Madman
Copyright © 2018 by WS Greer
First edition published by Book Mode 2018
Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, a...
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Madman Copyright © 2018 by WS Greer First edition published by Book Mode 2018 Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Cover design by: Robin Harper, Wicked by Design Interior Design & Formatting by: Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting
Contents Madman PART ONE Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 TWO WEEKS LATER Chapter 6 ONE MONTH LATER Chapter 7 ONE MONTH LATER Chapter 8 THREE MONTHS LATER Chapter 9 Chapter 10 ONE WEEK LATER Chapter 11 TWO WEEKS LATER
Chapter 12 ONE WEEK LATER Chapter 13 Chapter 14 PART TWO Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 PART THREE Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29
Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Epilogue Acknowledgements About the Author Books by WS Greer
THE WORLD IS gray.
No surprise there. How else would I expect it to look on my seventeenth birthday? I step out of my rundown house and breathe in the chilled air, nearly freezing my lungs in the process. On the other side of the door that’s closing behind me, is my thirty-four-year-old mother, who’s passed out on the filthy living room floor with a needle in her arm. Again. Whitney—the woman I have no choice but to call my mother—decided to use my birthday as an excuse to push more heroin into her veins. It was a time to celebrate, she said, as she pressed the plunger and fell into a lifeless stupor on the couch, just before losing control of her bodily functions and sliding down to the floor where I left her. Happy Birthday, Solomon King. I can see my breath as I step off the squeaky, dilapidated porch and zip up my new coat. It’s thick, with a Philadelphia Eagles logo on the back. Really nice. It’s mine, but it wasn’t always. Because who are we kidding? Isn’t it obvious? Whitney is a junkie, so we all know she would never save enough money to buy me this coat. But it’s freezing in South Philly in December, so I
needed something to keep me warm. I also needed these Timberland boots and sweatpants, just like I needed this Eagles beanie, and when you live in Strawberry Mansion with a junkie for a mother, you do what you’ve got to do. You take what you need, and make no mistake about it, I take what I want, when I want, from who I want. So let’s just say I needed the clothes I’m wearing more than the little rich prick I took them from. I’m sure his mother and father love him to the moon and back, so he probably has five new Eagles coats to replace the one I stole from him. Don’t feel bad for him. I don’t. I walk out of my yard, closing the rusty fence behind me, and start down the street toward Aaron’s Arcade. It’s only a block away from the shit-pile I call home, and as I walk on the gray sidewalks that are glistening with pellets of ice, bypassing rundown house after rundown house, I pass a group of bums on the corner huddling around a metal trash can with a fire blazing inside of it. The flames release tiny embers that float around the entire group as they warm their hands and skinny bodies. There’s four of them, and as I walk past, one of them notices me. He’s the smallest of the four at maybe five-six or seven, and probably the youngest with the most to prove, but his glaring eyes catch the attention of the others, and before long, all of them are looking me up and down. They
see my fancy coat and Timberland boots. I bet they’re thinking about how warm I look, because all of them have little thin jackets that look like they’re not offering nearly enough warmth. I see them watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I press on without care. “Nice coat, kid,” the little one says. He steps away from the crowd as if he might walk towards me. That’s when I stop walking and face them, smiling. “Aww, that’s so sweet of you to say. I bet it’d fit you nice and snug,” I say with amusement dripping from my words. I smile at the little black kid, and he glares back, but it slowly fades and morphs into confusion. He looks like he doesn’t know what to think of my smile, then turns around to look at his crew. The biggest guy in the group is lanky with a thick beard that could use the love and affection of a comb, and he leans forward, squinting his eyes to see me better. His face freezes when he recognizes me. “Come back over here, Darnell,” the big one says to the little one. “That’s Solomon.” “What? I don’t care who he is,” Darnell spits back, trying his best to stay tough, but the tall one won’t let it go. “Yes you do,” he replies. “Just come back. Let it go.”
“Oh, don’t let him discourage you, Darnell,” I interject, taking a step towards him. “I’d love to play.” Little Darnell frowns again, before finally listening to his inner-self and stepping back over to the burning trash can. He re-enters into the empty space he just vacated and flashes me his best toughguy-frown. I tilt my head, poke my lip out and pout in disappointment, just as I turn and continue on my path. As I walk away, I hear the tall one say, “Don’t mess with that kid, man. I’ve heard about him.” The rest of my walk to the arcade is quiet. Nothing but the sound of my own footsteps and rows of broken down houses. The cars that pass aren’t fancy or flashy, and the passengers inside are just as beaten down as the automobiles. The trees have no leaves in December, and they seem to represent Strawberry Mansion perfectly—dead and ugly, but still standing, barely. Most people are inside because it’s too cold to be out here, so I don’t see another person until I reach Aaron’s. As I approach the arcade, my first thought is that I’m probably going to have to punk some kid for his money, because I only have two bucks in my pocket, and I’m going to burn through that pretty quick. But as I walk past the narrow alley just before the entrance, I see something out of the corner of my eye. In the middle of the alley, I see commotion that
surprises me. It’s two boys and a girl, standing perfectly between the entrance and exit of the grimy alley. They’re arguing about something I can’t make out, but my eyes are drawn to the girl. She doesn’t look like she’s from around here. She has blonde hair, full lips, a thin nose, and blue eyes I can see all the way from over here. She’s wearing a white sweater and has a look on her face that says she isn’t even remotely afraid of the boys who are laughing at her for some reason. She’s holding her own, and I like the show the three of them are putting on in front of me, so I decide not to go into Aaron’s just yet. While I watch in amusement and wonder, I reach into the pocket of my sweats with my right hand, carefully bypassing the gun I keep there, and pull out my lighter, while simultaneously pulling my cigarettes out of the other pocket with my left hand, making sure to avoid the box cutter I keep in that particular pocket. I light one up and lean against the side of the brick building, just as the blonde girl reaches back and slaps one of the boys right in the face. Not a second later, the heavy-set boy she hit pushes her, sending her falling backwards onto the cold, slick cement. “Bitch!” the boy yells. He’s filled with a lot of pride for a guy his size picking on a girl her size. He even puffs out his chest a little. When I look at him, two things stand out to me. One: he has a hard time
growing facial hair, but he’s really trying because he thinks it’ll make him look tougher. Two: he’s done this before and has signature moves for being intimidating, and sticking out his flabby chest is one of them. The other boy is tall and slender, and he has the look of a kid who spends his free time dressing up in a Nazi uniform and doing that stupid salute to himself in the mirror, with his thick blonde hair and dreamy blue eyes. He screams something about money at the girl, so from the looks of it, I’ve walked up on an attempted robbery. My, my. This is just the kind of thing that puts a smile on my face, but usually it’s me who’s doing the robbing. When the Nazi boy reaches down to try to dig into the girl’s pocket, she kicks him in the chest and he stumbles back, hitting the dumpster behind him. I smile as I watch this girl get up and throw a punch at the chunkier boy, hitting him in the jaw. The only problem is that this girl is just too small, and the chubby boy is pissed off now. He draws back and slaps her across the face, but to my delighted surprise, she doesn’t scream out in pain, and she doesn’t run away. She stands up tall, and tries to punch him again, but the Nazi grabs her arm and throws her back down to the ground. The two of them jump on her and start trying to dig into her pockets and take off her watch. Whoever bought her those nice clothes is going to be pissed when
they see how dirty they are now. The boys are too strong for her, and she’s being overpowered by both of them, and that just doesn’t sit well with me. I put out my cigarette on the brick wall beside me and start down the alley, clapping my hands in delight. “Well done!” I shout, grabbing their attention. “What a show! I was quite entertained for a moment there.” “Hey, just get the hell out of here, man,” the slender one says to me as he leans over the girl, still taking off her watch. “This has nothing to do with you.” “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t,” I reply, swaying my head back and forth. “But I’m here now, and the sight of two boys pushing around a little blonde girl—well that doesn’t put a smile on my face.” “Hey bro,” the chunky one says as he stands up straight and turns to me, showing me his linebacker physique. Now that I’m closer, I can tell he’s a thick kid, not just chubby. I can see he’s broadshouldered even under his black leather jacket. “You sure you want this to be your problem?” I let out a laugh that seems to rattle both of the boys, and it puts a frown on the girls face. “Oh I’m sure,” I answer, still smiling like a kid on his birthday. How perfect. This is my present! “Nothing would bring me more joy.”
I’ve never been the type to rely on a lot of talking. Instead, I let actions speak for me, which has built me a reputation that obviously hasn’t reached these two. So I decide to show them. Without another word, I charge at the thicker kid and tackle him. The two of us bounce off of a dumpster before crashing to the ground, and the second we land, I start swinging. My fists connect with his chubby face over and over again, and he’s defenseless with me sitting on top of him. Blood explodes from his face and flies all over the ground of the alley. Every time I hit him, more blood splatters on my fists and face, and for some reason I can’t explain, it makes me laugh. The sight of his bloody face is hysterical to me, especially after he was trying so hard to be tough on this little blonde girl. So I punch him and laugh like a birthday-boy should! You see, other people are about trying to force you to believe something without showing you it’s real. They have no evidence of what they’re trying to convince you of. They want you to fear them so that they don’t ever have to show you just how weak they actually are. They hope to scare you away before the fight ever begins because deep down inside, they’re even more afraid than you are. Me? I want to show you. I want you to see it firsthand so that it’s engraved in your mind forever! I want you to fear my actions first and foremost.
Once I stop talking, that’s when you should be running. It seems like a full thirty seconds goes by before I realize I’m still punching this kid in his face. From the looks of it, he at least has a broken nose, and maybe even a broken jaw, though I’m not certain. It’s hard to tell with all the blood. My breathing is heavy, and just as I go to get up, the slender kid takes a step towards me, finally ready to try to get me off of his bloody friend. As soon as I see his foot move in my direction, I pull my nine millimeter out of my pants pocket and whip him across the face with it. Blood flies through the air and splatters on the girl’s sweater, making her jump back. The slender kid cries out in pain as I stand all the way up and aim the pistol at the back of his head, while he holds the gash on his cheek as it drips with blood. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say to him as he hunches over, crying. “Did I get you there? Oops. Look at me, Slender.” When he doesn’t turn to face me, I get annoyed. “I said look at me!” The boy has tears streaming down his face as he turns around. I can see the gash on his cheek, and I’m sure he’ll need some stitches. Perfect! “Momma’s going to want to know what happened there,” I say with a chuckle. “I’d like to shoot you right between the eyes, but that’d take all the fun out of knowing you’re gonna have a big
scar on your face for a long time. When people ask you what happened, you tell them that you met someone special. Someone who changed your life forever with just one encounter. Tell them his name was Solomon King. Now go.” The kid looks down at his friend for support, but that’s useless. “Looks like your friend needs to sleep our encounter off for a while. You’ll have to go without him.” The slender kid nods his head, turns on his heel, and runs the other direction. I take a deep breath and let out a loud exhale as I tuck the stolen gun back into my pants. The blonde girl is still on the ground looking up at me. I can’t make out what her eyes are saying, but she’s staring at me like she’s never seen anything like me before. Little does she know that she hasn’t. I don’t ask her if she’s okay. I saw what happened and I know she is. Doesn’t really matter to me anyway. I didn’t do this for her. Before I leave, I reach into the half-dead chubby kid’s pocket and take a twenty-dollar bill he has, then I look at the blonde again because she’s still staring without saying anything. We exchange a long look into each other’s eyes, but I eventually get bored and start to walk back the way I came from, just as she starts to get up and dust herself off. “Hey,” she calls out before I turn the corner. Her voice is smooth and pleasant. Not something
I’m used to. “You come here all the time? To this arcade, I mean.” I look over my shoulder and answer, “Guess so.” “I have to go now, but if you come here often, I guess I’ll see you around.” “Guess so,” I reply as I turn the corner and walk into the entrance of the arcade with blood on my face and hands, and an extra twenty dollars to spend. Happy Birthday, Solomon King.
“NEW CUTS I see.
What happened to your hands?” I take a seat next to Nix on the top step of my rickety porch and light a cigarette, bumping into his thick shoulder as I sit and make eye contact with him, smiling from ear to ear. “Threw a party for my birthday,” I reply, to which Nix grins. “Would’ve been much more fun if you were there though.” Nix Malone is the only person I’d consider a friend, if there is such a thing in this world. He’s the same age as me and we met when we were ten. I’m usually not the one for what the rest of the world calls friendship, but Nix is an interesting character with an interesting story that sucks just as much as mine. The source of all of the crap in my life is my junkie whore of a mother, but for Nix, it’s his alcoholic father. His name is Moe, and he likes to sit around the house, take long swigs of cognac, and beat up on Nix and his poor mother. As much as I’d like to beat the life out of Moe, I have my own crap to deal with within the walls of my own hell hole. So, Nix and I have something in common— something nobody else can understand but the two
of us, and that’s enough to make our bond a strong one. It’s quite hilarious when I think about it, actually. Nix and I live in Strawberry Mansion, we’re two white boys living in a place where we’re not supposed to fit in, yet there isn’t a person who lives in this neighborhood who would dare step to one of us. The only people dumb enough to do that are people who just don’t know better. Nix is seventeen years old, six-foot-three, about two-hundred-ten pounds, and I’m pretty sure he’s still growing. He has the face of a grown man, with a thick beard and strong jaw, and he’s already got a couple of tattoos on his upper arms. If he didn’t have a deadbeat dad for a father and he wasn’t born and raised in Strawberry Mansion, I bet Nix could’ve been the next Barry Sanders or something. But he does live here, so he’s not a football player, he’s my right-hand-man who lives with parents who suck so much at life that they can’t even afford to buy their son a proper jacket for this cold weather, so he’s sitting here with a thin, black windbreaker that flaps in the slight breeze, and a pair of black shorts that are, somehow, too big for him and go down to his shins when he stands. Nix is the biggest person I know, and he’s my partner. If I want your neck broken, Nix would gladly rip your head off your shoulders. He’d do it for fun, and there’s nothing I love more than someone who’d hurt people for fun. Yeah, that’s a bond that can’t be
broken. “I’m sorry I missed it,” Nix says. He doesn’t smile much, but I can feel the desire coming off of him when he says it. “What happened?” “I made some new friends down at Aaron’s,” I reply with a grin as I look out into the frosty street at a passing car. “One thick one, one skinny one, messing with some little twig of a girl in the alley. They were trying to rob her, which I thought was hilarious considering the clothes I’m wearing, but then they started double teaming her, and something about that didn’t sit well with me. It was like they were a virus attacking an innocent cell that couldn’t defend itself. So I decided to become the cure.” “You saved a girl?” Nix replies, furrowing his brow, and I can feel his blue eyes peering into the side of my face. “Oh Nix, I didn’t know you could tell jokes. You know I didn’t do it for her. I just didn’t like what I was watching, so I changed the channel to something that made me feel better.” Nix cracks the slightest smile when I look at him, then turns his attention back to the road. “Interesting. Well, I wish I could’ve been there. I could really use some exercise to get out all the rage I’m feeling. Moe was drunk again last night.” “When is Moe not drunk?” “Touché. But he started in on my mom again.
He hit her, and she did nothing to fight back as usual, and when I tried to pull him off of her, he gave me his full attention. Mom didn’t do anything then either. I think the worst part is knowing that I could beat the hell out of him if I wanted to. But I don’t. I just let him do it, and that makes me just as weak as my mom.” I let out an exhale. Not many people know what it’s like to live inside a house made of nightmares. Every day is filled with everything you hate. For me, it’s my mother getting high right in front of me, or it’s one of her dealers or fellow junkies coming in to screw her brains out while she’s high. When I was little, it was being sold to dealers for scores of heroin, and then watching my mother have sex with the dealers just to get me back. It was her forcing me to lose my virginity when I was ten to another junkie’s daughter who was nine, as the two of them watched and got high. It was being beaten by my father before he was killed in a drive-by, and then being abused by my mother’s boyfriends and dealers later. I do not fear death, because my life is hell already. What do I have to fear? No, I fear nothing. But when you’ve been through what I’ve been through, you know that everything and everybody better fear you, because the level of rage I feel inside—you don’t want that kind of hate focused on you. For Nix, his personal horror comes in the form
of his parents, but for different reasons. His father beats him and his mother, but Nix hates his mother, Justine, because she doesn’t do anything to stop Moe. She lets it all happen. She watches when Moe beats up on Nix, crying in the corner of their living room. She won’t leave him either. She’s the woman you read about who stays in an abusive relationship until the abuse turns into murder. It’ll happen. Just give it time. The only thing that could prevent it is if Nix kills Moe before then. Only time will tell, but I know it every time I talk to Nix about this— somebody in that house is going to die. I wonder who it will be. I turn to Nix and put my hand on his burly shoulder. “Listen to me, Nix,” I say, looking straight into his blue eyes that match mine. “I don’t believe in friendship, but you and I have a kinship—a bond that’s not to be broken. I don’t like what you tell me about Moe. It’s a knife in my gut, and I want you to know that if ever you’re ready, we can pull it out together.” Nix holds eye contact with me—he’s the only person who would ever do that. He knows what I’m talking about, and I can see the wheels in his head spinning around like tires on the car that just drove by. “Not yet,” he says after some thought, which makes me a little sad. “I have to convince my mom
that she’ll be okay without him. Once I do that, we’ll talk.” “I look forward to that day,” I tell him with a smile. “Me too,” he replies. “I gotta go. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.” Nix gets up, dusts off his extra-long shorts, and walks down the steps without looking back, on his way back to his personal hell. With him gone, it’s time for me to go back into mine, so I get up, dust off my stolen clothes, and walk inside. My living room is dark and filthy as always— beer bottles, needles, and three-day old food on the glass coffee table in the middle of the room, sitting next to spoons that weren’t used to eat anything. The tan couch only fits two people and rests in front of the coffee table at just the right distance to be able to grab one of those spoons with minimal effort, and the vomit-green recliner in the corner doesn’t actually recline. In fact, if you tried to recline in it, I’m sure it’d just fall apart right underneath you. The TV in the room is a whopping twenty-seven inches and has the clarity of muddy water when it’s being used. Drawers in the kitchen are pulled open like someone was looking for something, but when you’re mother is a junkie, you don’t know if it was her or one of her dealers looking for money to steal from her. I ignore all of this and start for my room in the basement, but
before I can get too far, I hear a voice come from the corner where the recliner rests. “You’re Solomon, right?” the voice says from behind me. I turn around to find a black guy sitting in the recliner with his elbows on his knees. I hadn’t even noticed he was there when I walked in, but he’s all I can see now—everything else in the house has disappeared. He’s about five-ten— roughly four inches shorter than me—with a decent build, wearing a baggy gray sweat suit and a long silver chain around his neck. He has long braids and a goatee under his chin—a pretty boy trying his best to be a gangster. I’m sure he has lots of time to do pushups and lift heavy stuff while his little minions do his dirty work, selling his product on the streets of Philly. I don’t know his name, and I don’t need to. Just looking at him, I see all I need to know. He’s a thug who probably just got done banging my mother, who’s laying in her room with the door cracked behind me. Mr. No-Name was here while I was away, doing whatever to Whitney, but now that I’m back, he has been uninvited. He just doesn’t know it yet, and I smile at the thought of giving him is uninvitation. “What’s so funny?” Mr. No-Name asks— maybe I don’t want to call him Mr. No-Name. I think Mr. Uninvited is better. Mr. Uninvited asks his question as he gets up from the recliner and walks
over to me. “What’s wrong, man, you deaf or something? I asked you what your name is, and I asked what’s so funny. Did you hear me?” “Oh I heard you fine,” I reply, still smiling. “Yo, what’s wrong with you, son?” Mr. Uninvited asks, miffed by my beautiful smile. “What are you smiling like that for? Trying to creep my out or something. I ain’t afraid of stuff like that, kid. You know who I am? I’ve seen way scarier dudes than you. What are you, sixteen, seventeen years old? You ain’t been through enough in your life to be scary to me, yo.” “Ain’t been through enough,” I repeat him, mocking him as I turn my neck to the side to stretch it out for what’s to come. “And let me guess, Mr. Uninvited, you’ve been through the worst the world has to offer, haven’t you?” “The hell? Mr. Uninvited? What the hell are you talking about? You know, I’ve heard a little about you, actually. I’ve heard that you were some weirdo, walking the streets, robbing people, and trying to be a tough guy. Yeah, I’ve heard some stuff about you, Solomon, but now that I’m here, I know it can’t be true. You don’t look so tough to me. You might have a few screws loose, but you’re harmless. Just a little screwy in the head because your mother’s a junkie prostitute who I’m sure has done some pretty messed up stuff to you. That don’t make you scary though. You’re a little sissy, I
bet. Am I right?” I feel the rage boiling in my stomach like lava inside a volcano getting ready to erupt. I’m getting hotter and hotter, but I smile at my guest. He’s in my world, my house, and we’ll play by my rules. It’s much more fun this way. It’s my game. “Well, if I’m such a sissy, why don’t you show me what a real gangster is supposed to be like? Come on, tough guy. What do you say we go a few rounds right here in the living room? Teach me a lesson.” “Wow, you’ve got balls kid,” he says, nodding his head with a grin on his bearded face. “But you keep talking, I might have to put my foot in your ass just to show you how soft you really are. Lucky for you, I’m tired from banging your mom, so I’m just gonna chill.” Oh that’s it. I have no more straws left, no more patience, no more will power to keep it inside. I hate my mother with a furious passion, but she’s still my mother. My mother. I close my eyes as a smile forms on my lips. “There you go smiling again. Go to your little room in the basement before you piss me off with that stupid grin,” Mr. About-To-Be-Taught-ALesson says, as he glares at me. A true tough guy, talking trash to a seventeen year-old. “Let’s play a game,” I say. “First person to bleed has to admit they’re a bitch and get out of the
house. Permanently. You game?” “Listen kid, I’m just about out of patience with you. I’m not gonna tell you again.” I raise my arms like I’m asking him for a hug. “You’re not scared of little ole’ me are you? I’m just a little sissy, remember? So if I’m a sissy, and you’re afraid of me, then what does that make you?” I can see that Mr. Uninvited is a little hesitant to step any closer to me, but he’s a man of pride, and my taunts get to him. Of course they do. He’s just like every other drug dealer that Whitney has brought into this house. Arrogant, egotistical, selfish, prideful, rude, disrespectful pieces of human shit who don’t deserve affection or love from anyone. I’ve spent my life dealing with these people, and now, at the age of seventeen, I’m maxed out when it comes to patience. I loathe drug dealers, and anytime I have to deal with one, they will feel that hatred full force. “Alright, you know what? To hell with this,” he says as he steps towards me and tries to push me, but I side-step and punch him in the jaw. My second person of the day. Happy birthday, Solomon King! Mr. Uninvited stumbles and hits the wall next to him. As he tries to regain his balance, I reach into my pocket and pull out the box cutter I always keep in my left pocket for moments just like this. I
slam the fake gangster against the wall and put the razor blade on his cheek, letting it rest there everso-gently. “Whoa, what the hell, man?” he calls out, putting his hands in the air like he’s under arrest. I take a few seconds to look him in his brown eyes and smile again. In that short moment, his confidence leaks out into a puddle on the floor. He’s terrified as he looks me in the eye, then looks up at the ceiling, afraid to maintain eye contact with me. Like I said, Nix is the only one who isn’t afraid to keep eye contact with me. I wonder what it is about me that keeps people from looking me the eye. “Sshhhhh,” I whisper. “You asked me earlier if I was Solomon. Now you know that I am. Don’t you find it interesting that you’ve heard of me, but I’ve never heard of you? Hhmm. Seems to me that you’re a nobody, and I’m already a legend at only seventeen years old. I don’t even know your name. You may want to remember that the next time you think of me. I am Solomon King, and you are nobody. But I do want to know something about you, Mr. Nobody. Do you bleed? I bet you don’t. Tough guy like you? No way. Well let’s see.” Just as I finish my last word, I jam the razor into the drug dealer’s cheek so far that I can see half of the blade inside of his mouth when he opens it to scream in agony. I let him wail for a second, before
jamming my hand over his mouth to silence him. “Whoops! Guess I was wrong. You do bleed! Look at that! Now keep quiet! I thought you were some sort of tough gangster, but here you are screaming like—what was that you called me? A sissy? How ironic. Now, let’s review the rules of our game. The rule was whoever bled first had to admit they’re a bitch and leave the house permanently. So let’s see it.” I yank the blade out of the fake gangster’s cheek and look at the bloody razor. “Well, I may be a little crazy, a few screws loose, but I’m sure this blood isn’t mine. So, per the rules we agreed upon, you have something to do, don’t you?” With my hand still over his mouth, Mr. Nobody nods his head as blood streams out of the wound in his cheek and runs down his face, dripping onto his sweat suit. I smile from ear to ear. “Well?” I say, slowing raising my hand so he can speak. He takes a second to breathe heavily before finally following the rules. “I’m a bitch,” he says with shame and embarrassment coating his words. “Yes. Yes you are,” I agree with my own head nod. “It’s good that you can admit it. It’s cute, really, that someone like you, who thinks he can try to punk a seventeen-year-old, can admit that he’s actually just a bitch with a brand new hole in his
cheek. And now you’ll never forget the day you met Solomon King. That has put a warm smile on my face. See?” I smile an exaggerated smile, and Mr. Nobody recoils in fear. “Now follow the next step of the rules and get out of my house, before I use this razor to check to see if there’s blood in your throat.” Without another word, Mr. Nobody starts towards the door, walking backwards like I might attack him if he turns his back to me. When his butt hits the door, he turns around and darts out, sprinting down the street. I wipe the blood from my box cutter on my pants and walk down the hall leading to my mother’s room, before stopping just short and taking a right turn, opening my door and descending the stairs to the basement—yes, my room really is in the basement. I drop down onto my twin-sized bed after pulling the metal cord at the bottom of the steps to turn on the light, and even with the bulb doing its best to light up the space, the basement is still dank and dark. The corners of the room are coated with shadows that would give a toddler nightmares for sure, and the pipes running up through the ceiling to supply water and whatever else to everything upstairs are a bit of an eye sore, but nonetheless, this is my sanctuary. When I need to get away from Whitney and all of her mess, I can retreat down here and block it all
out. There are no posters on the wall, and the dresser and metal wall locker I use as a closet are old and hanging on for dear life, but it’s still my stuff. A black foot locker rests next to the dresser, and another gigantic, twenty-seven-inch TV sits on top of the cardboard box that it came in. It’s a real pile of garbage, but it’s my garbage, and it’s not to be disrespected. I toss my gun and box cutter on the floor next to the bed and make myself comfortable. Staring up at the cracking ceiling, I think about how my seventeenth birthday shaped up. It was pretty good, actually—beat the hell out of some deserving assholes, played some arcade games with that chubby kid’s money, gave some drug dealer’s cheek a peep hole, and saw someone who intrigued me. For a reason I don’t think about, an image of the girl from Aaron’s pops into my head. I don’t know who she was or what her name was, but there was something about her that stands out amongst all the rest of the drama of my day. She obviously wasn’t from around here, but she was here, taking on two dudes all by herself. I’ve never seen a girl do anything like that, and I wonder who she was and if I’ll ever see her again. After everything that happened today, it’s interesting that she’s the thing I think about as I doze off.
quiet, calm, and serene for no reason, you know something bad is coming. The calm before the storm, they call it. That’s what I feel when I walk up the stairs and go into the kitchen this morning. The past few days have been quiet enough to hear the voices in my head louder than ever—I’m just kidding, but not really—and I haven’t heard a peep from Whitney. She’s been cooped up in her room like it’s her prison, getting high I’m sure, but there’s something about this time that feels different. I know she’s not dead, because I’ve heard her moving around in there. I heard the familiar sound of her limp body falling onto the bed yesterday, which is always brought on after she injects herself with that poison. I haven’t seen her much though, and that makes me wonder. Today, the house has been silent, and I wonder what Whitney’s up to. Nonetheless, I’m hungry. I walk through the messy living room and enter the kitchen. It’s a small space like every other space in this house, but the grossness of it stands out above the rest. The white and light gray tiles on WHEN LIFE IS
the walls are all coated with some grimy, brownish film that I’ve never been able to identify, though it’s been there as long as I can remember. The linoleum floor is coming up at the entrance to the kitchen, as well as in the center, where a hole has been carved out from the foot traffic, and you can actually see the wood underneath. We’ve got dark gray countertops and white cabinetry, which does a great job of showing off how messy we’ve been our whole lives in this house by leaving streaks of brown, red, yellow, and who-knows-what-color everywhere. There’s no way our fridge isn’t the smallest one on the market, and the stove that never gets cooked on is like the fridge’s tiny twin brother. Just a little taste of heaven. Leaning over the sink, I rinse out a bowl and grab a box of cereal. To my pleasant surprise, there’s milk in the fridge. I marvel at the sight of it and feel the excitement of not having to eat dry cereal again. The order of it all is typical: bowl, spoon, cereal, milk. I make it all happen in silence and walk into the living room to sit down in the broken recliner. The tiny TV is already on one of the ten channels we have, and I watch some Batman movie while I stuff my mouth with cereal and milk like it’s a celebration. But the silence is short-lived like I knew it would be. As I swallow my first spoonful of food, my mother comes rushing into the house. I look up at
her brown hair resting on top of her head like a bird’s nest, and see the scowl on her could-bebeautiful-if-she-wasn’t-a-junkie face. She has on a white tank top in this frigid weather, coupled with black sweatpants and sandals. She looks ridiculous but truly livid, even at only five-foot-four, and her blue eyes are as cold as the frost on the dying grass in the yard. The second she spots me sitting in the recliner, she walks over to me and knocks the bowl of cereal out of my hand and onto the multi-stained carpet. “You sonofabitch!” she screams at me, pointing her finger at my nose like I’m a dog. “Do you know what you did to me? Do you know what your little stunt just did? You ruined my life. I’m going to die because of you. Damn it, Solomon. Why did you have to get into it with Davon? Why?” I take a second and let out an exhale as I look down at the soggy carpet covered with the cereal I planned on enjoying while I watched Batman. The look and thought of the cereal starts up a fire within me that puts my blood on a slow boil. “Would it surprise you, Whitney, if I told you that I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I say as calmly as I can, while staring at the mess in front of me. “You don’t know? Are you kidding me? You messed everything up. How could you not know? Davon won’t sell to me now because of what you
did to him. I saw his face, Solomon. He said you attacked him and stabbed him in the cheek, now he won’t sell me the medicine I need. How could you? Do you know how hard it is to find someone to sell me my medicine? You’ve ruined everything! I hate you! Goddamn it!” While Whitney shrieks in front of me loud enough for all of Strawberry Mansion to hear, I just stare at my cereal. I really wanted that cereal, and she knocked it out of my hands. Now it’s a mushy mess soaking into the carpet. It’d be different if I had this luxury all the time—if I ate a multitude of cereals on a regular basis instead of going hungry most mornings in this hellhole. It’d be different if I had a rotating golden carousel of cereals that I chose from every day, and I was spoiled rotten from all the freedom and choices. But none of that is the case. Does she see a freaking carousel of cereals? I don’t think so! “What am I gonna do now? I need my medicine, and you just had to attack Davon!” “Is that what he told you, Whitney? That I attacked him?” “You did!” “No I didn’t.” “Yes you did. You ruined everything!” “Ah, classic Whitney—taking the word of her heroin dealer over the word of her son,” I say, finally peeling my eyes off the carpet and looking
up at her. “He wanted to play, Whitney, so we played a game and he lost.” Almost like I can’t control it, I hear myself chuckling at the memory of stabbing poor little Mr. Uninvited—or was is Mr. Nobody?—in the cheek with that box cutter. “You think this is funny?” Whitney screams, just as she reaches back and slaps me across the face. I feel the sting in my cheek as my head rocks to the side, but I watch her in pure joy as she looks completely defeated by the fact that I’m still laughing. Because I don’t care. I hope the guy’s face never heals! Triggered by my laughing, Whitney reaches back to slap me again, but when she swings this time, I catch her arm by the wrist only a few inches away from my face. I glare at her for a moment, then I stand up and start to push her frail body backwards, into the kitchen. She tries to stand her ground, but her sandals stick on the carpet and come off as we enter the kitchen and her feet simply slide on the linoleum until her back slams against the refrigerator. With my anger reaching a tipping point, I wrap one hand around her throat. “Tisk, tisk, Whitney,” I say quietly, still emphasizing her name instead of calling her my mother. There it is again—the quiet. What comes after the silence this time? “Let me assure you of something, Whitney.” I reach into my left pocket and pull out my trusty box cutter, revealing the
blade that still has traces of Davon’s blood on the tip. “The only reason I’m not cutting an eternal smile into your flesh is because you’re my mother. You brought me into this world, although I believe you’ve forgotten that because of that poison you shoot into your veins. Wouldn’t it be a shame if I snatched you out of the world you brought me into?” Whitney stares at me in shock as I place the blade on her right eye lid, forcing her to see me out of only her left eye. “What’s the matter?” I continue. “You can’t see it? Maybe if you squint like you’re taking a vision test. Try it. Look at me, and see it clearly. I am what you made me. All the drugs you took while you were pregnant with me, all the abuse I suffered at your hands as a kid, all the abuse from my father before he died, all the times you sold me to get your damn medicine and made me watch you screw or suck some guy off to get me back— everything you ever did is what made me this way. Whatever happens in my life, just know that you are to blame. “I did stab your dealer, and he cried like the tiniest baby bitch I’ve ever seen. And you know what else, I enjoyed it. I’m glad I stabbed him. It made me feel good, and knowing I did it still makes me feel good in this very moment. And if you ever hit me again . . .”
