Adored by a Brooklyn Drug Lord 2

by Tya Marie

  “William,” Amos said, taking a seat on the chair beside my bed, “my son is in the morgue, and I want to know everything about the men that killed him. Everything. Start from the beginning.”

  Backed into a tight spot, I told Amos about the entire meeting, omitting the conversation I had with Eugenio. The wrath of the Jinetes was imminent while Amos’s anger could be assuaged by killing those who he thought murdered Deon. He spent the duration of my story staring at me, his eyes flittering between my face and the heart monitor I was hooked up to, searching for any signs of deception. I kept my breathing under control, spiking at the memory of Eugenio standing over me, his gun trained on my head. He moved it to Deon, shooting him twice in the head, leaving me to carry the body to the car. I drove as far as I could, stopping in the middle of an intersection as I felt my body give out.

  “What was their affiliation?” Amos asked.

  “They didn’t say. As far as I'm concerned, it was a scam. They saw how hungry Deon was for work and took advantage. With a quarter of a million dollars, they're long gone.”

  “Understandable,” he replied with a curt nod of his head. “Being that you're the only person to lay eyes on them, I'm placing you in charge of bringing their heads to me. I want the men who murdered my son in 30 days. Heads on a pike.”

  I close my eyes for a minute. “And what if I don’t bring them to you?”

  LaKeith let out a sinister chuckle, removing the toothpick sitting in the corner of his mouth. “Then it’s my job to bring his head to you, and remember: I'm very good at what I do.”

  Amos rose from his seat without another word, popping the collar of his suit jacket as he strutted toward the door, LaKeith following behind with his signature gait consisting of a limp he thought would intimidate us Brooklyn niggas. My mother entered the room, hands over her mouth, blinking back tears. I knew she caught the conversation as Amos intended. It hurt my heart knowing that I would have my mother sending up extra prayers to God, that I didn’t deserve, to protect me from a game I willingly threw myself into.

  “William,” she said, playing with her fingers. “I've been in touch with a realtor over the last few weeks. We got an offer on the house and—”

  “NO!” I said with more force than intended. In a calmer voice, I continued, “Ma, I bought you that house to keep you away from this! You need to pack up the kids and go back to North Carolina. I can't protect you here!”

  My mother leaned in close, placing her hands on either side of my lap, leaving an inch between our noses. In a calm tone, she replied, “I brought you into this world, you understand? It is not your job to protect me. If you think I'm going to leave you in this city of hungry wolves ready to devour you, you must be out of your mind. I won't sell the house; I’ll rent it out to pay rent up here. But don’t you think for one second I'm abandoning you when you need me most.”

  I tried blinking them back, but I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I swiped at them, sniffing the snot clogging my nose, refusing to have her see me crack under pressure. Mom squeezed me tight, planting a kiss on my cheek, whispering in my ear that as long as I had her on my side, I would never lose.

  __________

  I smelled him before I saw him. The scent of Lysol cloying the air was replaced by expensive cologne, sandalwood with a hint of rosewood, cardamom, and oud wood. A bottle cost roughly six bills, which was pennies to a man like Eugenio Veracruz. He whistled “La Cucaracha” as he mopped my hospital room, taking great care to get underneath the bed, picking up chairs as he worked. His tags read “Julio Gonzalez,” a generic name none of the hospital staff would question twice, like the Mexican connect doing menial work. He stopped mopping for a second, leaning on the mop as he stared down at me, a grin on his face.

  “Some people think of being a minority as a curse,” he said, shrugging off the absurdity of the thought. “I would imagine it is because they underestimate their capabilities. That they need titles and the approval of their Caucasian peers to feel good about themselves. I, on the other hand, have been around this entire hospital, cleaning rooms while no one is the wiser. They don’t even look me in the eye, thinking their training makes them superior when in fact the Beretta I have tucked inside of this ill-fitting uniform says otherwise.”

  “I didn’t snitch,” I cut to the chase.

