Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  “What’s to tell?” Ahmeek asked, eyes on his phone screen as they stepped out into the scorching sun. Isa pulled a valet ticket from his pocket and handed it to the attendant.

  “So, you finally doing what Messiah asked you to do?” Isa asked.

  “It ain’t about Messiah,” Ahmeek answered. “I don’t know what it’s about, but it ain’t for play, and I ain’t looking for permission.”

  “Be careful with her, bro. We all know how it ended last time. Mo’s family. We all fucked up when it came to her. She don’t deserve that twice.”

  “She didn’t deserve it the first time. I don’t intend on fucking up,” Ahmeek stated. The S-Class Mercedes they had rented pulled up, and Ahmeek climbed into the passenger seat. Isa hopped behind the wheel. “Now, you ready to talk about this money, or you still worried about where I’m sticking my dick, bitch-ass nigga?”

  “Yo, on some real shit, though, bruh, I just got one more question, then we can move on. Messiah was secretive as fuck about the shit, but I got to know … little Morgan? What that shit hitting for? I know shorty sitting on that medicine. Heal-a-nigga type of pussy.”

  “Nigga,” Ahmeek said, shooting a warning glare at Isa.

  “You’ve got it bad, G,” Isa said, snickering as he put the car in drive.

  Ahmeek’s jaw tensed as they took the highway away from the tourist trap. It was hard to keep his mind on business. Morgan had put something on him last night that had left a stain. He would never confirm for Isa, but the type of pussy she was serving was the type to heal a nigga. It was the type with the potential to hurt a nigga too. From the moment she had walked out of his suite, he had been in his feelings. It had taken everything in him not to go to her room and pack up her and her twins and buck on her fiancé. The thought of her going from his bed to Bash’s made him feel raw on the inside. Morgan had a pull on him something serious, and he knew she was a problem. A big fucking problem.

  The city gave way to golden sand and a two-way highway, and Isa hit 90 mph.

  “Who you say these mu’fuckas were again?” Ahmeek asked.

  “Some tribal investors want to open a casino about an hour and a half north of Flint. They’ll have armored trucks running up and down the highway. I’m talking big money, nigga. This is different than the semis. One armored truck is enough to live for life. They want to guarantee that their loads make it to their destinations safe. It’s a tax for that. They got to pay the toll,” Isa said. “Otherwise, I’m lifting that bitch.”

  “Armored trucks are a different game, G,” Ahmeek answered. “Dye packs on the cash, armed drivers, an armed man in the bed of the truck, GPS under the hood, marked bills. The shit’s risky.”

  “You scared, nigga?” Isa asked.

  “I’m smart, mu’fucka,” Meek answered. “I know you be on your adrenaline shit, bro, but this shit ain’t the move. Popping the back of the fucking truck alone would be a task. That shit is military-grade steel.”

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. They pay the toll to pass those trucks through the city and we can get the easy bag,” Isa stated.

  They saw a bar in the middle of nowhere. A little wooden shack on the side of the road. Three cars sat parked out front.

  “This the spot?” Ahmeek asked. Ahmeek reached under the seat and retrieved a 9 mm pistol. The price of the private jet was worth the ability to stay strapped. He didn’t go anywhere unprotected. If you saw Ahmeek, he was strapped. At the doctor’s office, in church, at funerals—any door he graced, he carried a gun through it.

  “Yeah, I think so. Shit is two hours outside of Vegas; it better be it,” Isa added. They stepped out the car, tucked their pistols, then swaggered to the front door. Ahmeek pulled it open and walked inside.

  A man with skin so rich it appeared red stood behind the bar. Long raven-hued hair hung down his shoulders, center parted. Wrinkles filled his face as if they told a story; like the aged leather on a good bag, his every mark was representative of a journey he had taken.

  “Long way from where you’re welcome,” the man gruffed. He reached beneath the counter and came up with a shotgun.

  “We were invited,” Isa said.

  “Might want to lower that gun, old man, before I lose my patience. By the time you cock that bitch back, I’ll serve that ass the daily special,” Ahmeek stated in a cool baritone. Not an ounce of fear lived in either of them because they knew if it came down to them walking out of the building or the men in this bar, they were going to step.