“What are you going to do, Solomon?” she interrupts as a tear slides down the cheek under her left eye. “Are you going to hurt me?” “Oh I’m not gonna hurt you. Of course not. You’re my mother,” I say as a new smile forms on my lips. “I’m gonna hurt Davon. I’m gonna cut off all of his fingertips and all of the tips of his toes with this razorblade, and then send each piece to every dealer I know, so that all of them know never to sell to you. You’ll never have your precious medicine again. Now, be thankful that you’re my mother, because if you weren’t, who knows what would’ve happened after the silence.” Whitney doesn’t say anything. “I can’t hear you, Mother. You’re not being thankful enough. Aren’t you glad that you’re my mother?” She nods her head slowly, her face stricken with a fear I’ve never seen in her before. It’s like she’s seeing me for the very first time, and she’s terrified of what she sees. After she nods, I wink at her as I let her go, pick up my Eagles jacket off the couch, and walk out of the house. I don’t have a soft side. I don’t even know exactly how or when I got this way, but I also don’t know how people walk around all day with happiness and love and trust in their hearts. It makes my head hurt thinking about how someone could allow themselves to love another human being. My
mother never loved me. I’ve never been anything more than a burden to her, so that’s what love is to me—a burden. A burden that makes you weaker the deeper you swim into it. I know to stay far away from that. I don’t love people. I love power. The fear in the eyes of the bums at the trashcan the other day, the terror in the faces of the assholes I beat up in the alley, and even the sweet anxiety I saw in the eyes of my own mother tonight—I love it. That power is my one true love. I walk down the streets of my neighborhood with exactly nowhere to go, thinking about how I have to make sure I never end up like Whitney. I can’t end up like my father either. He was a dealer like Davon, but he was killed when I was only three years old. I have two worthless parents—well, one now—but regardless of how worthless their lives were, I won’t suffer the same fate. Even now, walking down the street with my hands in the pockets of my black sweatpants, I’m already bigger than them. I’m known, and my only mission in this life is to make sure that I’m known everywhere. I’m going to be bigger than either of my parents ever were. Love won’t cripple me. My mind is set on obtaining power. Every broken down crack house I pass on these icy streets is a reminder to remain focused on making it out of this place as soon as possible. Every pothole I see cars slam into is a reminder that our government won’t do
anything to help us poor people out of our situation. We have no help coming. We’re on our own. I’m on my own, and it’s on me to change this situation, by any means necessary. I will make it out of Strawberry Mansion. “I was wondering if I’d see you again.” The voice breaks my train of thought and I lift my head to face it. When our eyes meet, I’m shocked by the sight of the girl from the alley sitting on the curb in front of Aaron’s Arcade. I didn’t even know I had walked this far away from home. The sight of her is crazy to me because it’s cold as hell out here, and this girl is sitting in front of the arcade with a thick white jacket on that looks too fancy for anybody anywhere near this neighborhood. She looks like she has enough layers of clothes on to keep warm outside for a month straight, but through all of that, I see something else. Her face is ever-so-slightly discolored from the fight in the alley, probably a bruise being covered by makeup, and her cheeks are red from the cold, but she’s . . . pretty. Her blonde hair hangs over her shoulders like it was placed there just for me to marvel at, and her blue eyes seem bright and full of life as she looks up at me. I don’t know who she is, but I can’t deny the way she looks. She’s not the usual girl from Strawberry Mansion with missing teeth and a ragged, dreadful hairdo. She’s something else altogether, and it takes everything in
me to ignore her full lips and keep walking. When I walk past her without saying anything, the girl jumps up from her seated position and runs to catch up with me. As her footsteps draw nearer, I feel a strange excitement creeping into my chest. “Where are you going?” she asks, looking up at me with those ice blue eyes. I glare at her to let her know I’m not in the mood to talk, but she keeps staring, locking her eyes on mine, which makes me furrow my brow in confusion. Who the hell is this girl? “I’m not going anywhere,” I reply as I face forward and march on my endless road. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re walking, so you gotta be walking somewhere.” “I don’t have to be walking anywhere. I’m just walking.” “Well when are you going to stop walking?” “When I get tired of it. The more important question is, why are you following me?” “Your name’s Solomon, right?” she asks, ignoring my question. “Do you remember me from a few days ago in the alley?” “How could I forget,” I answer, still marching. “My name’s Reina Wilde,” she says. “Wilde,” I repeat. “I like the last name.” “You do? What’s your last name again?” I look to the side to glare at her. I swear she hasn’t taken her eyes off my face since she started
following me. “King. Solomon King. Now why are you following me, Reina Wilde?” “You’re an interesting person, Solomon King.” I let out a laugh. “I am not interesting.” “I beg to differ. I’ve never seen anybody do anything like what I saw you do to those guys in that alley. That wasn’t a normal thing to do.” “Yeah well, I’m not normal either.” “No you’re not, and that’s why you’re interesting,” she says with a smile that I find myself staring at. “You’re not from around here, are you?” I ask, rhetorically. “Why do you ask that?” “Because if you were, you’d know who I am, and if you knew who I was you wouldn’t be following me.” “Why wouldn’t I want to follow my hero?” I stop walking and face the blonde-hair, blueeyed, adorable, beautiful, annoying little monster. “I’m not a hero. I’m the worst kind of villain who you should stay far away from,” I tell her without the slightest hint of a smile. But Reina seems unfazed. “I know you are, and I think I understand you more than you know.” “Understand? You don’t even know me, little girl.”
“Oh, playing the older teenager card? I’m not impressed, I’m not discouraged, and I’m not afraid.” “Really? Then what are you?” “Intrigued. They don’t have boys like you where I’m from.” “I see. And where’s that?” Reina hesitates and exhales like she’s ashamed to say the answer. “I’m from Center City West,” she finally replies. “Ah, that says a lot. Rich kid coming to see how we poor folks live down here in Strawberry Mansion?” “That’s not it,” she counters. “I just needed a break from it all, and the first day I took the train down here, you saved me in that alley.” “I didn’t do that for you.” “Whatever, you know what I mean,” she snips, totally unafraid. “So when I skipped school and took the train down this time, it wasn’t just to get away. It was to see you.” I look at Reina as she peers up at me, and I don’t know what to think of her. Who the hell would take a twenty-five-minute train ride on the hopes of seeing someone by chance? If it wasn’t for Whitney and her junkie drama, I’d still be at home enjoying my cereal, not wandering these chilly streets. There’s something really strange about this girl, and although it’s intriguing, I know that if she
knew what was good for her, her little crush would be gone in a heartbeat. “How old are you?” I ask. “Fourteen, almost fifteen.” “Right. I’m not the kind of guy you have a crush on, Reina. I’m not the kind of guy you take home to Momma.” Reina lets out a laugh that echoes down the street and bounces off the walls of the train station I didn’t realize we’re standing in front of. “That, you most definitely are not, you have no idea,” she admits. “Anyway, it took you too long to come on your walk to nowhere, and now that we’ve made our way back to the train station, I have to get back before my mom realizes I’m not in school again. That’s the last thing I need. Maybe you go on a walk earlier next time. See you later, Solomon King.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and don’t say anything as I watch Reina turn on her heel and head for the train station, on her way back to Center City West, where I’m sure her life is a real life episode of The O.C. I don’t even have the luxury of having enough money to ride the damn train. Maybe I’ll change that soon. In the meantime, maybe I’ll make sure to pass by Aaron’s Arcade a little more often. Once she’s gone, I shake off the lingering feeling of wonderment that Reina Wilde has left in
her wake, and continue on my walk to nowhere, silently daring every person I pass to mess with me and have a dance with the devil.
there’s peace. We all know this, so every time I sit in the living room with my mother, peacefully watching TV together in silence, I know something’s coming—as sure as the day follows the night. It never fails. Just like when she came in and knocked my damn cereal out of my hands a few days ago. Peace isn’t real. It’s a mirage —something that you see from a distance that gives you hope for the things that are to come, but when you get there, you see that there’s no peace at all. Only darkness. Only pain. Only your fear. There is no peace. I barely see what’s on the TV—not because it’s only twenty-seven inches, but because whatever is on the screen doesn’t grab my attention the way my mother scratching her skin does. We sit next to each other on the tan couch, both of us staring at the screen, but neither of us watching. I hear the sound of cars driving past our house and the voices of strangers walking by, but my mother is what really has my attention. Whitney’s focused on the fact that her addiction is getting the best of her and making her want to scratch at her flesh like there are bugs BEFORE THE STORM,
under it. And then there’s me, distracted and annoyed by her scratching and wiggling in the seat next to me. How am I supposed to watch TV with the sound of fingernails on flesh beating on my eardrums? If she wasn’t my mother, I’d take the box cutter from my pocket and slice her fingers off just to make the scratching stop. I sit for as long as I can before I feel fed up and violent, so I get up from the couch, step past the glass coffee table, and walk into the kitchen to find something to eat. When I open the tiny fridge, I’m surprised bats don’t come flying out of it, because it’s completely empty. The only thing inside is one, single square of American cheese, resting peacefully on the top shelf. Nix paid for my lunch earlier today, so I wasn’t here to notice how my home was completely devoid of food. Whitney, on the other hand, has been sitting in this house for the past few days doing nothing but sleeping and getting high off of the supply she had from Davon before I sent him on his merry way. Junkies don’t need food, they only need their drugs. But Whitney’s supply has run out, which is why she’s itching so much and focusing more on scratching her skin than buying any food. Just looking at this stupid piece of cheese sends a new rush of rage flowing to my heart. “Whitney, have you not seen that we don’t have any food in this house?” I ask her as calmly as
I can. The last time we had a conversation, I wound up putting the tip of my razor blade near one of her eyelids, although she probably doesn’t even remember that happening. I’d like to avoid having to be so dramatic this time, so I try to be patient, which is a luxury very few people get from me. “Huh? No, I hadn’t noticed,” Whitney replies, staring off into space and scratching her pale white arm, which is already starting to turn bright red. “You hadn’t noticed?” I ask, feeling like I’m talking to a brick wall. “You haven’t looked because you’ve been too busy scratching the skin off your arm. Ugh. When you want something done, you gotta do it yourself. Where’s your money? I’ll go get food myself.” “Umm, I don’t know,” she replies, scrunching her forehead. Between the furrowed brow and lostin-space-look in her eyes, she truly looks out of her mind. “I don’t have any money.” “You’ve got to be kidding. You blew all our money on drugs, didn’t you?” “It’s not forever, Solomon. It’s just until my unemployment check comes in in a couple of days.” “So we’re not supposed to eat for a couple of days?” “Stop bugging me, please. I already don’t feel good.” “I don’t feel good either, Whitney. Know why?
Because my stomach is empty, and my arm is starting to look like a delicious sirloin steak that I want to bite into. I’m starving to death because you blew our money on heroin.” Silence. Whitney exhales, but then chooses not to speak again. All she does is stare at the TV and scratch. She’s left the arm alone and moved up to her neck now, tilting her head to get a better angle at the spot that’s bugging her. I stand in the doorway of the kitchen glaring at her, thinking of what I’d like to do to that neck if only she wasn’t my mother. That’s when I hear a knock at the door. Now it’s my turn to look confused as Whitney gets up from the couch and moves to the door. She doesn’t seem at all surprised by the knock, and she even attempts to straighten out her frizzy brown hair before reaching for the door knob. When the door swings open, I see a smooth-faced white guy wearing blue sweatpants and a white hoodie. His facial hair is trimmed into a stupid-looking goatee, and when he sees my mother, he tries to do some dumb ain’t-I-sexy face at her. The moment I see him, I know he’s a drug dealer. Well that didn’t take long, did it? Whitney continues running her fingers through her hair as she leans over to whisper to her guest, the two of them keeping their voices low so I can’t hear, then Whitney lets him in and closes the door behind him, and I feel the familiar sensation of my blood temperature
creeping up. What the hell is going on now? “Solomon, my friend is here to give me the medicine I need. I need you to stay out here while I take him to the back and pay him for it,” Whitney says to me as she grabs our new guest by the hand and leads him down the hall to her room. The asshole even has the audacity to flash a half-smile at me as they head towards the narrow hallway. “Pay him? You just said we don’t have any money,” I reply, and as the words come out of my mouth, I realize what she means. She’s going to go have sex with him for the drugs. Either that or suck him off. She doesn’t even respond to me as they walk out of the living room, and the next sound I hear is the door to her bedroom closing. I stand in the kitchen alone, wondering what it is I’m about to do. Whitney has just brought some stranger in our home to screw them for drugs while I stand in a kitchen that only has a piece of cheese in it for dinner. We’re broke, and the little money my mother does get goes to her heroin habit. How am I supposed to live like this? I’m in hell, and if I don’t do something about it, I don’t see how I can survive. I can’t. Not with her as my mother. Her addiction is more important to her than my wellbeing. I can’t live like this anymore. I will not live like this anymore. There’s no more silence now. In my head, I hear nothing but never-ending screaming. I can’t let
this happen. I don’t need peace. There is no peace. There is no quiet. There is no life if this is how I’m living. I’m in a nightmare that has become a horrible rerun every single day. I won’t have it anymore. I have to do something. It’s time to change the channel. I took the time on the walk over to this rickety old red and white house, to figure out what exactly I wanted to do. I thought about the way everything has been for me in my life leading up to this very moment, and I when I arrive and step onto the white porch, unintentionally kicking up flakes of peeling white paint with each step, I know what I need to do. When I step up to the front door of Nix’s twobedroom house, I beat on it with my fist until it swings open, but it’s not Nix who opens up. I’m standing face to face with Nix’s father, Moe. Just like his son, Moe is over six feet tall with shoulders as wide as the house he’s occupying. He’s got a face covered in thick, twisted hair, and unlike his son, who’s covered in muscles, Moe has a stomach that pokes out from all the drinking and eating he’s done in his pathetic life. He’s like Santa Claus in a white tank top, and I can tell from the glaze in his eyes that he’s drunk. No surprise there. He looks at me with malice in his glare, because that’s what people like him do. They want to strike fear into the
hearts of everybody they can, because it makes them feel better. But what Moe doesn’t understand nearly as well as he should, is that I don’t have a heart. “Here we go again. Why am I not surprised to see that it’s you, Solomon? Why are you beating on my door like you’re the damn police?” Moe barks at me. After seven years of being “friends” with Nix, I’ve barely spoken to Moe. He usually ignores me and Nix when I come over because he’s a selfcentered asshole who only cares about his own well-being. So he knows me, but he doesn’t know me. I can tell from the way he puffs his chest out that he thinks he can scare me. I give him an A for effort. “Where’s Nix?” I ask, glaring into Moe’s squinty, blood shot eyes. “It’s too late for you to be pulling Nix out of the house, Solomon,” Moe replies. “Take your ass home,” he says as the stench of liquor comes racing from his gross mouth. I really don’t feel like wasting time on Moe, so I decide to cut our conversation short. As thoughts of my mother and her form of payment for drugs plays in my head, I grab Moe by his tank top and pull his body towards me as I spin around and slingshot his chubby ass down the cold steps of the porch. Paint chips shoot up into the air like sparks exploding off of fireworks, and I watch from the
doorway as he tumbles, hitting every step on the way down until he crashes on the concrete at the bottom. That escalated quickly, but he picked a bad time to be annoying. I’ve got moves to make, and no time for anyone else with an addiction of any kind. While he struggles to wrap his fat brain around what’s going on, I walk down the steps and straddle him, sitting on his flabby chest and pinning his arms to the icy concrete with my knees. “What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind, boy?” Moe shrieks, but I ignore his slurred words, because all I can think about is what my mother is doing right now. I reach into my left pocket and pull out my favorite tool, extracting the razor blade and placing it on his throat, imagining it being Whitney’s. I hear Nix come to the door just as I make myself comfortable on Moe’s fat belly. I can tell he wants to say something, but when I see his mother come stand behind him with a black eye, I know why he doesn’t try to convince me to stop, and I give Moe all of my attention. “Good evening, Moe,” I greet him with a smile, which he doesn’t reciprocate. How rude. “Quite the sticky situation we’ve gotten ourselves into, eh? Now, I want you to take a minute to listen to me clearly.” I slowly move the box cutter over to his ear and push it forward. “Out of respect for my
good friend Nix, I’m actually not going to kill you in front of your house tonight. I want to, but I won’t. Instead, I’m going to make sure you know that if you ever put your chunky hands on Nix or Justine ever again, I’m going to come back here and finish the job, and there will be more pieces of you to go along with this one.” When Moe frowns, trying to decipher my words, I push the tip of the blade through the soft flesh and slice off a small piece of his earlobe. “No more earrings for this ear!” I yell as Moe lets out a blood curdling scream. While Moe cries like a baby, I get off of him and laugh as I ascend the steps and stop in front of Nix and his mother. “Your dad says you can come out and talk to me for a while. So, come on. I’ve got something I want to run by you.” Justine looks like she has no clue how to react, so she just stands there, peering past me at Moe as blood drips onto the sidewalk. I know eventually she’ll go to help her husband, but I can tell she’s taking a moment to enjoy him being in pain. Nix looks at his dad in amazement, and I think I even see a hint of a smile as the two of us leave Justine standing in the doorway and walk past Moe to stand on the sidewalk next to the street. Before we begin, Moe gets up and slowly makes his way inside, clutching his bloody ear while Justine finally snaps out of it and helps him into the house.
“Dude, I’m not sure if I should thank you or tell you how insane you must be to do that to him,” Nix says, shaking his head. I can still see the joy in his face though. “Aww, that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day,” I reply with a grin before going completely serious. “I meant what I said, Nix. If he touches either of you again, that’s it, we’re removing the blade. Got it?” “Got it,” Nix says with a nod. “Now what’s going on that made you decide to come over here and cut off a piece of my dad’s ear?” I think about Whitney and how she probably has that drug dealer’s balls in her mouth right now, and decide to not divulge that information. Instead, I focus on the future. Whitney is the past. “How tired are you of being broke and hungry?” I ask him, tilting my head as I wait for his response. “Just as tired as you are, I’m sure,” he replies. “But why do you ask?” “Because I’m more than tired of it. I’ve reached my limit, pulled the last straw, come to my wit’s end. The straw that broke the camel’s back has been placed, and I’m done, Nix. In other words, I’m sick of being broke and hungry!” “Okay, I get that.” “Good, because you’re the only person in the world I’d want with me when I claw my way to the
top. I’m thinking it’s time you and I start taking what we want. I’m thinking we’re done sitting around in broken down homes with the world’s shittiest parents. I’m thinking you and I put our skills to good use, and go take money from one of our fine local establishments.” Nix frowns, surprised by the idea. “Wait, what? Are you saying you want to rob a place?” he asks, still frowning. “Unless you’ve got a better idea on how we can get some money fast.” He doesn’t answer, choosing to look at the ground in front of him instead. “I thought not, because I’ve already asked myself how else I could come up, but let’s face facts, Nix, we live in Strawberry Mansion. We are in hell, and the only way out of it is to fight your way out by any means necessary. It’s either that, or go back into the house and deal with your father and his half an earlobe, until you’re old enough to move out and live month to month in one of these broken down houses yourself, and have some poor and hungry kids of your own.” Nix keeps staring at the ground and I can see the wheels spinning in his head. I know I’m getting to him. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to perpetuate this kind of existence. I want to change the channel, and it’d be a lot easier if I had you with me,” I tell him, and he finally lifts his head.
“You’ve got a point,” he says as he looks back at his own dilapidated house where his parents are inside performing first aid on his drunken father’s ear. After a moment, he turns back to me with determination in his eyes. “Alright Solomon, I’m down,” he replies, nodding. “But where?” I smile from ear to ear, because Nix is exactly the kind of guy I need by my side. He’s loyal and dangerous, and I love it. “I want to hit Johnny’s,” I reply finally, talking about the Italian restaurant that always gets plenty of customers, but Nix’s motivated face suddenly shifts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. That place is protected by the Scarfo family.” I let out a loud exhale. “Exactly what the hell is a Scarfo family?” “You don’t know?” Nix answers. “It’s the mob. Stepping on their toes means disappearing forever.” It’s like his words are offensive to my ears. I’ve never known Nix to be afraid of anything. He’s always been smart and calculated, but never afraid. I think about what he said and decide that if he’s mentioning this, he has a good reason. “Fine,” I relent. “Then we’re going after the Cash N Check. Or is that protected too?” “Depends on which one.” “Ah you’re killin’ me here, Nix.” “I’m not trying to chicken out or anything,
Solomon, but if we’re going to do this, we have to be smart about it. I’m just trying to make sure we don’t mess with the wrong people. The Scarfo family? The mob? Wrong people to piss off.” “I couldn’t care less about pissing off the mob. This is about taking control of our lives,” I snip, glaring at him. “Hold up. Who’s that over there?” Nix nudges me and nods towards the street. My eyes follow where he’s looking and I see a figure standing across the street from us, wearing blue jeans and a blue hoodie that’s hiding their identity in the darkness. I can tell from the frame of the person that they’re not very big, but whoever they are, they picked a bad time to come eavesdropping. I reach into my pocket and feel the cold metal of the box cutter, but when the person speaks, I let it go. “Solomon?” the girl says as she stands up straight and removes her hood. Well I’ll be damned. It’s Reina.
