Love & War

by Ashley Antoinette

  She raised an eyebrow defensively but decided not to challenge his crass statement. He had a right to be upset. She would give him that one, he wouldn’t get another though. “He’s in DC with my mom.”

  “You kept my child a secret all this time?” he asked, this time silent as the enormity of the situation sunk in. How could he have a kid in the world that he knew nothing about? “What do you mean my mother paid you? Why would she . . .” He paused as he stood to his feet while staring intently at her, brow dipped in angst. “Why would you do this to me? How could you keep this from me? We were—”

  “So in love,” Parker finished for him. “I’m still so in love, Indie. I’ve always been, but your mother, she . . . she . . . she made me think . . .” Parker couldn’t find the words to accurately describe how it all had gone down. “I was young and afraid and she offered me an out. I took twenty thousand dollars to disappear. I was supposed to use some of the money to get an abortion, but I couldn’t. When I laid down on that table all I kept seeing was you. I took the money but I could not kill anything that was a part of you,” she whispered. Tears glistened as she spoke. Emotions that she had kept hidden for years were now spilling out of her as she spoke. There had been so many hard times as a single mother that she had lost count. “I wanted to call you so many times, but after the first year passed I didn’t know how . . . but I’m here now and I miss you, Indie.”

  He was silent but the hurt that consumed him was palpable. Parker could practically hear his heart splitting in two. He rubbed the top of his head, overwhelmed, and she knew that he needed reprieve. She had spoken her truth and standing in front of him awaiting an answer only added pressure to him. “I’m staying at The London in Manhattan,” she said. “I’ll be here for a week. If I don’t hear from you by then I’ll know that you want nothing to do with me.”

  As badly as she wanted to reach out and kiss him she knew that it wasn’t the time. She began to make her exit.

  “P,” Indie called.

  She turned.

  “Are you okay? Do you need anything . . . money or anything?” he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, Indie, I’m not here to take anything from you. This little ghetto girl turned out just fine. I teach Women’s Studies at Howard U in DC. I recently got an offer to teach here in the city. I couldn’t see myself coming back here without reaching out to you. I’m not here for your money. I don’t need it. I do need you, however, our son needs you and I miss everything about the love we used to share. If you miss it too I’ll see you before the week’s end.”

  She walked out and exhaled in relief. She had just faced her biggest challenge or so she thought. She had no idea that the woman in Indie’s life would put up one hell of a fight. This was about to be a tug of war that would only end up splitting Indie’s heart in half.

  Chapter 7

  The meeting that Ethic had was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but he couldn’t help but to be distracted as he made his way back to the hotel. It had been a hell of a day, and being the getaway car for a runaway bride, a beautiful one at that, had thrown his plans all the way off. It had been seven years since he had thought of stepping his foot back into the game. After losing a woman he loved dearly to domestic violence, he had removed himself from the street life completely. He had two beautiful girls to raise back home and knew that he had to tread carefully to make sure that his actions didn’t affect their safety. He hadn’t touched a brick in years, but he had never lost the knack of the hustle. If Ethic had stayed in the ring there was no doubt that he would be moving heavy weight. His name still rang bells all throughout the Midwest. As a young kid he had earned a decades worth of respect and a lifetime’s worth of dough, but now at thirty-two he was just trying to keep his head low and his nose clean. He had made smart investments in stocks and bonds that had nearly quadrupled his “safe” money. Now he was a legit businessman. The owner of a trucking company that had government contracts to transport auto parts for the big three automakers in the Midwest. He employed over one hundred people and although it didn’t give him the same rush as his days of flipping keys, it gave him security and a peace of mind that money could not buy. He never wanted to survive another tragedy. Watching a woman whom he loved, who he shared his bed with, be gunned down by another man all because of him, had been too hard. He had walked away from the streets that same day and never looked back. But when he received a phone call from one of the legends in the game requesting his presence, he could not say no. The fact that he even had to reschedule the meeting after YaYa had jumped in his car was risking the connection, but he had to admit that meeting her had been worth it. She was a beautiful girl and their chance encounter had left him curious. Despite the fact that he knew nothing about her, he wondered if she was okay. He gave his keys to the valet and then made his way to the luxury restaurant in the lobby of the five-star hotel.