  Eugenio snorted. “Of course you didn’t snitch; it wouldn’t be in your best interest. Not with your entire family here to visit.” He tilted his head to the side, running his eyes over my face for any signs of weakness. “You are not the first room I visited. As I was working, I heard one of the nurses discussing how a gunshot victim’s girlfriend went into labor at the news of his condition. I floated over to Labor & Delivery for a minute, and who did I spot curled up in a blanket? Baby Evans.”

  I sat up higher. “You murdered her brother; that wasn’t enough?”

  Eugenio closed the space between us with one swoop, his eyes widening as he leered at me with a demented look in his eyes. “Nothing is enough after the destruction your family has caused mine. I will issue this warning only one time: don’t you ever question my actions. I will decide when I've had enough.”

  “How would you like for me to proceed?” I asked, fed up with the threats placed on me and my family. “I'm in the hospital for the next couple weeks; I can't do much in this bed.”

  “That’s why you're the boss, William,” Eugenio said, backing up and resuming his position as if he hadn’t spoken. “You're in a position to delegate responsibilities. I've made the necessary accommodations back on the block, promising an easy transition. I'm not concerned with how you move my product; however, I expect it moved in a timely fashion.”

  Without another word, Eugenio rose from his mop and continued moving about the room, changing the garbage while whistling that song. I watched him, wishing I had the strength to handle him right here and now. A smile played on his lips as if he knew what I was thinking. I waited until he was halfway to the door to ask him for a solution to one of my problems.

  “How am I supposed to move your product and Amos’s without him noticing?” I asked, thinking of how difficult it would be to explain to Amos the lack of sales he would have if I moved Eugenio's territory.

  Eugenio laughed. “I guess it’s time for an expansion.”

  “You expect me to try taking someone else’s block hours out of surgery? It’s impossible. I'm not invincible,” I rationalized. “Even if I could get my hands on it, how will I run both?”

  “Do you know what ‘La Cucaracha’ is about?” Eugenio didn’t bother to turn around. “A little cockroach who cannot walk because his two legs are missing. Want to know why? Because he got into it with an ant and the ants chewed them off. You see, the little roach encroached on property that did not belong to him and in the end, he paid for it. But unlike the ants, I don’t nibble.” He stomped the ground, eliciting stares from passing nurses. “I stomp.”

  I sat in silence for a long time after Eugenio's departure. Amos wanted my head on a pike and Eugenio wanted to tear the rest of my body to pieces. In the middle was my family, preparing to move back to Brooklyn where they would unknowingly walk around with targets on the back of their heads. I had two chess tables set up before me with each opponent seeking different goals. Before I left this hospital, I had to end up several steps ahead of both before I ended up being checked.

  3

  Drea

  I stared down at my handsome son nestled into my chest, sound asleep. Three thoughts popped into my head as I stroked his soft cheeks with the outer part of my index finger. The first thought was gratitude for making sure my baby boy was born healthy. Before I got pregnant I was out here entertaining all types of wild shit: popping Mollies, Xannies, and Percs; snorting coke; smoking weed; and getting blackout drunk in between. One of my homegirls didn’t know she was pregnant and drunk through her entire first trimester. Her son came out with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and she hadn’t seen him since her bitch ass cas
e worker put him up for adoption because she missed a few parenting classes. I kept track of my period using an app, and the first month it went MIA I already knew what was up.

  “He is so handsome,” Alette gushed over her grandson as I handed him over. “I can't believe I'm a grandma. Between the two of us, I always thought Bernard would make me a grandmother first. Not my sweet, little Quill.”

  I bit my lip to keep from hitting her with two hard truths. “Are you excited? I know we’re not married, and this is your second time meeting me, but this baby boy needs a grandmother in his life. Someone to love on him the way he deserves.”

  Alette’s eyes moved from the baby to me, flashing with confusion. “Honey, you gave me a precious gift. The packaging doesn’t matter. You and Quill have plenty of time to get married. You're such a nice girl; I like you so much more than his ex with her little siddity behind. She left him when he needed her the most. Who does that?”

  Me. “Not all of these girls are built for the ‘real world,’” I said, using air quotes since we were in mixed company. “They love the good times, the partying and nice clothes, except none of them wanna get in the dirt when it’s time to go to war.”