far from home,” I call to her as I approach, recognizing those blue eyes reflecting in the street light. Reina’s blonde hair is glowing like the sun, even in the night. I like something about this girl, but I don’t trust anybody, so even as I see her smile at me, internally I’m approaching with caution. I’d hate to have to hurt her if it came to that. “I’m aware,” she responds, her voice sounding more at ease than when she called my name. She sounded nervous then, like she wasn’t sure if it was me. Now that she knows it is, she’s comfortable, and I don’t think there’s another person in the world who feels comfortable around me besides Nix. The two of us stare at each other for a while, and I take a second to admire the soft features of her face, focusing on her full lips, but then I remember Nix is still standing behind me, so I address him before giving my full attention to Reina. “Nix,” I say to him after I turn around. “Moe gave his blessing for you to stay out a while tonight. Do me a favor and get any info you can about Cash “WELL, WELL. YOU’RE
N Check. I want to know everything we can about the place if we’re going to do this. Stealing money makes no sense if we go to jail before we can even spend it. You and I will meet up again after I talk to Reina.” Nix looks past me at the girl who he knows doesn’t fit it in this neighborhood, before replying, “Who’s Reina?” “My new play-thing, apparently,” I reply, being vague on purpose. Who I’m talking to isn’t anybody’s business, not even Nix’s. I glare at him while he works himself past his concern and finally walks away in the direction of the check cashing place we’ll probably be borrowing a few dollars from soon. Once he’s gone, I turn around and eye Reina. “What are you doing out here, Reina Wilde?” I ask her. “Well, I was looking for you.” “And you knew to find me here?” I respond in real curiosity. How would Reina know to find me at Nix’s house in the middle of the evening? She seems to always be popping up at places no one would know to look for me, which is why I don’t trust her. Only Nix has earned my trust, and not even Reina’s pretty little face will earn it this fast. “No, I got lost. I was just heading back to the train,” she says, eyeing me to gauge my reaction. As unbelievable as that excuse sounds, I know
Reina’s not from Strawberry Mansion, so getting lost around here seems like something she might actually do, which would explain why she sounded so nervous when she called my name a second ago. She was relieved she found me after having to walk around the neighborhood. It’s a good thing she did, too. Who knows how long her luck would’ve held up out here? “Tisk, tisk, Reina. This isn’t a safe place,” I say behind a chuckle. “You realize that, right? Strawberry Mansion is known for its violence.” “Yeah, I realize I’m not in Kansas anymore,” she replies, rolling her blue eyes. She has an attitude and an edginess in her personality that I like. I feel it calling to me when I look at her. “Come on, Reina. Let’s talk,” I say as I turn around and start walking. I know she’ll follow, and sure enough, I hear her footsteps quickening to catch up to me. “So, uhh,” she begins, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand and a frown. “No, no. I have a question for you.” “I didn’t hear anything,” she says, staring at the side of my face while we walk. When I turn to look at her, I see concern in her eyes, even though she’s trying to hide behind a thick strand of golden hair. She thinks I’ll be angry about her eavesdropping on my conversation with Nix. That’s funny. “I don’t care if you did,” I fire back. It
wouldn’t matter to me if she heard every word the two of us said. First off, I’m not hiding anything from anybody, and second, if she can’t handle that conversation, she may as well stop getting on the train to come see me, because the conversations Nix and I will have in the future will be far worse. Or should I say, far better? “Oh,” is all she says in response, so I continue with the question I had in mind as I face forward, put my hands in my pockets and march down the cold, dark street. “Why do you keep coming here?” I ask without looking at her. “I told you.” “Ah yes, because I’m interesting.” “Look, I’m sure you think I’m some stupid rich kid who doesn’t know anything. Maybe I don’t know anything about your life, but I can tell you one thing, Solomon King—you don’t know a thing about mine either.” There it is again, that attitude that I find so appealing. Reina is a little firecracker. I like firecrackers! “Hmm,” is my only response as we keep walking. “So you wanna be my friend, huh?” “I do,” she answers quickly. “Because you’ve never met anybody like me where you’re from.” “I haven’t.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” I counter. “I know what’s good for me and what’s not,” she snips, putting a tiny smile on my lips. I like when she’s fiery. “Alright. Why don’t you tell me about your life, Reina? Make me understand why a rich kid from a good neighborhood who has nice clothes, a warm jacket, and money in her pocket is coming to a neighborhood like mine to see someone like me. Because it just doesn’t make sense.” The two of us keep walking while I wait for Reina to spill the beans about her life. I’m just dying to hear why she’d risk her life coming down here. She doesn’t have to spend time in Strawberry Mansion like me and Nix do. I’m here because I have no choice. My parents cursed me to be here. They’re the reason I have to climb out, scratching and clawing for everything. My life was hard before I was ever born, and hers was like a fairy tale. Her life is a dream, so why would she intentionally keep placing herself inside my nightmare? After some time to think about her response, Reina finally speaks up. “I’m not happy,” she leads off, grabbing my attention. “I have nice clothes and a nice house in a nice neighborhood, you’re right. But what I don’t have are nice parents, nice friends, or happiness. My mother hates that I’m nothing like her, my father pretends I don’t exist most of the time, and
the kids at my school are stuck-up little shits. “I know it sounds crazy to say that I feel more at home in Strawberry Mansion than I do in Center City West, but it’s the truth. I’ve been sneaking away from Center City for about a year now, and I just so happened to come here and see you my first time in Strawberry Mansion. I came here to get away from my parents and the little prick they keep trying to force me to date. “You see, my parents own a powerful petroleum company called Wilde Inc. It’s a familyowned kind of business that’s been in the family for generations and literally makes billions of dollars.” I find myself looking at her with wide eyes as the word reverberates in my head. She just said billions. I let her continue. “My parents, Alistair and Betsy Wilde, are your average, rich, white conservatives who hate change, and have a certain way about doing things, and I get to reap the benefits of being a Wilde, as long as I play by their rules. I have to look a certain way, act a certain way, and live a certain way. “Part of that is being seen with the son of one of their family friends. His name is Charlie Connelly, and he’s an arrogant, aggressive, pompous jackass who does a fantastic job of hiding his asshole-ness whenever our parents are around. He’s a piece of filthy shit just like the rest of them, but if I don’t conform, then my parents would have
no problem shunning me like I’m some embarrassment to them simply because I want to be who I want to be. It’s miserable living a life like that. No matter what I do, no matter how much I love doing it, if it doesn’t fit into their way of thinking of how life should be for our family, then it’s wrong. So every day, I’m wrong. I’m wrong to them in every way. It’s like I was born into the wrong family, and I’m now going to the wrong school, hanging out with the wrong people, and living the wrong life. I wasn’t meant to be an heir to the Wilde Inc. fortune, but that’s what I am, and I absolutely hate it. “I hate how they pay off politicians, and judges, and police chiefs to get what they want, and then belittle me for the smallest things, as if white collar crime is somehow more permissible and admirable than the crimes committed by poor people. I hate them, and they hate me for not being like them. Maybe that’s difficult for you to understand since you’re from Strawberry Mansion, but I want out of my terrible existence the same as you want out of yours, and it’s hard to meet somebody who understands what that feels like. That’s why I’m drawn to you, Solomon. Without even trying, you get me. You understand what it’s like to feel like you were born into the wrong life.” As she finishes talking, I realize I’ve stopped walking and I’m staring at her in awe under the
orange glow of a streetlight. I’ve never heard of such a thing. A rich girl who hates that she was born rich? It’s crazy, but when I look into her gorgeous blue eyes, I believe it. It’s written all over her face, in every crease and dimple. She’s the exact same as me and the exact opposite at the same time. How the hell is that possible? She left a life of luxury behind to come to a poor neighborhood with liquor stores on every corner and crack houses on every street, because deep down inside, she’s just as unhappy as I am. Now, my usual response to something like this would be, “Aww, you’re just breaking my poor little heart,” but there’s something about the way Reina tells her story that hits home for me. She has a life I would kill for, yet she’d trade it all away. It’s quite the connection. Neither of us feel like we should be where we are, and we’re both doing things people don’t approve of to get what we want. I want the money she has, she wants the mindset I have. What the hell is that about? Isn’t life screwed up, that a girl like her would want out of her life of excess? The sound of all of it amazes me. “You’re unhappy too,” I hear her say. “I can see it in your eyes, but you come alive when you’re doing something wrong. There’s something in you that lights up when you’re forcing life to bend to your will. That’s something I crave—the ability to make life bend at my will. I don’t know your story,
but I want to. I know you’re the only person I can be myself with. So how about it, Solomon. Are you going to let me in?” I look in Reina’s eyes and I see the sincerity in them. A girl from Center City West is actually just as dark and unhappy as I am, and she wants to know about me. She wants to connect with me. How strange. Nonetheless, I decide to give a small piece of myself, but I do it cautiously, anxious to see what she’ll do with it. I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on the dark road ahead of us. “My mother’s a junkie whore, my father’s dead, and we don’t have any money, so I steal things from people who do,” I reply, looking up into the cloudy night sky. “I’m a lowlife criminal who openly talks about robbing places on the street, and I have to scramble, grind, and scrape just to get by. But one day, I’m gonna run this city. Everyone will know my name, and they’ll fear me, and they’ll know never to cross me. My name alone will petrify anyone who’s not already on my team. I’m gonna be the most feared, respected man on this side of the entire country. One day I’ll have everything I want, and the things I’ll do to get them? Well they won’t be pretty to most people. But I like that. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I take a second to look into Reina’s eyes, searching for the fear that I expect to be there, but there is none. She just looks right back at me and
says, “I believe you.” She’s not afraid, and if I’m not mistaken, I’d say she likes it, which is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all day. Even more interesting than doing a mini surgery on Moe’s ear lobe. The two of us keep walking until we reach the train station again. Reina keeps coming down here and spending all of her time looking for me, so every time we meet up, it seems like it only lasts a few minutes before she’s going back to where she lives. This time, however, when we reach the subway, there’s a group of guys standing in front of it, so her departure is about to become much more interesting. Everybody wants to be a tough guy in this neighborhood, and these assholes fit the mold perfectly, especially the one with the stitches in his cheek wearing a puffy red jacket that looks two sizes too big, who I immediately recognize to be my mother’s old dealer, Davon. Yes! Fun is waiting for us! Reina tenses up as we approach the baggyclothed foursome, and something in me doesn’t like it. There’s four of them, three black guys and one Hispanic guy with tattoos covering his neck. They play the role of bad asses pretty well, but I know it’s an act. The tough guys only make things worse when one of them gets up and stands in front of the
entrance as if he won’t let us pass without saying a password. I don’t recognize him, which is the only reason he’d be standing here, because he obviously doesn’t know me either. But I see the look on Davon’s healing face, and he knows he doesn’t want to go down this road again. “Hey Davon!” I call to him with a goofy wave, just as Davon tries to get the attention of the guy standing in our way. “How’s that cheek?” I ask, smiling from ear to ear. Davon barely lifts his head. Aww, he’s embarrassed. He should be! “Did you tell your friends about me?” I ask him, egging him on before turning my eyes to the bald guy standing in front of us. “Davon and I met a few days ago. We even played a game. I won. That’s how he ended up with that hole in his face. Aww, good times.” I want him to try something. I wish for it. I want all of them to try something, because by the time it’s all over, Reina will know that she never has a reason to be tense as long as she’s with me. It doesn’t matter where we go, if she’s by my side, she’s untouchable. Unfortunately, Davon decides against responding to me. He just hangs his head low as we push past his little friend without hesitation. I don’t slow my pace in the slightest, because if they don’t know it now, they will know it soon—this is my
city, and I don’t move for anybody. You move for me! “Your work, huh?” I hear Reina ask with a smirk on her lips. I smile at her as we keep walking, letting her fill in the blanks herself. “Well, thanks for walking with me,” she says, moving on. “Better to be with me than not,” I reply. “I’m sure you’re right. Hey, do you have a phone? That way we can plan on when and where to meet, instead of me wandering around these dangerous streets.” “Nah, I don’t have a phone, but I’m sure I’ll have one soon.” “Well, I’ll try to come back next Saturday. Around two?” I nod my head. “Got nowhere else to go, so I’ll be here.” “Okay.” I watch Reina make her way to where she’ll get back on the train, but I don’t watch her leave. I turn on my heel and walk out of the subway, right past Davon and his crew, who are completely silent when I pass. Not even the slightest whisper. Just the way it should be. As my boots step on the cold concrete, I feel a sense of excitement. For the first time in forever, I feel like things are looking up. I’ll spend the rest of the night talking to Nix about how to hit Cash N Check for everything they’ve got, and something
deep down inside of me is looking forward to next Saturday. It’s really deep down in there, but it’s there. I don’t know if she knows it, but Reina Wilde is doing something right. Maybe it’s the pretty face. Maybe it’s the way she wears her nice clothes like she’s ashamed of them and she’d rather be wearing a baggy white t-shirt, sweatpants, and tan Timberland boots that match mine. Maybe it’s the way her blue eyes pierce into my soul every time she looks at me, forcing me to put forth maximum effort just to look away. Or maybe it’s the story she told about how messed up her life at home is—the way she made me feel her pain using only her words. It’s the connection I felt when she spoke about wanting to get away. Needing to get away. I felt that need emanating off of everything she said. I felt it, and I recognized it because it’s the same feeling that lives in me. Reina and I are kindred spirits. We’re two peas in a pod literally from opposite sides of the tracks, but we feel the same things. We’re cut from the same cloth, and damn it, I think I like it.
you’re having fun, and that’s exactly what Nix and I have been having over the past two weeks since I told him about wanting to rob Cash N Check. Two weeks of staking out the place. Two weeks of Nix looking into their security system like he’s been doing this his whole life. Two weeks plotting exit strategies if one of the cashiers happens to get to the button and the police show up. We know exactly where the button is, and which cashier will be the one to go for it. Fourteen days of getting it all together with two Saturdays of hanging out with Reina mixed in just to spice things up a bit. Two long weeks of my adrenaline pumping more and more as the days went by, bringing us closer to the time it’d finally happen. Two weeks ago I told Nix we needed to change our lives, and today it finally happens. The two Saturdays I’ve had with Reina have been better than I’d ever expected spending time with someone could be. After we set our date for her to show up, I half expected her not to. I don’t know why, but I guess my experiences with people —especially my mother, who’s just as useless today as she was two weeks ago—just made it to where I TIME FLIES WHEN
don’t trust anybody. So, when the train came to a stop and I stood outside of the train station, I was truly surprised to see Reina walking towards me in a long, black coat that went down to her knees, thick black leggings, and black shoes with tiny heels on them. She was gorgeous, but what I thought about most was how she kept her word. That went a long way with me, and it stayed with me as we spent that day walking through the rough neighborhood of Strawberry Mansion, and I told her everything I knew about the place. It stayed with me as she listened and learned about where I live, and who I am, and the things I’ve experienced in my time on this earth. Her loyalty stuck with me after the day came to an end and I had to walk her back to the train station, and it was still there a week later when she arrived once again, right on time. That Saturday was about her. We did more walking and talking, and this time she went on and on about her life, and what she has been through, and what she goes through on a normal basis with her horrible parents and her terrible “friends” at school. She spoke in depth about how having money means nothing to her if she can’t be happy and have a life filled with adventure. By the time the day was over, I felt like I knew her much better than I had before, and we’d grown closer. Even as the date that Nix and I had chosen to rob Cash N
Check crept closer, she never told me I shouldn’t do it. She understood and supported me, and without the slightest hesitation, she told me to go for it. Her having my back means more to me than she knows, and it will make today easier. Cash N Check rests on the corner of two quiet streets on the edge of Strawberry Mansion, and after all of Nix’s thorough investigating, we know that the best time to hit it is first thing in the morning when people are still at work waiting to get their checks. We made sure to do this on the week between the first and fifteenth, ensuring payday is still a ways off. Everything will be quiet, and by now, you should know what comes after the silence —chaos, except this time, we are the chaos. We wait in an alley in my mother’s car as the workers walk in and get everything set up, unaware of the two of us lurking outside the door. Nix and I both have stolen guns, but as the time draws closer, something in me doesn’t want to use the gun. No, I like the idea of striking fear into people with a knife. A big, sharp, jagged knife. You see, if I force you to have to choose between being shot in the head or stabbed to death, you’ll surely pick the shot to the head, because it’s quicker. The fear of pain comes in to play and nobody wants to feel the agony of being stabbed over and over again, and that’s why a knife or a blade is my best friend, my favorite weapon. Nothing brings fear like a blade.
As we take one last deep breath to steady ourselves, I tuck the gun into the waistband of my sweats and the knife into my pocket, before finally applying a balaclava over my face, followed by a Jason Voorhees Halloween mask. We put on black gloves to cover the last of our exposed skin, and before we know it, we’re all set. There’s nothing left but to do it. All the preparation is done, and now it’s time to make it happen. As the two of us check each other to make sure we’re both covered up, I realize we only have two options now—either make it happen or run away. Once we step outside this car, there’s no turning back. This is the moment that will change our lives forever. It’s time to change the channel. I exhale, then we’re out of the car, walking down the alley, and stepping around the quiet corner, fueled by pure adrenaline. Inside is even quieter than outside. There’s a counter that separates us from the workers behind it. There’s only three of them, all women, and they sit behind white and brown desks, clicking away at their keyboards on what I’m sure is Facebook. There’s a red head, a blonde, and a brunette, and I’m sure there’s a bad joke in there somewhere, but I brush the thought aside and focus. No time for distractions. The desks are large and metal, and they conceal everything behind them—can’t even see the legs of the women who occupy them. They don’t even see us when we come in, because
they’re too busy staring at the screens and clicking the keys. Click. Click. Clickety clack. “My oh my, what kind of sexist establishment is this?” I begin with my arms outstretched like I’m waiting for a hug from no one. The three women finally look up from their computer screens and see me and Nix standing behind the counter. They see the masks, and I know that’s what sets them off. We knew it would, so my partner and I act accordingly. “Hands on top of the desks!” Nix shouts as he raises his black nine millimeter and I jump over the thick counter that’s doing such a horrible job of protecting these three beautiful ladies. Well, two of them are beautiful, one of them sort of reminds me of Master Splinter from Ninja Turtles, but oh well. The three of them oblige Nix, and I can see the fear in all of the their eyes as I come closer to them, no longer separated by the counter up front. Adrenaline and a desire to change my life push me forward, and it’s the greatest rush I’ve ever experienced. “What is going on in here?” I ask with a smile none of them can see behind the two masks. “Three women running the show? Where are all the men? Oh I know, men can’t be trusted because they’re all greedy, violent, sexist pigs who only think with their dicks.” I let out a laugh and the tiny redhead in front of me cringes at the sound, which catches
my attention. “Oh, do I frighten you, Darleen?” I ask, reading her silver nametag on her black button-up shirt. “You don’t have any reason to be afraid, dear. I’m just telling the truth about men. Is that scary to you?” “Aren’t you a man behind that mask,” another woman says to my right. This one is obviously the boss of the shift, wearing a gray pantsuit with her dark brown hair tied in a tight bun. She’s trying to show me just how confident she is with a stern expression and a furrowed brow. How cute. “Oh no, I’m not just a man,” I answer the brunette. “Far from it. I’m much more than that. I’m the devil himself coming to take everything I want from this world.” “And what is it that you want?” the manager asks, still holding on to her faux confidence. “Isn’t it obvious? I want what you’re trying to hide in the safes behind those gigantic desks of yours.” In a flash, I see Nix quickly shift the barrel of his gun over to the third woman and run over to her as she tries to move her hands back to the top of the desk. “I told you to keep your damn hands on your desk!” Nix shouts in her face as he shoves the barrel of his gun into the blonde’s face, the metal pressing against her glossed red lips. Oh she’s got
him fired up, and I let out a chuckle at the sight of it. But it doesn’t last long, because I sense movement coming from my left. Words are nice. That’s why I hate them. I like action. Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies more than action. So when I see one of Darleen’s hands shift from its place on the desk, I act on it by pulling my ten-inch survival knife from my pocket and stabbing her in the hand, effectively nailing her hand to the table. The blade only goes into the desk about an inch, which makes me frown behind my mask. The desk is made of strong metal. Darleen lets out a blood curdling scream at the top of her lungs, and the other girls let out shrieks of their own. That’s against the rules, so I let go of the knife and pull out my own nine millimeter, aiming it at the brunette manager, which makes her bite her tongue. I return my attention to Darleen and slam my hand over her mouth, squeezing her face with every muscle in my hand and forearm, turning her pale, freckled skin even whiter. “Ssshhh,” I say in her ear as she quiets down. “Were you not told to keep your hands on the desk?” She doesn’t move. “Oh Darleen, this wasn’t part of the plan. But the plan allows for contingencies, which means I will stab more holes in multiples places on your body if you move again. If you scream again, I’m going to take this knife out
of your hand and slide that beautiful jagged edge across your throat. Do you know why, Darleen? Because you can’t scream if I sever your vocal chords.” The panic in poor Darleen’s face turns her as white as cocaine on a black table top, and I know from that look, she’s not going to make another peep, and that puts a smile on my hidden face. This is more fun than I thought it would be. The fear I feel coming off of all of them washes over me and fills me with excitement. But I don’t have time to soak it in We can bask in our success once this is all over, so I swallow everything down and refocus. “Alright, enough chit chat, ladies!” I begin again as I remove my hand from Darleen’s mouth and tuck the gun back into my pants. “It’s time for us to bid you farewell, however, you still have something between your legs that my partner and I came here for.” I hear the blonde woman gasp. “Oh relax, you pervert, I’m talking about the money in the safes. Nobody cares about your pussy. Now, we just so happen to know that those safes require your fingerprint to open. So, my partner and I will address you one at a time, and when you’re told to move slowly, you’ll scan your print, open the safe, and quickly fill our bag with the money. Sound like fun? Wonderful. Let’s play!” One by one, Nix makes each woman scan their index finger and open the safe, starting with the
blonde. He keeps the gun pushed into her neck while she empties the money into the trash bag, then moves to the next manager while I retrieve my gun and aim it at the woman he just left. It all runs as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and before we know it, I’m pulling my knife out of Darleen’s hand and hopping back over the counter. Nix and I run down the street to another corner where we parked my mother’s car in the alley, and toss the bag in the trunk before slowly driving away from the scene of the crime in the opposite direction. “I can’t believe we pulled it off,” Nix says from the passenger seat of Whitney’s crappy Toyota. “I can’t believe it!” he shouts with pure joy as he folds up his balaclava and Michael Myers mask and the car comes to a stop in front of his house. “Solomon, we did it, man.” “Yes, we did,” I reply with a smile, which morphs into full-on laughter. “We did it! And they have no clue who it was. They’ll never know!” Nix and I laugh and bask in our accomplishment for a few minutes longer before he finally gets out of the car. Before he closes the door, he bends over and looks at me. “You’re the only person I trust, Solomon, you know that?” he asks with a grin on his bearded face. “And you’re the only person I’d ever call a
friend. I don’t take that lightly. Now get the hell out of here, you freaking behemoth,” I reply. Nix smiles at me and nods before saying, “I’ll see you soon,” and closing the door. He walks up the steps to his house as I drive home and park the car where Whitney left it, although she probably wouldn’t notice if I moved it. Once parked, I walk to the trunk and remove the trash bag full of cash. I usually walk to my room through the front door, and even though Whitney is inside as high as a kite —which is why I was able to take her car without her knowing—I still decide to enter the basement through the outside door that rests in the space between our house and the neighbor’s. The last thing I need is Whitney seeing this money and shooting all of it into her veins. I’m not sure I could keep from hurting her if she did that. This money will not go to her drug habit. This is mine. It belongs to me and Nix. We earned it by taking it. Once downstairs, I lock both the exterior and interior doors, and tuck the gun and knife between my mattresses, before grabbing the black trash bag and turning it upside down on my bed. My heart races as I watch the cash cascade onto the black sheets. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I just stand there staring at it. Going in, Nix and I knew Cash N Check only puts five grand in each safe to minimize the loss if they were to ever get robbed by people like us, so I
know how much is here. Fifteen-thousand dollars. Nix and I will split this sixty-forty—I was the one who came up with the idea after all—and who knows how things will be different now? I can tell you this though—they will be different. Looking down on this money and knowing that the chances of Nix and me ever getting caught are beyond slim in Strawberry Mansion, fills me up with a new found confidence. I can never be without money like this ever again. I won’t go back to being completely broke now that I know I can do this and get away with it. There’s no sirens blaring in the distance, no police banging on the door. There’s nothing but the sound of my heart beat and the smell of money in the dark basement. We pulled it off. Confidence is a funny thing, and confidence in a person like me can change everything. It has changed everything. This is the beginning I’ve been waiting for. I might as well call today my birthday, because Solomon King is just being born right here and now. And the world better watch out.
ago, Nix and I officially became criminals. I like saying that word. Criminals. Criminals! We’re criminals who’ve actually committed armed robbery. A felony! Since that awesome day, Nix and I have spent time together spending our money and watching as our reputations grow. People don’t know anything, but then again, in Strawberry Mansion, nobody “knows” anything about what bad people do. “Knowing” something could get you killed, so everyone turns a blind eye, but deep down inside, we all are aware of what people do to survive inside Strawberry Mansion. Not only have we enjoyed the nervous glares being thrown our way, we’ve also be thinking about what our next step will be. Fifteen thousand dollars split between two people doesn’t last all that long, so now it’s time to start thinking about what the next gold mine is. We’ve had a few talks and are already putting small things in motion. We did it once, so we know we can do it again, as long we’re as thorough and careful as we were the last time. In the past month, I’ve also enjoyed quite a few days like today—days where Reina and I are able ABOUT 30 DAYS
to spend time together, just the two of us. I can admit that I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to Reina, but there’s something about her that I just can’t shake. I’ve told her everything there is to know about me, and she even met my junkie mother this morning. The only other person on earth who I’ve introduced to Whitney is Nix, so the fact that I let Reina see her is a big deal for me. She gets it. She gets me. I didn’t think that was possible until I met her, so whatever this is between us, it’s not to be played with. I’m not even sure Whitney really knew what was going on when Reina came to the door this morning. Before the doorbell rang, Whitney and I sat on the couch watching the news. My mother had her usual blank stare as she began rubbing her arm like she always does when she starts to get the itch for more “medicine.” She had a large blue sweater on that she swam in, coupled with black shorts that I couldn’t even see because the sweater was so big and long, and the shorts were so small. I sat next to her half watching the screen and half watching her body language change before my eyes as she started to ache and scratch her skin, the need to inject herself growing with every passing minute, and I must’ve told Reina to hurry up a thousand times in my head before she actually arrived. When the doorbell rang, I jumped up off of the couch and ran to the door, mainly so I could distract my
mother from her addiction. Reina knows all about it, obviously, but she doesn’t need to see it. I shouldn’t even be seeing that. “Whitney, I want you to meet someone,” I said to her as I started to pull the door open. “What? Solomon, this isn’t a good time. I look like a mess,” she argued, but I didn’t care, because she always looks like a damn mess. When the door opened, Reina stood in front of me with a sleek black jacket and thick blue jeans. Her blonde hair was beautifully wavy and resting over her shoulders perfectly. Those blue eyes reached out and stabbed me right in the heart as she looked up at me with a flawless smile and pearly white teeth. How could something so beautiful come to be on this ugly earth? “Whitney, this is Reina,” I said to my mother, but I never took my eyes off of Reina, because why would I want to take my eyes off of Reina just to look over at my junkie mother, who I’m sure is only a few minutes away from her next hit of heroin. Whitney looked up at Reina and I could see she was both impressed with the way Reina looked, and jealous at the same time. She looked her up and down in a way that made my skin heat up like I was standing next to an open oven, but then Whitney straightened her own hair with her fingers and stood up straight to extend her hand for Reina to shake. I watched the two of them in awe that the
meeting was actually happening, but then I made sure to cut it short so Whitney couldn’t embarrass me with her nonsense or scratching. I told Whitney we had to go and that we were taking her car since she wasn’t about to use it, and she didn’t argue because she knew what she was about to do once we were out of her hair. Reina was polite and said goodbye just as I was closing the door behind me and breathing a sigh of relief that the whole thing was over without any craziness from Whitney. As we drove away, I let out a loud exhale, and headed for the highway. “So what’s the latest on your little boyfriend?” “Excuse me?” Reina snips, and I struggle to hold back a smile. “Your little boyfriend. What’s his name? Charlie?” I suddenly feel Reina’s eyes burning into the side of my face as I drive. “Do not call him my boyfriend. Ever,” she says in a low tone that sounds much more intimidating than I ever knew she could sound. I keep my eyes on the road, but the smile breaks through and lifts up the side of the mouth. Reina notices it, scoffs, and looks out her window as I feel the sudden shift in her mood. “He, like everybody else who lives in Center City, is the bane of my existence. It’s hard dealing with him when my parents are always trying little sly ways to force us to be in each other’s company.
They talk about how great he is, and he sticks his tongue between his fingers while glaring at me behind their backs. They don’t have a clue how horrible he is, then they force us to hang out together. Just two days ago he was at the house for dinner. While we ate, he tried to rub my leg under the table.” I suddenly feel my blood go from calm to boiling. Reina notices. “Don’t worry, I jabbed him in the hand with my fork and he stopped.” “Interesting,” I reply, struggling to sedate my rage. “Sounds like I need to take a trip to your part of town.” “No, Solomon. Center City is a hotbed for assholes who feel like they’re better than everybody. They’d spot you coming a mile away because you don’t look like anybody else in Center City. You probably couldn’t get a hundred yards in without someone having the police following you. I can handle Charlie. I appreciate you worrying about me, though.” “Is that what I’m doing?” “You tell me.” Once again, I feel Reina’s blue eyes burrowing into me, but ignore it and press my foot on the gas. Forman Mills Mall isn’t a big one, but it has some nice stores in it, and I decided to bring Reina here since we’ve got nothing else to do. Reina’s outfit looks much too nice walking next to me with my black sweats, but I have a brand new black and
green Eagles sweater that holds its own. Nonetheless, Reina still stands out, and as we make our way inside, I already see people’s eyes shifting over to us. One nosy person sees us, then nudges a friend, who looks over at Reina like he’s hungry for her. Reina’s talking to me right now, though, so I do my best not to let it distract me. “Are you listening to me at all?” I hear her say, interrupting my train of thought. “Of course I am,” I answer quickly, but she knows I’m lying. “Right,” she says with a giggle. “I was asking if your mother was getting any better.” I take a deep breath and let it out with a drawn out whoosh. “Whitney can’t get better,” I tell her. “You can’t get better if you can’t admit something’s wrong with you. So, no, she’s not.” “I see. She doesn’t know about Cash N Check?” “Of course not,” I reply after a frown in Reina’s direction. “The last thing I need is Whitney stealing my money and using it to buy her medicine. She doesn’t know, and she never will.” “She doesn’t go into your room snooping around?” “What? No. My mother may be a junkie, but she knows who her son is,” I answer confidently as we turn a corner and enter a space filled with
people. “My parents know who I am too, but they still come into my room unannounced. I think they get a kick out of it. Especially my mom.” “Yeah, parents suck and I don’t want to talk about Whitney and what the fuck are you staring at!” I cut off my sentence and yell at two guys staring at us as we walk past the food court. I can see that I startled Reina, but I held it in as long as I could. These two guys have been following us since we walked into the mall, and it’s obvious they don’t know me—a fact that helps fuel my anger. They both have clothes on that are twice their size and they’re probably only in their twenties, which is apparent from their smooth faces and carefree attitudes. Both of them are black—one lightskinned, one dark-skinned with huge earrings in his ears. I can spot drug dealers from a mile away, and these two fit the bill: baggy clothes, expensive Jordan brand shoes, cornrows, and tons of jewelry. Friends of Davon’s, perhaps? Cousins maybe? “Who are they?” I hear Reina ask as I watch the two of them walk over to one of the many white tables in front of Kentucky Fried Chicken and sit down. “I don’t know,” I reply, still staring at them as they glare at us, seemingly amused that we’re aware of their interest in us. One of them gets up and goes to order something from the chicken
restaurant while Reina and I take a seat a few tables down from them. We’re surrounded by people eating their food and enjoying their time at the mall, but all I can see is these two guys who’ve followed us from the entrance to here. My vision is like a tunnel, and they’re the only two things at the end of the darkness. This is one of the things I like about Reina. After spending quite a few weekends in a row down here with the peasants of Strawberry Mansion, she’s starting to take on qualities that remind me a lot of myself. She’s fearless, and doesn’t take any crap. Half the time, she handles issues before I ever have to, and I love that. Reina furrows her brown and glares at them just as boldly as I do. When the darker one comes back with their food, the four of us go into a drawn out staring contest, and it puts a smile on my face. Every day is fun in Strawberry Mansion. “I should go introduce myself,” I say to Reina. “I think they deserve to meet you,” Reina replies with a smile, before leaning back in her seat and getting comfortable like she’s about to watch a good movie. Could she possibly be any more perfect? With a quick smile at Reina, I get up from my seat and make my way over to the table. My boots echo with each step and my confidence grows the closer I get to them. When one of them sees me
coming, he tells his friend with the giant cubic zirconia earrings and they both watch me approach. I take a seat in one of the empty chairs next to the darker guy, then I reach over and pick up a piece of chicken from his plate and take a big bite out of it. “Yo, what the hell, son?” the light-skinned one snips. “You trying to get killed, white boy?” “Oh yummy. Now that is a tasty piece of chicken,” is my answer, followed by a full smile, showing all of my chicken-covered pearly whites. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?” “Have you lost your mind?” the dark one snaps. I guess he really wanted that drumstick. “Yes, I have! Is it that obvious?” I answer, still smiling. Then I yank my survival knife from my pocket and slam it on the table. The sound of it echoes over the scattered voices in the food court and the two wannabe gangsters nearly jump out of their skin as people at the tables closest to us start to watch. “How about now? Now is it obvious I’ve lost my mind?” I see the light-skinned one moving like he wants to grab something in his baggy jacket that I can’t see, so I focus on him. “By the time you pull out whatever it is you’re thinking of reaching for, I’m going to have sliced your friends throat wide open with this knife, and all the chicken he’s chewing right now is gonna come cascading out of the wound. And after I beat
the living shit out of you, I’m going to make you finish chewing it for him.” Just like that, the light one stops moving and the fear that I love so much makes its presence known in his facial expression. “Now I don’t know why you two have been staring at us,” I continue, keeping my hand on the knife and my eyes on the light one sitting across from me. “But if I look over here again and see you gawking, we’re going to have a very public problem.” The two of them look at each other and then back to me. I simply smile at them both before getting up and walking back over to Reina, never once glancing behind me to see if they’re watching. I know they are. “Come on, let’s go get you something pretty,” I tell Reina as she smiles and gets up to follow me. “You sure do have a way with people,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. I can tell she likes it when I put people in their place. I’m starting to think this girl is twisted. I like that. “Yeah, I’m a people person,” I reply. “Yeah you are,” she replies with a smile before turning around and yelling to the guys in front of KFC. “Enjoy your meal.” I let out a loud chuckle that echoes down the hall, and I even exaggerate it just to make them feel even more like the cowards they are, before leading Reina away. I grab her hand as we walk, and it’s the first time I’ve ever held her hand in mine for
this long. You’d think it’d feel strange or foreign, but you’d be mistaken. It feels like it was always meant to be this way. It feels like Reina belongs to me, so when she doesn’t let go as we leave the food court area and walk into a jewelry store, neither do I. “Ooh, look at all the diamonds in this place,” Reina says, smiling like the happiest woman on earth as she skips from one glass case of jewelry to the next. The two blonde women behind the glass cases wearing gray pantsuits don’t look like they’re happy to see us in here, but if they knew the two of us at all, they’d know that neither of us cares what they think. I let Reina hop around like a kid in a toy store until she finds something that catches her eye. I stand behind her with my arms folded as she bends over to look at something in the case furthest from me. One of the blonde-haired sales reps slowly makes her way over to Reina and asks if there’s something she’d like to look at, and I hear Reina dismiss her. “No, it’s okay. I’m just looking. But this is really pretty,” she says. The saleswoman looks annoyed that Reina is window shopping and not making a purchase. That’s my cue. “What’s really pretty?” I ask as I approach her. The saleswoman looks me up and down in the way that tells me she doesn’t think I can afford anything
in this store. “Look at this bracelet,” Reina says. “This one with the black and silver links. I like the black on it. It’s dark, yet elegant. Like us.” Something about the way she says it puts a smile on my face. There’s an us. I let my eyes glaze over the pieces of jewelry in the case until the one Reina likes catches my attention. She’s right, it does look nice, and even though I like it, I think I like it even more because I know she likes it. “We’ll take that one,” I say to the blonde rep, and her eyes bulge. Is it really so hard to believe that someone like me would be able to afford a piece of jewelry like that? Jesus McChrist, everyday it gets harder to deal with people! “Sir, that bracelet is eleven-hundred dollars,” the blonde replies. I let out an exaggerated gasp and throw my hand over my mouth in fake shock. “Elevenhundred? Oh no! Whatever am I to do?” “Solomon, what are you doing?” Reina asks with a giggle as I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of cash clasped together in a silver money clip. “Eleven-hundred you say? Maybe I should buy two,” I snip at the glorified cashier as I count out eleven-hundred dollars in cash. “Now. Open the case, before I break it.” I smile at the blonde just to
make sure she doesn’t feel too uncomfortable, and she responds by snatching the case open and quickly pulling out the black and silver bracelet like she can’t get us out of the store fast enough. “Solomon,” Reina says as the blonde rings us up and puts the present in a white box. “You don’t have to buy me this.” “Sshhh,” is my only reply. I politely snatch the bag out of the cashiers hand after I pay, then hand it over to Reina as we walk away. I glare at the cashier over my shoulder as I lead Reina out of the jewelry store. Once we’re back in the hall, I let Reina open the bag and jewelry box before taking the bracelet from her and clasping it to her left arm. It fits perfectly, and I instantly feel glad that I got it for her. “It’s beautiful, Solomon. Thank you.” “My pleasure,” I reply with a smile. “I’ve got something to talk to you about, too.” “Oh yeah? What’s that?” she asks as she keeps her eyes glued to the bracelet, twisting her arm back and forth to make it glisten in the light. “The bracelet really is beautiful, isn’t it?” “It really is.” “Yeah. What if you could have a few of those? For free.” Reina looks over at me as we strut pass the food court. The two guys are still sitting there, but
they don’t dare look at us. “What do you mean?” she inquires. “I mean Nix and I are planning something. Something that could be a whole lot of fun, and quite lucrative.” “You mean the one you’re planning for next week?” “No, no. That’s gonna be easy—candy from a baby. No, this one’s new, still a concept, but if we can pull it off, it’ll be huge. I’m talking monumental. It’s big, and I want you to help us with it. What do you think about that?” As if she’s known all along how important her answer is, Reina replies, “I don’t think anything about it. There’s nothing to think. If you’re in, I’m in.” Her words put a giant smile on my face, and for the second time today, my excited laughter echoes through the halls of Foreman Mills Mall.
to be tighter, Solomon. We gotta stick to the plan. We need to be in and out in sixty seconds.” “Oooh, Nix! You make me so excited! Listen to you, sounding like a professional bank robber. In and out in sixty seconds!” “I’m serious, Solomon,” Nix jabs at me, laughing but serious at the same time. I’ve gotta give the man credit, he’s been on top of his game since we knocked off Cash N Check, and he doesn’t miss a beat. Now that we’re getting used to our new found jobs, Nix has become my criminal mastermind. It’s been two months since Cash N Check, and today is the day we take on our biggest challenge yet. We gave ourselves a little warmup a few weeks back when we knocked off a bar on the edge of Point Breeze, and we’re feeling like we’ve got this thing down. Nix and I ran inside, knocked the bartender out while he was putting money in the register for the day, took the money from the register and safe he was using to fill it, and got the hell out of there without being seen by a single person. Boom! Just like that—another ten grand to “THIS ONE NEEDS
split between us! Just like I told my Reina in the mall that day, it was candy from a baby. Today is a new day, though. Today we step into the big leagues. Julia’s Jewels is like heaven on earth. After this is said and done, we won’t be small time with a few grand here and there. We’ll be on to baller status. There’s a security guard on watch at all times, and the take from this place is unknown to us, but we know it’ll be worth the trouble—or fun, depending on who you ask. This time, however, we have an extra person with us. Reina has joined Nix and me, and I’d be lying like a politician if I said I wasn’t thrilled about it. She fits right in with her blonde hair, sexy blue eyes and bad girl attitude. She’s really come into her own these past few months since I found her fighting off those two assholes in the alley behind Aaron’s. If I ever saw either of the two guys who tried to rob her, I swear I’d kill them as slowly as possible. Reina is just as much a part of me as Nix is, and the fact that she’s down to join in on this is bigger to me than either her or Nix realizes. She still has a chance to back out, but the day’s fun activities are just getting underway. “Julia’s is in South Philly, about twenty-five minutes away. The store’s bigger than the last two places we hit, so both of us will need to be in there,” Nix says, speaking his thoughts out loud.
