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“Let me know when you touch down.”
“Bet.”
As I peeled out of the parking lot of Trent’s shop, I placed a call to Malachi. He answered on the second ring.
“Yeah?” he barked into the phone. Besides Mercer, he was the grumpiest nigga God had ever created.
“I’m coming.”
“I don’t understand. What are you saying?” He fought to hear me. There was chatter in the background that quieted after he asked the question.
“I’m coming to the island. I’m joining you niggas on the trip.”
“Oh yeah? Good. Wheels up at eleven. Be ready. Meet us on the tarmac, nigga.”
The call ended, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. A million thoughts scattered in my brain, a few leading the ship and sending shockwaves straight to my chest where my lifeless heart rested. Moments like so, I was reminded that I had one. It laid dormant for so many years at a time that it wasn’t the easiest organ to awaken.
I rubbed the left side, warming it slightly while continuing toward my crib. Using the text-to-speech feature, I left instructions with Pops to shut the shop down at six every day until I returned. While away, he and Mercer would make sure that shit ran smoothly. Though neither of them was part of the day-to-day operations, they understood the ins and outs.
As the city’s lights cascaded down on me, I fired up another blunt. The fire on the end of the blunt was the pathway to my contentment. Feelings. Them motherfuckers belonged in the trash and not in my chest. I peaked the sound on my stereo, hoping to drown them out. My efforts were in vain.
Thirty-five minutes later, the gates of my home welcomed me with openness. Engulfed in comfort, I entered and rode the length of my driveway while settling my rampant thoughts. A checklist of things that needed to happen within the next hour replaced most of them. Malachi and his promptness would spare not even a minute. If I wasn’t on the tarmac at eleven, the wheels would be up without me and I’d be forced to find the nearest missile to shoot the fucking plane out of the air.
The fence that bordered the left side of my house rattled, loudly and nonstop. Two large, well-fed Cane Corsos sent obvious warnings before their thunderous barking began. Proud of my boys, I stepped out of my whip and whistled, demanding they settled while simultaneously confirming it was me who’d arrived. Immediately, they opted for silence.
With a few taps of the keypad, I gained access to my home. Darkness surrounded me. From the black decor to the scarcity of light, I was most comfortable. My home, being an utter reflection of who I am, resembled me in more ways than one understood. From the most shallow parts of me to the deepest, there was darkness. It coated me on a daily. It was my safe space. My haven.
My first stop was the kitchen that led to the kennels where my dogs rested daily. Midnight and Ghost were barely a year old and had outgrown their first kennels, forcing me to build ones that would last them throughout the remainder of their lives. I grabbed the two bowls of food I’d prepared before leaving earlier, carrying them toward the kennels where my boys were waiting.
I sat each bowl down before stepping back, watching for either of them to break their stances. Like the good boys they were, neither budged until they heard the command.
“Eat.”
I headed back inside, leaving their door unlocked so they had the freedom to roam inside or out. Because they were trained like soldiers preparing for war, I wasn’t worried about them damaging furniture or making a mess of my home. Behavior wasn’t an issue of theirs.
I tossed another piece of candy in my mouth as I took the stairs. My socks pressed against the hard floor with each step I took. When I finally made it to my bedroom, I fought the urge to climb inside my custom king and get the rest my body was begging for. Hunger pains echoed in the quietness, warning me that the snacks I’d been smashing weren’t satisfying enough.
As if they were built on top of an AC unit, the marble floors of my bathroom cooled the bottom of my feet. I could feel the breeze through my socks. Mentally, I noted the desire for a heating system installation underneath the flooring to combat the coolness during the winter and fall months.
My reflection reserved my attention momentarily upon passing the enormous mirror that sat right above the Jack-and-Jill-styled sinks. Stopping in my tracks, I brushed my palm against the sea of waves that sat atop my head. My barber wasn’t bullshitting this week.
I removed the gold necklaces that rested against my chest, followed by the two bracelets and watch on the opposite wrist. Free of my jewelry, I shed my clothes next. Ass naked, I stepped into the shower where the water began automatically. Heated drops warmed my skin, forcing the memory of icy floors to evade my thoughts.
I planted both hands against the shower wall as I leaned forward. Water beads fell, massaging my back before rolling off and onto the shower floor. Weighted shoulders sagged as my father’s face appeared behind my lowered eyelids. It didn’t matter how many years passed, the pain was still present, still prominent.
The taste of blood on my tongue quickly rescued me from the deep end I was headed toward. With expanded nostrils and a shake of the head, I reminded myself that time was of the essence and I didn’t have much to loan to repetitive thoughts and lingering pain. I grabbed a fresh towel from the dispenser at the very end of the shower, poured soap in the middle, and scrubbed my hands together until suds spilled over the sides.
“Alexa, play some shit I like.”
Desperate to drown my father’s voice and dissolve his image, I immersed myself in the beat long before Rick Ross began to spit on the track. I scrubbed the day’s grime from my skin once and then again for anything I’d left behind. When I finally stepped out of the shower, I felt lighter—physically and mentally. Still pressing for time, I headed straight to the first level where I removed a combination of books from three of my library shelves and waited for the center of the floor to part.
As it did, I descended the spiraling case that led to my most prized possessions, including the safe that held my life’s savings. Everything I’d worked my ass off for that hadn’t been washed clean through the rim shop was behind the sleek, shiny steel.
Water cascaded down my back as I stood in front of the silver door with a towel around my waist and another dangling from my shoulder. I pressed my palm against the scanner, notifying it of my presence. From head to toe, a complete scan commenced.
“Welcome, Mr. Domino,” the system sounded off.
The locks turned, allowing me to pull the door back and expose my air-tight vault to open air. Bills surrounded me, stacked neatly from the floor to the ceiling. Moving swiftly, I grabbed a drawstring bag from the custom stash and filled the soft cotton to the brim before pulling the strings on both sides.