  The Native American man looked at the other patrons at the bar and lifted his hand off the shotgun.

  “We’re here for Hakani,” Isa stated.

  The man pulled out a cell phone and kept skeptical eyes on the duo before placing the phone to his ear.

  “Hak expecting someone?” the man gruffed. Ahmeek’s hands rested in front of him. One fist over the opposite wrists, on the ready.

  “Stay cool, bruh,” Isa said under his breath. “This is just an introduction.”

  “Two of ’em,” the man reported to the other end of the phone. “I’m sure they’re holding.” Another pause. “Mmm-hmm. I’ll send ’em back.”

  “Jasper, take ’em to the reservation. Hak says let them keep their weapons. Apparently, this is a friendly visit,” the man gruffed.

  A stout man stood from the bar. His long hair was snow white, his skin bronzed and aged by the sun. When he turned to them, a long scar permanently sealed one eye.

  “He will take you to Hak,” the bartender said.

  Ahmeek gave Isa a skeptical look, and as Isa followed the man out of the bar, Ahmeek backpedaled, keeping eyes on the men remaining inside. They walked over to an open-air Jeep, and Ahmeek took the back seat as Isa hopped into the passenger side. The man drove behind the bar, taking them off-road through the sand, leaving a cloud of dust behind them as they ventured two miles deep into the desert. They stopped in front of a large brick building—a compound of sorts—and Ahmeek climbed out. Armed men stood like soldiers outside; warrior paint covered their faces.

  What the fuck? Ahmeek thought as he followed the man inside.

  They passed twenty people working on laptops as they made their way to the back and entered an office door.

  A man in tailored designer slacks, Ferragamo shoes, and an Oxford shirt stood speaking on the phone. One hand was in his pants pocket, and he removed it to hold up a finger for them.

  “I’ll need the permits immediately. We have a schedule to keep. Sounds like a plan. Speak soon.”

  He ended the phone call, and a smile accompanied the hand he extended to them.

  “I’m Hak. You must be Isa and Ahmeek,” he stated. Ahmeek shook the man’s hand, followed by Isa. “Please sit.”

  They all took a seat on the relaxed side of the luxurious office. This space didn’t seem like it belonged in the middle of the desert, more like in a high-rise building in New York City. It was like a mirage; it almost didn’t exist.

  “I’m a man who does my homework. I own Hakani Enterprises, and I’m building a casino on tribal land in Saginaw. That’s in your backyard. I hear there are pretty strict laws of the land that I need to respect if my business is going to be successful. The thirty-mile stretch of highway between Flint and Saginaw is yours. I’d like free access to it. I need to insure my investments. I’d like my trucks to be able to pass through without interference. I’d even like for them to be escorted by your team to make sure they aren’t disturbed by others as well. I’m willing to pay for this insurance.”

  “How many trucks a week?” Ahmeek asked.

  “Fourteen. One at the start of business, one at the end of business each day,” Hak said.

  “That’s a lot of insurance,” Isa stated.

  “I understand,” Hak said. “How does a hundred thousand a month sound?”

  “Sounds like you think we’re still working corners. That’s less than two grand a truck. We can’t even pay our people with that,” Ahmeek said. “We can jus
t take the fucking trucks.”

  “The art of business is in the negotiation, Ahmeek. You tell me a more appropriate number,” Hak said.

  “I’ll know it when I hear it,” Ahmeek stated.

  Isa knew to let Ahmeek work. They had very distinct roles, and Ahmeek’s was in the gift of gab. He already had a number in his head, but he would never undercut the team by speaking first. He needed to see how high Hak was willing to go first.

  “You’re a smart man,” Hak complimented, wagging a finger at Ahmeek.

  “What’s your number?” Isa added.

  “Fifty thousand a truck,” Hak said.

  “Each,” Ahmeek interjected. “Small price to pay to make sure those trucks go untouched.”

  Hak sat back in his chair and steepled his hands under his chin. He took his time before nodding. He reached into his desk drawer and removed two iPads. He slid them across the desk.

