The Cartel 7--Illuminati--Roundtable of Bosses

by Ashley

  “That voice inside your head never lies. Trust your instinct. Your gut will never steer you wrong.” He could hear Miamor in his ear, urging him not to trust this lady. He hated this defensive feeling that had infected him. He had lived with it for years while in Baraka’s possession and had just gotten used to being home with his real family when he had been plucked out of his natural environment again. The feelings of mistrust and paranoia were back full force. It was unfair. At his old school, none of the kids his age had to worry about danger or survival. C.J., however, considered those things daily. It was the downside of coming up as a legacy of the Cartel.

  He went to the door and turned the lock then backpedaled toward the bed as Bernice peeked her head inside.

  “Is it safe to come in?” she asked. There it was again. That smile that was forced as if someone were holding up the corners of her mouth but forgetting to put the twinkle of sincerity in her gaze.

  “Yeah, it’s safe,” he replied.

  “C.J., I don’t know what you’ve been through in the past, but no one is going to hurt you here. I just want you to feel comfortable, okay? I want you to feel good,” she said.

  The word good made him cringe. It didn’t quite fit. It wasn’t quite right.

  “Now slip on some clothes and we will go down to the mall to pick up some things for you. How does that sound? Maybe get some ice cream and pizza on the way back? That cool with you?”

  He nodded because, well, what choice did he have? Besides, the clothes he had were days old and unclean. He would need some things to get by. He couldn’t stay barricaded up in this room forever.

  He waited for her to leave but when he realized she wasn’t attempting to exit he slowly began to peel off his clothes. He turned his back to her, moving quickly, feeling exposed, throwing on the stuff so fast that he didn’t care that his shirt was inside out.

  “Come here,” she said. “Let me help.”

  He walked over to her and she rolled his shirt up over his arms. The places where her fingers touched his skin almost burned. It wasn’t that he was afraid. He was weary and the way she obliged herself to touch where she pleased bothered him. He felt dirty. He remembered being touched like that, back in Saudi Arabia, when everyone was asleep; one of Baraka’s men would come into the room where C.J. was kept. His hands felt like her hands, unwelcomed, inappropriate, and made him withdraw into a shell so deep that he almost had to ask himself if it had happened at all. He was thankful for the day that Baraka walked in on his hired hand trying to force himself on C.J. The punishment had been death and C.J. and Mo had been treated with decency from that day forward.

  The incident was never spoken of, not by Baraka or C.J., but after that day everything had changed about his imprisonment. He and Mo were no longer pawns in a war, but guests of Baraka, whom he protected and had grown fond of, like the sons he had never had. C.J. had never told anyone out of fear that he would be judged, out of fear that it would mean something more than a child being abused. He only thought of it when the man haunted his psyche at night and now, with Ms. Bernice’s hands rubbing his shoulders. He wasn’t a man, not even a young man, he was a child and his discomfort was measurable by the tension she insisted on rubbing out.

  He felt her hands move lower and lower until …

  The feeling of her cold hands inside the band of his underwear caused him to react. He grabbed the first thing in his reach. C.J. didn’t realize he was swinging it until it connected with a loud thud. Everything went black as he pulled it over his head and brought it down with all his strength. He knew she was stronger than he was so he kept swinging and kept swinging. His hands were wet and everything was black. All he saw was the face of the man who had made him feel so low and then he saw her face, with that haunting smile, that devious, sinister tool of trickery that she used to try to get him to trust her. He never wanted to feel the confusing, pleasurable, miserable, filthy, shameful feelings ever again and he wouldn’t let her or anyone else touch him without his permission.

  He snapped out of his fugue and when he saw her lying there, blood all over the bed, his stomach absorbed his heart. I’m in trouble. What did I do? Is she … is she dead? His gut was screaming, run. This time he didn’t second-guess it. He took off running through the house and pulled open the front door, only to bump headfirst into three men. He was snatched off his feet so fast that he had no time to protest. Before he could put up much fight he felt the prick of a needle as it was jammed in his neck. It only took seconds for him to realize what was happening. His lids slowly closed but not before he saw a man stepping out of a black SUV. Estes? That was the last thought that crossed his mind before the curtain closed to black.

