The Syndicate 3

by Brick

  “Move in front of me,” I told him.

  “Naw.”

  I gave my brother a look, then slowed down and allowed him to get in front of me as we ran. “Nigga, move.”

  Cory shook his head at this move of mine, then helped me shoot at those who were chasing us. We paused on a set of stairs and pointed our guns upward at the robes that followed and the black-clothed soldiers. We shot at them, and they fell like rain around us.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, moving to the side. I patted my brother’s shoulder, and we rushed down the stairway as fast as we could. Red liquid was dripping down my brother’s shirt. He kept shooting behind me, but there were too many soldiers.

  As I turned, I felt a hand push me, causing me to fall forward. I felt my hand slam into the face of one of the soldiers, and I grabbed him as I fell. Now, when I say I fell, I mean, my ass plummeted to the first floor of the building. I had been on the second floor. Because this nigga was attached to me, I was able to use his body as a cushion and soften the impact.

  “Von!” I heard my brother yell, until I went splat against the floor.

  Nothing but darkness was my friend for a moment. I felt pain rip through my body. I had been shot. My side was aching, and the back of my head felt like hell. But under me I felt the nigga whom I had held on to slowly moving.

  When his groan hit my ear, I heard a voice in my head. If you don’t get cha ass up, I’ll shoot you in ya pinkie toe, boy, then whup ya dumb ass.

  “Mama,” I moaned, then tried to open my eyes. My eyelids fluttered, and all I saw was white light.

  You heard me. Don’t let these niggas end ya life, I heard her say.

  When I looked up, I could see a woman whose beauty almost made my heart stop. She smiled, and when the corners of her eyes crinkled, I realized that I was staring at a younger Mama Claudette. Her hand touched my chest, and her lips kissed my forehead.

  Take your lessons, son. Tell everyone how much you’ve learned, and you let them know how much I love them. I’m watching. Mama gave me a gentle wink, an enduring one. Tell that man of mine that I love him even now and that what he needs is coming for him in this life. I will always wait for him too.

  “Mama?” I moaned again.

  Tell my Raphael that, my Snap. Now getcha self up. I ain’t letting these bullets hurt my babies anymore. There’s a gun to ya right. Get it. When she slapped me, I sat up, reached beside me, and fell off the goon beneath me.

  I felt that nigga punch me, then struggle for the gun I held. We scrapped and fought each other. My head slammed into his masked face. His hand slammed into my ribs, making me spit. The pain was crazy, but I was on one. I felt Mama all through me, so when I hit the goon on top of me with my arm, then kicked him back, I sent several bullets into him. At that same moment, Cory finally made it down the steps to the first floor.

  Sweat dropped down my face. I felt my brother reach down and grab me, then help me stand so that we could rush out. As we escaped through the doors, I swear on everything that I saw Mama, in white, standing on those steps, looking like a young Iman, while by her side was a brotha, also in white, who made me think of Jesse Williams with a head full of hair. He gave me a nod as he stood by Mama’s side on the stairway. Wherever he touched, debris fell, causing the goons who were chasing us to stumble back. In Mama’s hand was my suitcase, and I could glimpse the rest of my bombs, which were blinking rapidly.

  Chapter 22

  Cory

  My brother, who wasn’t so out of it that he couldn’t run, was mumbling something about Mama as I helped him from the building. I could hear something ticking as I hit the doors, hoisted Von against my shoulder, and ran like Ricky from Boyz n the Hood. It kind of also helped that I swore that I felt a pair of hands push against my back. When I turned my head, I swore I smelled Mama’s perfume.

  A powerful blast followed. The heat of it and the force made me stumble. Shaking off the vibe that Mama was with us, I looked ahead. Armani was with Giana, who stood with our Forty Thieves member Alex. A large black SUV ran behind him. Once they saw us, Alex rushed forward to help me with Von.

  “He’s hurt,” I said, rushing to the car.

  “So are you, man,” Alex said with concern.

  “Don’t matter. Just take care of my stupid-ass brother,” I said with a frown.

  Had he not moved me out of the way, I would have been the one to fall. It should have been me, and not him. Panic and worry had me pissed the fuck off, so I was snarling at Alex, ignoring the fact that I was bleeding from my neck and was light-headed.