“There may be more than one security guard, but definitely several workers, so we’ll need Reina outside in the car.” Nix looks at Reina, his scruffy beard covering his jaw, and determination in his eyes. He’s ready for this. “Reina, you’ll need to be the lookout and honk the horn if you see or hear cops coming. And make sure you’re ready to take off as soon as we run from the building. You know how to drive, right?” Reina nods. “I know enough. As long as it’s not a stick.” “Okay, we can take care of that,” Nix replies. “You got that, Solomon?” “Oh I got it,” I answer, grinning as the excitement of the day grows on me. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get this show on the road. There’s money to be made.” The three of us wrap up our conversation, feeling confident in what we have to do, and head out of Nix’s room, each of us holding a duffel bag. Inside the bags are our ingredients that we need to make the perfect robbery happen: Barack Obama and John McCain Halloween masks, two balaclavas, two handguns, and two sets of black gloves that match our black sweat suits. After leaving Nix’s house as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb his sleeping parents, we walk the streets of Strawberry Mansion in total silence. Each step is used to build our confidence.
I don’t know what Nix is thinking, but I’m doing my best to stay focused—going over the plan over and over again in my head as we step, side by side by side. I think about how Nix and I have already done this twice, and each time was a success, and I know how important it is to my future that we continue that success. I’m just a few “jobs” away from being able to completely break off from Whitney and her habit. If anyone ever needed motivation to succeed, all they’d need to do is look at Whitney and then put themselves in my shoes. If you could empathize at all, you’d know there’s no going back. Failure is not an option. I’ve been broke, and I have money now, so I’ve been on both sides of the fence, and I’m telling you right now, I will never go back to being broke. Nix walks on my right with his chin tucked into his chest. I can sense the focus emanating off of him as he keeps his eyes glued to the cold, cracking concrete in front of us. He’s in the same boat as me, and he knows that our success or failure will dictate whether or not he can take his mother out of the living hell she’s in with Moe. Nix can change everything. He has the power to do it, and I know he won’t let the chance slip through his meaty fingers. On my left is the one I’m the most interested in. I know Nix won’t drop the ball, and I know I won’t, but what will Reina do? She’s been so
amazing since we started hanging out, and our feelings are growing into something real, as strange as it is for me to admit that. But, is she cut out for this? Is Reina really a criminal at heart? After all, she lives in Center City, and she has a ton of richpeople-problems of her own to deal with. Who the hell leaves Center City to commit armed robbery in Strawberry Mansion? It’s insane, and she’d have to be insane to do it. But when I look at her and take in her profile, I sense the same thing coming from her that I sense in Nix—focus. She’s walking, but she’s not thinking about the decrepit houses we’re bypassing, or the homeless man who’s lying on the corner with a shopping cart filled with soda cans next to him. She’s not concerned with the group of young gangsters standing in a five-man huddle passing around weed and a bottle of Hennessy between them in front of a liquor store. She’s not thinking about her bitch of a mother who’s been treating her like crap all her life, or the arranged marriage she seems destined to fall into thanks to her billionaire parents. She’s not distracted by any of it. She’s in the moment. She knows what we’re about to do, and she looks ready. But time will tell if she really is. Each cold step brings us closer, and once we’re there, there’s no going back. If she goes through with it, Reina Wilde won’t ever be the same. Is she ready to be forever changed? After a few blocks of walking in nearly
complete silence, the three of us find a little Ford Focus left all by itself. People never learn do they? This is Strawberry Mansion. You don’t just leave stuff unattended in front of an abandoned house unless you want someone like me to hop in and hot wire it. After a brief discussion debating taking it with Nix, I slide into the unlocked car’s front seat and hot wire it, no problem. Lucky for us, there’s just over half a tank of gas left in this little piece of crap, so we won’t have any trouble making the short trip to South Philly where Julia’s Jewels waits for us to slide in and screw her brains out. The trip is quick, and I can sense the anxiety and excitement building inside the car. Nix and I are used to this, but Reina must be screaming in her head. I’m sure she’s nervous and wondering what she’s doing and if we’ll get caught. That’s all fine. The real question is, will she back out? Is she ready to be a part of this with me? Is she capable of being with me? The answers are drawing nearer. I look in the rearview mirror and see her staring out the window as we drive, and let my eyes bounce back and forth between the road in front of me and her pretty face behind me. She still doesn’t look nervous, just focused like she was on the street. After a few minutes of obvious thinking, she finally looks in the mirror and sees me glaring at her.
“You ready for this?” I ask her, and she replies confidently with one nod of her head. “I’m ready.” I smile at her answer, then pull the Focus into an alley and open my door. “Alright, we’re gonna stop here. Reina, you’ll drive the rest of the way.” She nods at me again after a deep breath, and the two of us switch places. While she drives, Nix and I don our work uniforms. Balaclavas go on first, followed by the Halloween masks and gloves. There’s a saying I read somewhere once; if you do what you always did, you’ll get what you always got . . . or some shit like that. Nix and I take that to heart, so we make sure to do everything exactly the same as we did the last two times. We’re two for two with our new jobs, so now’s not the time to start making changes. As we approach Julia’s, we slide down in the back seat so we’re not seen wearing our masks as we drive up to the door of the jewelry store. “Don’t forget, be ready to leave,” I remind Reina as we pull within only a few feet from the entrance of Julia’s. “Don’t move for anyone. Don’t get distracted, and make sure you alert us if you see cops coming. You have my number, or you can honk. Reina, I’m counting on you.” She takes another deep breath, grips the steering wheel, and nods her head. She’s as focused as a sniper, and I love the look in her eye. She’s my
ride or die, and I can see it in her. I absolutely love it. She puts on her black, designer, oversized glasses and pulls the fur-lined hood of her jacket over her head to cover herself up, and that’s it. The preparation is complete. This is it. Now let’s go steal some money! Before Reina can even stop the car completely, Nix and I open our doors and jump out. Like it’s just a normal day in South Philly, we close the doors to the Focus, and stroll over the sidewalk, pulling open the heavy glass doors to Julia’s in unison with each other. Once we’re inside, Nix clicks a button on his stopwatch to start our sixtysecond countdown, and I begin our nice little adventure by pulling out my black nine millimeter and slamming its handle into the back of the security guard’s head. The old guy’s graying hair goes flopping all over the place as he buckles from the impact and crumbles to the floor like a sack of dry leaves. From the looks of this guy’s wrinkled skin and gaunt body, he’s got to be at least midfifties. The old guy never stood a chance. “Well that was easy!” I say aloud, looking down at the old security guard as Nix runs into the bright store and forces the six employees to put their hands up and move to the back corner of the store, just like he planned. It all happens so fast, I barely have time to register what I’m seeing. The store is rectangular, with glass cases
running along the outside walls and a couple of smaller cases set in the middle. The gold chandelier hangs low in the middle of the room, surrounded by inset lights that shine bright as hell to make all of the jewelry twinkle with every step a customer takes. The guard is out cold, there’s six workers being forced to move with their hands up—four women and two men, all no older than forty, all wearing silver tops and black bottoms. Some of them have looks of terror on their faces, others are just confused and unsure of what to do. We’re not sure if there’s some little sneaky button for these people to push, so Nix figured if there’s one place there isn’t a button, it’s in that back corner so he forces them to huddle up and keep their hands in the air. Once the employees are settled, we get to work. “Ladies and gentlemen!” I announce from the middle of the store, waving my gun around while Nix hops over one of the glass counters and starts pulling out every piece of jewelry he can get his hands on and stuffing it into his bag. “The next forty-five seconds of your life can either be extremely easy or extremely difficult. You get to choose. All you have to do is stand still. Don’t move, and you won’t get hurt. Now, I need the manager to step forward. Now.” I aim my gun at the group of them, and not even a second goes by before the manager is actually pushed to the front
of the crowd by someone behind her. See how nice people are when they’re afraid? No one cares about anyone else when their life is on the line. I look at the manager’s face, and she looks frightened. She’s maybe in her late thirties, with freckles and jet black hair that’s obviously dyed. Her silver button-up is pressed nice and flat, and she looks very professional, but also terrified. She recoils at the sound of my voice. “I know you’re probably sad that your friends just pushed you out into the open where a madman is standing waving a gun around, but I need you to focus. Open the register, and then open the safe that’s under it.” The manager who’s not wearing a nametag looks shocked that I know about the safe under the register—where they keep the real money for the big time ballers who come in here and spend tons of cash on these jewels—but Nix and I don’t miss anything. When we decided on knocking this place off, Nix immediately found out about the safe. I mean, come on Manager Lady, we’ve been planning this for a month! “Thirty seconds!” Nix shouts while he continues to snatch up jewelry, quickly moving from one glass counter to the next. “Move now,” I tell the manager. As she obliges, I press my gun into her neck as she pops open the cash register first, rapidly removing the bills and
shoving them into the bag. Once the register is empty, she drops to her knees and opens the black safe underneath with a few spins on a combination lock. The black door to the safe swings open, and I’m greeted by the sight of stacks on top of stacks of cash. I can hardly believe my eyes. Just like we thought, this is a jackpot, but there’s no time to stare in shock, because the clock is ticking. I hand the manager my duffel bag and she stuffs all of the money inside. My heart pounds with elation as I watch the bag fill up with what I know is more money than we’ve ever taken before, and just as she’s finishing up, I hear Nix’s watch start chiming. “Game time!” Nix shouts as he zips up his duffel bag, hops over the glass counter, and starts for the door. Following his lead, I zip up my bag, force the manager back into the corner with the rest of the group, and start for the door. But just as I’m about to dart out onto the street, my new cell phone chimes in my pocket, and I know it’s Reina. “Whoa. Hey, wait,” I yell to Nix, who’s beyond eager to leave. “What the hell? We don’t have time for this!” he retorts loudly. Reina: Cop’s about to walk in front of the building. Stay in if you can. I got this. I read the text and my eyes bulge.
“Do not open that door,” I say to Nix. Hearing the tone in my voice, he pauses. It feels like a century goes by, and Nix is standing at the door with his hand on the glass, ready to run for it, but I shake my head, telling him to wait. We have to trust Reina. While we wait, I turn around and aim my gun at the group still cowering in the corner until my phone chimes again. Reina: We need to leave. Now. “Alright, let’s go,” I tell Nix, and the two of us dart out of the door. With no one on the sidewalk to block us, we jump into the backseat of the Ford Focus and slide down so anyone who may drive or walk by won’t see us as we start to remove our masks. “What the hell happened?” Nix asks as Reina steps on the gas and we drive away, leaving Julia with a lot less jewels that she had before we arrived. Both of us look out the back window to see if we’re being followed, but there’s nothing at the moment. “Cop,” Reina replies to our surprise. “He was walking towards the building. I didn’t want you guys to come out and run right into him, so I went and distracted him. Gave him some bullshit story about being pickpocketed and he went chasing after some invisible suspects.”
I let out a loud laugh as I realize Reina saved us from the cops. “Nice work, Reina. We were about to come out. Your text saved our asses,” I tell her, looking at Nix to let him know to never doubt Reina again. “Ah yes! Seeing as how we just took who-knowshow-much money from Julia’s, and Reina has become our savior, I think we can all rest comfortably. Reina Christ, in the flesh!” Nix lets out a laugh and finally puts his guard down as we drive back to Strawberry Mansion with tons of money from the register and safe, and what has to be hundreds of thousands of dollars in jewelry. We know we’ll have to be careful with how we spend the money and how we unload the jewelry, but we’ve got that under control. Nix will take care of all that. We just hit the jackpot for real. No more Ramen noodles for me! I’m a king now! King Solomon! Oh that really does have a ring to it! Once we get back to Strawberry Mansion, we dump the car right back where we found it—I even try to stuff the wires from the underside of the steering column back into their place so the owner isn’t the wiser—and walk as quickly as we can back to drop Nix off. I tell him I’ll meet up with him later to go over everything, and Reina and I take the duffel bags and head towards my house, where our take will be stored until I divide it up between Nix and me.
“I still can’t believe we did that,” Reina says in nearly a whisper as we make it to my house and approach the exterior door leading to my room in the basement. The sight of my house usually fills me with dread, but it’s our safe haven today. “I mean, I know it wasn’t your first time, but . . .” I smile while the look of joy takes control of her face and body language. “Well you did good for your first time. Quick thinking. I like that.” “First time?” she inquires. “You think I’ll do it again?” “You would if I needed you to,” I reply as I open the door and step into my room. I shove the duffel bags into my wall locker and cover them with blankets so Whitney doesn’t find them, then I turn around and step towards Reina, who’s still standing outside of the doorway. “You would if I asked you. Wouldn’t you?” Reina seems to know that her answer means everything to me, even though she knows I’m already aware of what she’s going to say. It’s about more than just knowing. She has to say it. I need to hear it. Both of us need to feel it. “Yes. I would,” she replies with total confidence. She even straightens out her posture like she’s proud of it. She’s proud to do dirt with me. Proud to be my criminal accomplice as long as it’s me she’s committing crimes with. And she is just that—a criminal. Just like me.
The side of my mouth lifts into a grin, then I reach into my pocket and hand something to her. “Take this,” I tell her. Reina grabs the gold necklace and looks it over with shock on her face. The pendant hangs from the chain and drops down in a curved line, coming back up and stopping at the halfway mark of the other line. In the middle of the curved gold rests a single reddish-orange diamond, and she stares at it like she’s realizing right then and there that it means the world to her. Her reaction makes me smile even wider. She likes it. I like that she likes it. Suddenly, Reina stops paying attention to the chain and takes two steps towards me. She gets up on her toes and presses her lips against mine. A new feeling explodes to life within me as we kiss for the very first time after nearly three months of knowing each other. I don’t know what comes over me, but when she pulls her mouth away from mine, something in me won’t allow us to stay apart. It’s something I’ve never felt before, and it’s like all the fighting that was happening within me about her has finally stopped. The battle is over. Reina has won. There’s no going back now. She’s mine. While she waits for me to respond, I step over the threshold and push my mouth against hers. The passion of it all is too strong to control and I end up pushing her backwards until we hit the wall of my neighbor’s house behind her. We don’t dare stop.
Our tongues dance together and my hands come up to her face as this new feeling of heat courses through me and I feel like I’ll die if I stop kissing her. I feel like an animal pounding against its cage and I’m losing all control. Something primal is being born within me and I can’t fight it off, even as my hand moves to her neck and grips it tightly. I feel myself about to lose control completely and I have to force myself to end it. When we part, both of us are breathing heavily. I look at her and I see her differently than ever before. After all this time of getting to know each other, and wondering if this thing between us was real, things are stitching together now. My feelings towards Reina are something I can’t explain. All I know is that she’s mine, and that means more to me than anything else. “Thank you,” she says, still panting. “For the necklace.” I smile and chuckle as she breathes and tries to steady herself. “Let’s get going,”
no one. You must be ready for it, or it’ll leave you in the dust. It’s like a restless, junkie mother who’s getting ready to leave the house, and if you’re too slow coming up the stairs from your room, she’ll leave you behind, standing there on the crumbling front porch for being a few steps behind her. So after a while, you learn to be ready before she is. You have to stay ahead of her at all times so you don’t get left behind. That’s how I treat them both now: my mother and time. I hate them both, but with practice, I’ve learned to be a step ahead of them. I’m not being left behind by time now. I’ve been prepared and a step ahead for the past three months since the Julia’s Jewels robbery. It’s been the best three months of my life, because I’ve changed everything. I took a life that was complete trash and molded it into something I’m proud to have built with the only two people I care about in this litterbox-filled-with-shit world. I’m basically rich now. Julia’s brought Nix and I more wealth than either of us thought possible for lowlifes like us. We came out of the high-end store with two duffel bags, one filled with money from TIME WAITS FOR
the register and safe, and the other filled with jewelry. In the end, I counted it out to be fiftythree-thousand dollars in cash, and roughly eightythousand in jewelry. Jackpot! Nix and I split everything sixty-forty, which is how he and I do business since I’m the mastermind behind all of this, and neither of us could be happier with how things have turned out. As we watched the report on TV from my room in the basement, we were filled with excitement as the reporter went on and on about how all this cash and jewelry was taken, but the cops didn’t have any suspects yet. The surveillance video played on TV a few times, but even as we watched, Nix and I could barely tell it was us. After a couple of days of useless, fruitless questioning and investigating, the police were getting nowhere, and the reports started dying off. We were in the clear with more to our names than ever! We’re kings in this crappy neighborhood now, and people are starting to recognize it. No one knows for sure what happened in the places we’ve hit, but after a while, people from the hood catch on. When you’re from where we’re from, you don’t need a bachelor’s degree to be a genius in street smarts. Poor people in the hood know what’s going on in the hood, at least enough to know who and who not to mess with. Nix and I make that list of who not to mess with. People have their suspicions,
but just like the cops, they don’t know anything and they’ve got no evidence to prove any suspicions they do have. But suspicion is all we need in Strawberry Mansion. Suspicion is enough to strike fear in people, and the look of fear on people’s faces has become one of my most cherished sights in this world. I love seeing it spread across their faces as Nix and I walk through our neighborhood, and it’s even sweeter when I see it as we walk through neighborhoods that aren’t ours. Everyone is starting to know that he and I are different. Even if they’re not sure how, they know we’re different in a way that makes them fearful. One day at a time, one step at a time, one robbery at a time— we’re taking over. The hardest part has been trying to make sure that suspicions don’t become evidence. People can think what they want, but they can’t ever know for sure. That’s how you get robbed in a place like this. That’s how you wind up dead. That’s also how your mother could end up stealing every dime you’ve made. It’s been interesting hiding all of this from Whitney, who hasn’t changed a bit. She’s still shooting that crap up her veins and passing out in the middle of the living room in a puddle of piss. Two weeks ago, she passed out right in front of the door to my room. I heard her fall, and I tried to open my door to see what was going on, but her
stupid body was blocking it and I had to push her out of the way with the door. Once I realized she wasn’t dead, I left her lying there in nothing but panties and a tank top as I walked out of the house, and reminded myself that I could never let her find out about the money. She doesn’t deserve to have any of it. I keep things subtle for the sake of keeping my money hidden, but I’ve also spent a little. I mean come on, what kind of king would I be if didn’t splurge a bit? I decided to get my first tattoo, with the idea that I would just tell Whitney I got it from a friend, although it looks much too fancy and expensive for a friend to have done it. I figured Whitney’s brain cells are too fried to ever catch on. Since my goal is to become the king of the criminal underworld, I got a gold, flame-covered crown tattooed on my left forearm. It’s big, and it’s the first of many tattoos that’ll cover most of my skin by the time I’m done. After I got it, I loved the look on Reina’s face as she looked at it for the first time. She smiled and told me how sexy and badass it was, which was exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. That leads me to Reina. My Reina. She and I have been getting closer and closer over these past few months. We’ve always had this spark between us, and that spark has become a flame neither of us can control ever since that kiss after Julia’s Jewels. I’ve always been quiet about how I feel about
Reina, but deep down I know she’s special to me. Scratch that. She’s everything to me. We’ve spent so many weekends together here in Strawberry Mansion that I’m getting to the point now that I can barely stand it when she can’t make it down to see me. I know she has some annoying parents to placate, but I hate it when they get in the way and tell her she has to stay in. These bastards even have a nanny or some crap come keep an eye on her sometimes. Like, are you kidding me? Reina is fifteen years old now, and she doesn’t need a damn babysitter. All she needs is me, but her parents would never see it that way. In all honestly, I don’t even think Reina’s parents know about me. From what Reina tells me, they’re too horrible to ever find out, because they wouldn’t be happy with their little “innocent” baby girl hanging out with the likes of me. What a joke! Reina isn’t a baby, she damn sure isn’t innocent, and she belongs more to me than she does to them. She belongs with me. She belongs in this environment with me. But that’s the last thing little weak, uppity pricks like them want to hear—that their little girl is a woman who’s capable of taking care of herself and old enough to make her own decisions. They don’t want to know that she’s too much for them, and just enough for me. Yeah, I bet their poor little heads would explode if they knew about me, so I let Reina handle them however she
needs to. I couldn’t care less about her parents. All I care about is her. Reina is the perfect ride or die chick. These past few months have proven that to be true. I watched her go off on a group of girls much older than us as we walked through the mall, because she said they were staring at me a little too strongly. She asked what the hell they were looking at and ran straight over to the tallest one of the group and pushed her face backwards like it was nothing. She was ready to square up with any one of the other three girls in the group after the tall one looked at her like she was insane. After the four of them acted like they were going to try to gang up on her, I intervened and shut that down by drawing my favorite box cutter from my pocket. They backed off, and Reina and I went on our merry way, hand in hand. I told her she was the sexiest version of crazy I’d ever seen, and she reminded me that if a group of guys had looked at her that way, I would’ve beat the hell out of every single one of them. I couldn’t argue with her there. In fact, I had my own little situation about a month later, when someone had the nerve to ask me if I had any drugs on me. Now, I assumed the reason this idiot asked me that was because I was wearing black Timberland boots, brand new gray denim jeans, and a black and gray leather jacket. I figured he assumed I was a drug dealer because of
how nice my clothes were, because that’s usually how it goes in my neighborhood. However, things turned for the worse—or better—when I told him I don’t mess with drugs, and I hate people who do. He decided to lose his cool and mention the fact that I’m related to one of the most known drug addicts in Strawberry Mansion—my mother. He even called her a junkie whore. I’m not exactly sure how he ended up on the ground, but once he was down there, I decided to beat him to a bloody pulp with my bare hands. It wasn’t until I couldn’t see the skin on his face anymore because it was so covered with blood that I realized I’d let this interrupt my walk with Reina. I wiped off the blood that coated my hands on his shirt and left him there, unmoving. The guy probably needed reconstructive surgery on his face for all I know, but I didn’t wait around to find out. Reina and I walked away like nothing ever happened. No big deal. We’ve become the best of friends, Reina and me. I’m not even afraid to call her that either. It is what it is. I care about her, and these weekends together have been the thing I look forward to the most. We kiss, we hang out in my room, we walk the streets like we own them, we shop like there’s no tomorrow, and we laugh our asses off all day. What more do I need? Reina is the positive in my life, because everything else is negative. I’ve turned things around, sure, but I still live in Strawberry
Mansion. My mother is still Whitney King, the well-known “junkie whore.” My horrific past is still my horrific past, and I’m still not a normal guy because of all of those things. But Reina is the positive in my life, and I’m the positive in hers. When we’re together, I often forget she has a horrible life on her side of those train tracks as well. She needs me just as much as I need her. Even Nix says we’re crazy together, but we’re a perfect match, and he’s exactly right. We’re Bonnie and Clyde. We’re perfect together. She’s perfect. She’s mine. Which is why I have a bit of a problem. A few weeks back, Reina and I were hanging out at a park in Philly. I can’t remember what led to the conversation exactly—something about her mother being a bitch again—but I’ll never forget the moment she turned around and looked at me. Her ice-blue eyes locked onto mine and grabbed my soul, begging me not to get upset with what she was about to say, and from the look on her face, I knew I was going to struggle with that. “So I’ve gotta tell you something,” she said as she sat up and faced me, adjusting her black sweater and flipping her flowing blonde hair over her shoulder. “I need you stay calm about it, though.” I smiled at her pleading face as I sat up and braced myself for the bomb about to be delivered. “I’ll do my best, baby,” I replied.
“Prom is coming up.” I immediately felt heat manifest in my stomach and climb out of the pores of my skin. My face tightened, but I didn’t respond. I knew where this was going. “I don’t want to go, and I tried to tell my stupid mom to just drop it, but I’m sure you know how that went. She’s making me go. With him,” she finished. Him, is that little piece of rich shit named Charlie. Reina has been telling me about him on and off for a while now. He’s just some guy Reina’s parents try to force into a match, but I know she would never go for some arrogant, obnoxious, spoiled bitch like Charlie so I’ve never felt truly concerned about it. Reina has been leaving her life of luxury behind to come to Strawberry Mansion and be my partner in crime, so when she mentions her parents trying to act like Charlie is her perfect match, I’ve always laughed it off. What could someone like him possibly do for my Reina? Nothing, is the answer! Absolutely nothing. But when she said her parents were forcing her to go to prom with Charlie, I started feeling some type of way about it, especially since I know this asshole has tried to make some unwanted advances on her already. I let out a frustrated growl. “Charlie. The same guy you told me about? The one who can’t keep his
hands to himself? That Charlie?” “Yep. It’s not even worth fighting them over. Like I’ve told you before, Charlie has my parents in the palm of his hand. They believe he’s some good guy because he puts on this front when he’s around them. He’s so smarmy. You know you don’t have anything to worry about, Solomon. Right?” she asked when she could sense my anger growing like a cancer inside of me. “I know that,” I said, swallowing the fury boiling under the surface. “I know you’d get out of it if you could. That’s not the case, so what can we do? When is this prom?” “Next Saturday at Rittenhouse. I don’t want to go, but you don’t understand what it’s like living with my parents. I don’t have a choice. Believe me, I’d much rather run him over with his stupid BMW than be inside of it with him. Are you okay?” “Don’t worry, babe. I’m good.” Of course I wasn’t good! Even though we spent the next hour kissing and rubbing each other in the park, I was dying inside, thinking of her going to prom with some rich little creep who severely needs his ass kicked. Reina means everything to me, and the fact that she’s going to prom with some rich asshole from Center City West is a problem. I never figured her idiotic parents would do anything that’d bother me like this, but they’ve gone and done it by forcing my Reina to go dancing and crap
with another guy. Like I said, it’s a bit of a problem. At least it was. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t possibly care less about a prom. I dropped out of school a long time ago, and I wouldn’t be thinking about anything like prom if it wasn’t for Reina. If she was going with a bunch of girlfriends, I wouldn’t be fastening the belt on crisp white pants right now. If she was just going to have a girl’s night out with some dancing and laughs among girlfriends, I wouldn’t be cinching the black buttons on a perfectly white shirt. I wouldn’t be rolling up the sleeves enough to showcase my new tattoo with the vibrant orange and blue flames engulfing the large crown. I wouldn’t be spraying on cologne and grabbing the keys to a royal blue Mercedes I had Nix rent for me —since Nix is the only person I know who has a driver’s license. If Reina meant nothing to me, I wouldn’t be on my way to Center City to crash their little prom being held at some fancy hotel. If I didn’t care for Reina, her date, Charlie-something, wouldn’t have anything to be afraid of. But I do care about Reina, so Charlie has everything to be afraid of tonight. He just doesn’t know it yet. Oh, but he will. By the time the night is over, Charlie will know Reina belongs to me, and me alone. The drive to Rittenhouse is annoying. How many fancy buildings and houses does one place need? It’s like watching an episode of Cribs. Ugh.
