by K'wan
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PROLOGUE
SOMEWHERE IN PUERTO RICO:
“If you stop you’re dead,” were the words echoing in Chris’s mind that kept him moving. His lungs burned, and his heart beat so hard in his chest that he felt like it might explode. His legs threatened to give out on him, but he knew if he stopped it would be over. If he could just make it to the harbor, he might still have a chance.
Chris heard a whistling sound and moved his head just as something whizzed by, nicking his cheek. He touched his fingers to his face and they came away bloody. Buried in the side of the building a few feet away was a dart. Hanging from the end of it was an orange tuft of fur. Chris spun, gun raised, eyes sweeping the dark street. Even though he couldn’t see his pursuer, Chris knew he was close. His pursuer could’ve ended it blocks ago if he so chose, but he was toying with Chris, like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it. Chris couldn’t go out like this . . . not when he was so close.
Ignoring the cramping in his legs, Chris forced himself to continue on. He cut down an alley that opened up on the next block. In this distance he could see the harbor. A friend of his was waiting for him with a boat to take him to safety. He was going to make it! As Chris ran he felt a burning sensation in his cheek where the dart had nicked him. The sensation spread throughout his face, and then crept into his chest. He felt like his lungs were constricting and he was finding it hard to draw breath. His sprint slowed to a jog, then finally an uncoordinated stagger. It was as if his legs and brain were no longer cooperating. At the mouth of the other end of the alley, so close to freedom, Chris’s legs finally gave out and he fell to the ground.
Chris lay on the cold cobblestones, fighting to stay conscious. He could hear the sounds of footfalls nearing him, but had not the strength to lift his head. The footsteps stopped just short of where he was lying. A silhouette loomed over him. Chris fought against the fog that was trying to engulf his brain and forced his eyes to focus. He could make out a figure standing over him, wearing a dark cloak and hood that shadowed his face.
“What did you do to me?” Chris asked in a groggy voice.
“The dart was tipped with the poison of the Boxfish,” the hooded figure said in a feminine voice, much to Chris’s surprise. She knelt beside him, reaching to touch his neck to check his vitals. Chris could feel the cold from the steel-lined gauntlet she wore. It was then that he was able to catch a glimpse of what was hiding beneath the hood. Her face was covered by an ornately decorated mask, with a bright orange flower carved into the forehead. “Not as lethal as what I’d have normally used, but I didn’t want it to kill you, just to keep you still for a few moments. Poisoning someone of your standing in these parts would raise too many questions. Your death will be attributed to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You’ll never get away with this. Do you know who my family is?” Chris asked in desperation.
“Indeed I do, and it is because of your family’s standing on the island that I’m giving you the honor of a quick death,” the masked female told him. There was the sound of compressed air being released and from the fingertips of her gauntlets sprouted razor sharp claws.
“My sister will see you dead for this. She’ll track you to whatever holes you try to hide in, looking for payback!” Chris spat.
“That’s exactly what I’m expecting to happen,” she told him, before slashing his throat and leaving him to bleed out.
PART I
BOUND BY BLOOD
ONE
ANIMAL STOOD ON THE BEACH looking out at the water. The sun was just starting to set, casting a golden reflection across the surface of the rolling waves. He could stare at the Pacific Ocean for hours, and sometimes he would. There was something about it that made him feel at peace. Peace in his later years was exactly what Animal needed, considering how chaotic his entire life had been.
Animal spared a glance over his shoulder and took in the place he had called home since his release from prison. It was a far cry from the Harlem slum he had grown up in. It was a three-story house that sat mere yards from the beach, and there wasn’t a neighbor for at least a mile. Located in the Latigo Shores section of Malibu and built to Animal’s specifications, it was as secure as it was beautiful. Everyone privy to floor plans of Animal’s haven had either died under mysterious circumstances or vanished without a trace. Though Animal wasn’t in the life anymore, he only knew one way to keep a secret and old habits died hard. Between his reputation in the streets, and the very public spectacle of his violent life, Animal valued his privacy. After all he’d been through, he earned it.
Animal was a true product of his environment, one of the forgotten children of Harlem. His father took a walk and never came back when Animal was a toddler and his crack addict mother left him at the mercies of her boyfriend, who hated Animal’s guts. To say that he had a hard childhood would’ve been an understatement. The abuses he was subject to were inhumane. Just shy of his thirteenth birthday, he’d decided he’d had enough and set out to tackle the world on his own. Life at home had been bad for him, but life on the streets was merciless. It was in the streets that he would receive his baptism by fire and earn the moniker Animal. He was a young savage who was willing to do whatever it took in the name of survival, including murder.
Growing up in chaos robbed Animal of ever having a real childhood and he had to become a man far sooner than other little boys his age. He learned very quickly that if he hoped to survive the jungle, he’d have to adapt to its rules and adapt he did. Animal had committed his first murder by the time he was fourteen and had swum a river of blood before he was old enough to vote. His psychological detachment from the rest of the world allowed Animal to do what others didn’t have the stomach for and made him the perfect killer. He was on pace to die young and infamous, but love got in the way and changed things.
