Money Devils 1

by Ashley

  West nodded and bit his tongue. Normally he wouldn’t have tolerated the tone, but he knew emotions were running high. He knew his pain couldn’t compare to what Sire was feeling.

  “Tell Ma I’ll be back for my plate,” West said. He patted the side of Sire’s face sternly, brotherly, remorsefully. “I’m sorry about Was,” he said.

  “Me too,” Sire answered. “Remember where you came from. Don’t get too big, my nigga. Don’t want none of these little niggas around here to feel like they got to bring you down a notch.”

  “It would be a shame to leave mothers sonless, so I pray they know better,” West replied.

  * * *

  “Thank you for helping us,” Honor said. “You were never in danger. I just want you to know that. We were just desperate.”

  “She put a gun to my head,” Maria replied.

  “It was a hairbrush,” Honor admitted.

  “A hairbrush!” Maria exclaimed. She was in such disbelief that she laughed hysterically, infecting Honor with the giggles as well. “A goddamn hairbrush.”

  Honor pulled curbside and parked valet.

  “Next time, just ask. Come inside; I’ll send you with medication to manage the pain and stop infection,” Maria said before opening the door and rushing back inside. Honor handed the keys over to the valet and followed Maria.

  “Wait here,” Maria instructed.

  “How do I know you aren’t going to call the cops?” Honor asked.

  “I like money. Consider our relationship doctor/patient confidentiality,” Maria said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Honor waited anxiously, half expecting to be arrested at any minute.

  “You like hanging out in hospitals, huh?”

  Honor turned to the sound of someone’s voice. She was caught completely off guard when she saw August on the opposite side of the circular reception desk.

  “Just picking up a prescription from my doctor,” she said. “How’s your brother?”

  August looked behind him and then back at Honor. “Why don’t you see for yourself? He loves the toy he found inside the basket. He owes you a thank-you.”

  “Oh I…”

  Honor was grateful for Maria’s interruption.

  “Every six hours take these,” she said, holding up an orange medicine container. “Take this one once daily until they’re gone. And call me if you need anything.”

  Honor nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Now I’ve got to try to go save my job,” Maria said with a wink before rushing off. Honor stuffed them into her bag and then glanced at August. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tapered on the sides. He had a single tattoo on his face at his temple, but his neck and forearms were covered in ink. White Boys weren’t Honor’s thing, but this white boy had a little extra flavor in his juice. She understood the hype surrounding him.

  “I’m headed up now if you want to pop in,” August said. “We’ve hired your firm. You might as well join me. You can tell me how you and your sisters plan to fix this mess.”

  Honor squinted as she took him in. Charming Southern boy with money and legacy. He had to have an alter ego because she could not fathom this man in front of her maliciously raping and murdering anyone. He had, however. He had left her sister to die. She and her sisters were working Sinclair Enterprises from the inside out. She had direct access to the perpetrator himself in this moment. No way would she not take advantage of it.

  “Sure, I can stop in for a few minutes,” Honor said.

  “I’ll walk you up,” August replied.

  “It says a lot that you made the time to personally drop off that gift for Beamer,” August said as they traversed the hospital hallways.

  “He’s just a kid. He didn’t deserve what happened to him,” Honor said.

  August led the way onto the elevator, and they took opposing walls.

  The silence between them was awkward and she breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the children’s floor.

  “After you,” August said, holding out his arm. Honor was positive he let her go first so he could look at her ass. To her surprise when she glanced back at him, his eyes were focused on his phone. She paused at Beamer’s room and August went in first.

  “Beamer, I’ve got a surprise for you. Remember that nice gift you got the other day?” August asked.

  Beamer was covered in bandages but the ones on his face had been removed so his burns could breathe. He was so red. So badly burned. Honor’s eyes prickled.

  “This is who got them for you,” August said. “Her name is Honor LaCroix.”

  Honor glanced at him, shocked. He had remembered her name. She supposed there was no harm in that. Their companies were in business with one another. Of course he remembered.

  “Thank you. That was nice. You didn’t have to,” Beamer said.

  “A lot of people are rooting for you,” Honor said.

  “People at school thought I was a freak before. They’ll destroy me now,” Beamer said, looking away in embarrassment.

  August rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. He hasn’t been feeling the best. The burns bother him, but I told him he’s lucky. He’s not even supposed to be here.”

  “I wish I wasn’t,” Beamer huffed.

  Honor’s chest caved. “You’re a miracle,” she said. “I know it feels really bad right now, and I know it seems like your burns will never heal, but they will. And no matter what scars they leave behind, you should be proud of them. Scars are beautiful. They remind you of how strong you are. You survived something that those kids at your school never could.”

  Beamer still didn’t turn to her.

  August blew out a breath of frustration. “Beamer, bro, you’re being rude.”

  “It’s okay, he’s not,” Honor said patiently. “You want to see my scar?”

  That got his attention. Honor pulled a makeup wipe out of her bag and handed it to Beamer. She pointed to her hairline. “Go ahead, wipe it off,” Honor said. She tapped her temple and Beamer took the wipe to her face. A long scar ran from her ear to her chin.