  * * *

  “Where is my great-grandson? There should be another boy inside,” Estes said as he crossed the threshold into Bernice’s home.

  “This is the only kid here and he did quite a number on the lady in the back room,” Estes’s henchman returned.

  Estes’s brow furrowed in curiosity as he made his way through the home, careful not to touch anything along the way. After being contacted by Einstein, Estes knew he had to intervene with Mo. He risked coming to the States to purposefully ensure that nothing went wrong with retrieving Mo. He had no intentions of rescuing C.J. Blood was the only connection Estes recognized and C.J. wasn’t family. He made his way through the house and stopped when he saw the woman barely conscious on the bed. She was bloody and moaning softly as Estes entered the room.

  “There’s no one else here?” Estes asked in surprise as he looked back at his men. “The boy did this?”

  “Looks like it. The rest of the place is empty.”

  “What the hell?” he whispered. He walked over to the woman and gripped a fistful of her hair, pulling hard enough to cause her pain, bringing her to life again.

  “Agh,” she winced through broken teeth. “Please, please, I didn’t touch him.” Estes frowned and thought of a shirtless C.J. It wasn’t hard for him to put two and two together.

  “Then tell me what did you do?” Estes asked, suddenly repulsed. C.J. was a child. There was no purpose a boy could serve a grown woman sexually. Only a person with the sickest mind could think otherwise.

  “I … I … please,” she moaned as she rolled over on her side. It was clear that C.J. had inflicted much pain. He had mustered up the strength to defend himself even though she could have overpowered him. “I was just giving him a massage. He misunderstood.”

  “Where is Monroe Diamond the second?” Estes asked.

  “He’s in juvie! Please, just leave! Take him and leave!” she screamed as she writhed in pain. “I think he broke my nose.”

  “I’m going to keep my eye on you. If I even get wind that you have another child in this home or that you are touching another child in any way, I will come back here and I will end your life. In the meantime, you will make sure Monroe has everything he needs inside.” Estes paused as he stared the woman in the eyes menacingly. “Everything. Do you hear me?” he asked as she nodded her head frantically. “Protection, commissary, privileges, and a glowing review on his records. Is that understood?”

  Estes pulled a gun and forced it in her mouth, breaking even more of her teeth in the process. “Nod your head if you understand,” Estes said. She nodded frantically as fear filled her widened eyes.

  Estes turned on his expensive shoes and headed out the door. As he passed his hired hand he paused. “Leave her with a bullet to remember what she agreed to. She can spare a finger or two,” Estes said with the overwhelming desire to inflict pain on this woman. He walked out and approached his other goon that stood watching the front door. C.J. was laid on the living-room couch. “Get the boy and let’s go.”

  Estes was disappointed that he wouldn’t leave with Mo, but after seeing what had taken place he couldn’t just leave C.J. in the hands of the system. “Call the pilot. Tell him we are on our way back to the clear port.”

  CHAPTER 6

  C.J. came t
o somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, coming out of the fog from the induced sleep that Estes’s men had placed him in. Confusion overwhelmed him as he took in the sounds around him. I’m in the air, he thought as he sat up and looked around the small room he had been placed in. It was a luxury bedroom aboard the G5 jet Estes owned. He scrambled to the window, crawling across the bed, until he was at the window shade. He pulled it up and gasped when he saw the white clouds. The blood on his hands reminded him of what had occurred and his breath caught in his throat. Is she dead? he thought, tears filling his eyes. He didn’t know how he had gotten here. It wasn’t long ago he was able to just be a kid. It seemed that things never stayed normal for long in his life. It was extreme after extreme, highs and lows, with no middle ground. It was no way for a young boy to live.

