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“I won’t tell you again,” he hisses the warning through his teeth, and I snuffle back angry tears. Men like this one feed on the weak, I ain’t giving him what he needs.
“You never saw me, boy,” he snarls at me. “And if you tell anyone I was here, I’ll make you dead too.” He releases me from his grasp and I fall into a heap on the ground.
I’m too distracted by what he just said to worry about catching my breath and the whole apartment shakes when he slams the front door behind him. I touch my hand over my throat, already feeling the bruises from his fingers.
Something ain’t right, a twist in my guts tells me so. And that gut feeling is confirmed when my fingertips become sticky. I hold out my hand in front of me and see the red, tacky marks staining them.
I’m not cut, the blood isn’t mine. It was his fingers that left the mark.
My heart thumps, slamming so hard in my chest it feels like it’s gonna break out, and I manage to scramble up onto my feet and rush toward Mama’s bedroom door.
Mama is lying still, too still. I could tell myself she was sleeping, if it wasn’t for the blood seeping out from under her, slowly staining her white pillow red.
“Mama?” I swallow the wedge in my throat and step closer, reaching out a trembling hand to take hold of hers. She’s still warm, and I take it as a good sign, dead people are always cold.
My shaking and the blood on my fingers cause me to lose grip, and when her hand slips out of mine… falling limp over the edge of the mattress, I choke on air.
Mama’s eyes are wide open, staring right back at me, but she isn’t inside them anymore. I pray for her slightly parted lips to stretch into that smile. The one that’ll tell me everything's gonna be okay. But they remain still, with the bright pink color she wore on them smeared onto her pale cheeks.
“Mama,” I whisper her name again, shaking at her shoulders with all my strength. She needs to get up. Nixon needs her, I can’t take care of him all by myself.
“Mama,” I call out a little louder, my vision blurring through tears that I can’t hold in anymore.
She’s gone.
Mama’s gone…
Dark red blood seeps from an open gash across her throat, glossing the skin on the rest of her body, and then on to mine when I lift her head under my arm and cradle her tight to my chest.
I memorize his face as I rock her back and forth, trying desperately to remember his name. I can’t remember Mama ever calling him by it, but I know Grammy hated Mama working for him. I close my eyes and imagine her tightly drawn lips saying his name out loud when they had their last argument.
Toby…
Thomas…
Tobias.
Tobias Saunders.
He did this, he took Mama from me and my brother. And as I sit and hold her, with the cold stealing her body, I promise myself that one day I’ll wear that man’s blood on my hands.
“Here’s the safe house address.” Prez hands me a scrap piece of paper. “This needs taking care of tonight, Brax,” he warns, before taking a long drink from the tumbler in his hand.
“You still not gonna tell me what all this is about?” I scratch my stubble and check out the address. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Prez set me this job, and being honest, I ain’t much looking forward to it.
I may not be the best ‘team player’ around here, but one thing you can guarantee outta me is that I’ll always get the job done. This job is different, this job involves a female, and that shit ain’t just rare, it’s muggy fuckin’ water… even by my standards.
I’ve been part of the club since I was fifteen, I’ve heard, seen and dealt out a lot of bad, but not once have I been asked to deal with a woman, not in the way Prez is asking me to now.
It makes me fuckin’ uncomfortable, but I ain't about to admit that to him.
Prez shakes his head back at me. “Less you know the better, for now. Just grab the bitch at the first opportunity ya get. Move her to that address and hold her ‘til ya hear from me.” I nod back my understanding and tuck the scrap paper into my cut pocket.
“No reaching out, no matter what happens, ya hear me? You wait for me to contact you.” His pupils stab like daggers into mine, making me seriously question what the fuck I’m getting into.
“And if she makes a fuss?” I tip my head sideways. I don’t know all that much about women, but I can’t imagine one would come willingly with a man like me.
“Then you keep her in fuckin’ line, I’m trusting you know how to handle a fuckin’ female, Brax,” Prez chuckles, pouring himself another generous measure from the bottle.