  “Whoa!” Beamer exclaimed.

  “I was shot when I was a little girl,” Honor explained. “It was much worse back then. It’s taken years to fade but it made me feel strong. It made me feel like I could survive anything.”

  “It’s really cool,” Beamer admired. “It looks like a ladder on the side of your face.”

  “It’s from the stitches,” Honor said, smiling. “Guess what?”

  “What?” Beamer asked, intrigued as he rubbed her scar.

  “Yours are cooler,” she said. “Get better, Beamer. You’re a fighter.”

  She stood upright and smiled at Beamer then waved to August as she made her way out.

  Honor made it to the door before he stopped her.

  “I’d like to see you outside of the walls of this hospital,” August said, finessing his lips as he stared at her. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

  Honor scoffed, ignoring his invitation and walking out of the room.

  * * *

  “I swear you be cheating, Beamer,” August said as he tossed the Xbox controller onto the hospital bed.

  “I’m just better than you,” Beamer bragged. It felt like old times. The smile on Beamer’s face was worth the time August was missing from the company. West was holding down the crisis while August spent time at the hospital. After all the pain Beamer had been through, it was good to see his little brother smiling.

  “Hang tight,” August said as he stood from the chair and retreated to the bathroom. He popped three percs, washing the pills down with water from the sink, and then ran his hands down his face. He hadn’t slept well since the explosion. Grief was a bitter bitch and he couldn’t shake the emptiness he felt without his parents. They were all he knew. They had provided for him his entire life and although they left behind a fortune he would never be able to spend completely, it wasn’t worth their lives. Knowing the blast was intentional h
ad him searching for answers. He needed to know who had a target on his family’s back. His soul would be unsettled until he got them.

  “Hey, Beam, how you feeling?”

  August heard West’s voice and he cleared his throat, straightening the lapel of his suit and running a hand through his disheveled hair.

  He stepped out of the bathroom.

  “What up, bro?” August greeted, slapping hands and embracing West before taking a seat. “You heard any news on who might be behind this shit? What Sire saying?”

  West dismissed August’s questions, focusing on Beamer. “You excited to come home, kid?”

  “Yeah! I can’t wait! I’m tired of being here.” Beamer grimaced as he sat up in bed, making himself more comfortable.

  “You’re healing good. You’re strong. I knew you would,” West said.

  “Where am I going to live when I come home? Mom and Dad are gone,” he said, his sadness dripping off each word.

  West glanced at August. “We’re going to figure that part out, Beamer. You don’t have to worry about that. You can come stay with me or August. Wherever you want to go, that’s where you’ll go.”

  “I want to go home,” Beamer said.

  West nodded. “I know, buddy,” he said. “We got something real fly planned for you to celebrate you getting out of the hospital. A welcome home party. Everybody is real excited to see you.”

  He glanced at August. “Let me holler at you,” he said.

  They walked into the hallway and West said, “Don’t talk about the explosion in front of Beamer. He don’t need to know it was intentional. It’ll just scare him.”

  “What do we know?” August asked. “The diver that Sire shot. Did he talk?”

  “Didn’t say a word. That’s a problem because it means whoever hired him is official. Whenever a man will rather die than switch up on his boss, the boss is powerful. We need to know who the fuck we’re up against,” West said.

  “They took my parents.” August sneered. “I will spend every dime I got to find out who’s behind it. Somebody has to pay for this.”

  “They will. We just have to play chess. Move silent,” West said under his breath. “If we talking about murder, we have to move smart. Put the right people in place. You’re not thinking straight. You’re high right now. You got to leave the pills alone and move correct so we can find whoever’s responsible.”

  “They were my parents,” August stated. “Excuse me if I don’t have enough patience in finding out who killed them. Fuck being a Boy Scout. I want revenge. If you don’t get it, I’m going to make sure it’s taken care of myself.”

  CHAPTER 14

  It was a sad day for Houston’s Fifth Ward as the mourners filed into the small church to celebrate the life of Wasan Hart. The fallen soldier was respected in the streets and the untimely murder was felt by the entire community. The ceremony was held at the corner of Lyons and Bring Hurst, and the sky was full of clouds blocking out the sun. An already sad day turned out to be a gloomy one as well. There wasn’t a dry face in the building. Wasan’s brother, Sire, carried the biggest burden because he’d had to explain to their mother how he hadn’t protected his younger brother from an early grave, which broke a promise he had made to her years ago once she finally accepted their way of life. Being younger, Wasan had followed in the footsteps of his older brother and whatever Sire would have been … Wasan most likely would have been as well. The sad part was Sire chose the streets, but Wasan did not. He was just trying to be like his big brother and that got him to where he was ultimately—in a pine box.

  As the middle-aged African American woman sang her heart out, people stood in line as her powerful voice flowed through the chapel. They were all waiting their turn to pay their final respects to the fallen soldier. Sire looked down the row and saw his family members grieve, but the worst feeling was seeing his mother crying. He had never seen her cry like she did on that morning. Her entire spirit was broken, and she was crying like a little baby. Although he rubbed her back and tried to tell her it would be alright, deep inside of his heart, he knew that it wouldn’t be.