  “Swiss accounts have been set up on these devices for you. The money for the first month’s runs will be deposited within the hour. You can log into your accounts and check them anytime. Nice doing business with you, gentlemen. It’s time to get rich.”

  * * *

  “Smile, Morgan. I swear, the way you sulk sometimes, I’d think you don’t know what family you’re marrying into,” Christiana said as she sipped the glass of champagne in her left hand while flipping the page of the picture book she was reading to Messari with the other. Messari rested comfortably in her arms. She was his nana, and suddenly Morgan hated that she had created the attachment for her children.

  “Ease up, Ma,” Bash said. He reached across the divider that separated their seats and grabbed her hand, but she pulled away, tucking her hands between her crossed legs. Yara sat on his lap, and Morgan’s eyes bounced back and forth between her twins. They were so comfortable with the Fredricks. They were family. From the day they were born, they had been accepted by the prestigious family. Morgan knew she should be grateful, and she was, but it wasn’t like they had pulled her out of the gutter. They acted like she came from a third-world country. Like she was missing meals and lacking shelter when they’d met her. She knew they didn’t mean to offend her, but she’d held her tongue for so long that it was growing tiresome.

  “Sometimes, I think you forget the family I come from,” Morgan muttered.

  Christiana and Bash both lifted eyes of shock to her. Ahmeek had fucked some courage into her, apparently, because Morgan had never enforced an opinion of her own on Bash or Christiana. They were used to her going with the flow, but after Meek, after feeling the way he made her heart skip beats, the way he made her body ride beats, the way he made her back arch to catch his beat, Mo just wanted to go against the current, to swim upstream. She wanted to hop off the plane, run across the tarmac, and catch one of the black cars back to him immediately.

  “Morgan, really, we already have so much to repair after your little striptease last night. I flew all the way stateside just to check on you. The last thing I need is attitude,” Christiana said. “What has gotten into you lately?”

  Good dick.

  Morgan sighed and stood from her seat. “I’m just kind of tired and not in the mood to be scolded,” Morgan answered.

  “I’m not scolding, dear, just advising. You’re in position to take over the world one day, Morgan. With Bash and these beautiful babies, you could run high society of London. After medical school, you’ll open your practice and…”

  Why did Morgan need to listen? Christiana already had her entire life plotted out anyway.

  Morgan tuned Christiana out as her thumb slid across her phone screen.

  She tapped on Ahmeek’s name. He hadn’t texted her in hours. It wasn’t like they communicated all the time anyway, but she expected something, anything … after the night before, Morgan craved connection. Even the thought of him made her pulse raise, and she felt it most between her thighs.

  MORGAN

  Is it bad that I miss you?

  Anxiety tightened her belly, and she glanced up at Bash—who was occupied with Yara—before tilting to the side so he couldn’t see her messages. She didn’t have to wait long. Within seconds, bubbles danced on her screen.

  AHMEEK

  Nah, love, that ain’t bad at all.

  Morgan smiled. Then her fingers tapped away.

  MORGAN

  That thing you did last night? With your tongue? I’ma need you to do that again ASAP.

  AHMEEK

  Love, no nasty talk. Shit’s going to kill a nigga.

  Morgan snickered, then stood. She needed to see his face. She yearned to hear his voice. Texting was no longer enough.

  “I’m gonna lie down for a bit. I’m kind of tired. Are the twins okay out here?”

  “Of course, Morgan,” Christiana answered. “We should be taking off soon. Get some rest. We can handle them during the flight.”

  Morgan stood and retreated to the private sleeping quarters on the private jet. She still couldn’t believe Christiana had come swooping in from London just to meet them at the airport. “To keep things in order,” she had said, but Morgan couldn’t lie. She didn’t mind the luxury of flying back to Michigan on the private jet. It beat commercial flying every day of the week. A perk of being engaged to Bash. She hit FaceTime before she could even lock the door. She smiled when his face popped up on her screen. He was walking. Busy. She could tell from the pinched brow he sported, but still he answered.

  “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting. I know you said you have business to handle,” Morgan said.

