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The last bits of Silent Night blared from the radio, and he rocked his head. “You can’t interrupt the Temptations.”
Frowning, I sized him up.
He was a muscular black man with a green-brimmed hat perched atop his head. He wore a green fur coat that blended with the shadows.
He had the look of someone who knew how to handle himself—the confident grip on the gun and the illusion of a relaxed posture that really was a readied stance to spring into action.
Is he an assassin from Francesca?
I eyed the gun and considered the possibilities. My mind raced, calculating the distance between us, the angle of his arm, the best way to disarm him.
I could probably get it from him, but it would have to be fast, precise.
Now with Carmen and Zuri in my life, there could be no room for error.
I think I can do it. Two big guys. Small space. But I have the edge.
I prepared myself to make my move.
Then, a sudden tap sounded on the window behind me.
What?
I turned my head, only to find another Black man, clad in an equally ostentatious green fur coat, and peering through the window. He held a rifle and aimed it squarely at me.
Alright.
My heart boomed in my ears.
If they wanted me dead, I would already be dead.
I turned back to the Black man in the driver’s seat. “What is this?”
Just then, the radio switched tracks.
The soulful tones of This Christmas by Chris Brown filled the car.
“Oh, this is my jam!” He ignored me and bobbed his head to the upbeat tempo.
I quirked my brows.
The jingling bells and the rhythmic bass in the background created a surreal soundtrack to our odd standoff.
And then. . .to my utter astonishment, the man burst into song, his deep voice echoing Chris Brown’s from the radio. “Hang all the mistletoe, I’m gonna get to know you better.”
I parted my lips.
“This Christmas!”
Had he and his buddy not been aiming guns my way, I might have suggested he do a Gangster Sing-off with Anthony.
Speaking of Anthony.
Tension gathered in my shoulders.
Did they kill him?
The thought of him being harmed filled me with a cold dread. I had just met the guy, and sure, I wasn’t certain I could fully trust him yet, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die.
The man rocked his head in time with the rhythm. “The fireside is blazin’ bright!”
Movement in the front of my car, caught my attention.
I put my gaze forward.
Outside of the car, more figures in green winter coats appeared with guns in hand, shrinking any opportunity to escape.
Oh.
They surrounded the car.
Rowe Street Mob.
I leaned back.
What the fuck do they want?
Then, the man in the driver’s side turned off the car.
For a second, silence filled the car.
Good. Now he can tell me what the hell is going on.
I spoke, “What do you all want?”
“And this Christmas will be. . .” Singing, he gestured grandly with his free hand and signaled for me to get out of the car. “. . . a very special Christmas for me.”
Opening the driver’s side, he kept the gun steadied on me. “Presents and cards are here.”
Reluctantly, I opened the door and stepped out into the snow, the cold hitting me once more.
“My world is filled with cheer and you.”
I rolled my eyes and took in all of the men.
Snowflakes danced around us.
The man, still singing, stepped out of the car, and slammed the door. “And as I look around, your eyes outshine the town.”
The Black man with the rifle stood in front of me. “No sudden moves, Reaper.”
“What is this about?”
He aimed the rifle at my chest. “Come with us.”
More men appeared on both sides of me.
Goddamn it.
I followed Mr. Rifle.
Meanwhile, the man in the green-brimmed hat led the way, his gold gun still in his hand, glinting under the streetlights. His fur coat swayed with each step.
The others followed, their eyes watchful, and guns trained on me.
We moved through the snowy streets—a surreal parade of armed men in green fur coats and a Christmas soundtrack still playing in my ears.
The cold night air was sharp against my skin, but my focus remained on those guns.
Up ahead, two uniformed cops turned the corner. They were probably walking their beat.
At the sight of my captors, they paused and stopped in front of Mr. Brimmed Hat.
Hmmm.
He immediately stopped singing, but didn’t get rid of the gun.
For a tense moment, I thought the cops would help me, intervene in some way.
But instead, one of them nodded at the man in the green-brimmed hat and said, “Merry Christmas, Banks. How’s the family?”
“The Family is fine. It’s the ladies that are giving me problems this Christmas.” He smirked, dove his hand into his coat pocket, and handed each officer a roll of cash, thick and bulging. “Make sure to get your wives some nice fur coats.”