Everything is nice and looks brand-spanking-new. Brand new white lights illuminate the street leading to the hotel, showcasing buildings that look like they just finished construction last week. You can tell just from driving through the place at night, there are no robberies here. No bums on the street begging for change. These establishments look like they’d actually hire someone for more than minimum wage. If you work here, you’ll have enough money to do more than just pay your rent and not die. You can live here. Money has been poured into Center City West by the government to keep it bright and vibrant. It keeps it beautiful and drives the prices of everything in it up, so that poor people like me can never come here. When the prices are high, poor people can never come here because we can’t afford to shop or live here, and the owners of these establishments would never hire someone who looks like they live in Strawberry Mansion, so people like me are forever stuck in the environments we were born into. This system is designed to keep us out, and keep us poor. This is nothing like where I come from, and it fills me up with envy. I hate it, but I also know that one day soon, I’ll be more than capable of living in a place like this, because I’m going to beat the system. Once you know the system exists, you can learn to exploit it. You can be the anomaly that breaks out of the place you were supposed to be stuck in, and
move amongst the people who are supposed to be “better” than you. I’m the anomaly, and I’m coming. Envious feelings aside, I press on towards the lavish hotel as I see it in the distance and come off of a circular exit. It’s huge and sort of reminds me of a mini castle with its peaking roofs that look like church steeples and lavish, decorative brick design. My first thought is that I should figure out a way to rob this place, but that thought quickly evaporates as I drive up to the entrance and see Reina already standing outside. My eyes zoom in and focus on her. She looks unbelievable, with a red dress that fits her so perfectly and jewelry that glistens as the lights from the hotel hit each piece, including the bracelet I bought her in the mall a while back. She’s a vision, but I don’t know why she’d be standing outside right now instead of being inside enjoying herself. The party started over an hour ago, so I know I’m crashing it, but I wasn’t expecting to see her outside when I arrived. With a second glance I realize what’s going on. Reina’s not alone. She’s facing the road I’m driving on, and there’s a guy who has his back to the street as I approach slowly. All of the happiness I felt at seeing her standing there with that sexy red dress on has all but vanished and been replaced with a slow-boiling anger. The guy has a black tuxedo on and I can tell from just looking at him as I stop the
car behind him that he thinks he’s the best thing that has ever happened to planet earth. It’s Charlie. After all this time, I’m finally seeing him. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it “Okay, honestly, what is your problem, Reina?” I hear Charlie say to her as I open the door quietly and step out. I don’t close the car door because I don’t want to startle him with my arrival. I want him to keep talking, and he does, totally focused on Reina. My Reina. “I’ve been doing everything in my power to show you that you and I are a great match, but you keep blowing me off,” Charlie continues, blind to the rest of the world around him. “Do you know how many girls in there were giving me the eyes? I could’ve hooked up with any one of them, but instead of doing that, I’m standing outside, begging you to go back in. This is ridiculous. You should be begging me! Would you please just stop being such a bitch and come back inside.” “Fuck you, Charlie,” Reina spits back, not even realizing I’m approaching from behind him. “Yeah, you got that right,” Charlie retorts. “Instead of being an ice queen, that’s what you should do. Fuck me.” He breaks into a ridiculous laugh, so I decide to join him. It is funny, after all, that he has no idea what he’s getting himself into. I
throw my head back and laugh hysterically. The two of them seem to catch on at the same time. “Solomon?” I hear Reina say. I can tell from the sound of her voice that she’s smiling when she says my name. Charlie stops laughing, and he isn’t smiling. “Oh how can anyone resist you with jokes like that?” I say to Charlie as I step up on the curb and stand next to him, sizing him up. He’s a clean cut, white collar type who hasn’t gone through anything in his life that could ever be considered tough. He’s exactly the type of person I despise, and it takes everything in me not to just punch him in his face right now and take his wallet. Even with all the money he has inherited from his mother, this guy is beneath me. “Who are you?” Charlie responds to me, looking me up and down and staring at the tattoo on my forearm like he’s afraid of it. He sees how different we are, and it scares him. I love it. “Who, me?” I answer, smiling. “Oh I’m just an admirer of your super fresh jokes! You should do standup. Let me hear that joke again. Reina said ‘Fuck you’ and then you said something witty. What was it again?” Charlie looks back at Reina, who’s smiling at me like I’ve just given her her first taste of sunshine after a lifetime of darkness. He doesn’t like that she’s smiling, and his face contorts into a frown.
“Aww come on, guy. What’d you say in response?” I press him. “Oh I remember! You said she should stop being an ice queen and just fuck you. That is clever. But I think maybe your observation is all wrong, because she doesn’t seem like an ice queen to me.” With that, I walk past Charlie, bumping him with my shoulder as I step up to Reina and press my mouth against hers and we embrace, falling into a passionate kiss. By the time we separate, Charlie looks like I just killed his cat. If I find out he has one, I just might. “What the hell is this?” he says, his voice trembling. “Well, I think it’s time we have a proper introduction,” I say as I turn around and face Charlie. I smile at him as I look him in the eye. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Charlie. My name is Solomon, and you seem to have a hard time understanding when she says it, so allow me.” My smile fades. “Reina doesn’t belong to you. She’s not your prize to be won. She’s not even your friend. She’s someone you’re never gonna talk to again . . . because she’s mine. You’re just some little bitch who could never know what it takes to satisfy a woman like her. You could never know, and she would never waste her time trying to show you. You see, all the begging you’ve been doing to try to win her over—I’d never do that. I never had to.
Because she knows just from looking at me that I’ll give her everything she needs. I can satisfy her in ways you couldn’t imagine in your wettest dreams, little boy.” I reach into my pocket and remove my box cutter, slowly revealing the razor blade and lifting it to his neck. “You see that look on your face? That terrified expression shining through your eyes? I love that. It’s one of the things I live for. You know what else I live for? Reina. So if you ever come near her again, I’m going to take this razor, and slice you from ear to ear. I’m going to make you smile forever, Charlie. You’ll be permanently smiling in your sleep when I’m done with you.” I pause long enough to reach back and take Reina by the hand. “Do you understand everything I just said to you?” Charlie nods, but that’s just not good enough for me. I want to put a smile on Reina’s face, so I take it further. “I want to hear you say it, Charlie. That way I know you really got it. Reina is not yours. Whose is she?” Charlie swallows hard as his eyes well up in embarrassment and fear, and a couple of people from inside come out and watch in terror. “Sh . . . She’s yours.” “That’s right. Good boy. Now move out of the way.” Charlie steps aside and I step up to the Mercedes, guiding Reina into the passenger seat as
I put the box cutter back into my pocket. “Have a great night, Charlie. I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” I say as I close her door and walk to the driver’s side, smiling at the tiny group of people watching from the entrance of the hotel. We leave Charlie and his audience standing there, fighting back tears of anger as we drive away. Now he knows she’s mine, and he’ll never forget it.
Solomon. Oh my god, he looked so heart broken,” Reina says behind loud giggles. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And where’d you get this car?” I press on the gas and take a second to marvel at how I can push this car to go this fast. I don’t know if there’s any cops around, but as the speed climbs, I get a rush that I love. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. Ninety. The black leather interior, the blue lights illuminating the inside the car, the bright LED headlights glistening off of the other vehicles around us, the smell of Reina’s sensual perfume, the black night sky littered with bright stars, the fear I felt emanating off of Charlie as I spoke to him—it all mixes and fills me with an excitement like never before. I could get used to all of this. I could get used to feeling like a god! “I got the car from Nix, who rented it for me,” I reply, staring straight ahead, doing my best to hold back a smile I barely understand. “So that was Charlie? I wasn’t impressed.” “Yeah that was him, and he’s not impressive, so there’s no surprise there. You, on the other hand, were extremely impressive. I’ve never seen him “THAT WAS INCREDIBLE,
more afraid. It seriously looked like he was gonna cry.” “Aww, poor Charlie. Now he knows not to ever mess with you again. He knows you’re not his to mess with.” As we drive down the dark road being lit up by white street lights on both sides, I can feel Reina staring at me. Her blue eyes burn into me as I speed right through a stoplight with nowhere in particular to go. “So,” she says, still smiling about the thing with Charlie. “Now that you have me, Solomon, what’s next?” I look over at her and return the smile, her blonde hair hangs over half of her face and makes me feel an urge to stop the car and answer her question on the side of the road. “Whatever you want.” “My parents aren’t home tonight,” she says, her smile fading into something else—something much more seductive. “Is that right?” I reply with a smile and she nods a yes. “Then the night is young. Guide me to your place.” “With pleasure.” Reina does her best impression of a GPS and before I know it, we’ve passed a bunch of fancy, luxury houses in the gaudiest residential area I’ve ever seen, and we arrive at her own mini mansion.
“This is your house?” I ask as I park in the expansive driveway made of perfectly laid red brick. I know it is, but it just can’t be for real. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour,” Reina says as she opens her door and climbs out. “I don’t want a tour,” I snip. I can’t really explain it to her, but seeing all of this is like a slap in the face to everyone I know in Strawberry Mansion. “What’s the matter?” Reina says, sensing my annoyance. She walks over to me, her heels clunking on the brick, and wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m not interested in seeing your parents’ house. I don’t care about how much money they have. I’m here for you, and if it isn’t yours, then I don’t want to see it. So just take me to your room. I want to see where you sleep, where you live, where you think about me.” Reina takes a second to let my words settle on her, then she smiles and leads me up the driveway and into the luxury home. Inside, the lights to the house are off, and Reina doesn’t bother turning them on as she leads me through the place, weaving in and out of rooms that feel humongous, but it’s too dark to really tell. Even in the dark I can see that Reina’s parents own much more stuff then they could ever need. I see paintings on the walls that look expensive—like they were done by some fancy painter with a name
I’ll never hear simply because I’m poor and unworthy of it. The handrail to the staircase is thick and feels like it’s made of ivory or some other extravagant material, and I feel as if I’ll be arrested just for brushing my hand against it as we ascend the stairs. Finally, we make our way inside a room as Reina flicks on the lights and closes the door behind us. The space is filled with lavish furniture that looks like it shouldn’t even be in a bedroom. Everything is thick and trimmed in gold. Even the headboard is gold and pink—hideous colors, but what stands out to me isn’t the furniture, it’s the fact that this is where Reina sleeps every night. This is where she goes when she’s not with me. When I’m lying on my crappy twin-sized bed that should’ve been upgraded a long time ago, she’s here, living a life of luxury in Center City West. “Solomon, what’s wrong?” she says as she sits on her bed with the thick, white, warm comforter. “I know you’re thinking something, and you’re not one to keep your thoughts to yourself. So what’s up?” “What the hell are you doing going down to Strawberry Mansion when you live in a place like this?” I ask, which seems to surprise her. I lean back against a dresser that could fit my entire wardrobe inside and still have room to spare. “What could you possibly want with someone like
me? I’m not normal, Reina, and you’d be giving up a life of comfort to be with me. Legitimate comfort. I have to steal everything I want, and you already have it all. You have it all right here, ripe for the picking, ready for the taking. It’s all laid at your feet. So what are you doing?” She takes a deep breath and furrows her eyebrows. Even with the wrinkles in her head, she’s still beautiful, and I think that’s what scares me. Maybe she does belong in this world. Not the world I live in. She deserves better than anything I can give her right now. “I’m surprised you’re even asking me that. I told you a long time ago, having money doesn’t mean you have happiness. You make me happy, Solomon. You even said it down at the car before we came up—this belongs to my parents, not me. This is their house, and it’s their money. The happiness I have though, that belongs to me—to us. My heart belongs to you, Solomon. You may not have a house like this, but you have my heart, so don’t you dare start thinking you’re not good enough. I don’t care about any of this, and I’d gladly give it all up to be with you. So I’ll keep going to Strawberry Mansion as long as you’re there. Because I love you, Solomon King.” Suddenly, I feel like my heart has just been run over by a truck. It’s a new feeling deep inside me and I don’t know what to make of it, so I just stand
there and stare at her beautiful face. With all the shit that goes on in my life, I have Reina—the beauty that shines through all of it. What did I ever do to deserve this—to deserve her? “I don’t expect you to say it back,” she continues as she stands up and approaches me. “I know you’ve been through more than I could imagine. Your life has been beyond difficult, and I know things like love are hard to understand and deal with when your mother has tainted the word the way yours has. You don’t have to say it, because I know you love me too. You wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t. So I don’t need to hear it because I already know it, and that’s enough for me.” Reina smiles at me as she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls my body into hers. Our mouths connect and both of us are filled with a passionate heat that overtakes our bodies. We kiss like it’s our last day on earth together as we inch our way over and fall onto her bed. Our hands roam each other’s bodies as our clothes start to come off like they have a mind of their own, and before either of us knows it, it’s happening. It isn’t my first time, but it’s the only time that has mattered. As Reina and I enjoy the feel of each other, I know that from this moment on, we’ll be together. We’ll take everything we want from this world, and soon, everyone will know the two of us.
They’ll know us as the couple of the century! We’ll be king and queen, because even though I didn’t say it out loud, I know it’s true just like she does. I do love Reina. It may be my own twisted, crazy version of love, but it is love. We’re partners in crime—king and queen of the underworld. Long may we reign.
“I COULD STAY like
this forever.” “Mmm,” I reply. “Words like that are usually off limits—out of bounds. But when they’re coming from you, babe, they’re music to my ears.” I never knew anyone could ever feel like this. I’ve always been just a confused kid from Strawberry Mansion with enough ambition to harness and build a bomb from it, but what I feel as I lay next to Reina, rubbing her smooth, pale, bare skin is something out of this world. I don’t believe in heaven, but if I did, this is what it would consist of for me. The two of us lay in my room with the lights out and the TV on in front of us. After having finished another round of sex, I’m exhausted and satisfied. The second I saw Reina get off the train earlier, I won’t lie, the first thing I thought of was bringing her back here and repeating what we did last week at her house. The first time was something brand new for her, and I wanted to take my time. Gentle is not a word that usually fits with me, but I’d play the part for Reina, and I have. This second time was still slow and gentle, but I could tell she was starting to enjoy it this time, and it made all the
difference in the world. We enjoy each other, and it’s the best feeling ever, but I know it’s coming to an end when I see Reina lift up her arm and glance at her watch. “Don’t do that,” I tell her, knowing the end of our day together is drawing near. “I’m sorry, my love. I have to.” “You can’t wait another few minutes? I’m really loving how your skin feels against mine.” Her smile is wide and lights up the dark room and my dark heart. “I love it too, but my train leaves in fifteen minutes. It’ll take ten just to get there if we walk.” “You know, I could just take you back to Center City myself.” “Solomon, you know we can’t risk that. The last thing I need is to be seen being dropped off, and all of my nosy ass neighbors would love to tell Betsy all about the boy with the tattoos driving the car. The reaction would be like an atomic bomb going off, and I don’t need that in my life, especially after how great our time together has been tonight. I want to go home, relax, and think about you.” I fight back a smile as she gets up and starts to put on her clothes, while I lay behind her and watch the soft material of her panties rise above her flawless butt as she pulls them on. All too soon, Reina is dressed and I have to follow suit, so I hop
up and don some baggy sweats to wear while I walk her to the train station. We could take Whitney’s car, but Reina and I have grown fond of enjoying the walk through the rundown neighborhood together. We feel like the king and queen of Strawberry Mansion as we hold hands and talk about everything and nothing at the same time. I swear, there’s moments when I feel like I could walk with her forever on a road to nowhere. “This is the part I always hate,” she says as she turns to face me, her blue eyes locking onto mine and tearing down all of my boundaries. “Me too,” I reply, just before she gets up on her toes and kisses me. I hate dragging this out. I’d much rather get it over with so we can get to the part where I look forward to watching her get off the train to greet me again, so I cut the goodbye short as usual by pulling away and letting her go. “Text me when you get there,” I tell her, like always. “Of course,” she replies, like I knew she would. She smiles one last time before boarding the train, and I wait there for her to find her seat. Once seated, Reina turns to me and smiles before mouthing the words I love you, just as the train hisses and starts to slowly pull out of the station.
“How about this one?” “No, no. Too fancy, Nix,” I reply with a wave of my hand. “I’m not into the gaudy stuff, and the last thing I need is to be walking the streets of Strawberry Mansion in something covered in diamonds like that. It’s nice, but I’m good. Moving on.” Nix puts the long, diamond encrusted necklace back in its place, and the man behind the counter, wearing his fancy black suit, takes the jewelry and places it back in the glass case to be displayed once again. Nix turns around to me, zips up his gray jacket, smooths out his thick beard with his hand and follows me out of the jewelry store. Neither of us purchased anything, but it felt good just to be able to shop in a place that sells jewelry that expensive, while actually being realistic about buying something. Oh how we have come up in the world! Nix and I, walking side by side, saunter through the halls of King of Prussia Mall. It’s a fancy little number a little ways away from Strawberry Mansion, and it has become the place where Nix and I come to do our shopping. With as much money as we’ve gained access to, I feel less concerned about the stares when we shop here. Less concern over being robbed. My newest pair or black Timberlands squeak on the white tile floor as we walk and turn into a clothing store I might like.
As we enter, I pull out my phone and text Reina. It’s been a while since she left earlier today, and usually I hear from her after her train ride back to Center City. Me: Hey, haven’t heard from you. You good? You make it back okay? Let me know. After pressing send, I shove the phone back into my dark blue denim jeans and follow Nix as he picks up a red sweater that’s similar to the one I’m wearing, and looks it over. The brunette cashier behind the counter sees us come in, and she locks her eyes onto mine for a second before leaving her post and striding over to us. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she says, although she’s only speaking to me. She bats her dark brown eyes at me and flashes a smile partnered with one raised eyebrow. I can’t help but notice how low-cut her white shirt is, exposing her perfectly round tits just enough to make any man wonder how she looks naked. She’s a beautiful woman, no doubt. Under normal circumstances, I’d be trying to take her to the back to give her what she so obviously craves, but Reina isn’t a normal circumstance. “Is there something I can help you with?” the woman says, her voice dropping in an attempt to sound sexier. I won’t lie, it is sexy. It’s just not Reina.
“Nah, we’re good. Thanks,” I reply quickly, breaking eye contact with her and focusing on the shirt Nix is still holding. I hear the woman exhale loudly before speaking again. “Oh. Well, okay. Let me know if you see anything you like.” I dismiss her without even giving her a second glance. “Damn, Solomon,” Nix chimes in as he picks up another shirt—a black one this time—and looks it over. “She was hot, man. Not sure I’ve ever seen you dismiss a girl so quick. Especially one who looks like her.” “First time for everything, I guess,” I reply, picking up my own shirt and inspecting it. “I assume you and Reina are still going strong, then?” Nix counters. “Of course we are.” His question and my answer remind me of the text that I just sent to Reina. I pull out my phone and check to see if she has responded, and I’m disappointed and annoyed when I see that she hasn’t. “You good?” Nix says, sensing my frustration. “Yeah. She just hasn’t responded to me since she left a little while ago.” “Since you dropped her off at the train station earlier today?” “Right. She always texts that she made it home okay. She didn’t do that today. If anyone does
anything to her, I swear I’ll kill them.” “I’m sure she’s fine, Solomon. “Yeah. I’m sure she is. Let’s wrap this up so I can get home. You know I can’t buy too much at once. It just makes it harder to hide from Whitney.” “Yeah, I know. Okay, let’s just get what we’ve already chosen and head out,” Nix says as he holds onto both shirts, and takes the royal blue one I chose for myself. We weave through the racks of clothing and people to pay for our merchandise, completely ignoring the cashier as she checks us out, both literally and figuratively. On the drive home in Nix’s mom’s car, I’m quiet. Sensing my mood, so is Nix. It’s not that I don’t trust Reina, it’s that I don’t trust people. I don’t trust that someone on the train that runs from Center City to Strawberry Mansion and back won’t try to do something to someone who is as beautiful as Reina Wilde. She’s unlike anything I had ever seen when I first laid eyes on her, so the thought of something happening to her sends a chill up my spine. It’s the first time she’s never texted that she made it since I got a cell phone specifically to talk to her. Since that day, she has texted me and told me she made it back to the uppity Center City, where the streets are basically paved in gold and the world is always safe and secure. When she’s with me, I don’t worry for her safety, because . . . well, duh. Once she’s back at home in her
controlling parents’ house, I hate that she has to deal with her snake of a mother, but I’m not worried for her safety. It’s the stuff in between that bothers me. It’s that train ride with all those people I’ve never seen before. People who are not to be trusted in any way. Me: I’m sure you’re just busy dealing with your mom. Phone is probably off. I get that. But I need you to text me as soon as you can though. I’m headed home right now. Hopefully I’ll hear from you once I’m there. Street lights pass us on both sides of the car, but it doesn’t do anything to lighten up my mood. Nix sits next to me with his burly hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. Nineties hip-hop blares through the speakers of the old Cadillac, and the night sky is freckled with stars, some dull, some as bright as ever. I have more money in my pocket in this exact moment than I ever have in my entire life, but all I can think about is how Reina hasn’t texted me back. Even as I notice Nix turn the car into the familiar run down residential area that we live in and I see my mother’s car in its usual parking spot under the tree with no leaves, it barely registers with me. “Hit me up tomorrow?” Nix asks, finally speaking.
“Sure,” I reply, not even looking at him. “If you want me to go down to Center City and make sure she’s good, just say the word.” I look over at Nix, thankful I have him as a partner in crime. “No,” I answer with a quick shake of my head. “I’ll get with you tomorrow.” “Alright.” I climb out of the car and close the door behind me, before making my way through the chain-link fence and up the stairs. To my surprise, I hear the sound of our TV blaring through the door. When I step inside, I’m shocked to see Whitney out of her room. She’s sitting on the couch with both feet tucked under her body, wearing pink short shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Her brown hair is all over the place—I’m honestly not sure if she even still owns a brush—and I can see red in her eyes that isn’t usually there. She hasn’t had much sleep, which can only mean one thing. Couple the redness in her eyes with the obvious spot on her left arm where she has started scratching, and the answer is obvious—Whitney has run out of her medicine recently, and is starting to fiend for more. My junkie mother scratching her skin apart on our tan couch surrounded by the trash she’s been sifting through to no avail just never gets old. If I ever thought for one second that my life was somehow made better by the money I’ve taken, the picture in
front of me is the perfect reminder that I’m still in hell. As long as I’m in this house, I’m in hell. “What you got there?” Whitney says as I step inside and close the door behind me. I follow her gaze to the white bag in my right hand and kick myself for being too distracted by thoughts of Reina to remember to never come through the front door with anything new. Stupid! “It’s nothing,” I reply, but it’s too late. I can see it in Whitney’s bloodshot blue eyes that she’s suspicious. “You get a job I don’t know about?” she says, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the shopping bag and the bright orange ink crawling up my forearm. “You got some money?” “Of course not, Whitney,” I snip, my heart beginning to race. “Nix bought it for me.” “He get a job I don’t know about it?” she fires back as she starts scratching her arm again. I can’t panic. Everything has to look as normal as possible, so I do what I’d do if I wasn’t concerned about the money in my room. “Don’t worry about what Nix has. It’s none of your business anyway, Whitney,” I bark at her as I start to walk towards the hall leading to the basement. “I see you’re getting the itch again. I expect you’ll be getting a visit from one of your dealers soon. Don’t worry, I won’t come out of my room and you’ll be free to suck all the dick you
want to get your precious medicine. Ah, just like when I was a kid. Those were the days, huh?” I throw my mother one more angry glance before speeding up my walk towards the basement. As I open the door, I hear her chirping back at me. “Don’t disrespect me, Solomon. I’m still your mother. And if Nix got a job, I need you to ask him for some money. He’s a nice kid, I’m sure he’ll give it to you if you just ask nicely. Davon says I have to pay with real money now, and I need my medicine, Solomon! You hear me?” I slam the door shut behind and descend the steep stairs in a hurry to get away from her annoying voice. “Stupid, Solomon!” I chastise myself as I slam the shopping bag on my bed. “I can’t believe I went through the front door. Stupid!” Just in case Whitney gets the urge to follow me down here, I quickly snatch the shirt out of the bag and take it over to one of my two black footlockers I bought for the sole purpose of hiding money and new merchandise from Whitney. Both are tucked away in the darkest corner of the basement and kept secure with combo locks, and I quickly put in the code to open the one with the merchandise in it. Once the lid is open, I see all of the new clothes and jewelry I’ve bought since we first robbed Cash N Check all those months ago, and I throw the newest shirt right on top before slamming the lid
closed, re-applying the lock and shoving the foot locker back into the dark corner next to the one filled with most of my money. I don’t hear Whitney coming down the stairs, so I finally slow down and walk over to the bed, throwing myself onto it as I pull my phone from my pocket to check for a response from Reina. There isn’t one. “What the hell?” I mumble to myself as I open the thread with her name on it and double check for a new message. Again, I come up empty, and it takes my full concentration not to throw the phone across the room. After messing up and walking through the front door with that bag, and then seeing Whitney scratching herself and asking me about money, I really need to talk to Reina. Only she can keep me from losing my mind in this insane asylum I call my home. A glance at the clock on the floor next to my bed reveals that it’s ten o’clock at night. There’s no way Reina isn’t home by now—unless something happened to her. I try not to let the idea of her running into trouble take over my mind, and I take a deep breath to calm myself. I take off my clothes, tossing them on the floor next to the bed, and climb under my covers with my phone in hand. Me: Alright, Reina, I’m going to bed. It isn’t like you to not text back, so I’ll admit
you’ve got me worried about you. Me and Nix went to King of Prussia after you left and I bought a shirt. Nothing too fancy, of course, but I did make the mistake of bringing it through the front door when I got home. Whitney was in the room scratching her stupid arm and started asking me about money. She even asked if me or Nix got a job so she could ask for money. She’s so beyond pathetic, I can’t stand it. Dealing with her made me want to talk to you. You have the ability to make me feel better. I know you’ve got your own shit to deal with at home though, so I’m gonna go to bed, and hopefully I’ll have a text from you in the morning. Text me, Reina. Goodnight.