He’d met his future wife, Gucci, during one of the most turbulent periods in his life. Animal was heavy in the streets and the line of enemies and victims he had accounted for stretched for miles. The last thing he wanted to do was fall in love, but his heart had betrayed him and let her in. Animal was an expert at killing, but very much a novice when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. Gucci became his teacher, and Animal the willing student. Having Gucci in his life gave him balance; she helped him suppress the monster vying for control of his soul. She became his strength, but also his weakness, because it was his love for her that his enemies brought into play against him that led to his eventual downfall and eventual resurrection.
Animal and Gucci’s adversities had been movie worthy, and would’ve likely destroyed most relationships, but it strengthened their bond. Even during their two-year separation, when Animal was a fugitive from justice, they still carried each other in their hearts. It was this intense love that sent Animal over the edge when word reached him that Gucci had been shot. The bullet hadn’t been meant for her, but she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it didn’t matter to Animal. They had touched the only thing in the world that he loved, and it was enough to send him on a killing spree that would make the five-o’clock news.
For his bleeding heart and violent temper, Animal was sentenced to a very lengthy prison sentence. He was supposed to never see the sun again, but Animal had one more trump card to play before they closed the curtains on him. Some very important people owed Animal some big favors and he called in every last marker.
Eighteen months after he was sentenced, Animal was back on the streets with his lady. Some might’ve called it a miracle, but he called it blackmail. Animal had narrowly avoided the fate waiting for him, and it was after that he decided he’d had his fill of the streets. He was going to show his appreciation of his good fortune by focusing on his marriage and being a father. It had been easy to give his word to Gucci, but keeping it was proving to be a bit more complicated.
Having powerful people in his debt had provided Animal with the means to soften the blow the judicial system had tried to hit him with, but it still took money to pull the whole charade off. All total, Animal had spent nearly two million dollars greasing palms and making evidence disappear. He was doing very well financially, as a result of winning the lawsuit against Big Dawg Entertainment for back royalties from his posthumous album sales. Don B. figured that since Animal was supposed to be dead he could make the money go missing without anyone contesting it, but when Animal resurfaced it changed things. Don B. knew what kind of man Animal was so he settled out of court instead of fighting it and risking turning up dead. Animal had been awarded a nice sum, enough to set him and Gucci up in the house they were living in, and tuck a chunk away for a rainy day. But the money sacrificed getting him out of prison put a serious dent in his savings. Gucci knew that things were tight, but she had no idea how tight. They weren’t broke, but an infusion of cash wouldn’t hurt and there was only one way Animal knew to get it. When Animal was released he vowed to his wife that he was officially out, and his guns would bark no more, but he now found himself on the cusp of breaking that promise.
Animal felt them before he saw them. Their shadows were cast in the sand, growing as they drew closer to him. Animal turned his back to the rolling waves to face them, hands instinctively coming to rest on the two guns he had holstered to his sides. He wouldn’t need them; it was more out of habit than feeling threatened by his visitors.
There were two of them, a woman and a young man. Her long black hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head and her eyes were hidden by sunglasses, even though the sun was now fully set. A tight black bodysuit, hugged her like second skin, highlighting her toned legs and curvaceous hips. It was warm that night, yet she wore a black three-quarter jacket, buttoned to the neck with the belt drawn tightly around her waist. She took soft steps, barely leaving a print where her black boots touched the sand, and stopped a few feet shy of Animal. Her black painted lips curled slightly at the corners, in way of a greeting.
The young man trailed behind her. Unlike the woman, his steps were awkward and heavy. A few times he stumbled as if he would lose his footing, no doubt attributed to the heavy construction Timberlands he wore. The tops of the boots nearly touched the ends of his baggy jean shorts. In California, he stuck out like a sore thumb, as only New Yorkers would think to match shorts with boots. He now wore his hair in a short, nappy afro, and had began to sprout the first signs of a beard, but he still had a baby face. When he was finally able to steady himself, he looked over at Animal, flashing his best menacing scowl, tight eyes and barely a hint of teeth showing . . . just as Animal had taught him.
A few long moments passed with the three of them just staring at each other. It was as if it was a competition to see who could last the longest without breaking. They were all capable of playing the game for hours, but they didn’t have that kind of time, so the young man broke the silence first.
“Fuck all this tough guy shit. What up, Blood?” the young man threw his arms open and stepped towards Animal.
Animal smiled and embraced his protégé. “Sup, Ashanti?” It felt good to see a familiar face after so long spent around strangers. He and Gucci had been living in California since his release from prison and it had been ages since he’d seen one of his old crime partners. Animal broke the embrace and held Ashanti at arm’s length to look him over. Ashanti had put on about fifteen pounds of muscle since last time he’d seen him. “Damn, you’re bigger than I remember. Fatima must be feeding your ass.” He joked. Ashanti was no longer the skinny kid who used to follow him around the projects, begging him to put in work. He was a man now.