  His eyes traced the perimeter of the establishment, an old habit from his illegitimate days, as he gave the maître d’ his name. He had no idea who to expect or what would go down from here but he was prepared for anything. When someone of this magnitude requested your presence, the outcome was usually profitable or detrimental . . . it could swing either way. He was escorted to an obscure area in the back. There was a wall that separated this one table from the rest of the room. Two men stood as a buffer between him and a beautiful woman who was sitting comfortably with a napkin folded in her lap. Her long hair was jet-black and bone straight with a simple part down the middle of her head. The curves of the black slip dress she wore were just as dangerous as the look in her eyes. She was beautiful and poisonous all at the same time. Damn, he thought as he took a step forward. He was halted by the firm hand of one of the men. Ethic understood the notion of bodyguards but he didn’t respect their gangster. He didn’t give two fucks about whom they were protecting. You needed permission to lay hands on him. He recognized Zya as a boss, but what she didn’t realize was she was in the presence of one as well. Mutual respect was a must. He quickly grabbed the man’s wrist firmly, applying pressure to the sensitive space between the bones of his hand and arm.

  “I’m not a little nigga. You don’t lay hands on me. We understand each other?” he asked. The other bodyguard went to move but the girl put her hand up to stop the chaos before it erupted. Ethic released the bodyguard and met eyes with the woman in front of him.

  “I see everything I’ve heard about you is correct,” she said with a small smirk and a look of interest in her eyes. “Do you know who I am?” she asked. The question wasn’t cocky and she wasn’t trying to grandstand. He could tell that she was trying to see how much he knew about her.

  “I’ve heard some things about the infamous Zya Miller,” he replied.

  “Believe only half of them,” she said with a small laugh. “Someone in my position can never be too careful, Ezra,” she said, using his legal first name, which let him know she had done her research. “My men mean no disrespect. They are just cautious. I pay them good money to be. If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure that my safety and freedom isn’t in jeopardy.” She stood to her feet. “May I?”

  She stepped closely to Ethic and the scent of her Dior perfume immediately enveloped him as she placed her hand on his chest.

  “I’m not wired, ma,” he said. “There’s a pistol on my hip, but do you really think I’m going to pop off in a crowded restaurant?”

  The woman’s hands moved across his strong chest, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle that he worked so hard to maintain. They were standing so close that he could smell the mint on her breath. She brought her hands around his waistline and removed the gun, expertly removing the clip without ever breaking their intense stare. She placed the now useless weapon back in Ethic’s waist holster. He smiled, because every rumor that he had ever heard fit her to a T. “You satisfied yet?” he asked.

  “It takes so much more than that to satisfy m
e,” she replied as she blushed slightly before taking two steps back. She extended her hand. “Please have a seat.”

  Ethic sat and she immediately changed the tone to straight business. “I have a tendency to keep my ear to the street,” she said. “A partner of mine told me that Benjamin Atkins used to run a little city by the name of Flint, MI. He said that more money was made on those streets than in Detroit, New York, Atlanta . . . so you know that piqued my curiosity. So I kept digging and I found out that it wasn’t Benjamin Atkins that was flooding the streets. It was his connect . . . you. While it was relatively easy to find out information on Benjamin, it was almost impossible to find a back story on you. All I know is that you fell in love with Atkins’s daughter and that she was gunned down in your car almost seven years ago. You haven’t touched dope since that day. Not a zip, not an ounce, not a ki’ . . . You’ve been like a ghost to the streets ever since,” she concluded. “Why is that?”

  Ethic felt a stir of emotion as she took him down an unpleasant stroll down memory lane. Those had been some of the worst days of his life. “It’s not something I like to discuss. The past is behind me for a reason. I don’t live that way anymore.”

  “What’s the story? The quintessential thug finds God? Has remorse? Did you turn to Allah?” Zya pried.