  “I got you both, regardless,” Alex simply stated, helping us into the SUV.

  Giana was teary-eyed while pulling at us both to get us in the car. When she hovered over us to blanket us from any gunfire, I saw her pointing a gun back at the blazing building. More men were coming, men in all black, who, I knew, were Knights. Giana’s face contorted, and she let off rounds, which made me think of how people described Mama in battle.

  “Start the fuckin’ car,” she yelled, a thick accent taking over her voice.

  Tired, I reached under her and pulled out my Glock to help her. At the same time, I felt Von, who was leaning against me, shift. When I heard a third gun, I realized it was him. The three of us had our arms stretched out and were blasting niggas with the car door open. Alex revved the ride, hit reverse, then forward, ready to get us the fuck up outta there. Armani keeping Giana balanced on the seat as she kept shooting.

  As we got ready to ride off, the car almost ran head-on into Uncle Snap and Lucky.

  “Holy shit!” Armani shouted, slamming his hand against the roof of the SUV. After turning, he pushed open the back door on other side of the SUV. “Close that door, Giana.”

  Giana did as she was instructed, and her weight shifted off our bodies. She sat on my lap. I got ready to say some ignorant shit, but she seemed focused on my neck, against which she placed part of her ripped shirt.

  “Damn,” I muttered as I watched Uncle Snap climb in, holding his shoulder. “You got hit too.”

  “Got slammed like Cheney going hunting,” Uncle Snap grunted.

  “Lucky, you hurt?” I said between my teeth. My neck was on damn fire. All the running I had been doing, I hadn’t pay it any attention, but now that I was sitting, I could feel it.

  “Hurry, man,” Armani told Lucky, who had only half his body in the SUV.

  “Shut the fuck up, Armani. I’m trying,” Lucky hissed. “Yeah, I’m hurt. Fucking bitches ain’t playing.”

  Alex chose that moment to speed off, with Lucky half hanging out of the car. It took Armani pulling Lucky in and then struggling to grab the door handle for the door to close.

  “Get us the hell outta here!” Giana shouted from my lap.

  She motioned for me to hold my neck, then climbed back over the seat to work on Uncle Snap and Lucky.

  “We’ll need to go to . . .” I listened to Giana shout out instructions to a second location in order to lose the Knights.

  Von groaned by my side during that time, until he sat up coughing. “G-gotta get to the hospital. Lu . . .” He paused, gave a cough that rattled even my own lungs. “Luciano is in danger.”

  “True that,” Uncle Snap grunted. “We done found out that these assholes are running deep. That this has to be an inside thing. Show ’em, nephew.”

  Lucky shifted in his seat while his sister wiped his face. He took out his cell phone, pulled up a picture, and showed us a battered and bound Absolan.

  Ninja was hunched over, looking like the worst human being on earth. Bruises marred his face. Blood was caked on him, and I saw some gashes. A part of me felt bad for the old man, but another part was confused as fuck. The longer I stared at that picture, the more I realized that this shit had to be a setup.

  When Von laughed, I knew that we were on the same wavelength. “Just had a bastard pledge some allegiance to the Knights. Said Absolan is the way . . . some pure blood shit again,” Von stated.

  “He’s
not telling lies.” I looked at Lucky. “Was one of your own. Stefano.”

  “What? Stefano?” Lucky looked incredulous, then pissed. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared.

  “Some of your people are on the Knight’s side, and ya boy Fabian is linked to it. Saw him with your men,” Von explained. His voice was deep and tired. “So it’s like this, man. You can only keep who you know without a doubt is blood tied to Luciano and will die protecting him, because they want him dead and erased.”

  “Daddy . . . ,” Giana gasped, in shock. “Get us to the hospital.” Her eyes were wide, serious. She looked past my shoulder, then patted Alex’s shoulder. “They’re behind us. Go through this light and make a left ahead.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Alex said, maneuvering us through the congested traffic. Towering buildings were on the left and right sides of us. On the right side was outbound traffic. It was gridlocked as the vehicles waited for the signal lights to change color.