  I had Kelsey figured out the second I laid eyes on her. She was pretty—her skin was flawless like mine before I got pregnant, I stalked her Instagram enough to see that she was in shape, and that mop of hair on her head was real—but she wasn’t me. I was a gutta bitch, the type to hold my nigga down regardless of the situation. My idea of a summer job wasn’t completing an internship at some bank; I was sticking balloons filled with coke up my ass and traveling to Atlantic City with my girls for my boyfriend at the time, this get money nigga named Ketric. I was also the one to set him up and take over his block while he did a bid. That was how I got my first taste of the game, not from my daddy handing it to me on a silver platter like my brothers. Kelsey had no idea she was fucking with a real one, and if she came for my way out of North Carolina, I would come for her ass.

  “Alette, don’t stress yourself over her. The second Quill finds out how ready she was to kill him, he’ll think twice about placing his life in her hands…what's wrong?” I asked as Quill's mother broke down, wiping her eyes on her shoulder to keep them from landing on the baby.

  “He wanted to die,” she admitted. “My son chose death over life, Drea. He's a father, a soon to be husband, and he opted to die, leaving you here to raise his son by yourself. You know what makes it worse? Kelsey was quick to oblige. How could she look at you and still make the decision she made?”

  That was a good fucking question. In fact, it reminded me of the second thought that came to mind; relief at this baby coming prematurely. The timeline I had delivered to my father was vague considering my introduction to Quill was two months after I tested positive. I spent most of my days trying to figure out an explanation for how I gave birth to a full-term baby prematurely. Labor pains snuck up on me yesterday, and I did a good job of hiding them from Deon, who had been suspicious of my relationship from the very beginning. Receiving the news of his death was a shock to my system, bringing about closer contractions. My argument with Kelsey brought out a surge of anger I wasn’t expecting, breaking my water and sending me straight to Labor & Delivery. As I lay in the hospital bed with Eric by my side playing the supportive role of godfather, I cried because my son’s father should’ve been with me instead of in North Carolina. I blinked away the thought of him, or at least I thought I did until he appeared right in front of me, very real and very apologetic.

  “Bernard?” Alette said in a surprised whisper. “What are you doing here? You know you're not supposed to be up here. Urban and Koi are wandering around the hospital—”

  Bull waved off his mother’s worries, his eyes never straying from mine. “Ma, fuck them niggas. My brother is in the hospital. If that ain't enough of a reason for them to let go of the past, then I don’t know what is.” He gave my foot a gentle squeeze. “What's good, Drea? Congrats on the baby boy. Lil’ nigga handsome as fuck. He got them Evans genes for sure.”

  “Wash your hands so you can hold him,” Alette insisted as Bull placed the balloons and flowers on the table holding the gifts my father and LaKeith brought me. “He’s a healthy little man. Drea, you must've been eating good because he's nearly eight pounds. Imagine if he would’ve stayed in the full 40 weeks? You would have a ten-pounder on your hands.”

  I scratched the back of my neck, searching for a way to get around mentioning that my baby was fully developed. Bull saved me from coming up with an explanation by returning with washed hands, his coat hanging on a hook behind the door. He accepted the baby from Alette and it was hard to ignore the way his face lit up as he held the bundle in his arms.

  “Your time is soon coming,” she promised him as she captured their bonding moment with her camera phone. I snapped a few pictures myself on the low. “Bernard, you're going to be an amazing father. I can't wait for you to meet a nice girl and give me another grandbaby.”

  Bull's eyes flickered to me. “I'm not ready to be a father right now. I got too much on my plate at the moment. Being a good uncle to this little one is all I want to do.”

  “I want you to stay here while I check on Quill. I’ll grab the kids; they’ve been dying to see you…” Aletta was in a tizzy, grabbing her purse as she hurried out the room, her kitten heels clicking against the hospital floor.

  Cocking my head to the side, I eyed Bull, waiting for him to say something. He returned his attention to the baby, playing with one of his fingers as he whispered to him. “I've been dying to see you as well, Bernard. However, I can't say I'm not grateful that you managed to make some time for me and your son.”