  Now he was in this jet on his way to who knows where and he was too afraid to even walk outside the closed door to ask. He stood, unsure, as he wrung his fingers nervously, his eyes on the door like a hawk. He heard Estes’s voice. He remembered him but not well. All he knew was that Estes was Mo’s powerful old grandfather, that everyone rolled the red carpet out for him. He had heard Carter refer to him as the connect so C.J. knew he was an important man, one his father respected. He crept out of the room slowly and noticed Estes sitting with his legs crossed, glasses perched on his nose, as he perused a newspaper in his hands. He looked up as C.J. came into his line of sight.

  “Is she … did I?” C.J. couldn’t quite ask the right question.

  “No, you didn’t. She’s alive,” Estes replied. He didn’t divulge any other details, but C.J. was relieved to hear that he hadn’t done the undoable. That much blood on his hands would have haunted him for life. He was too young to start a body count. He didn’t need the guilt on his conscience. Estes surmised that C.J. didn’t need to know the gritty details of what had happened, but Bernice wouldn’t be taking advantage of any more children. Estes had given her a one-way ticket to hell.

  “Have a seat and buckle up. We’ll be landing soon.”

  “Landing?” C.J. looked out the window at the shades of turquoise and blue ocean water below them.

  “The Dominican Republic. My home is there. It’s where you will stay until I figure things out and get in touch with your father,” Estes said.

  Relief flooded C.J. It didn’t matter that Estes wasn’t his blood, he was close enough and the sight of someone familiar provided him a sense of security. He nodded and chose to remain silent for the duration of the flight. He could tell Estes only spoke to him out of obligation and C.J. didn’t want to get on his bad side. The possibility of seeing his father, of being with family, or close to it in Estes’s case, made C.J.’s fears dissipate.

  As the plane hit the tarmac with a gentle thud, C.J.’s heart raced in a mixture of uncertainty and contentment. He followed Estes off the plane and then immediately got into an awaiting vehicle that took them directly to Estes’s ocean-side estate. C.J. had never seen anything so grand. He was born into money so he wasn’t a stranger to fine things but the way Estes lived was nothing short of pure opulence. He looked around the villa in amazement as soon as they entered.

  “A room is prepared for you. Go upstairs and clean up. I’m expecting associates. If you’re going to live here, you’re going to earn your keep. You can help set things up for the evening. Get yourself together and then head out back—the rest of the men will tell you what to do,” Estes said with no emotion in his voice. He was disappointed that Mo was rotting away in some Miami juvenile facility. The fact that he had only been able to save C.J. filled him with guilt. He had no affection for C.J. They weren’t family and Estes owed no debts, but something about leaving C.J. out in the world felt wrong.

  Carter and Estes had shared a tumultuous relationship over the years. Carter had been a source of pain for Taryn and Estes had noticed it in her eyes long before Carter ever stepped foot in Miami. From the day Carter was born, Taryn had been heartbroken; no matter how well she disguised it, Estes could see her melancholy. It was because of this that Estes had never taken to Carter. Even after his beautiful daughter’s death, Estes still held a grudge.

  It was only after Carter proved that he was incomparable in the drug business that Estes even considered getting involved with him. Carter was simply an irreplaceable asset to anyone’s team and although Estes hated him, he needed him all the same. In all his years of supplying the streets of Miami, no one, not even the late, great Carter Diamond, had been able to run through product the way Carter did. Estes owed Carter nothing, and he had half a notion to leave C.J. where he found him, but Estes knew how valuable Carter’s son may prove to be. He didn’t know how he would use him, but C.J. was the seed of a powerful man. Leaving him in the hands of the foster system was really no option at all.

  Estes looked out over his beachside villa as his staff prepared for a grand evening. Estes had worked for decades to build this haven for his family. The massive estate sat on a bluff, overlooking the Caribbean Sea. It had been the place where he planned to retire with his family all around him, but things hadn’t gone according to plan. Street wars and battles for power had diminished his dream slowly over the years. The idea of a peaceful and full life had eroded inevitably. Death and incarceration had plagued his family, leaving only him and oddly, a boy that wasn’t even his blood as the last men standing.