  It was Alex and Giana who got us out of the fucked-up situation we all found ourselves battling. When Alex took Giana’s advice, she led us to a huge parking garage. We sat quietly, watching and waiting. Once we saw the Knights in their rides, Alex hopped out of the SUV, helped Lucky into the front seat, then switched seats with Armani.

  Giana sat on Uncle Snap’s right. She and Alex rolled down their window. It was then that that crazy-ass friend of mine behind the wheel sped after the Knights. I watched Lucky finesse the SUV to get behind the Knights.

  “Wish we had more of Von’s bombs,” I said, watching Von chuckle.

  “Mama took ’em,” he said with a smirk. His head lolled; then he shook.

  This ninja had a damn concussion. I knew it. “Let’s get them done and get to the hospital,” I said, watching my brother and feeling worried. “I’ll call our Thieves to keep him flanked. Got another hospital we can move him to?”

  “On it, and yes, tell some of the thieves to hit up Harlem,” Lucky said. He gave me an address as he whipped the ride wide, making us glide. He straightened us out, hit the gas again, then coasted up against the bumper of the Knights’ ride.

  “Armani, call our boys in blue and black to keep those not at our pay grade off our asses,” Lucky added. He hit the Knights so hard, it made them swerve, whereas our ride ended up directly at their side.

  “Yes, boss. Luciano would be very proud of you,” Armani said, then got to dialing.

  It was then that Giana and Alex sat up, got a clear look at their targets, and pointed their guns toward the Knights. Everything then moved like something from an action movie.

  Giana pushed her hair from her face, waved, then said, “Bye, bitches,” as she let off her rounds from the two silver pistols resting against the palms of her hands.

  I smirked. She was a baddie.

  Because Von didn’t want to die, I guessed he decided to get his loopy shit together and help out. My brother grabbed his shotgun, rolled his shoulders, then expertly let them bastards know not to fuck with any of us, especially the head of the Syndicate.

  I was impressed by my brother, proud, and worried too, because that nigga had hit his skull hard. Either way, I helped out by watching our backs. Bullets rained, and the Knights looked shocked and fucked as they crashed and burned.

  “Goddamn. You’re just as crazy as your brotha,” Snap said, chuckling, as we peeled off and headed to collect Luciano.

  Chapter 23

  King

  Life comes at you fast. That was the only thing I could think of. Time was of the essence. After killing the man Lily had thrown off the roof, me and my men headed back to my office to suit up, only whoever was out to kill me was two steps ahead of us. As Cleophus and Tiny Tim trotted up the front steps of my office, behind me, two shots rang out, killing both men, just as I opened the door to my office.

  I fell through the front door, kicked it closed behind me. As soon as I did, I saw ten of my men. All had been shot in the head or the heart. My heart rate sped up when I looked and saw the basement door had been kicked open.

  “Manuel,” I yelled. “Ella.”

  I didn’t know who was trying to kill me. Didn’t have time to think about it, either. I hit my fist against the wall panel next to my bookcase. The wall slid open to reveal a weapons room. A cold chill swept across the back of my neck. I was going to die today. I felt it in my bones. That was what that strange feeling I’d been having all day was about.

  I’d never see Claudette again; I was sure of it. I needed to talk to her. Hear her voice one last time. I snatched out a duffel bag, a Beretta AR70, and two Magnum Research Desert Eagle semiautomatic pistols. I put the strap of the AR70 around my shoulder, then tossed the duffel bag behind my desk and picked up the two pistols.

  I rushed to the basement stairs. I looked down and saw four dead men in priest robes. Two had shotgun blasts to the face, and the other two had bullet wounds to the chest and abdomen.

  “Manuel,” I called out again. “It’s me, son.”

  I heard movement in the basement. Just in case it wasn’t Ella or Manuel, I aimed my Desert Eagles. The shotgun was the first thing I saw, then Manuel. Behind him, Ella eased around the corner, Beretta aimed perfectly.

  “You two kids okay?” I asked.

  Manuel nodded. “Yes, we ran out of ammo, though. What’s going on, sir?”

  “Trouble. I need you two to get out of here and get to the rez—”

  The sound of vehicles approaching cut me off. I peeped from my blinds. Men all dressed like priests, armed to the fucking teeth, were exiting the vehicles.