Me: Where are you? I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m here. I’m waiting for you, Reina. I’m at the train station waiting for the 2 o’clock like I always do. Why haven’t I heard from you? Get here. I’m waiting. what’s going on, but it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen or heard from Reina. Two weeks! After everything we’ve said to each other. After everything we’ve been through together. What the hell is going on with her that she’s stopped responding to my texts and hasn’t shown up on the train? After six months together, she’s not responding now. I can’t have that. I gave parts of myself to Reina I didn’t even know I had in me. She can’t do this to me now. As I stand on the platform waiting for her train to arrive, surrounded by people teeming with excitement—dressed in their best outfits to impress the people coming to visit them, I think about the last time Reina and I were together. We were in my house, lying on my bed after having sex again, and I remember how she rubbed my skin as she stared I DON’T KNOW
off into space, focusing on nothing in particular. “I could stay like this forever,” she’d said, and I remember thinking that if I didn’t love her the way I do, I would’ve pushed her off my bed and told her to go annoy somebody else with her sensitivity, but I stayed with my arm around her, pulling her body closer to mine, both of us wearing nothing but the thin black covers that adorn my bed. “Mmm,” I’d replied. “Words like that are usually off limits—out of bounds. But when they’re coming from you, babe, they’re music to my ears.” She’d smiled without looking at me, and I watched her mouth transform into that beautiful grin, feeling my heart kick up a notch at the sight of it. I didn’t say it, but I thought it in that moment. I’m so in love with you. How did you do this to me? Why do I love it so much? We stayed like that for another hour and a half before she had to get back on the train to head home. It was a normal day. So why haven’t I heard from her since then? Now I’m surrounded by a bunch of idiots who I’d normally ignore as they pass me, staring at my tattoos—I’ve added another one, extending the flames up my left arm and nearly reaching my elbow now. I’ve gotten use to ignoring some things, but since Reina disappeared on me, ignoring everything is becoming harder to do. As I hear the train approaching in the distance, it takes
everything in me not to flip out on someone. I’m going to blow a gasket soon, but I focus on the oncoming train. Reina has to be on it. Please be on the train, Reina. Be on the train! It’s almost here now, and I remember the way she said goodbye to me before she left for the last time. She leaned in and kissed me with everything she had in her. I wanted to lay her down on the ground and give it to her right then and there, but I knew she had to go. She couldn’t risk her parents getting home before her, so she kissed me, we hugged, I squeezed her ass, and she got on the train, smiling at me all the way up until the train pulled away and we couldn’t see each other anymore. I remember watching her go. I remember her smiling. I remember her frosty blue eyes doing their work on me and forcing a smile out of me. I didn’t even try to fight it this time. Be on the train! The brakes squeak loudly as the gray train comes to a roaring stop in front of me. The sound is deafening, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of my own heartbeat. I feel my breathing becoming heavier as the doors open and people start filing out in a rush of endless bodies, cramming into each other. There’s so many of them, but if Reina’s on the train, she knows where I stand to wait for her. She’s knows I’m here, so I’ll wait her out. The crowd parts like the Red Sea
around me, and the people passing me look me up and down before going on their miserable way. Families and friends embrace around me, greeting each other with all the joy and happiness I’d usually feel when I see Reina coming. But I don’t feel anything today. More people come out of all the open doors, but the number of people getting off the train is starting to dwindle down. Less and less are stepping through the open doors, and I feel like my nerves are on fire. Even less people now, and finally, the doors to the train all close at the same time with a loud hiss. My heart sinks into my stomach, making me feel nauseous. The train pulls away. My hands drop to my sides in disappointment. Reina’s not here. Again. Me: Goddamn it, Reina! Where are you? I’ve been being as patient as I can, but not hearing from you is taking its toll. I need to see you. Call me. Text me. Hell, just show up and surprise me at my house for all I care. Just let me know what is going on. What the hell is going on?! I text her again and shove my phone back into the pocket of my jeans so hard I feel like I’m going to tear a hole in the fabric. After another ten minutes of waiting to see if she’s going to pop up out of nowhere, I force myself to walk away,
dragging my Timberland boots. She doesn’t respond to my text. Again. My brain feels like it’s an egg in a frying pan right now. I’m simmering as the heat within me rises. I can barely stand the fact that Reina hasn’t shown up or responded to me in two weeks, but it’s not just that. Walking towards my house just reminds me that Whitney is there, and she’s been especially annoying these past few days. Not hearing from Reina in all this time is making dealing with Whitney harder too. I feel like my entire body is tightening. I feel it—soon I will snap, and everything around me will be destroyed. I should’ve known my tattoos looked too expensive, because my mother has honed in on them. She acted like she hadn’t noticed the first one, but since I added more fire and the colors are so vibrant with orange and blue, she finally spoke up and inquired about them. She wanted to know how I could afford them, and I told her a friend of mine had gotten an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, and he was using me to practice. She let it go once, then asked about it again a few days later like she’d forgotten what I told her. Since I explained it to her that second time, I keep catching her staring at my arm like she’s wondering what’s up with me. I don’t think she believes me anymore, and that’s not good. After my slow, tired walk through Strawberry
Mansion, I finally make it back to my house. I feel like a ten-ton weight is resting on my shoulders as I push the door open and step into the disgusting living room. It looks especially gross today, but I don’t bother giving the energy to care. I ignore the extra burn marks on the couch and step past the glass coffee table covered in spoons. I know Whitney wasn’t eating anything with those spoons, but I press on. What’s the use? As I enter the short, narrow hallway, I see Whitney’s door to her room is closed like always, and when I walk past it on my way into the basement, I don’t hear a peep coming from inside. Whitney is probably asleep, also known as passed out from her medicine. From the look of the living room, she has paid some dealer in sexual favors and gotten herself a new supply. I saunter down the squeaky steps and throw myself onto my shitty mattress. When Reina is down here with me, it’s like I’m living in a suite at the top of some fancy hotel. When she’s not here, the room morphs back into the dank, moldy, dark basement it really is. I hate it here. Even with all the money Nix and I have stolen, it’s still a shithole, and everything about everything feels darker right now—without Reina. I wish she never would’ve come into my life if she was going to vanish and leave me even more broken than I was before I met her. I’m not sure how much more damage my mind and spirit can
take. Reina was the Band-Aid that covered my wounds every time she came around. When she would go home, the bandage would be ripped off again, leaving my aching, rotting flesh exposed to the elements. But every time she came around, the wounds were re-covered—the tormenting pain was reduced. Everything is exposed now, and I feel like I have more wounds than ever. I turn myself over on my bed and exhale as I look around the room at how ugly everything has become once again. The entire space feels darker than usual as my TV is the only light on and casts shadows on everything. But as my eyes scan the room, something grabs my attention. The nightstand that the TV rests beside is different. The bottom drawer on the far left where I keep my underwear is ajar, and the boxer briefs are on the floor in a small pile. My heart comes to life in a millisecond and starts to pound in my chest as my blood begins to race and heat up my skin from the inside out. The boxer briefs in that drawer were resting on top of some of my money. I used the underwear to deter Whitney if she ever came down here while I was out and decided to snoop around. The drawer is one of the many hiding places for the money I’ve taken, but there was roughly two grand in that drawer. I jump out of the bed and run to the dresser, snatching the rickety drawer open only to find that
it’s empty. All two thousand dollars in cash is missing. Not one single dollar is left inside. Whitney. My blood boils at a million degrees Celsius beneath my skin as I stand up and turn on every light in my room so I can inspect. Sure enough, I can tell she’s been down here moving my stuff around, but trying to put things back in their place so I wouldn’t know. I keep some of my money stuffed between my mattresses, and none of that has been moved. Most of the money, however, I keep in the black footlocker tucked away in the dark corner, next to the one with the clothes and jewelry in it. I run to the corner and I can see that the locks on both of the footlockers have been hit with something because they have very obvious scratches and dents on them. Nonetheless, the locks did their job and kept her out. All of the money is safe except the two grand I hid in the underwear drawer. That’s what I get for hiding money in such a cliché place. Stupid! Now, what am I to do about Whitney taking my money? Yeah, yeah, I know she’s my mother, but there has to be consequences for taking my hardearned cash. She doesn’t realize what I had to go through to get it. I had to work for it, and after all that’s happened today, I’m in no mood to play around with Whitney, and I’m in no mood to have
my money stolen by my own mother! I slam the underwear drawer closed and stomp up the stairs, turning in the hallway and stopping at Whitney’s closed door. Just like before, I can’t hear anything inside. I’m sure she’s passed out, especially after having access to two grand and being able to buy as much heroin as she wants. I don’t care if she’s passed out. It’s wake up time. “Whitney!” I bark as I slam my fist on the door four times. “Open the door, Mother! I know you’ve been in my room, and we’re gonna have to have a conversation about what’s off-limits to you. Get up and open the door.” I bang on the door some more, but there’s no movement on the other side. There’s nothing but silence. Silence. Suddenly, my heart feels like it skips a beat. I’ve always said it; after the silence comes a storm, and right now, I’ve never been surrounded by more silence. Something’s wrong. I bang on the door again. “Whitney, open the door.” More banging, and more silence. “Mom, come on. Open the door. Now. Mom. Mom?” I turn the door knob, and of course it’s locked. She always locks it when she’s getting high. She’s done it that way since I was a kid, and I’ve always known when the door’s locked, she’s either getting high, or getting screwed by some piece of trash in
exchange for drugs. I slam my fist on the door again, but there’s still no movement inside. “Goddamn it, Whitney!” As a new fear hijacks my emotions, I lift my leg and kick the living hell out of the door to Whitney’s room, sending it flying open and breaking the doorknob in the process. The room is bright with light from the lamp on the nightstand as well as the overhead light in the middle of the ceiling, so I can see everything as clear as day. In the middle of the room is my mother’s sheet-less bed, and on the bed are multiple spoons and syringes scattered about, mixed in with countless tiny plastic bags filled with a yellow substance. Heroin—lots of it. In the center of the filthy bed is my mother’s unmoving body. She’s wearing nothing but a white tank top and black panties as she lies on her back, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. She has a black leather belt strapped around her left arm, and a needle dangles loosely in her skin. Her legs are tucked under her body like she collapsed backwards onto them, and her mouth is open. And then the most telling evidence of all. Vomit. Running down the side of Whitney’s mouth is a thick layer of foamy white vomit, and it runs down her left cheek, forming a frothy pool on the bare mattress next to her. I don’t have to step into the room to know what has happened. I can see it just from the slightest
glance. Whitney got high from buying a lot of drugs with my money—two thousand dollars’ worth of heroin—and she overdosed in her bed while I was out waiting for Reina at the train station. So many emotions run through me as I look at her: fear, anger, rage, hatred, sadness. My mind spins into an incomprehensible frenzy as I stand in the doorway and look upon my mother’s twisted dead body, smelling the stench of her bodily fluids soaking into the mattress. I feel overwhelmed in a way that I can’t even begin to explain, and I can’t bring myself to move from this spot. So I just stand there staring, frozen in place. Just like that, the life of an addict has come full circle the way it so often does in poor neighborhoods like Strawberry Mansion. This is what happens in the hood. This is what has happened to so many people who live like me—so many people who I’ve known in this hellhole. Now it has happened to me. My mother’s medicine didn’t cure her of anything. It destroyed her. It killed her. My mother is dead.
SIX IS THE magic
number. After my mother died in her bed last week, I set up the funeral for a week later. I’m not really sure what I was expecting, and I didn’t even know who to call to tell that Whitney had died, but something deep down must’ve expected better than this. Six people have shown up to lay my mother to her final resting place. Six. That’s all she could muster up in death. She only managed to touch six lives in her lifetime. Only six people cared enough to show up to this rainy, gray, sad, depressing display of bullshit being put on by this preacher. Six. People. Allow me to set the scene. Farthest away from me is the preacher—an old white man in the usual black attire, a clean shaven face, and an old bible he’s probably had for longer than I’ve been alive. His eyes are glued to the pages of what people call the good book, although I’m not sure how it’s labeled as good with all that condoning of murder, slavery, and rape in there, but I guess people choose to ignore the things that contradict what they hope and wish to be true. The old preacher is probably sixty or so, and he has no clue who the
hell Whitney was. He’s never seen her before in his life, but he’s here, doing what he’s done for countless other people he didn’t know, reading in the same monotone voice others have surely been annoyed by. Obviously uncomfortable, he won’t dare look up from the words in that book. Next to him are three people I don’t know, but I’ve seen them around at some point in my life. They must’ve heard in the streets that Whitney died, or read it in the paper. At some point in time they’ve passed through the house, or we’ve walked past them, or I just recognize them from some faded memory of my childhood. I don’t know anything about them, and they don’t know anything about me. We’re strangers, but I still think higher of them than I do the preacher. At least they knew Whitney. Next to them and on the other side of Nix are two women who I know for a fact knew my mother. I recognize them without question. Both of them are tall and slender with brown hair and dark blue eyes that remind me so much of my mother’s I can barely look at them. They’re draped in nearly identical black dresses and share the same solemn faces. They’re my aunts Theresa and Vanessa. Both of them are older than Whitney was, and they cut off communication with my mother so long ago that in this moment they have no idea that their now eighteen-year-old nephew is standing next to them,
staring at them and wondering why the hell they aren’t even crying. I don’t remember when the last time I saw them was, but it’s obviously been so long that they can’t bring themselves to share one single tear between the two of them for their dead sister. My mother’s addiction drew a line between herself and her family. After failing to make it through rehab on multiple occasions, they just gave up on her, and she fell apart all by herself—well, with me, I guess. My mother was thirty-five years old, meaning she had me when she was eighteen, and she was an addict before I was ever born. Addiction can become unbearable to watch, and her family chose to leave her to fend for herself rather than help her any longer. They couldn’t take her resistance and constant relapses. Don’t get me wrong, no one in my mother’s family has very much money, but standing next to my two aunts now, I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if one of them had birthed me. Would I still be this broken and cold inside? Would I still be so confused about everything, wondering how my life could’ve taken such a drastic turn so quickly? Who knows? As the rain falls on us in a weak drizzle, making small puddles in the mud beneath our feet, I stare down at the ground while the preacher rambles on. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. After
I called the cops and told them my mother had died, the coroner came and picked up her cold, lifeless body and took her away, leaving me in the house all alone for the very first time. I’m eighteen years old, so I don’t have to worry about being placed in foster care or anything crazy like that, but I am on my own now, and I don’t know if I’m happy or sad about it. On one hand, Whitney is gone! There’s no more extra drama in the house. No more dealers coming through for a blowjob in exchange for drugs. No more psychotic outbursts or mindnumbing scratching. There’s no more spoons or needles lying around the house, and I’m no longer living in the basement. The day after the coroner took her away, I moved all of my stuff into her bedroom, including all of the new stuff I’ve purchased since Cash N Check. I don’t have to hide anymore, I don’t have to sneak through the outside door to go straight to the basement just to hide a damn shopping bag from Whitney. I’m free to do whatever I want now. I should be thrilled. Right? But my mother is dead. No matter what else happened over the years, Whitney King was still my mother, and even though I hated the very sight of her, I’ve never been on my own before. The house is annoyingly quiet, and I can’t figure out why that bothers me so much, because the house
was always quiet when Whitney was locked in her room on one of her heroin-induced stupors. When it’s quiet now, I’m reminded that Whitney isn’t locked in her room. She’s gone. I spent eighteen years with Whitney, and no matter how much I try to ignore it, I miss her. Isn’t that insane? I hated her when she was here, and miss her now that she’s gone. Life is really a bitch, isn’t it? Maybe I’d feel a little bit better if I had heard from Reina recently, but it’s been three weeks since the day she left my house, and I haven’t spoken to her one single time. I’ve texted more times than I can count, and I’ve gotten nothing back. I even built up the nerve to drive to Center City to look for her. I managed to make it into the city and was halfway to her suburb before I realized the people driving next to me where staring into the car. My mother’s car must’ve stuck out like a sore thumb, because I swear everybody I passed was giving me a second look, but I didn’t let that stop me. They could look all the wanted, because I was determined to find Reina. I drove onto her street and parked Whitney’s car three houses down from the house Reina and I had gone into on prom night. I waited there for four hours, watching the house, avoiding eye contact from nose people passing by, and I never saw Reina come out, nor did I see anyone go in. After the fourth hour, the owner of the house I was parked in front of came home in a
shiny black Jaguar, and as he pulled into his driveway, he noticed me sitting there. The last thing I wanted to do was get the cops called on me or make more trouble for Reina if it got back to her, so before the guy could approach my car, I put it in gear and drove away. I haven’t been back since, and now it feels like she’s really gone. It’s like Reina has fallen off the face of the planet, and with Whitney being put into the ground today, I’ve never felt more alone. How could Reina just leave me without saying a word? Who does that to someone? Who the hell makes someone like me love them, only to leave me more broken than ever before? I need her more than ever right now, and she’s gone. How could she do this to me? Not a single text! Every day I feel my heart growing darker. The money in the footlocker, the clothes in my mother’s closet and dresser drawers isn’t enough to make me happy now. I’m empty. I have no love in my life, and every day the desire to do something horrible grows within me. I knew I wasn’t normal before Whitney died and before I ever saw Reina in that alley. It’s all coming full circle now, though. The rage in me is growing, and it’s going to come out. It’s going to rush out like water from a fire hose, and someone is going to drown. Maybe it’ll be me. Maybe it’ll be someone else. Either way, someone is going to suffer.
The preacher stops talking and the rain quits at the same time. The six people next to Nix and I start to slowly walk away without giving me their condolences, and as Nix places a hand on my shoulder to lead me back to his new Honda Civic, his touch snaps my train of thought and startles me. “You alright?” I hear him ask. Nix seems to have stopped caring about hiding the money he’s made, because his new car is a beauty and the long, gray trench coat he’s wearing makes him look like a character from a mob movie. “Just peachy,” I reply with a smile. Nix frowns at the response, then turns on his heel and heads for the car parked on the road. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, Solomon,” Nix says. “Things have taken a bad turn, and I know it’s tough on you. I’m here if you need me.” “I do need you, Nix,” I snip back. “I need you to help me rob another place.” Nix stops walking to look around, making sure nobody heard me. “What?” “I know you heard me, Nix. Now that Whitney is gone and I don’t have to hide, I want more.” “You think you’re ready for that right now? After all that’s happened?” “Of course I’m ready!” I hear myself bark. The sound of my voice travels and echoes around us, but so few people showed up to my mother’s
funeral, there’s no one around to hear me anyway. “You think because Whitney died and Reina left that I want to sit around Strawberry Mansion waiting to die? It’s not over, Nix. I still live in the house I grew up in with Whitney. We’re still stuck in hell! There’s still liquor stores on every other block. There’s still crack houses on every damn corner. There’s still drug dealers living at the end of my street, and . . .” A thought makes me cut the sentence in half. Suddenly, all I can think about is something my mother said a couple of weeks before she overdosed. “What’s up, man? Are you okay? I think all of this has you losing it a little more than usual,” I hear Nix say, but I ignore his words and focus on the words I heard two weeks ago. The memory of the last time I saw Reina flashes in my mind, and I suddenly feel like I’m right back in that day. Nix and I had gone shopping at King of Prussia Mall. I bought a royal blue shirt, and I was so focused on Reina not answering my calls or texts that I forgot to go through the outside door with my shopping bag when I got back to the house. I came in the front door and Whitney was on the couch. She immediately honed in on the bag and started asking questions about money. I responded with some smart-ass comment about her sucking dick to get more drug money, and as I
walked down the stairs to my room, she shouted something to me that I ignored in the moment. “Don’t disrespect me, Solomon. I’m still your mother. And if Nix got a job, I need you to ask him for some money. He’s a nice kid, I’m sure he’ll give it to you if you just ask nicely. Davon says I have to pay with real money now, and I need my medicine, Solomon! You hear me?” The words meant nothing then, but they mean everything now. “Davon says I have to pay with real money now, and I need my medicine, Solomon!” I don’t know how I didn’t catch it when she said it, but from the goddamn grave my mother has told me what my next move needs to be. She’d asked if I heard her, and the answer is yes. Yes, I heard you, Whitney. “Solomon, talk to me, man. You good?” Nix asks, leaning over to try to look me in the eye. “I’ve got something I need to take care of, Nix,” I reply, staring over at my mother’s brown and black coffin, remembering her words. “I’ve got to pay a special someone a visit.”
THE AIR IS crisp,
the stars are bright, and the night is young. My heart beats calmly under the thickness of my black sweater and black leather jacket, and my hand is steady. There are no nerves, there are no feelings. There is only what needs to be done. There is only what I’m dying to do—what I’ve been dying to do for a long time now, and in this moment, standing outside of the projects on the outer edge of Strawberry Mansion, I’m filled with the thrill of the hunt. Is this what makes hunters want to keep killing things? Is it the thrill of the chase, or the excitement of the act of violence? Time will tell! The complex looks like I expected it would when I looked through my mom’s things and found the address. I figured it’d be a tall building surrounded by bare land, with a crappy little playground on the corner for the poor kids born into this horrible excuse for existence by their horrible excuse for parents. In the light from the streetlights, I can tell the building is pink, with lots of the color giving way to the gray concrete underneath as the paint peels off more and more over time. There are tons of windows missing,
replaced by cardboard or trash bags, and given the time of night it is, there is almost nobody walking around outside. There are, however, a few guys who are tucked away in dark recesses of the building. These men are the exact type of scum I’ve grown to loathe—drug dealers. They add nothing of value to the world, they only destroy people who aren’t strong enough to fend for themselves. They’re basically murderers when the product they sell people ends up bringing them nothing but death. They themselves deserve death. Tonight, I’m going to team up with the grim reaper himself! I close the door to Whitney’s car and make my way across the field, past the playground that’s nothing more than a jungle gym and a seesaw embedded in hard sand. As I approach the dying building, I feel nothing at all. My breathing doesn’t pick up, and my nerves don’t stand on end. This isn’t me being forced into the violent life I’ve always wanted to stay away from. No, this is me embracing what I am. This is what my life has done to me since the second I was born. This is what Whitney made me. This is what Reina did to me. There’s a dealer wearing a red hoodie standing in front of the door, and he looks me up and down as I approach him. He looks like he wants to say something, and I hope for it. I would love nothing more than a confrontation right now. I want everyone in this building, everyone in this
neighborhood, everyone in this city to know who I am. Whitney’s death didn’t diminish that—it emboldened it. “What up, blood?” the man in the hoodie says as he stands up straight, now locking eyes with me. I smile at him as I step directly in front of him and push my black hair to the back with both hands. “Blood? You want to see blood?” I chirp, to which the dealer frowns. “I’ll show you blood. Whose would you like to see, mine or yours?” The hooded asshole furrows his brow as he thinks about his options, and I see it in him when he decides he doesn’t want to play with me. Still frowning and looking as confused as ever, he doesn’t vocalize a response. Instead, the guy just steps aside, granting me access to the complex. I let out a sad sigh as I reach for the door. “Too bad,” I whisper as I enter the building and leave him to wonder all by himself. Inside the complex, the lights in the hall are flickering in and out, and there’s graffiti all along the walls that lead right up to people’s homes. It doesn’t look like the kind of place you’d want to live in as an adult, so I find myself thoroughly annoyed by the fact that the playground outside has kids that play on it regularly. A child should not be living in a hellhole like this. Then again, I shouldn’t have lived in the hellhole I’ve lived in my whole life either, yet here I am. No one feels sorry for me!
I walk past the doors with no regard to what I hear behind them. I’m on a mission that will require being focused. So I find my way to the elevator that looks like its next trip up will be its last, and press the number seven. When I make it up, I step off of the elevator into another hall that looks identical to the one on the ground floor. I step down the hall at a quick pace, thinking only about my destination. It only takes one turn down a dimly lit corridor to get there—room seven-sixteen; the home of my mother’s drug dealer who should’ve learned his lesson when I stabbed him in the cheek with my box cutter—Davon. As I stand in the dim hallway staring at the outside of the door of the man whose drugs killed my mother, I hear a tiny voice in the back of my head telling me to stop and think about what I’m about to do. I hate that voice. It’s never done me any good up to this point, and I never really was good at listening to it. Why change that now? After Whitney. After Reina. I ignore that voice and tell myself that I will never allow myself to even hear it again, let alone listen to it. Knock. Knock. I bang my fist on the door twice, before listening for movement inside. I hear some light shuffling but no voices. Then there are footsteps as someone heavy approaches the door and stops short of opening it.
“Who the fuck is it?” a baritone voice says, and I know it’s him. “Solomon,” I answer without the slightest hesitation. I don’t have a need to hide my identity. I want him to know. If he runs, I’ll catch him. Either way, he’s going to know Solomon King is coming for him. “What are you doing here?” he asks, still not opening the door. “It’s not polite to talk to someone through a closed door, Davon. Open up,” I tell him, smiling into the peephole I’m sure he’s looking through. “Look, man, I already told Whitney, if she wants something, she gotta pay just like everybody else. I’m done with the charity cases.” He doesn’t even know she’s dead! My blood immediately goes into a full boil under my skin, but I suppress the anger before it can spill over. Just because I’m livid on the inside and ready to explode, he doesn’t need to know that —not until I want him to know it, at which point it’ll be too late to escape my rage. “Relax, Davon,” I reply after a deep breath to steady myself. “I have money.” There’s silence for a moment as Davon thinks about my response. I assume he’s thinking about the last time he and I were in a room together and it’s giving him second thoughts. However, he’s a drug dealer, and nothing is more important than
making money. So, as I expected, the next sound I hear is the locks on the door being undone. The door slowly creeps open and there stands my mother’s killer, dressed in a wife beater and gray basketball shorts. He has one gigantic diamond stud earring in each ear that really stand out against his dark skin, and his braids are free and hanging behind his head. There’s a thin scar on his face where the blade of my box cutter entered his cheek, but after all this time, it’s nice and healed up, and Davon carries a look on his face now that says he’s not going to allow himself to be intimidated by an eighteen-year-old. That day in my living room was over six months ago, and he wants me to know it. “Show me the money,” Davon says as he keeps one hand on the door and puts on his toughest expression. I oblige him by reaching into my pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. Davon’s eyes widen at the sight of it. “How’d Whitney get cash like that?” “Does it matter?” I snip. “I assume we’re not doing this in the hallway, so maybe you should let me in.” “You know I don’t trust you,” Davon replies. “So if you try anything in here, I’m gonna end you real quick. Without hesitation, you feel me?” Davon slowly reaches behind him and pulls a small black handgun from the back of his shorts. He
shows it to me, and I can feel the confidence emanating off of him. That’s the way guns work. If you’re a little bitch like Davon, having a gun can make you feel like the toughest guy in the world. There’s nothing more empowering to a coward than knowing they can hurt something or someone from a distance without having to actually face them. I decide to play along with Davon’s little game and nod my head. “I got it.” Davon, enjoying seeing what he believes is fear in my eyes, moves aside for me to walk past him. I hear the door shut and lock behind me as I step into the dark room and look around for signs of life. There’s a messy kitchen to my right, with bottles of liquor sprawled across the counter, and a small living room with modest furniture, but I don’t see anyone else in the apartment. I’m actually surprised that a dealer like Davon is living so modestly, considering his income. He must be trying to make sure he’s inconspicuous. You can’t showcase wealth in a place like this. It’ll get you robbed and killed. I stand at the entrance to the living room as Davon brushes past me, still holding his little gun. I feel the urge to chuckle rush to the surface, but I suppress it as Davon sits on his brown leather couch and reaches under it. He pulls out a doublelocked black suitcase and sets on his black coffee table before stopping and looking up at me.
“Alright, Solomon, explain something to me,” he says, glaring up at me from the couch. “Whitney always calls me before she comes over, and actually prefers that I go to her. So I find it very interesting that you’re here right now. She didn’t call and say she was getting low or anything. Usually she’s blowing up my phone, begging me to hook her up. Now, all of a sudden, she sends you to make a purchase for her. Not to mention the fact that she bought, like, two grand worth of product the last time I saw her. There’s no way she used all that up in just over a week. Sounds like some bullshit to me.” Davon makes a show of placing the gun on his knee and sitting back on the couch. “Aww, do I make you nervous?” I reply with a smile. “Hey, don’t start that smiling crap,” he barks. “The shit that went down last time won’t happen again, you feel me? Don’t get any bright ideas.” “Why don’t you stop being so scared and open up your little toy box so we can get this over with? I’m not interested in talking. I never said I was buying for Whitney.” Davon nods his head as if realizing something. “So you’re on it now too, huh? Figures. Like mother, like son.” Still nodding with a smug smile on his face, accepting the idea that I’ve turned into a junkie like my mother, Davon leans forward to put in the
combos for the suitcase. As he leans, turning the golden dials on one of the locks, he forgets all about his gun. I watch in anticipation as it slowly starts to slide to the edge of his leg. Davon gets one lock open and shifts his body to put in the combo for the other, but when he moves, the gun on his knee falls, and I immediately spring into action. Before the gun can hit the floor, my body is already in the air, hurling towards Davon. He tries to react to the gun and reaches down for it, but I collide with him before he can grab it, knocking him backwards. The two of us struggle on the couch, throwing wild punches at each other while trying to get up at the same time, and I manage to get one foot on the floor and kick the gun away before being hit in the jaw by an elbow. I stumble off of Davon, who tries to make a run for the door, but I manage to grab onto his ankle before he can get too far. I hold him in place with my right hand, while I reach into my pocket with my left and pull out my box cutter. As Davon kicks at me to get free, I expose the blade and slide it across his Achilles tendon, slicing completely through it. He lets out a blood curdling scream and falls to the floor, but I jump onto his back and wrap my hand around his mouth to muffle the sound, placing the blade on his throat at the same time. “Sshhh,” I whisper in his ear as I squeeze his face with my hand. “How could you be so smart
and so stupid at the same time? You knew something was off with me showing up here, yet you were so consumed by making the money, you didn’t even realize the gun was sliding off your stupid knee.” Davon struggles to get free, trying to bounce me off of him by jolting himself up and down, and it pisses me right off. I press the knife into his throat enough to draw a line of blood, and he finally settles down. “There, that’s better. Let me ask you something, Davon,” I say to him in his ear, still holding his mouth. “Does it matter to you that you killed my mother?” I can feel the confusion shooting through his veins as he furiously shakes his head. “You didn’t do it? Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. You did do it, you just don’t know you did it. It’s all the same though, Davon. She overdosed on the heroin you sold her. She died in her bed last week, and you didn’t even know about it. I buried her this morning. But don’t worry, your burial is coming!” The moment comes to me in a rush of raw energy. My veins feel like the blood flowing through them is too much and they might explode any minute. My heart begins to race as I tighten my grip on the box cutter, and in one quick, strong motion, I slash it across Davon’s throat. I lay on top of his back with my hand over his mouth, watching
as his blood pours out of the long, deep wound and his body convulses to get free. The sight of it brings that urge to laugh roaring back to me, and I can’t help it anymore. I hear myself chuckling as the blood pools under us both, and Davon slowly stops moving. His legs stop kicking and his arms go limp as life leaves his body. Just like that, he’s gone. I just killed a man. It’s the first time I’ve ever done it. Will it be the last? Once everything stops, my laughing fades away as well, but a smile lingers on my face. I stand up, careful not to step in the still-increasing puddle of blood on the floor, and make my way over to the front door. As I walk, thoughts flash in my mind like a movie montage. I see an image of Whitney— first she’s screaming at me, then she’s sticking a needle into her arm and collapsing onto the floor. Then there’s Moe, Nix’s father, hitting Justine, Nix’s mother. Next is Reina being beaten up in the alley next to Aaron’s, followed by her getting on a train and being whisked away, leaving me all alone in the black and gray smoke of her departure. I see the house I grew up in, the same house I still have to go back to now and call home. I see misery, suffering, and complete sadness. It’s all I’ve ever known for all eighteen years of my life. I have loved little, and even that has been taken away from me. As I step out into the hallway and close
Davon’s door behind me, I allow myself one last thought of Whitney and Reina. They’re the final straws. They’re the last pieces that came together to complete the horrible puzzle that is my life. I’m not sad that they’re gone. I will embrace it, and use it as fuel for everything I do in the future. Cash N Check and Julia’s Jewels were nothing in comparison to what I have planned. Reina’s departure, Whitney’s and Davon’s deaths—these are the final actions to my birth. I am being reborn today. I am ascending, and as I take the fire escape down to the ground floor—making sure not to leave the building the same way I came in—I know nothing will ever be the same. This is only the beginning. Watch out world! Here comes Solomon King!
a beautiful Philly day, and the sky is as blue as it’s ever been. A few birds fly by and catch my attention for a second before my eyes shift back to the cloudless sky. I can even see the moon from this angle, with my head tilted back, looking up at the vastness above me. It really is beautiful. Majestic, even. I feel calmed by it. Soothed. Like a shot of tequila sloshing down my throat and exploding in my belly, setting my insides on fire all the way down. Yeah, all that just from looking up at the fucking sky. Smooth, beautiful chrome, ready for action. The alley is narrow. Just wide enough to fit the moving truck I’m sitting in. Directly in front of me is a busy street with cars speeding by in both directions, and to my right is the red brick backside of Philadelphia First National Bank. As a kid, I used to drive by it every now and then. I’d glance out the window of whatever shitty car we were driving in as we passed, and I knew why we never stopped or went inside. We didn’t have any money, that’s why. My mother never needed a bank because she never kept money long enough to ever consider saving it in a place like this. BLUE SKIES. IT’S
Thirty seconds. Rounds chambered. You see, when you’re as poor as we were, you have to hold on to every cent you have. Those pennies are worth everything, and losing them could be the difference between eating dinner and going to bed hungry. So, my mother hoarded her money. Oh yeah, she hoarded it until she had enough to buy her next hit, and I usually went to bed hungry any way. Ten seconds. As I sit outside First National Bank now, I feel a sense of pride for my poor old mom. Maybe she had it all figured out after all. Maybe she knew all along. She never put her money in this bank, and she never had any of it stolen from her. Not too shabby for a junkie whore. Mask on. Let’s play! I pop open my door and climb out of the white truck with a shiny chrome nine millimeter in each hand. The rush of adrenaline surges through my body, from the top of my black hair to the soles of my tattooed feet, and I don’t bother to suppress the laugh that escapes me. I can’t help it. I love this. Securing the goalie mask on my face as I round the corner, the few pedestrians on the gray sidewalk look confused for a second, but that confusion spins into fear when they see my shiny chrome babies in my hands, and they turn to run the other direction.