  “I realized that no amount of money was worth the life of someone I loved. I lost someone very special to me, you know that, but you don’t know the children who are depending on me. I have a little girl who likes ballet. She wants her daddy in the audience at every recital.” He paused for a beat to gather himself before continuing, “You don’t know the younger sister that my dead girlfriend left behind or my little boy who wants to grow up to be just like me. I watched doctors cut my son from his dead mother’s stomach behind this game. I was left to raise all three of them on my own. I am all they have so I had to make a choice. I could either be a street legend or a legend in their eyes; I chose the latter.”

  “That’s commendable,” Zya said with a look of admiration in her eyes. She wished that she could leave it all alone. “To walk away from the allure of it all is—”

  “It was hard, but I didn’t have a choice,” Ethic interrupted. “So I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here, sitting in front of Ms. La Cosa Nostra herself. You move weight—”

  “And you have the means to move weight across state lines,” Zya finished for him, ending the guessing games. “There will be no risk to you. All you have to do is pick up and deliver.”

  “There is always a risk and I don’t need the money,” he said.

  “No, but you miss the thrill . . . you miss the ride, Ethic. I can see it in your eyes. You lived this life for so long. You had so much power. I understand the need to take a break and clear your head. You’ve been through a lot, but we both know that eventually you’ll want back in, so why fight the inevitable. Plus I’ve got a hundred racks for every shipment you move successfully.”

  “You can get anyone for this. There are thousands of companies,” he said.

  “But there is only one you. I know your track record. You’re one of the biggest connects out of the Midwest. Or at least you used to be. I only work with thorough people. People who know the business,” she said. “So do we have a deal?”

  Ethic shook his head, still playing hardball.

  “Maybe this will help sway your decision,” she said. She pulled out a manila folder from the handbag that sat at her feet and slid it across the table.

  Still images lay inside and when Ethic peered at the photos pure rage flared in his eyes. It was like putting gasoline on a fire as he stared at the old enemy. Mizan. The man who had caused the death of Raven Atkins. She had been the mother of Ethic’s son, and the woman he loved most in the world and her killer was staring back at him through the photo. “If you say yes to this deal, I’ll give you his location. That is the man who killed Raven right? The same man who put that scar on your face when he tried to blow you up in a car? He was also behind the setup of your old friend, Raven’s father, Benny Atkins. He slipped through your hands when you tried to get your revenge and you haven’t been able to find him since.”

  Ethic looked at her in shock. She truly was a woman who believed in doing her homework. Ethic hadn’t spoken Raven’s name in years to avoid the weak pit that formed in his stomach when he heard it. He pinched the tip of his nose as he sniffed to contain his emotions. “I’m in,” Ethic said without hesitation. He stood up from the table and tossed the picture to the floor as he made his exit.

  “I’ll be in touch with that information!” Zya called after him, speaking to his back as he walked hastily out of the room. Zya knew of Ethic’s ability to hustle but she had no idea of his track record in gunplay. She had just flipped a switch that had turned on the beast in him and after today, nothing about him would ever be the same.

  Chapter 8

  Rage burned in Ethic as he pulled his hood over his head. It was a rainy night on the Brooklyn block and nothing was moving. Nothing except a dead man walking. Zya had made good on her promise and sent the address to his phone shortly after their meeting. He had been tailing Mizan for hours. Part of him wanted to see that Mizan had turned his life around . . . he hoped that maybe seven years had been enough time for Mizan to find remorse. Ethic knew that once he committed this murder then there was no claiming to be out of the game. He was jumping back in head first, which was why he wished that God would intervene and show him a man that had changed, redeemed himself after his monstrous acts. Maybe then Ethic wouldn’t . . . Nah, cut the bullshit though . . . for real, for real. It didn’t matter if Mizan was feeding starving babies in Africa when Ethic ran up on him; he was going to leave the nigga leaking. Someone had to pay for the loss of his child’s mother. There had to be some sort of consequence that made up for the reprieve of justice. He knew that he should just let it go. A vengeful soul had a way of becoming a damned one, but there was no way he could let Mizan keep breathing after what he had done. He had come so close to killing him. In fact Ethic had broken so many bones in Mizan’s body the day that he had run up on him that he was within an inch of his life. The only thing that had spared Mizan was the fact that he was hot. He had been under investigation when he had walked into Ethic’s trap and the cops raided the spot before Ethic could finish the job. They both had been arrested that day and Ethic had spent a year in prison for aggravated assault. By the time he touched down on the streets Mizan was long gone and Ethic’s desire to finish the job had gone unfulfilled until now.