  “I need to see my baby,” his mother whispered in between her sobs. She was zoned out and not focused on one particular thing.

  Sire immediately stood and then reached down to help her get up as well. They made their way to the front of the church. He walked up to the casket and looked down at his brother who seemed as if he were sleeping. He then turned his head away, not able to accept Wasan was gone. On the other hand, his mother hovered over him, kissing his forehead as she wept. She spoke incoherently as her tears flowed off her cheeks and onto the corpse. The sight was breaking Sire’s heart and he reached down to help his mother. His mother’s weight on the casket made it move slightly, which made people gasp in concern. Nobody wanted to see the casket collapse, so it was becoming an uncomfortable sight.

  “Come on, Ma,” he said as he carefully pulled her up. She began to cry even harder as she sunk into his chest and bawled.

  “It’s okay, Mama,” Sire whispered. His mom finally looked up at him and he could see the pain in her bloodshot eyes.

  “You did this to him,” she whispered as she shook her head. A look of hatred began to form on her face.

  “Ma, don’t say that. It’s going to be okay,” Sire said as he felt his eyes begin to water. Witnessing his mother break down was becoming too much for him and he was about to break.

  His mother frowned at him and gently began to pound her fist on his chest. “No … No … No,” she yelled.

  Sire finally let a tear of his own drop as he tried to bring his mother in for an embrace.

  “It should have been you! You killed my fuckin’ baby!” she yelled and pounded on his chest more rapidly and with more force. Sire tried to embrace her again, but he was stopped with a fierce slap to the face that caused everyone in the church to gasp again. She followed it up by clawing at his face, and the scene became chaotic.

  “You killed my baby! This is your fault! This is on you!” she screamed as she went crazy on him. Sire just stood there and took it as the guilt burdened his soul. He knew she was right and now it was too late to do anything about it. Things were getting so wild that the deacon had to come and pull his mother away as she continued attacking him. Still, Sire did nothing. No facial emotion or any words could express the feelings he had inside. He watched as more church members pulled his clawing, kicking mother away and he just looked on in a daze. There were mumbles and chatter going on in the church, but the only thing he could hear was his mother’s harsh words toward him. He looked over at his brother’s body and bent down to kiss his forehead. The feel of his dead brother’s cold, tough skin only reminded him Wasan was gone forever.

  With his shirt disheveled and out of sorts, Sire walked down the aisle and could feel all eyes were on him. He felt alone in the world and that loneliness turned to rage with each step. He thought about seeing his brother getting murdered. He also thought about West bringing the bullshit his way. That was when he realized West wasn’t even there for support. Sire became even more enraged, knowing West was the cause of this entire ceremony and he didn’t have the decency to come kiss his mother and show his little bruh his proper respect before getting put into the ground.

  As he pushed through the church’s heavy double doors and exited the chapel, Sire had a fire in the pit of his stomach. He was headed directly over to West’s home to get a few things off his chest.

  * * *

  “This feels fucked up, bro,” August said as he sat on the couch and sipped a small glass of cognac. West was directly across from him pouring himself another glass as well. August continued, “We should have gone,” just before downing the rest of his glass.

  “You’re not using your head. There are certain things that aren’t in the interest of the company. We are all Sinclair Enterprises has since…” West said before he stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to bring up the death of their parents. The room grew awkwar
d and West downed the cognac as he stood and took a deep breath.

  “But come on, that’s family,” August said as he put his hands up.

  “No, we are family! I don’t want to hear any more about it. I made a decision on behalf of our family and that’s that,” West said as he slightly raised his voice, something he rarely did.

  He stood and headed to the kitchen. They were in the den of their parents’ estate and the luxurious place didn’t have the same feel as it usually had before their parents’ deaths. It had seemed cold ever since.

  As West approached the kitchen, he heard the doorbell. He and August looked at each other in confusion.

  “You were expecting someone?” West asked, with a slight frown.

  “Nah,” August answered. West walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Sire. West took a deep breath and opened the door. He immediately noticed the redness in Sire’s eyes and knew he had been crying.

  “How are you holding up?” West asked, a look of concern spread across his face. Sire didn’t respond, just walked past him, letting himself in. He brushed shoulders with West, slightly rocking him to the side. Sire’s aggression was crystal clear.

  West shook his head and closed the door behind him. Sire was going through some hardship and West didn’t hold the bump against him.

  “What’s up, Sire?” August asked as he walked up to him and embraced him. Sire simply gave him a head nod and a quick hand slap.

  “Hey, man, sorry about Wasan. I sent flowers to the church,” West said. Guilt was evident in his tone.

  “Nigga, fuck them flowers. You should have been there,” Sire said as he stepped close to West, standing toe to toe with him. He was breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving up and down. He was heated. West understood his anger; however, he didn’t flinch or back down. He stared directly at his childhood friend while standing his ground.