  Bull peeled his eyes from his son, resting them on me. “So you gon’ spend the little bit of time we got together arguing with me instead of being grateful that I give enough of a fuck about you to risk my life by returning to New York like niggas ain't got a price on my head?” When I didn’t answer, he continued with, “I told you I would be here for you when my son was born, Drea. I been looking out for you this far, haven’t I?”

  “By having me pin a baby on your brother?” I scoffed. “My father loves you like you're one of his own, Bull. If we would’ve went to him with plans to get married, you would’ve had his blessing. I wouldn’t be living in a house with a man who isn't you!”

  “You think I like this situation any more than you do? I been sick out of my mind knowing the mother of my child is in another state! If there was something I could do to make this situation better—”

  “Something? Claim me, Bull! Stop pretending like what we have isn't real. I've given you your first son, because of me your legacy will live on! How about you walk up to my father and tell him the truth: that you fell in love with his daughter and got her pregnant.”

  Bull went back to playing with the baby, giving him an Eskimo kiss, speaking baby talk that would melt my heart any other day. I tossed my sheet over my head, using the semi-privacy to let out my frustrations. Placing a pillow over my face, I screamed, pressing it into my face to absorb the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. I cried until my tears refused to fall, rocking back and forth as the anger threatening to burst from my body ebbed and faded. Sucking in a few calming breaths, I tugged the sheet from over my head, discovering that Bull stood over me, bouncing the baby in his arms as he watched my conniption. The thin hospital mattress dipped as he took a seat beside me, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in, planting a kiss on my lips, the same ones I craved every night.

  “We can't tell your father about us, Drea. He’ll never trust me.” I opened my mouth to object and was silence by a sharp look. “What I can do is make sure my plan goes off without a hitch, and for that I'm going to need your help. You still the ride-or-die I fell in love with?”

  I felt a twinge of annoyance at him asking me a question he already knew the answer to. Why else would I be sitting here, ready to give my child another man’s name? Bull had one more t
ime to test me. “Bull, speak while I'm in a listening mood.”

  “The original plan was for me to stay in North Carolina and take over Deon’s team. Quill fucking up has changed that. Your pops ain't said nothing, but I know he's going to come down hard on my brother when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “I'm not following: what does this have to do with me?”

  Bull held me by the chin. “Quill is going to build your father’s clientele, set up his distribution channel, and create a profitable business for him to launder his funds through. Once he's finished, what do you think is going to happen?” I shook my head at the first thought to come to mind. “Deon is dead because of him! Your brother is lying in a morgue while he's—”

  “Fighting for his life!” I hissed. “Quill isn't the man I want to be with, but he's a good man. How can you sit here and tell me you plan to kill your own brother? He would never do you like that.”

  He pinched my chin. Tight. I tried moving away, only for him to squeeze tighter. “Since when is your loyalty to my brother? Maybe I should give you back Quill's child and rise the fuck up out of—”

  “No!” I shrieked, causing the baby to whimper. In a lower voice, I continued, “I'm with you, Bull. Whatever it is that you need me to do, I'm with it. Tell me, baby: what's the next part of the plan?”

  “After Quill's untimely death, I step in as a father figure to my nephew, making sure you and him never want for anything. In the midst of our mourning, we bond. By the end of next year I propose, and we get married,” Bull said, letting go of my chin, planting a kiss on it then my lips. “Everyone wins. I get my place back as King of New York and you get your happily ever after. You, me, and—”

  “Legacy,” I said, taking the baby from Bull's arms and cradling him in mine.

  Although painful, my labor went by fairly quick. I spent the duration crying, cussing Bull, and sending up prayers to be blessed with the perfect angel for my pain and suffering. Three hours later, my prayers were granted when my baby boy entered the world. He was light like me, but his ears were the same shade of brown as Bull, as were his cocoa-colored eyes. His hair was straight, curling at the edges and around his face. I air kissed his little poked out lips, smiling as his eyes fluttered open, gazing into mine. This was my legacy. Everything I did from here on out was to make sure he had the world. My father snapped necks, pledged his allegiance to the game, and did whatever he had to in order to make sure we never wanted for anything. Quill was a real one, but if it meant making sure my baby was good, he would have to be a casualty in the name of Legacy.