  Ethic picked up the pace of his step as he came up on Mizan’s left. His hand palmed the .357 snub that he concealed in his hoodie. Just as they were passing an alley that sat between two closed storefronts Ethic pushed Mizan between the buildings.

  “Hey, bro! What the fuck! I ain’t got shit, homeboy!” Mizan exclaimed as Ethic used his forearm to pin Mizan against the brick wall.

  “Remember me?” Ethic asked as he removed the hood as he gritted his teeth while cutting off Mizan’s air flow. He jammed the gun deep into Mizan’s rib cage and his face twisted as recognition flickered in his eyes. His eyes widened in fear. They say your life flashes before your eyes in the face of death, but Mizan’s life had been one of fuck-ups. There was nothing for him to reminisce on. Tears came to his eyes and Ethic scoffed. He had always known that Mizan was made up of pure bitch. There was nothing gangster about him. “You know what this is for,” Ethic sneered through clenched teeth. He looked Mizan in the eyes. The seconds felt like hours as Ethic made a mental note of the fear that he saw in Mizan. He had waited for this moment for a long time and without further hesitation he pulled the trigger.

  Psst!

  Psst!

  Psst!

  He couldn’t stop his finger from curling on the trigger until his entire clip was empty. The silenced bullets ripped Mizan’s insides to shreds and Ethic let him go as his body weight crashed to the ground. He didn’t even stay to watch as Mizan drowned in his own blood. It w
ould only take a minute or two for Mizan to die but it would be the slowest and most painful sixty seconds of his life. “Bitch-ass nigga,” Ethic mumbled as he wiped off the dirty gun and tossed it down the alley. He lifted the hood once more and then disappeared into the night; with a heavy heart but a lighter conscience he made his retreat.

  YaYa powered on her phone and it immediately came alive in her hands. Indie had left her ten voice messages, even Miesha, and Elaine had attempted to reach her several times. She refused to answer. She just wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. What did they want her to say? What could they possibly say? Nothing would make the pain go away. Indie’s past had come out to bite her in the ass and instead of making love to her husband on their wedding night she was drowning her sorrows in a bottle of Merlot. She desperately wanted to call and hear Skylar’s voice because she knew that it would be like a bandage to her soul, but nine times out of ten Skylar was with Indie and she wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say. She turned off her phone and tossed it on the couch as she leaned her head back on the cushions. Tears slid down the sides of her face and she swiped them away stubbornly. The sobs had stopped hours ago, but for some reason she couldn’t stop fresh pools of emotion from seeping out of her eyes. The tears were continuous and no matter how hard she willed them away they fell like trickling raindrops. Her chest had never felt heavier. She was lovesick but in the worst way. It felt like she was suffocating, choking, gagging on her own grief.

  Knock! Knock!

  The unexpected sound at the door caused her heart to skip a beat. How did he find me? she thought as she immediately assumed that Indie had somehow found her. I wouldn’t be surprised . . . this nigga has people on payroll everywhere! she thought, exasperated. She was ready to ignore him but the sudden urge to slap fire from him caused her to rush to the door. She pulled it open as she yelled, “I don’t want to see you!” She was surprised to find Ethic standing before her. The hurt in his eyes radiated between their gaze and in that moment she knew that he was the only person who could relate to her pain. She didn’t know what was weighing on him but she knew that it was heavy. “Ethic? What are you doing here?” she asked. She could smell the cognac on him as he stood before her, eyes heavy with sadness and a stress that she hadn’t noticed earlier.