  “Get up to the attic right now!” I yelled at Manuel and Ella. “Now. Go!”I rushed them into the hall, snatched the string for the attic door, and pulled it down. I looked up. “Pull the fucking door closed behind you and stay put. Don’t fucking come out for no reason,” I ordered.

  Once Manuel and Ella had gone up, Manuel yanked the door closed. I snatched the string down and tossed it into another room. I was outnumbered. My men had been taken out. My survival instincts kicked in. I tucked my Desert Eagles against my back and took the AR70 into my hand. I flipped my desk over. Papers and folders went flying, and as the phone clanged against the floor loudly, I saw Claudette in my mind. I wondered if she had tried to call while I was out.

  Baby would know something was wrong, and she would come running. However, I wanted her nowhere near what was about to happen.

  I counted down to when I knew the front doors would come flying off the hinges.

  “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .”

  Before I got to one, a shotgun blast tore a piece of the door off. As soon as three robed figures walked in, I lit their bodies up with a flurry of bullets. Those motherfuckers shook like electricity and lightning had taken possession of their bodies.

  I chuckled. “Oh, you gotta be quicker than that,” I said.

  I unzipped the duffel bag and grabbed three grenades.

  “Let’s dance,” I quipped.

  I stood, then grabbed one Desert Eagle from my back. I shot the window out. Pulled the pin on one of the grenades, then tossed that motherfucker into the middle of the circle of cars. I took great pleasure in watching my killers scatter. As they scrambled for safety, I aimed my AR70 and let ’er rip. That pretty bitch sang beautifully as she lit assassin priests up.

  “Hail Mary, full of fucking grace,” I spat. “May you sons of bitches and whoever sent you rot in hell.”

  As I said that, I passed the dangling front door and tossed another grenade outside. The explosion from the grenade gave me butterflies. I laughed to myself. A bit of madness had overtaken me. When a man knew he was going to die, all his senses left him. My father had told me that once. I didn’t understand what he’d meant then, but now the meaning was in full Technicolor.

  Now that I had their attention, I stepped onto the front porch and let my AR70 do the talking. I caught two gunmen as they raced up the steps. I used their craniums for target practice, making holes in their faces
as if they were Swiss cheese. I used that automatic weapon like she was the hand of God, taking out as many of the men as I could. I spent the magazine in the AR70, then tossed it.

  I grabbed my Desert Eagles and jumped over the ledge of the porch when I saw robed men. The branches from the trees and shrubbery cut my face and head, and I hit the ground hard. I took out two more men as I rolled over, then took cover behind a car. I kneeled and aimed over the hood. I pulled my triggers so hard, my knuckles were white, with the skin threatening to rip from them.

  There were nine rounds of .357 ammunition in each Desert Eagle. The recoil was a motherfucker. The auditory sound exploded in my eardrums like claps of booming thunder. But I’d been trained for this shit. Was used to the shit. I was with the shit.

  Ten men with various weapons came for me like it was the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. I pulled the trigger, aiming at the nearest one, and watched the bullet slam into his face. I took out the knee of another before giving him a kill shot to the heart. They were coming so fast that some of my shots missed, but before my ammo ran out, I took down at least six.

  I was so busy trying to add another clip to my gun that when the bullet hit my shoulder from behind, the pain blinded me. I roared out, then slammed against the car I had been hiding behind. One of my guns went flying over the car.

  “Shit,” I spat, spittle flying from my mouth. “Goddamn,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  I looked up to see a gunman running for me. With my shoulder injured, I couldn’t quite get the new clip in as fast as I wanted to. No way I was going let that Michael Myers–looking motherfucker take me out on my knees, though. I struggled with the clip as another bullet went into my leg. I fell back, gritting my teeth. Water in my eyes blinded me. I blew out a hard breath.

  The gunman was closer now, and just when I thought that big pale motherfucker was about to end me, something came flying from the roof. It wasn’t until I saw black Mary Jane loafers, white schoolgirl socks, and a school uniform pleated skirt that I realized it was Ella. She jumped on that big summa bitch’s back like a rabid pit bull. Sticking, sticking, sticking him in the neck.