Yes, run! Scatter like the terrified little insects you are. A few quick steps and I’m right at the entrance of the bank. I open the glass door to find one of the security guards lying on the floor. He’s a middleaged white guy and he’s reaching for his little radio only a few feet out of his grasp. This is exactly why we do it this way. Someone’s always trying to be the hero. What is it about these kinds of people? Do they think they’ll get a medal from the mayor or something? Their picture on the front page of the newspaper, with a headline that reads “Chubby cop stops armed robbers by using his radio as a weapon. Receives key to the city!” I mean seriously, why would you try to be brave with all these loaded weapons being flailed about and pointed at people’s faces? Some people are just too stupid. He’s trying so hard to reach the radio he never hears me coming. Ah, but he’ll feel me. Without breaking stride, I walk over to the chubby guard and place my black, size eleven combat boot on his wrist, and I use the bone in his arm to balance all of my one-hundred-ninety pounds. The chubby, smooth-faced guard lets out a scream, but it’s a little premature. He doesn’t have a reason to scream yet. “Hi there,” I greet him, looking down. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, Officer Chubbs, but when
my associates came in with their loaded guns about thirty seconds ago, did they or did they not tell you to get on the floor and stay still?” The guard nods his head as sweat starts to form little beads on his wrinkled forehead. “Ah, I thought so. Thank you for your honesty!” The sound of the gunshot blares through the building and blood splatters onto my boot. A woman in the corner screams a little before being silenced by one of my associates, who shoves his gun in her face, and the chubby guard yells at the top of his lungs as he looks at his hand and realizes he can see through the hole I just put in it. Now he has a reason to scream. I let the beauty of his shriek linger for a moment—just long enough for everyone in the room to know how ugly things can turn at the drop of a hat. I even take a second to move my arms around like a music conductor inspired by his yelling. But then it becomes annoying, and I bend over and shove the hot barrel of my nine into his mouth. “Sshhhh,” I whisper as he chokes down his scream. “Before you think of screaming or moving again, imagine what it’d be like to have another hole in the back of your throat.” The security guard can’t see my face because of the hockey mask and balaclava underneath it,
but he knows I’m serious. He can feel it lifting off of me like the smell of cologne, and I see it in his eyes as he starts to shiver from the fear of actually thinking about it. He won’t be a problem anymore, so I stand up and make my way to the center of the small bank, stepping over a couple of customers as I go. “Thank you all so very much!” I exclaim as I climb on top of the black marble counter and address the entire room with my arms outstretched to my sides, my voice echoing and bouncing off the white walls. “Ladies and gentlemen, my associates and I will be making a large withdrawal, and I’d appreciate it if none of you did anything stupid. If you do anything that I even consider to be making a move, you will end up with lots of extra holes in your body. Holes that’ll make it impossible for your body to sustain life. You’ve been warned.” I drop down from the counter and nod to my associate standing at the start of the hall in front of us. Nix is now six-five with shoulders as broad as ever, and he snatches up an old, gray-haired man with a gray mustache resting over his nose. “How ironic,” I say behind a chuckle as the man puts his hands up like we’re the police. “We’re here to rob a bank and we end up with Mr. Monopoly as the manager. It really is a beautiful day. Now go open the vault!” The Monopoly guy jumps at the sound of my
voice, but he does a great job of moving his ass, escorting us to the back of the bank and getting the gray, thick vault door open by swiping his key card. The big door swings open and my eyes take in the sight of all the money just sitting there on a metal table . . . waiting to screw me over. “Wait a minute, Mr. Monopoly,” I say as Nix pulls out a plastic trash bag and waits for my orders. “We both know those stacks of cash have those devices that spray paint all over the bills once I start to play with them. It’d be a really bad idea to give me those, because then I’d have to track you down and rape your little old asshole with the barrel of this gun. So if you’re smart at all, Mr. Monopoly, you’ll be careful with your next choice.” Just like I knew he would, Mr. Monopoly goes over to a silver drawer on the bottom left side of the vault and swipes his key card again. The drawer slides open and the old man starts tossing stacks of cash into Nix’s plastic bag. These stacks haven’t had the anti-theft devices put in them yet, so there won’t be any surprises waiting for us once we leave. There’s enough cash to fill up an entire trash bag, and after a quick glance at my watch, I know I don’t have time to get greedy. “That’s it,” I say to Nix, who promptly wraps the top of the plastic bag around his hand and
forces Mr. Monopoly onto the floor without saying a word. The two of us leave him lying there as we make our way out. I step with pace as we leave the vault and walk back into the lobby where the customers and employees of the bank are still sprawled across the floor with their fingers interlocked behind their heads. “Thank you all for your cooperation,” I announce as I walk towards the door I came in only sixty seconds ago, and everyone in my crew starts to follow me out. With a loud chuckle tickling my throat, I push the door open and make my way onto the sidewalk. More pedestrians jump and run to get out of my way as I shove one of my gorgeous chrome weapons into the front of my waistband and the other into the back. My six associates—all dressed in black sweat suits, black boots, black balaclavas and white hockey masks—pick up the pace and jog to the truck in the alley to start it up and get ready to make our getaway, but before I reach the back of the white truck, I’m stopped by a voice. “Stop right there!” the voice commands, followed by a groan and the obvious sound of a round being chambered. I stop and slowly spin on my heel in the narrow alley to find another security guard holding one of my associates by the neck and pointing a gun at me over his shoulder. This guard,
a young hotshot white kid with bravery running through his veins, obviously likes to lift heavy things from the size of his arms, and he has a look of pure determination on his face. I feel my heart start to race at the excitement of the unexpected event and I laugh out loud. “Well, well, well! This, I did not expect!” I exclaim as I start to clap. This type of idiocy deserves an applause. “Bravo, Mr. Security Guard! Bravo!” “Shut up!” the guard shouts, still pointing the weapon. My associate clutches the burly guard’s arm like a damsel in distress, and the sight of it sickens me. “You’re not gonna get away with this,” the guard shouts, but I can hear the tremble in his voice. “Don’t move or I will shoot you dead.” “Oh I’m not moving, sir,” I reply, grinning at him. “Good. Now get on your knees and put your hands behind your back,” the guard demands. I exhale and roll my head back and forth to stretch my neck before locking my eyes on the guard. “Let me make sure I’ve got it right. You want me down on my knees, and my hands behind my back?” The guard swallows hard before shouting again. “Drop that weapon you’ve got in your waistband. I see it. Drop it! Do it slowly!” Rookies.
I smile at the guard even though I know he can’t see my face behind the masks. While he watches me nervously, I slowly remove my gun from my waistband and dangle it in front of me by the trigger guard, teasing the young, muscle-bound, officer. “Drop it, asshole!” he shouts, apparently not appreciative of my good mood. “As you wish,” I reply, letting the gun fall off of my finger. As it falls towards the ground, I drop to one knee at near light speed and remove my other gun from the back of my waistband. I fire a single shot just as the gun I dropped smacks the concrete, and watch the guard’s head snap back as the bullet enters his forehead just below his hairline. He crumbles into a heap beneath the feet of my associate. “Holy shit!” my associate exclaims as I pick up my gun, dust it off, and turn on my heel to walk towards the truck behind me. My driver starts up the engine just as I reach the back door and start to climb in. “That was a crazy shot!” my associate chirps as he starts to climb into the truck behind me and removes his masks. “Thanks for handling that, Solomon.” I sit down on the metal bench in the back of the moving truck and remove my masks, exposing my messy black hair and tattoos of demonic hands that
reach up for my neck from under my shirt, as if they’re trying to escape hell. I want this guy to see my face. I want him to see my eyes. “Thanks for handling it?” I repeat, just as I look up at the skinny man trying to climb into the truck. “You think I did that for you? I did that because it felt good. I did that because I hate security guards just as much as I hate regular cops. I did that because it brought me joy. But this—I’m doing this because you couldn’t handle it yourself. And I don’t let pussies on my team.” Without a hint of hesitation, I aim one of my loaded chrome beauties at his face, just as terror takes over every inch of his pale skin. “No, Solomon wait!” are his last words as I pull the trigger. The gun lets out a quick, sharp pop and sends my ex-associate’s body falling backwards onto the dark pavement. The second he lands and I see the dark red blood pooling around his head, I signal my driver and close the doors to the compartment we’re seated in. I sit down with a comfortable smile on my face as the moving truck quickly heads out of the alley and into the flow of traffic.
dark. The night. Not the stars in the sky, shining their ridiculous light all over the place, keeping things from being as black as they can be. No, it’s the darkness I love. I find comfort in it. Solace. The night is when I come to life. At night, all the people in the world reveal who they really are. You want to know if the woman you love is a whore? Just wait until the darkness spreads over the earth and she thinks you’re not watching. What she does in the darkness will tell you all you need to know. Ah, the things people do in the comfort of the night! At night, the strong take over and the weak hide, quivering in their little boots somewhere. At night, all the fun begins. My favorite place in the world is my home away from home, Club Asylum. A two-story night club in the heart of Philadelphia owned by yours truly. The king himself! There’s nothing like a Friday night in Club Asylum—all the flesh being flaunted and used to tease anyone willing to look, the alcohol being consumed like it’s the last on earth, the blaring music, the sex in the air, all mixed with the feeling of invincibility. You can see it emanating off of the group of thuggish guys that I LOVE THE
waltz in together, flashing their jewelry as if it makes them who they are. You can see the feeling of power floating off of the group of white guys as they strut in wearing their button-ups and slacks, glaring at the rest of the club goers like they’re above them in every way. And of course, you can sense the power all the women in the place hold as they flirt with these guys, controlling them completely. These women, in their tight dresses and short skirts, could take whatever they want from the idiot men who think they run something. It’s the women who are really in control. They could bring these men to their knees—with a flash of one tit, they can get anything they want from these idiots without ever having to go all the way. Ah, Club Asylum, how I love thee! It’s addicting, really, and I enjoy the view of it all from my little box on the second floor. Contrary to what the mongrels who spend their money in my club think, the Box on the second floor of Club Asylum is not VIP. No, the Box is my personal safe haven. It’s literally a bullet-proof, sound-proof glass cube in the center of the second floor, surrounded by the large VIP section. The Box is fit for a king—plush white couches running around the perimeter, humongous speakers in every corner to play the club’s music or music of my choosing if the club DJ plays something stupid that I don’t feel like hearing, six security monitors
mounted to the top of one wall, and a large glass table in the center, big enough to seat ten people in the red leather chairs that surround it, but there’s usually only two of us. Tonight is no exception. The outside of the Box is surrounded by women eyeballing us as we enter, just waiting for their chance to spend the night with a known criminal. Women are crazy. “Good evening Mr. King,” Lenny, the large bouncer at the entrance of the Box, says as I approach. I don’t verbally respond to him, I only look at him as he leans over and pushes the thick glass door open with light from the club shining off of his bald head. The only person in the world who I’d call my friend, Nix Malone, enters first, and I step in after him. In the past seven years, Nix has grown into the six-foot-five, two-hundred-forty-pound behemoth seated next to me now, and as I came up in Philadelphia’s underworld, he came up with me. Nix always had my back, and he’s been ready to die right alongside me for fifteen years now. He’s been there for every robbery and scheme my ingenious brain has cooked up. If I snap my fingers, Nix will pull your head off your shoulders. I like to think that if I wasn’t around, Nix would run this city. But I am around, so Philly belongs to me. Me! Solomon King. Nix and I sit down next to each other on the
long white couch in the section closest to the entrance. The large speakers in the four corners of the Box boom with the bass of the music in the club as I cross my legs and look up at the half-naked women dancing on top of the see-through ceiling of my glass house. Some of them look down at me, marveling at my white slacks and white and black button-up. They notice the diamond encrusted face of my black watch and the shimmering platinum of my necklace, and it makes them excited in all the right places. They want a bad boy, but what they don’t know is that a bad boy is like a sobbing infant compared to me. I exhale, stretching my fully tattooed arms across the back of the couch. “Talk to me, Nix. Put a smile on my face.” “Four-seventy-five,” Nix replies with a small grin on his thick, bearded face. “That’s the take.” “Four-seventy-five,” I repeat, just before a laugh explodes from my mouth. “Not too shabby for ninety seconds!” “Nah, not shabby at all,” Nix agrees. He reaches up and wipes his mouth as he chuckles, then he takes off the black jacket to his all-black suit, exposing a black short-sleeved button-up and muscular tattooed arms of his own. Nix’s fascination with angels and demons are depicted in ink on his skin, while mine is covered in the things I love most: knives, guns, the grim reaper, crowns,
crying clowns, grave yards, and fire. “I just need to know how you want to split it,” Nix says, reminding me that I’m supposed to pay the people who helped me steal four-hundred-seventy-five-thousand dollars from Philadelphia First National Bank. I look at Nix and smile as I breathe in air, making a whooshing sound. “We are still splitting it, aren’t we?” Nix asks. I guess he can see where I might go with this. “Oh, you just know me too well, Nix,” I say with a chuckle. “Yeah, we’re still gonna split it. Let’s see, we had six total, didn’t we? Including you and me.” “Yeah, but we only left with five of us. Remember?” “Oh that’s right!” I chirp, laughing again. “One of our associates missed the bus. What a shame. Well, I guess we’ll just have to split it with five. Alright then, give twenty-five to the other three for a job well-done. You and me go one-seventy-five, two-fifteen, respectively.” “And the last ten is for Mason?” I hate the sound of his name, but it’s part of the business if you want to stay in business. “Yeah. Ten for Mason.” “He texted me, by the way. This morning. Asking for his cut already,” Nix says with his head tilted, cutting his eyes to look at me. I know that face. That’s the expression Nix gets when he’s
annoyed by someone and he’s ready to put them out of their misery. I love Nix! “Oh, did he now?” I reply with wide eyes. “Well, Detective Mason will have to wait longer than everybody else for being so impatient. He’ll get his money when I say so, and not a millisecond sooner. Make sure he understands that.” “Of course,” Nix replies, just as we hear the intercom to the Box come on. It’s Lenny, and he’s speaking into the intercom with someone standing behind him. “Someone’s here to see Mr. King,” Lenny says, and even through the thick black beard, I can see the nervousness on his face. I don’t like being interrupted, especially unexpectedly, so when I see Lenny standing by the entrance of the Box with a skinny twig of a man next to him, I feel fire sparking up in my belly. Nix, knowing me the way he does, looks ready to send Lenny and the little guy scurrying off, but I stop him. “Oh no, no, no,” I interject with a raised hand and smile. “Let him in, Nix. Let’s start a party in the Box! The more the merrier!” Nix nods along and waves at Lenny, who responds by opening the door just enough for the little guy to come sauntering in wearing blue jeans and a large gray hoodie with the hood covering his head, casting most of his face in a shadow.
“He insisted on seeing Mr. King,” Lenny says. I eye him, but he does everything he can to avoid eye contact with me, and I feel the urge to chuckle teasing my throat. The fear I see in all of them makes me giddy. Nix glares at Lenny for being stupid enough to knock on the door just because some little Poindexter “insisted”. He must’ve forgotten who he should fear more than anyone else. I’ll remind him later. For now, I watch as Nix pushes Lenny out of the room with a simple nod of his head, and the geek steps into the room and gives his hand for me to shake. “Ain’t no handshaking,” Nix snips, and I love it. “Who the hell are you, and why are you going outta your way to get the door guard fired?” Poindexter looks confused by the statement, so he just stands there, annoying my every nerve as he pulls the hood of his sweater off of his head, exposing his slick black hair and smooth baby face. He even has a tiny mole next to his mouth. How adorable. He takes a second to gather his composure before speaking. “Umm, my name is Tim,” he begins, looking directly at me, but Nix nips that right in the bud. “Hey, you’re talking to me,” he says, nearly snarling. “If you’re smart, you’ll get right to the point.” “Umm, I was hoping I could speak to Mr. King
about possibly working for him,” Poindexter says, making sure to keep his eyes on Nix now. He learns quick, because if looks could kill, my glare would have made his heart explode in his chest already. “You wanna work for Mr. King?” Nix repeats the question. “You wanna work for Mr. King doing what?” “Anything,” Poindexter answers. “Anything he needs me to do.” I find myself feeling interested. What can I say? That’s a pretty good answer. So, I decide to speak for myself. “Anything he needs me to do,” I repeat him, feeling like a million bucks. “Those are big words, Timmy. I’m just dying to know what possessed you to come to this club and say those words.” Poindexter swallows hard as he manages to pull his brown eyes over to me. Once our eyes lock, I see instant regret in his, but it’s too late. He’s in here. He insisted on being in here, and there’s no backing out of anything with me. “I, umm,” he stammers as I lean forward and place my tattooed elbows on the knees of my white slacks. “I’m down to my last bit of hope. My family wants nothing to do with me because I’ve always been involved in things they don’t agree with. So they kicked me out. I’ve been forced to steal just to eat for the past four days, and anybody involved in this kind of lifestyle knows about you, Mr. King.
Everybody in this club, everybody on the streets, they all respect you. They all fear you.” “And you want that fear and respect for yourself,” I state, just as I stand up. I’m at least three inches taller than Tim, and he looks like he’s barely twenty years old with a cleanshaven face and that stupid mole. He doesn’t look like the type to be involved with anything illegal. Nah, he looks like someone I would never trust. He looks like a cop to me, or the son of a cop at the very least. “Aww, that’s so sweet,” I continue, stepping towards him. Nix sits back on the couch and watches with pure amusement on his face. “What a wonderful sob story, Timmy! I can feel the tears making the long climb up to my eyes right this second. They’re big and strong and ready to slide down my beautiful face, Timmy! You wanna be feared and respected without having to do anything. What a dream that must be!” “I’m willing to work for it, Mr. King,” Poindexter says, interrupting me. My blood boils as I step within a foot of him and smile in his face, showing him all of my pearly whites. “Is that right, Timmy? You’re willing to cut me off to tell me you’re willing to work for it?” “Oh, wait, I’m sor . . .” “Sshhhh,” I whisper in his ear as I place an arm
over his shoulder and pull his head over to mine until we’re connected like Siamese twins. “Sshhhh, sshhhh, sshhhh. Tell me, Timmy, what do the nice people on the streets say about me?” He hesitates. “Be honest. Go on, what do they say?” “They’re afraid.” “Ah, yes! But what do they say?” “They say not to mess with you. They say you’re crazy. You’re a madman.” A giant smile takes control of my mouth just as a laugh explodes from me. “There it is! They call me crazy. I’m a psycho, a madman! They say I’m a lunatic . . . because I’m willing to do anything for the fear and respect, including dying! Their tiny minds can’t fathom a genius like me. What I am is too complex for them to understand, so they say I’m a madman. They’re just too small-minded to understand. I’d kill for the respect. What would you do, Timmy? Would you kill for it?” I can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to think of a way out of this box, but there’s no such thing, so he answers without thinking. “I would,” he says in nearly a whisper. “I’d kill for it.” “Careful, Timmy,” I snip, cutting him off with a raised finger. “Think about your answer, because words have consequences.” “I would,” he says again, this time with more
confidence. “Would you die for it?” He doesn’t hesitate this time, because he thinks he’s saying what I want to hear. “Yes, I would.” “Ah,” I say in an exhale. Turning my back to Tim, I walk back over to the couch and step on a silver button on the floor. In an instant, the glass windows of the Box shift and suddenly are tinted and opaque, the many drunken club-goers outside are now blurry, formless blobs with no distinct features whatsoever. Privacy Smart Glass—a little feature I made sure the Box had when I had it installed two years ago. No one can see in, and we can’t see out, save for the six security monitors mounted on the wall in front of where Nix is still sitting. What a toy to have! Poindexter looks like he’s seen a ghost as I reach into my waistband and reveal my beautiful, chrome nine millimeter. I chamber a round, rush over to Tim and shove the barrel into his neck, slamming his back up against the door he just insisted on coming through. “Tell me again, Timmy! You’re ready to die for the fear and respect. Is that right? Say it again, and we’ll take those words out for a field test. Let’s have some fun. Come on, Timmy. Say it again!” For some strange reason, Tim doesn’t speak again, and I don’t fight the laugh that falls out of
my mouth. He stares up at the ceiling, where just a second ago he could see girls dancing, as tears start to fill his eyes. There’s nothing but darkness now, and he knows this darkness could be the last thing he sees. Ah, how I love the darkness! “What’s your last name, Timmy?” I ask, still pushing the gun into his throat. “S . . . Sandusky,” he stutters. “Timmy S . . . S . . . Sandusky?” I shout. “Sounds like a cop’s name to me. You a cop, Timmy?” “No! No, I swear to god!” “You swear to god? Well, that’s exactly what a cop would say!” “Please! Please don’t. I swear I’m not a cop. I swear.” “You swear you’re not a cop, you’re willing to do anything I need you to do, and you’re willing to kill and die for fear and respect. Yet here you are with this terrified look on your baby face. It all sounds like a gigantic ball of horse shit to me, Timmy S . . . S . . . Sandusky. But I guess only time will tell. We’re done here. I insist you get the fuck out of my club!” I lower my gun and take a step back, and before I can complete the step, Timmy Poindexter S . . . S . . . Sandusky turns on his heel and runs out of the Box. I can’t see him, thanks to the Smart Glass, but I imagine he runs all the way to the end
of the street. Once the door is closed, I turn to Nix and laugh hysterically. Nix, ever the stone-cold killer, only smirks in response. “I guess my reputation precedes me,” I say, still chuckling as I walk back over to the couch, step on the silver button to switch the glass back to normal, and take my seat next to Nix. “I wanna know everything about Tim Sandusky; who his parents are, what he does for a living, his criminal record. Everything.” “Got it,” Nix replies. “Now, what do you say we celebrate our big take? I want Cristal in my hand and pussy in my face!” “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Nix uses the intercom to tell Lenny to have three bottles of Cristal brought to the Box, and he hand-picks six girls to come in and party with us. Once everything is brought to us, we turn the music up and crack open the bottles. I fixate on a redhead who dances like she’s dying to ride me all night long. As she moves her hips, she looks me in the eye, telling me she wants me to give her something she’s never had before. Like the rest of them, she wants a bad boy. She wants a criminal, a gangster to screw her brains out—to make her come harder than any of the usual dorks she meets. She looks at me like she came to Club Asylum just for me. She came to meet the king, and it’d just be the saddest
thing in the whole world if I let her leave disappointed—if I didn’t give her everything she came for. As she approaches me, an image of a face flashes in my mind—blonde hair, blue eyes—but like I’ve been doing for the past seven years, I push it away just as the redhead sits on my lap. “What’s your name, beautiful?” I ask her as she gives me the sexiest lap dance I’ve had since my last one. “Cynthia,” she answers, doing her best to speak in her sexiest voice. She pulls it off well, and I’m dying to find out what else she can pull off well. “Cynthia? That’s a beautiful name,” I answer. “I like that. Do your friends call you Sin for short?” She flashes a million-watt smile. “No, none of my friends have ever called me that.” “Well Sin,” I reply, “you and me just became friends, and tonight, we’re gonna pay respect to your new name.”
“MMM. GOOD MORNING.”
I hear her voice as I stare at the blackness behind my eyelids, and I swear it’s nails on a chalk board—nothing like the soft, seductive, low tone I remember from last night. I suppose consuming a gallon of alcohol would make anyone sound as sexy as I remember Cynthia sounding behind the bulletproof walls of the Box, but last night is over. Good morning? She must be insane. Any morning I wake up next to a woman who isn’t the woman I wish for, is not a good morning. I let my eyes slowly creak open just as I feel Cynthia’s soft skin rub against my chest, drawing a line around my pecks as if she’s amused by the muscle and tattoos there. She does it for a while, over and over again with the damn circles, mainly because I’m not paying attention to her at all. I feel her tiny finger, but my mind is everywhere but here as I peer up at the ceiling, focusing on the image of the two of us that stares back at me in the large mirror above my California king-sized bed. I see the red sheets, red comforter, and red and white pillow cases that make it look like Cynthia and I are swimming in a sea of blood, our limbs entangled in
a pool of death, but it’s her dyed-red hair that my eyes lock onto. As she continues tracing my chest with her index finger, the image in the mirror sends a familiar shooting pain through my heart, and I can barely stand the image any longer. “Stop that,” I snip, swatting her hand off of me. I hear her let out a tiny gasp as I sit up without giving her the slightest glance. “Are you okay?” she asks, as if she knows me. She asks if I’m okay as if it matters to her, as if she can tell from just from looking at me that something is wrong, when we both know neither of those things is true. She doesn’t care if something is the matter, and if she really did know me, she’d know better than to even act as though she cared about me. “Get dressed,” I tell her, looking at her over my shoulder, “and get out.” I see her pale, round face shift into an expression of shock, and it doesn’t faze me. Through the smeared makeup, plump pink lips, and soft red lines on her throat reminding me of how I choked her while I wore her out last night, there’s no longer anything there that I’m interested in. “Excuse me?” she dares to ask, propping herself up on her elbow and glaring at me from behind. “You heard me.” She pauses, thinking about what I just said and
wondering if it’s for real. “Seriously?” When I don’t answer, she continues, frustration dripping from her words. “What’s the matter? I thought we had a good time last night, and this is how you treat me the morning after you screw my brains out?” “Do you know who I am?” I ask, not caring enough to look over my shoulder at her anymore. Instead, I stare straight ahead, looking over the red railing of my two-story loft and gazing out the gigantic window overlooking downtown Philadelphia in all its glory. The sky is a perfect baby blue with just enough clouds to make it look surreal, and the skyscrapers spike up into the sky and stare back at me. I’ve come a long way since Whitney’s basement in Strawberry Mansion. “Everyone who goes to Club Asylum knows who you are,” she replies, still trying to flirt through her oncoming anger. “Is that so?” I reply as I extend my arms to each side of my body, stretching out my exhausted, tatted muscles. “I would think that if you really know who I am, then you know not to catch feelings for me after one night of sex. Just because I made you come more times than you could count, doesn’t mean we’re soulmates. This isn’t a fantasy fairytale come true. This is real life, Cynthia, and in real life, after you get fucked by the villain, you get as far away from him as you can, before he realizes
he doesn’t like you very much and acts on it.” She doesn’t reply, and after a second too long of silence, I turn around and glare at her. I lock my blue eyes onto hers and tell her without saying a word that she better move her ass, and it’s that silent communication that forces Cynthia off of the bed, and sends her speed-walking to one of the two red chairs next to the railing where her clothes await her. She quickly slips on her white, skin-tight dress and runs down the stairs carrying her black high heels and purse in hand. I smile to myself as I hear the front door open and quickly close behind her. Once I’m alone, I exhale as I get off of the bed and step over the dark hardwood flooring to the railing of the loft. I live on the sixteenth floor, the tippy top of North-X-Northwest luxury apartments in the heart of downtown Philly. The view out my window is gorgeous, with the Comcast Technology Center, Comcast Center, both Liberty Places One and Two, and BYN Mellon Center all visible to me. Long, white hanging lights drop down in front of me from the second floor ceiling and rest just above the open first floor of the loft, where red couches and marble white and light gray tables are displayed. To my right are the stairs that I had painted red—along with the railing—to match my favorite color, and just under where I’m standing now is the kitchen, with its marble gray
countertops, dark gray cabinetry, and oversized stainless steel hood to match the rest of the appliances. It’s a beautiful place, no doubt, but there’s something about it that can never be forgotten. When I was confined to my mother’s dank basement in Strawberry Mansion, I knew deep down that one day I would live here. I knew it when I drove through this same section of Philly when I was on my way to a prom that wasn’t my own. I remember that feeling now, as I stand in front of the curved railing of the balcony that leads to the staircase next to me and look out into Center City. I always knew I’d make it here, and after all I’ve been through, I find total and complete satisfaction in the fact that this is my home now. I still own Whitney’s house in Strawberry Mansion, and there isn’t a soul in that neighborhood who would dare come near that house now. Needless to say, my reputation has grown quite a bit over the years, and that house was the epicenter for the beginning of my legacy in this city. Six months after Whitney died, Nix and I stepped our game up and planned out our first bank robbery. It took us all of six months to figure out what we wanted to do, where we wanted to do it, and to get over the fear of committing armed robbery in a facility as secure as a bank, but we eventually got there. We made sure the bank
wouldn’t be in our own city, as the heat didn’t need to be any higher than it was after we hit Julia’s Jewels, meaning I wanted the heat to stay on zero. So, we drove two hours and one-hundred-twentyfive miles to Scranton, and took Citizens Savings Bank for over a hundred grand. Just the two of us. Can you believe it? Two teenagers hit a bank for over a hundred-thousand dollars! With money like that, you’re a legend in a neighborhood like Strawberry Mansion, but Nix and I played it safe, and made sure not to spend a bunch of money at one time. Like I said, the heat needs to always be on zero. From there, Nix and I expanded our operation and decided we didn’t need to take every single risk by ourselves. We hit a few more places alone, but eighteen months after Whitney died, we started bringing in new people to help us out. Once our reputation started to sound mythical in our neighborhood, we had no problem finding people who wanted to play along in our little game of taking life for everything it owes but tried to keep from us. We even managed to get crews to rob places without us present a few times over the years, and after seven years of heists, a brief stint in gun sales and trade, and even a short time of extortion, Nix and I are kings or Philly. But, being a king isn’t without its problems. Our problem comes in the form of a little Italian
family who thinks Philadelphia belongs to them. I remember the first day I ever heard the name Scarfo. I wanted to rob an Italian establishment just outside Strawberry Mansion, and Nix was quick to tell me we couldn’t go there because it was protected by the Scarfos. I had no clue what he was talking about, but over time, I learned everything I needed to know about them, and everything I’ve learned, I hate. The family is run by Angelo Scarfo, a seventyone-year-old prick who just can’t let go of the mob’s glory days, when they could kill whoever they wanted and get away with it. If that were still the case, I’d probably be dead already. But this isn’t the nineties, and I’m a whole new breed of villain! I’ll be damned if I let some asshole think he has a monopoly on my city. Philadelphia belongs to me, and Angelo will not get in the way of what I have planned for this life. Nix always advises me to avoid beef with the Scarfos, but when a war can be started simply by stepping on the wrong turf, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Nonetheless, we’ve done well, keeping from stepping on sensitive little Angelo’s toes by making sure our next hit isn’t one of the establishments they own or use in one of their many rackets. We usually get the heads up on that kind of crap from a little birdie we consult with by the name of Detective Anthony Mason, of the Philadelphia Police Department.
Detective Mason gets on my last nerve, but because of his status as a detective and his ties to the Scarfos, I listen to Nix when he says Mason is off limits, meaning I can’t kill him if he pisses me off. This guy has been around a long time, and he’s been a dirty cop his whole career, working with the mob families on the east coast with anything he could get his greedy little hands on. A man like Mason has no loyalty to anything except whoever has paid him most recently. He’s a snake, and I’d love nothing more than to chop his head off, but every day I manage to not take my box cutter to his throat at the counsel of Nix. Every day it’s a challenge, and today will be no different. After another moment of taking in the view of my city, I take a deep breath and walk back over to my bed. I grab the cellphone off the glass nightstand resting on top of gray marble legs, and see that I have a text notification. The message is from Nix, of course, and just reading it sends a spike of heat shooting through my veins. Nix: Mason called again. I tilt my head to the side, stretching out my neck as the tension starts up my back and reaches for the back of my head. Me: And? Nix: Wants to meet today. Race Street Pier.