“Double F, feed me and fuck me. You know how it go, big homie,” Ashanti laughed.
“I don’t know if I’m surprised or disappointed that any woman would let you kiss them with that filthy mouth of yours. One day your tongue is going to fall out of that degenerate ass head of yours,” the woman spoke up, not bothering to hide her disapproval with his language.
“I forgot the principal was with me on this class trip,” Ashanti mumbled.
“Hardly. I have no desire to baby a grown ass man, but I will correct you when you’re out of pocket. You asked me to show you the way and that’s what I’m trying to do, but it isn’t going to work if you fight me at every turn,” Kahllah told him.
“C’mon, K, I’m just joking with the homie. Why are you so serious all the time?” Ashanti asked.
“Because there’s no room for games in my life. If you want people to take you seriously and stop looking at you like a little ghetto bastard then I suggest you stop acting like one. Think before you speak, even if it’s amongst family,” she schooled him.
“When you’re done giving your little lesson, can you show your brother some love?” Animal interjected.
Kahllah let her scolding eyes linger on Ashanti for a few seconds longer before shaking her head and turning to her brother. “Sorry,” she embraced him. “How’ve you been?”
“Chilling, just enjoying my freedom, ya know?”
“No, I don’t know because I’ve never been arrested,” Kahllah said half jokingly.
“The ever elusive Black Lotus,” Animal winked. “You’re making quite the name for yourself in the streets.”
“And how would you know, being that you spend most of your time out here with the rest of the rich folks?” she teased him.
“Sis, you know no matter where I lay my head, my ear is always to the curb. How are things with the Brotherhood?” he asked, referring to the Brotherhood of Blood.
The Brotherhood, as they were referred to, were a fraternal order of assassins, rumored to be founded sometime in the late eighteen hundreds. The dark hand of the Brotherhood was said to have orchestrated some extremely high profile assassinations, but it was hard to pen a murder on a phantom. The Brotherhood were ghost to all except their members, which included Kahllah. She was one of only three females ever inducted into their order, and the first to ever earn a seat at the big boy table.
“Bad,” she said with a sigh. “The Brotherhood’s numbers have been steadily thinning for the past several years, which means there were less and less progeny to be inducted. To replenish our numbers quicker The Hand started recruiting outlaws and mercenaries.” The Hand were a group of Brotherhood members who acted as delegators of contracts and enforcers of the Brotherhood’s authority, answering only to the Elders.
“Mercenaries?” This bit of news surprised Animal. He was no expert on the Brotherhood, but he knew more than most based on what Kahllah had taught him about the order, but the one thing he knew for certain was, they were selective about membership. “And the Elders are allowing this?”
“The Elders are getting on in years, most of them are too old to be active in the day to day affairs. For the most part they stay tucked away in the mountains, hording money and playing political games. When father was alive he was able to help maintain the balance, but when he died, so did his sway with the Elders,” Kahllah said sadly.
This came as somewhat of a shock to Animal. “I didn’t realize the old man held so much sway.”
“There is much you don’t know about our father. Priest was more than some attack dog for the Clarks. He was a man of great respect and influence,” Kahllah said proudly.
Priest was a reputed assassin and high-ranking member of the Brotherhood of Blood, but he was also Kahllah and Animal’s father. Both were bound to him by blood, but only one of them by genes, though
you couldn’t tell which was which from their vastly different upbringings. Animal was Priest’s biological son, while Kahllah had been adopted. Priest had rescued Kahllah from a cruel man in Africa, who had been keeping her as a slave, and raised the orphan as his own child and apprentice. Kahllah was given the best education and trained by the best killers, to be molded in her adopted father’s image. There would be no such luxuries afforded Animal. Priest had left him and his mother when Animal was still very young, so he had no real memories of him except for the hate he harbored for the man who had abandoned him. Animal’s childhood was cruel to the point of being inhumane, and he carried the scars of his abuse into adulthood. He had always pledged that if he ever met his biological father, he would kill him. Years later he would have the chance for his reckoning, but things played out far differently than he had expected.
A death sentence had been passed on Animal by a crime lord named Shai Clark, for crimes against his organization. In a strange turn of events, it had been Priest who was sent to carry out the sentence. Instead of killing him, as he had been ordered, Priest defied his boss and spared his son. During their brief time together, Animal learned the truth about his family history and the real reason Priest had left them. Priest had many enemies and couldn’t stand the thought of one of them using his family to hurt him, so he distanced himself from Animal and his mother, watching from a distance and secretly manipulating the hands of fate in Animal’s life. It didn’t exonerate Priest from abandoning Animal, but it gave his son a better understanding of what kind of man he was, and more importantly, closure. In the end, Priest had made the ultimate sacrifice a father could for his son and gave his own life so that Animal would have a second chance at living his. To say that Animal had ever come to love his father would’ve been a lie, but he had grown to respect him and what he represented, a man willing to make impossible choices for those he loved.
