It could get dark in the trenches, but every street nigga who was really living that life needed the ability to be ruthless. Some men never made it back to the light once they went dark. Once bodies dropped, and once blood was spilled, it was hard to revert to innocence. A nigga’s likelihood of murder determined his longevity in the business of the streets. If opposition weren’t afraid to cross you, you would never establish dominance. This was what it took to ensure the safety of his loved ones, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t take away a bit of his humanity every time. Every single time he had to do the unthinkable, it desensitized him a little more. It was why he chose his gunplay wisely. It was why he was known for being fair in the streets. On a good day, he was known to show mercy, but he had his triggers. His mama, his crew, his father’s name, and most recently, since falling in love with Morgan Atkins, her…always her. Once those things were violated, or threatened in any way, he had no problem sacrificing pieces of his soul. If torture was what it took to get Christiana to see things his way, then so be it.

Chapter 9

9 AM

“Good Love” by Kenyon Dixon

Ethic had barely slept, and he felt the exhaustion creeping up his neck as he knocked on Nannie’s door.

“Use the code, baby!” The old voice was as sweet as can be and such a soothing trigger in his life. He unlocked the door and entered.

The welcoming and safety he felt between these walls couldn’t be explained, but before that feeling crept into his chest, there was always the guilt that hit him first. Ms. Pat’s home was a deep trigger for him, one that he controlled because his family loved it there, but there wasn’t a time he stepped across the threshold that he didn’t feel the ghost of Kenzie. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he glanced into the living room. The home had been remodeled, top to bottom, and new had replaced old, but he could still see it crystal clear as if it had happened yesterday. He was stuck there in a state of mourning so deep that he didn’t even hear Nannie call his name.

“Boy, you gon’ make me call you twice? Get on in here and fill your belly now; I fixed you a plate,” Nannie fussed, waving her dish towel his way.

“I’m not too hungry, Ms. Pat,” he replied.

“Nonsense, you been up at that hospital, so I know you ain’t had a meal. Sit.” He knew better than to argue. He kissed the top of her head as he bypassed her, then took a seat at her kitchen table.

Only Nannie had a full, soul food spread sitting on the stove this early in the morning. She always prepared dinner with breakfast so that she could be on easy street the rest of the day.

“Whenever you get tired of taking care of other people, you just say the word. This is a big meal, Ms. Pat. You should be taking it easy at your age,” Ethic said.

“At who age? I’m a YN,” Nannie said, doing a little hip sway. “I’ll put these young girls to shame.”

“You’re a say what now?” Ethic asked, sitting back and swinging one arm over the back of the wooden chair as he gave her his full attention, smiling.

“Eazy said that’s what the young folks call it. A YN. Young and naturally gifted,” Nannie said.

“Young and naturally gifted, huh?” Ethic entertained, smiling in amusement.

“That’s right,” Nannie said. “Why you babysitting that plate? I don’t want to hear nothing about it being unhealthy.”

“You cooking with love up in here. That’s as healthy as it gets,” Ethic said. Silently, he knew the meal would fuck him up, but he was going to enjoy it regardless.

He noticed Nannie’s gait had changed as she walked back to the stove. She was dragging her weight on her left side. “You in some pain?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. You taking care of enough people as it is. Just aches and pains is all,” Nannie replied, waving her dish towel at him to shoo him off.