  Estes climbed the stairs and noticed the door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar. His chest grew tight with anxiety as he approached the room. He hadn’t opened that door in years. Only the housekeeper entered that space and even that was limited to once a week. It was his son’s old room and Estes hadn’t stepped foot inside since the day his only son was murdered. He pushed open the door, hitting it with his palm loudly. “Get out of here now,” Estes said sternly, his eyes ablaze with anger. C.J. was thrown off guard and stood up defensively.

  “Get out of here,” Estes said, his eyes burning with passion as he grabbed C.J. roughly and pulled him off the bed. He dragged him down the hall and opened the guest room door before storming back to his son’s room.

  Sammie had died years ago, but the unresolved emotions Estes held came rushing at him as if a flood had been waiting behind the closed door. He closed the door for privacy and looked around the room. At the time, the villa had been Estes’s vacation home. It was where he had taken his family when he wanted to get away from Miami and all the ills that dwelled there. Estes had kept Sammie’s room at the villa the same. He didn’t want to throw the memory of his only son away and although he had hidden his pain well over the years, it had never gone away.

  Estes looked around. It felt like a shrine. He picked up a baseball that sat on the dresser and held it tightly in his grip. Estes was an old man, rich beyond measure, but poor in his soul. He had spent his years in the game, running empires, supplying the streets with cocaine, and amassing more money than he could spend. Yet, here he stood, yearning for the one thing money couldn’t buy. Young men sought power, old men sought peace—and with both of his children in early graves, peace was elusive.

  Estes sat down on the bed and gripped the ball between the palms of his hands as he leaned over on his elbows while resting his chin on his fists. He gritted his teeth as he fought the urge to cry. He placed the ball back in its place and then stood. A part of him wanted to stand in this space for a while, to soak up some of the essence that his son had left behind. Instead he cleared his throat, containing his hurt in a compartment inside his heart that he let no one bear witness to. Guilt ridden over the way he reacted, he retreated from the room and sought out C.J.

  Estes found him in the back of the villa, setting up just as he had been instructed to. Estes watched from afar as C.J. carried tables and chairs, following the instructions of Estes’s hired hands. Estes watched him carefully. There was no entitlement about C.J. Even though C.J. came from power and money, he had humbled himself when the odds were stacked against him. He’s smart, he adapts to survive, Estes observed.r />
  Estes watched C.J. closely as he stood on the veranda and sipped his cognac slowly. C.J. never slacked. Even in the burning heat C.J. worked diligently without complaint, until the job was complete. Estes summoned C.J. to his side.

  “Tonight, you will be seen but not heard. Some of the most powerful men in Santo Domingo will be here with their families. It’s important to break bread and commune with the people I have done business with over the years. I must know their wives, their children. That way I know the vulnerabilities of those around me. You don’t speak unless spoken to. Do you understand? You will keep my guests full of good whiskey and clear the plates from the table when dinner is complete,” Estes said. “Is that a problem?”

  “No sir, I got it,” C.J. responded.

  Estes wasn’t C.J.’s grandfather. It wasn’t required that he embrace the boy with open arms. C.J. would have to prove himself useful if he wanted to stay around.

  * * *

  This wasn’t the first time C.J. had played servant to a powerful man. Baraka had turned him into one before and as C.J. walked around the party pouring water into the guests’ glasses, it reminded him of the time he had been taken by his father’s enemy. C.J. refused to complain. Being under Estes’s thumb was better than being in the system, so he kept his head down and did as Estes had instructed.

  No one at the party spoke to him. It was like he was invisible. His smooth, dark complexion made the pure-blooded Dominicans view him as unworthy. There was an undertone of racism in the air as all the workers were darker skinned while the guests were of fairer complexions. In the eyes of Estes’s guests, C.J. was just another hired servant that Estes had employed.