  “Business is interrupting you, Mo. How can I be of service, love?” Ahmeek asked.

  Morgan smiled. “Just like that, huh? Stop everything for little ol’ me?”

  “Every time,” he answered while looking around, checking his surroundings and not focusing on the screen.

  “I just wanted to see you,” she answered, speaking in hushed tones.

  “So stay,” he countered.

  “I’m on the jet right now,” Morgan said. “I can’t.”

  “Yeah, I’m already not liking this,” Meek stated.

  “Not liking what?” Morgan asked, frowning.

  “You telling me no,” he answered.

  “So ask me something I can say yes to,” she shot back.

  “You miss me, Mo?” he asked.

  “Like crazy,” she whispered. “God, what have you done to me?”

  “Nah, Mo. A nigga chest been mad tender since you walked out my room this morning. What the fuck have you done to me, love?”

  Morgan smiled. “I just loved on you a little bit, that’s all. I know you’re not lacking for female attention, but all you get from women is physical. It’s all about sex. I gave you a little bit more. Nothing major,” she said, smirking.

  “So, you loving on me, Mo? You loving a nigga?” he asked.

  She paused. Did she? Could she? Whatever she was feeling, it was very familiar. It was blissful and hopeful and light. “Only questions you can say yes to, remember?” he reminded with a wink.

  Her heart felt giddy, and it raced as her lips pulled tighter and she smiled wider. “You want me to love you, Ahmeek?” she shot back.

  “Very much so, Morgan Atkins, but let a nigga earn it first. I ain’t afraid to earn it,” he stated. “I can make some plans to do that.”

  She swooned. Ahmeek Harris was such a gangster, but he had the gentleman thing down to a science.

  Morgan felt the plane begin to move. “I’ve got to go. We’re about to take off.”

  “Call me when you land?” he suggested.

  “I’ll text you,” she said.

  “We ain’t doing easy, remember. Texting is easy. I need to look in your eyes to see if you’re bullshitting me,” Ahmeek said.

  “That only applies to me, Meek,” she said.

  “Nah, love, in this equation, you the only one with the potential to break hearts around here. I’ma carry you proper, Morgan Atkins, but I got a feeling you gon’ drop a nigga s
hit on the floor, walk all over it, ding my shit up,” he stated.

  “Never.” She smiled. “I’m going to love you real good, Ahmeek. I want to be the one you remember.”

  “You can’t be that,” Meek shot back.

  She jerked her neck backward. “And why the hell not?”

  “To remember you means I’ll have to lose you. I ain’t doing that,” he said. “I’ma do my part, Mo, and eventually that corny nigga gon’ be the one reminiscing.”

  Morgan blushed. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Then hang up, because right now you got me on some real sucka shit. I don’t like to disconnect from you, Mo. I swear to God, I been fucked up since you climbed out my bed earlier.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she whispered. There were stars in her eyes, flutters in her heart. She just wanted to run to him, to stay behind with him, but she couldn’t. “I want to go skating,” Morgan said.

  “Skating?” he asked.

  “Yes. Roller-skating. I want to go when you get back, and I want to skate. I don’t want you to be too cool and watch me from the sidelines either. I want you to hold my hand and skate with me,” she said.

  Ahmeek chuckled. “We’ll see, love. Now hang up.”

  “Do I have to?” she whined.

  He gifted her a full-blown smile as he stopped walking and focused on the camera, finessing his beard. “Yeah, you do. You got me out here caking in broad daylight,” he said.

  Morgan stifled her laughter, smiling so bright that her cheeks hurt. She couldn’t ever remember smiling like that. A knock at the door caused her to look away.

  “Mo! We’re about to take off. Make sure you’re buckled in,” Bash called through the door.

  “I will!” she called back. She turned back to the phone. “I’ll FaceTime you when I’m home.”

  “Okay,” he answered.

  Morgan went to hang up but hesitated. Just hanging up didn’t feel right. It was like she was supposed to say something. Do something more. Express more. Be more to him. Say more to him. Act as if she’d never see him again just to get a bit of glee off her chest. “Ahmeek?”