Noon. Me: I see. Nix: You good with that? Me: Tell him we’ll be there. Nix: Got it. I can tell you’re not good with it. Don’t do anything, Solomon. I choose not to respond to Nix’s last message. Race Street Pier is a nice little place—lots of tourists and families come here to get a pretty view of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge and the waterfront. It’s always packed here, and that makes life difficult for a man like me in a number of ways. One of those ways is when I’m trying to park my eighty-nine-thousand dollar, dark red, Alfa Romeo 4C RS between the soccer mom’s minivan and the nine-to-five dad’s Camry. The looks on these people’s faces when I get out of the car, close the door, and adjust the black, diamond-encrusted watch on my wrist in the reflection of the pitch black tint, is enough to make me happy and furious at the same time. I’m thrilled that I’ve come up this much in life that people are looking at me in astonishment, and I’m also annoyed by the unashamed glares. I adjust the watch, straighten out my purposely inconspicuous black t-shirt—
although the car is conspicuous enough—and walk to the entrance of the pier, where Nix is already waiting for me in his black and white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers, holding a black backpack over his burly left shoulder. His black hair is slicked back, his beard is thick and long, and his glasses cover his usual stone-faced expression as I weave through the crowd toward him. When I reach him, we don’t shake hands, we just turn towards the pier and look out into the Delaware River. “He got here about an hour ago,” Nix says, looking now to the end of the pier, where tons of people stand, taking pictures and going about their happy day. “I watched him scope the place out like usual, but he was alone. He’s at the end, like always.” I turn my eyes to where Nix nodded his massive head, look through the flowing bodies walking around like inebriated zombies, glance through the trees scattered throughout the center of the pier, and find a bald-headed black guy wearing a gray suit, standing at the end of the pier with his back towards us. All confidence and arrogance, Detective Anthony Mason stands there, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the railing. From way back here, I can already imagine throwing his cocky ass over that railing and watching him drown in the Delaware River.
“That all of it? I ask Nix, gesturing towards the bag. “Yeah.” Without another word, Nix and I begin making our way through the crowd down the long sidewalk that runs parallel with the edge of the bridge above us. When we reach Mason, Nix stops a few feet behind him, while I take my place directly to his right and lean forward onto the railing, mirroring him. “Care to take a swim, Mason?” I sense Mason’s body tighten at my words, which quickly perches a smile on my lips. He tries to hide it when he forces himself to relax, but I notice. Coward. Mason looks down at his watch before focusing his attention back out on the river. “Punctual as always, Solomon. I always appreciate that.” “Do you?” I snip. I’m not sure what I hate more, Mason’s stupid face, or the fact that I’m not supposed to kill him. I’ve told Nix countless times that telling me I can’t kill the detective just makes me want to kill him even more. “I think you forget that I don’t care what you appreciate. I’m here on time because I’m a business man who knows how to properly handle business. Being late is bad for business.” “Indeed it is, which is why I love doing business with you,” Mason says, finally building up his courage to lock his dark brown eyes on mine.
His pudgy face is saggy around the eyes, and there are tons of razor bumps under his chin from using a razor to shave everything but the ridiculous goatee around his mouth. To top off his douche baggery, Mason wears one tiny diamond stud in his left ear, nothing in the right. Not sure why I hate it so much, seeing as how I don’t have either of my ears pierced, but something about Mason makes everything more annoying. “I imagine you do enjoy it, seeing as how you reap the benefits of doing absolutely nothing,” I reply, glaring at him without blinking. “It must be just wonderful to make the money you make without having to raise a single finger.” “If I recall correctly, it was me who made sure there weren’t any patrol cars in the area around First National Bank,” he replies, trying to toe the line between confident and faux bravery. “I told you where to go, and that kind of advice isn’t free. Not even for you, Solomon.” “Not even for me?” “Look, I know you’re the so-called king of the underworld these days, but everybody has to pay somebody for something. You know nothing is free in this world. Not even the things you steal.” “Spare me the philosophical bullshit, Mason,” I snip, struggling to keep my volume low as a dad and his young son walk up and stand next to us, peering up at the bridge. I bring my voice down to a
whisper and lean in so only Mason can hear. “Never make the mistake of convincing yourself that I need you to do what I’m fully capable of doing on my own.” Mason watches me for a second without moving, wondering what I might do next as I stare daggers into his pathetic soul. After remembering that I’m not dumb enough to kill a man in a public place like this, he clears his throat and speaks up. “That temper of yours is every bit as terrifying at people say it is,” Mason admits as he straightens out his jacket. “And as much as I respect it, you’d do well to remember who I work for. Not only am I a detective in this city, I’m also paid by Angelo.” Anger is a tricky thing, and there’s two ways you can use it. One way is to completely lose your mind and blow your load all over everything the second something offends you. In a situation like that, I’d be throwing Detective Mason over this railing after having put six or seven bullets in his stomach using the chrome nine millimeter I have tucked into the back of my pants. The other way to use your anger is the way I’ve always used mine. I let it come to a silent boil within me, while on the outside, my victim hasn’t the slightest idea that I’m plotting how to kill them. I find joy in manipulating people with a sly smile on my face as I setup the perfect revenge. That’s how I feel right now as I stare at Mason’s face as he
awaits my reply. I feel Nix staring at me from behind us, worried to death that Mason may have just dug his own grave by telling me what to do. I don’t need to remember anything, and I couldn’t possibly care less who Mason works for or is paid by. I fear no one! Mason would do well to remember who he’s standing in front of, and Angelo Scarfo better remember that no one is off limits in my world. But I don’t act on what I’m feeling inside. Instead, I smile from ear to ear and let out a soft chuckle that seems to put Mason on edge as much as me reaching for my gun would. “Nix,” I say over my shoulder, and my childhood friend steps forward and tosses the backpack to Mason who struggles to catch it as it hits him hard in the chest. “Do I need to count it?” Mason asks. Another strike. I lick my lips, take a step toward the bald detective, and look him square in the eye as I smile again. “Race Street Pier is awfully comfortable at noon, isn’t it?” I say to him in a low tone, still smiling. “Your house up in Northwest Philly is comfortable too, isn’t it? Roxborough, right? That’s a nice neighborhood. How are the views up there at night?” Mason swallows hard as the smile never leaves my face. “This city is beautiful during the
day, but nights are long, Detective.” “Are you thr . . . threatening me, Solomon?” Mason barely manages to ask as the furrow in his brow grows deeper. “Why would I do that when we’re such good business associates?” I stretch my smile to the edges of my face before turning on my heel and walking away. When I reach Nix, I speak to Mason again without breaking stride or looking back as Nix turns to leave with me. “You’d do well to remember who I am, Mason. Sleep well, Detective.”
Me: Nothing in this world is free. If you’re successful, then we’ll talk. If not, then not. 215–555–1115: I got this. response and put my phone down on the glass table in front of me just as the door to the Box is opened by Lenny, and Nix comes sauntering in, followed by four men I’ve seen a few times in the past, but not any time recently. The five of them stride in without saying a word, swimming in the music from the club and the aroma of countless variations of cologne and perfume from the many patrons of Club Asylum. I adjust myself in my seat to see them all better, letting the legs of my black pants rise a bit as I cross my feet under the table. I’m sleeveless tonight, sitting at the table wearing a black wife beater and flawless tattoos. The blue and orange flames of the fire-covered crown on my left forearm are bright, and blend in well with the rest of my colorful ink and intensely focused demeanor. I let my body relax as the entire group sits down in the open seats around the table, the red leather chairs squeaking from the weight of their bodies as I READ THE
they make themselves comfortable in my secure little haven. “Good evening, gentlemen,” I greet them with a smile as Nix is the last to take a seat in the chair to my right. It’s fitting, because Nix is literally my right-hand-man. I survey the four men in front of me in silence. We all know each other but it’s been a while since we last spoke. The closest to Nix and me is Terry “Rock” Brenham. Terry is a six-foot black guy with a perfectly shaped beard and thick masculine jaw. His shoulders are nearly as wide as Nix’s and he has a long, jagged scar running down his left cheek from a brutal gang initiation when he was a kid. From what he says, a few of his so-called friends decided to hold razor blades while they jumped him into the gang, and he has a body covered in scars that will never go away to go along with his fractured mind. Rock is the loosest cannon of every man sitting in front of me, but I’m sure he’d say the same of me. It’s his craziness that drew me to him two years ago when I commissioned him to work with some local gun runners in St. Louis on my behalf. When the negotiation began to go south, Rock killed the three middle-men he was dealing with using a fullyautomatic AR-15 from the stockpile he was negotiating for, and negotiated the deal with the supplier in Mexico himself. When a guy has balls
that big, you keep him around. So I’m glad to see him stretching out the fabric of a black suit as he crosses his arms in front of me now. In the seat next to Rock is the very young and spry Marcell Pemberton out of Buffalo, New York. Marcell is an evil genius-type who specializes in hacking and information collection. Standing at five-foot-ten and weighing all of a hundred-fifty pounds at twenty-two years old, Marcell is the guy Nix turns to when we need more detailed knowledge of a job. The last time we used Marcell, he was the one who got us the account and pin numbers for the thousand accounts we hacked at First Trust Bank, and withdrew four hundred-fifty dollars from each account, for a grand total of four hundred-fifty-thousand dollars split three ways. All of the accounts were loaded with cash, and the withdrawal was just small enough for none of the account holders to really care enough to look into it. I doubt they even noticed the miniscule amount of cash being withdrawn. Nix and Marcell are like two peas in a pod with their knack for focusing on details I don’t like being bothered with, and that’s why I love them both. Marcell sits in front of me with his short cropped hair and thin black glasses on his slender, dark-skinned face, resting his bony hands on the table as a waitress, Shelly, is let into the Box to take drink orders before we begin our meeting. He
orders a Hennessy on the rocks, adjusts the collar on his over-sized gray leather jacket, then gives me his full attention. Shelly makes her way around the table taking orders in a skimpy red bikini, the last of which come from the brothers at the end, both of them wearing white, long-sleeved shirts and faded black and gray denim jeans. Ricky and Donny Fontane are two years apart and consummate stickup men. Ricky is usually the driver of the duo, while Donny is the gunman who loves to wield weapons so large they have to be held with two hands—think shotguns and rifles, even for the smallest of jobs. They’re not twins, but they definitely look alike, with dark brown, slicked-back hair and thin beards on their pale white faces. Donny is the oldest and tallest, but Ricky is the brains of their operation. Once Shelly finishes taking orders and brings all of the drinks back, I step on the silver button at the base of the couch and morph the Privacy Smart Glass from clear to dark opaque, obscuring the vision of everyone in the club so we can get down to business without having to worry about who’s watching. I doubt anyone in Club Asylum is a lip reader, but safe is always better than sorry. “I’m glad you all could make it tonight,” I say to the group before taking a sip from my bottle of Cristal and setting it back down on the red coaster in front of me. “As you all should know by now, I
don’t call upon many people for business more than once. I prefer bringing on help that’s desperate, scratching and clawing to get out of whatever gutter their stuck in. However, what we have in mind requires a certain amount of professionalism and skill, and experience has taught me that you four have both of those things in abundance.” “We appreciate you reaching out, Solomon,” Donny speaks up. It goes without saying that when Donny Fontane is talking, he’s speaking for himself and his brother at the same time, because Ricky is usually the quiet one of the two. So as Ricky sips the Corona he ordered, Donny leans forward and rests his arms on the table, the sleeves of his white shirt lifting a bit and exposing the heavily tattooed flesh completely covering both of his arms. “I figured this is going to be a big deal if you’re calling us in on it. You know we don’t come cheap.” “Have you ever known me to be cheap, Donny?” I reply with a smile, to which Donny grins and gives his head a single shake back and forth. “Right. Then give us your undivided attention while my good friend Nix lays out the details.” “We’ve got a job we’d like all of you to be a part of,” Nix jumps in, his voice low and rumbling as always. “There’s a cash delivery being made to Hyperion Bank in three days.” “Hyperion Bank?” Rock cuts in. “Unless there’s another Hyperion Bank in another freakin’
country, I think I see why you want us. You guys sure know how to go big.” “Wait, wait,” Marcell says now, leaning forward. “Hyperion Bank is in the middle of Philly and only a few blocks from police headquarters. If you’re suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting, then you guys must’ve started drinking way before we showed up tonight. That drop is going to be extremely high in value, which means it’ll be heavily guarded like it always is, and any escape route you use will be crawling with cops. You’re not actually considering hitting that drop, are you? Because you may as well walk into police headquarters and demand to be let into a cell.” “I didn’t take any of you for the scared type,” Nix replies, smartly. We’ve been doing this a long time, and over the years, we’ve learned how to say exactly what is necessary to get what we want out of people. If you want to get a criminal to do your bidding, there are only two things you need to say to convince them: the job will make them rich, and turning the job down out of fear makes them a coward. In our lifestyle, you never let anyone believe you’re a coward, and if word gets out that you actually are a coward, it’s as good as a death sentence. Not only can cowards not be trusted to act when needed, but cowards crack under the pressure of even the lightest police interrogation, and that’s not the kind
of thing people like us can tolerate. Cowards don’t live long in this lifestyle. “Whoah,” Rock snips, lifting his extra-large hand off the table towards Nix. “No one said anything about being scared. It’s just that this ain’t some tiny little credit union at the edge of the city, with all kinds of winding highway escape routes waiting for us to make a quick getaway. This is Hyperion Bank, in the middle of Center City, a few minutes down the street from the slaughterhouse. The pigs will be all over you. They know how big that payload is at Hyperion. They’ll know when the drop is being made, and they’ll already have guys on it. They always do, because the damn commissioner probably has an account with Hyperion. It’s not about being scared, it’s about being smart.” “I have to say that I agree with Rock’s big muscle-bound ass on this one,” Marcell says, leaning back in his chair and lifting the short glass of Hennessy to his lips. He sips it and sets it back on the table, eyeing me to see how I’ll react. “It’s an interesting idea, Nix,” Donny says as his brother Ricky nods his head in agreement. “But turning that idea into reality probably isn’t gonna happen. That one’s just a little too big, even for you guys.” “Too big,” I repeat, finally speaking up and drawing every eye in the room to me. I take a deep
breath and rise out of my seat, lifting up the entire bottle of Cristal with me as I start to walk around the room, making sure to have eye contact with each individual as I go. “Let’s be clear about one thing, gentlemen—there is no such thing as too big. Not when it comes to me. I’ve been living this life for a while now, and I have conquered everything that so many others before me couldn’t. Were any of you big-dicked enough to hit Philly First National? That bank is taking a shit just ten minutes away from Philadelphia’s finest, and Nix and I went in there and wiped its ass to the tune of four hundred-seventy-five grand! We split that take five ways after only being in the bank for ninety seconds! And you tell me something is too big? Well how’s this for too big? Nix, please tell our guests what two-point-five million is when you split it five ways.” At the sound of the numerical value, all four of their mouths drop so low I think they’ll shatter my glass table. “Five hundred grand,” Nix barks confidently. “Each.” “What the fu . . .” Donny starts to say, but I cut him off. “No, no. Shhh. You had your chance to speak, and you chose to say that the job was too big. It’s obvious the only thing that’s too big in this room is the amount of limitations you’re willing to put on
yourself. Oh, and my cock and balls, of course.” The four men in front of us look to Nix to see if I’m being serious, as if they’re unsure if it’s okay to laugh, and the awkwardness of it is like a joke in itself. However, I’m seriously offended that they’d act as though I can be held back by the proximity of a police station. The cops have never stopped me before, and they won’t do it now. Why? Because I’m Solomon King. I’m a god in this city, and no cops or enemies formed against me shall prosper. I’m not satisfied with how I’ve managed to change my life over these past seven years. I’m not finished! I’m just getting warmed up, and I won’t be held back by other people’s fear or lack of ambition. Giants do not shrink themselves to appease the weak. “Is something I said amusing?” I ask the group in all seriousness. Every smirk disappears. “I called you all here because I trusted that you could do what other people would say is impossible. Instead, you’re the one’s saying this is impossible, and I don’t think that shit is funny at all! I want results, and if you can’t help us get them, this is your opportunity to get up and walk out of my club right now.” I turn my back on the entire table and wait in silence. No one moves. No one smiles. No one breathes. After fifteen silent seconds, I turn around, approach the table and set the bottle of Cristal down, slowly
taking my seat with a blank stare on my face. “You’re all still here,” I continue. “And if you’re still here, I assume that means you remember who you’re dealing with, and you’ve gotten your heads out of your asses. If you want small, go deal with someone else who will even do the small things half-assed and probably still get you killed in the process. If you want to change your life in ninety seconds, start thinking of how we can make the impossible possible. Now, who’s in, and who’s out?” Slowly but surely, every one of these lowlife criminals starts to nod their heads. I’ve got them. Rock is the first to answer. “I’m in.” “Alright, Solomon. Let’s do it,” Marcell agrees after chugging the rest of his drink. “I guess it’s go big or go home. Get rich or die trying,” Donny says with a smile. “You had me at two-point-five million,” Ricky finally speaks up with a wide grin on his pale face. I look at every one of them, then I glance at Nix, who simply nods his head once with a feint grin teasing the edge of his mouth. “Good,” I reply, just as the intercom to the Box comes on and Lenny’s booming voice fills the room. “Solomon, someone’s here to see you,” he says nervously. “Says he has something you asked for.” Nix looks at me in confusion as I smile to
myself and answer. “Let him in, Lenny.” The thick glass door swings open and with the sound of booming bass following him, Tim Sandusky walks into the room wearing an all-black hoodie and black sweatpants. His thin, smooth face is dripping with sweat, and he has a black backpack slung over his right shoulder as he looks to me for approval. I wave him over and take the backpack from him. “Don’t be nervous Timmy. Everyone in here is a friend of mine. Did everything go according to plan?” I ask him, looking the young, ambitious kid square in the eye. “It did,” Tim answers. “And our friend?” “He’ll live. The shot to his leg wasn’t serious, and I heard an ambulance once I was a block or two away. I’m sure it was for him.” “His family?” “They saw it all, but none of them were hurt.” I nod my head in approval. “Well done, Tim,” I praise the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder as I turn to address the rest of the men in the room, who all look confused as hell. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce someone to you. This young man right here is Tim Sandusky. He’s one of the ballsiest little bastards I’ve ever met. You can think of him as kind of an intern of mine. Just a young man trying to earn his stripes,
and tonight he earned his first one.” I grab the backpack, unzip the bronze zipper and turn it over, letting all ten thousand dollars fall onto the table in front of everyone. Detective Mason’s ten thousand dollars. “Like I said earlier, Timmy, nothing is free in this world,” I tell him as I pick the bottle of Cristal back up and take a long swig. “Now that you’ve passed your first test by taking this money back from that arrogant little prick, Mason, I hope you’re ready to step your game up, because we’re about to go big!” “What?” Nix replies with deep grooves in his forehead. “Hold on. Did you say this money came from Mason? You mean Detective Mason?” I don’t answer with words. I just let a smile slowly take over my mouth. “Hold up,” Marcell interrupts next with a raised, skinny finger. “You had this intern of yours steal all of this money from a detective?” “Let me get this straight,” Rock is next, now standing up and gesturing with his massive hands for emphasis. “This kid right here went into a detective’s home, shot him in the leg in front of his family, and walked out of the house with a backpack full of the detective’s cash? Is all of that right?” I nod, still smiling as I take another swig from the bottle and the familiar sensation of a feint buzz
starts to flow through my body, warming me up from feet to head. I let it fill me as the expression of shock and amazement takes over the faces of every man in the room except Timmy and me. “Shit,” Nix grunts. “Damn, Solomon,” Donny says. “That’s crazy,” Ricky manages to say, grinning in admiration. “That’s right,” I say to all of them. “Now go ahead—tell me the impossible can’t be done.”
my skin are as sensitive as the tip of my dick as I lay my head back on the headrest of Nix’s black GMC Denali. Surrounded by the calming black interior, leather seats, and blue display lights, Nix and I look out the windshield across the street. Past the bright green leaves of the trees in front of us, and on the other side of the four-lane road that flows with light traffic, sits Rock’s navy blue Cadillac Escalade, lying in wait between the bright yellow lines of the parking lot of Hyperion Bank. Inside of Rock’s SUV is the crew we’ve officially commissioned to pull off this job: Terry “Rock” Brenham, Marcell Pemberton, and Ricky and Donny Fontane. My little wonder boy, Tim Sandusky, isn’t in the Escalade with them. He’s a rookie who’s still trying to earn the right to be a part of my long list of associates, and he’s yet to earn his place. Just because he was able to successfully sneak inside that pig’s house and steal my ten grand back doesn’t mean he’s ready to step up to the big time, and it doesn’t mean he’s ready to be trusted enough to even take out my trash. Kid’s got a long way to go, but pulling off the Detective Mason job three THE NERVES UNDER
days ago was a good start. This will be considered just another single step in a marathon. I’ve got a little bit of faith in the kid after the Mason job, but Nix isn’t convinced. Even as we sit here, watching our latest plan getting ready to unfold in front of us, I can still feel the anxiety wafting off of Nix. Through his allblack outfit and black hat that he has pulled down low to hide most of his face, I can tell he’s not comfortable as he usually is in moments like this, and I know Tim has a lot to do with that. He’s been telling me this is a bad idea since I first informed the crew that Tim would be helping with the heist that night at Club Asylum, and even though he hasn’t said anything about it yet today, I know it’s coming. I can tell from how he lifts his over-sized, tattooed hand and rubs his chin, ruffling the thick black hairs that hang from his face. I’ve known Nix for fifteen years now, and when you’ve been friends that long, you really know each other. “Say it, Nix,” I tell him, instead of waiting for him to do what I know he will. “You already know, but it’s too late now,” he replies in his signature low growl of a voice. I release a deep breath and stare out the windshield at the dark gray concrete building that is Hyperion Bank, anxious to get this show on the road, eager for the chaos to erupt in front of me. “The kid’s gonna be fine, Nix. He’s a criminal
at heart,” I respond as calmly as I can. “You don’t feel like this is a risk?” “Everything we do is a risk.” “This is different, Solomon,” Nix snips, still staring straight ahead even though we don’t expect anything for another ten minutes. “You’re right that everything we’ve ever done has been risky, but this kid is an unnecessary risk. We don’t know him, and he came to us. He came to us in the middle of the club, like he was trying to make sure he was seen. I don’t know why, but something about him just doesn’t feel right to me. Something’s off. I can see it in that baby face of his.” “You think he’s a cop?” “I don’t know.” “Then what is it?” “I don’t know.” “What the hell am I supposed to do with ‘I don’t know?’ When he first came to us, you looked into him and didn’t find anything, right? He’s not related to any cops, he lived with his parents until he was eighteen when they both died in a car accident, and he doesn’t have a job now, after being fired from his little car dealership gig a few months back. He’s got priors for petty crimes like theft and dealing weed. He’s just trying to come up, and he’s got balls of steel for coming into the Asylum like that.” Nix doesn’t respond. He knows that he’s
already done his homework on Tim Sandusky, and he came up empty. Whatever he’s feeling right now is simply his personal gut feeling, and it’s based on nothing, so he knows I won’t change my mind on this, but Nix and I friends, and he’s the only person who gets away with voicing his opinion against mine. After everything I’ve been through in my life, Nix is the only friend I’ve got, and he’s the only one I want. He could say anything to me and it wouldn’t break what we have. We came up together from nothing, the absolute bottom, the damn gutter, and we made it out by working together. So if he’s talking, I’m listening, even if we disagree. “Alright, alright, Nix,” I say after another loud exhale. “You know we can’t go back on this now. The kid is literally standing on the corner, waiting to signal as the truck arrives, so we can’t change the plan this late in the game. But after this is said and done, we’ll slow down with Tim. Watch him more closely when we’re not around to see what he’s into away from us, and we’ll go from there.” “Good. I think that’s smart,” Nix replies, as satisfied as he’s going to get on this subject. The rest of the crew wasn’t exactly thrilled with bringing along a nobody to a heist like this either. It wasn’t until I told them that Tim would be working pro bono that they started coming around, and I had to make sure his involvement was extremely
limited before they would agree to work with him. So, Tim’s job has been reduced to merely standing his young ass in a bus stop at the end of the street and waiting to see the truck approaching, approximately six minutes from now, so he can signal to the crew in Rock’s SUV that it’s game time. He’ll send a text to Rock’s burner phone and mine, and as soon as the text is sent, he’ll dump his own burner and take a cab back to wherever he lays his pretty little head at night to await my call. That’s all he’s expected to do, and he’s doing it knowing he won’t get a dime of the money we steal. You’ve got to earn your keep in this game. Nothing comes free. You don’t become a somebody in this game by riding the coattails of real criminals. As for the rest of today’s festivities, the job is simple when you’re working with a crew as experienced as the one we’ve assembled. Nix and I outlined the whole plan based on Nix’s assessment and reconnaissance over the past three weeks, and it goes a little something like this. The armored truck that drops the money will arrive approximately four minutes from now, and is usually right on schedule, give or take a minute or two. As soon as the armored truck comes into view, Tim signals the crew from the bus stop as it passes him, and the crew gears up with masks and gloves to cover every piece of skin they have, and they’ll lock and load as the truck approaches and slows
near the back door entrance of Hyperion Bank. As the truck comes to a stop, the crew will exit the Escalade and rush the delivery boys after they get out of the truck and open the locked compartment in the back where all of that beautiful green money is. They go two at a time in intervals—first Rock and Marcell, then Ricky and Donny thirty seconds later. The delivery boys will be armed of course, so my guys will be going in hot and ready to shoot if one of these pigs makes them. Any body part goes towards their weapons, my guys drop them on the spot. Rock and Marcell force the deliverers into the back of the truck and toss their weapons and any communication devices they have out the back, while Ricky and Donny come from behind and start taking money. Every single bill they can see is to be snatched up. Once the deed is done, our guys exit and lock the two delivery boys in the back of their own truck, zip tied and gagged, while the four-man crew jumps back into the Escalade and slowly drives away. They’ll drive east while Nix and I drive west. Rock will keep the money until I know that we’re in the clear, at which point I’ll call the entire crew on their burners, and we’ll meet up at one of my warehouses on the edge of Philly to divvy up the cash. Simple, right? It’s a freakin’ piece of cake, and based on Nix’s assessment, we can expect the delivery truck to pull up in about two minutes or so. Game time, baby! Jesus-
freakin’-McChrist, I love my job! “Should be about ninety seconds now,” Nix reminds me as he adjusts himself in his seat, the adrenaline beginning to pump throughout his massive body. I smile to myself as the seconds tick by, knowing we’re about to grab a ton of money, and Nix and I have come so far in this game that we don’t have to do anything but sit here and watch our money come to us. We’ve come a long way from Cash N Check. It’s almost time, so I look out of Nix’s window to see if there is anything suspicious happening. No cops, no pedestrians too close for comfort, no security guards from Hyperion taking a smoke break. With Nix’s side clear, I turn to my right and look out my own window. It’s there that something catches my eye. It’s not a cop or a security guard or a civilian who might try to become a hero. It’s a woman. Her skin is pale and flawless, and her blonde hair glows in the Philadelphia sun as she approaches the parking lot we’re sitting in wearing a black leather jacket with skin-tight blue jeans. She has her hands in her pockets as she walks towards us, but I can’t quite make out her facial features just yet. She’s still too far away. I find myself fixated on her as she comes closer, and even though I can’t see her clearly yet, my mind fills in the
blanks for me. Reina. I feel my heart surge. My skin flushes red under my black sweater and black denim pants, and I can feel myself losing control of my breathing as the excitement, fear, and anger start to boil in my stomach, sending mixed emotions shooting through my veins. What is she doing here? After all this time, this is how I see her again? Walking down the street without a care in the world, still living in the city we knew each other in? Suddenly, memories come rushing back to me like a levee has broken and the waters are flooding in, the current too strong for me to do anything about it. All I can do is drown within my own mind as I see Reina and me standing within the narrow walls of the alley next to Aaron’s Arcade. I see the way she looks at me with those heart-stealing blue eyes and I feel like I’m right back in that moment, my soul being snatched out of my body. I see the two of us climbing the stairs of her parent’s gaudy house and ending up on her gigantic bed, living in each other, becoming one beneath her soft white sheets. I see us leaving the scene of a crime as Nix and I run out of Julia’s Jewels with bags full of money and jewelry, and I remember the way I felt as I looked at her in the rearview mirror and saw the focus and determination in her eyes as she drove us out of there, right after she had risked
herself being an accessory by getting out of the car and distracting a cop that had walked by as we were getting ready to exit the building with tons of evidence in our hands. I remember how it felt, and it shakes me to my foundation as she approaches, nearly visible now. “What the hell is going on?” I hear Nix mutter, but I’m too hypnotized by the approaching woman to really register what he said. She keeps coming, and I keep staring, completely forgetting what I’m supposed to be paying attention to. My heart pounds under my clothes, but I’m sure it’s still visible to Nix. Reina left my house one day and never came back. Not one single text, not one phone call. She disappeared out of my life and I was never the same again. How could she do that to me, and then just show up here out of the blue? It’s like a fantasy of some sort— better yet, it’s a twisted nightmare, and I realize that now as the woman takes another long step and her face becomes clear. “Wait, what the hell?” Nix barks, but I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I’m still watching the woman come closer, and I feel my heart drop into my stomach when my brain finally realizes it’s not her. It’s not Reina. The woman comes into view and I see her eyes are brown, her nose is the wrong shape, and she doesn’t have the angelic glow I remember Reina having from the moment I first
saw her. It’s not her, but just thinking that it could’ve been was enough to break my heart all over again, not to mention break my attention away from what I was supposed to be watching unfold at Hyperion. “Solomon, what hell? Come on!” Nix yells at me, and I turn around to see him getting out of the vehicle. My mind finally snaps back into place and I look to see what’s gotten him so hyped up. My eyes go berserk as I frantically scan the area, trying to see what’s going on. I look directly across from us at the bank, and I don’t see the truck there. No one is outside of the bank, there are no cops. No flashing red and blue lights. It’s quiet and calm, just like it has been all day. What’s the big deal? The delivery truck isn’t at the bank, but I look and see Rock and the rest of the crew standing outside of his Escalade with stunned expressions on their faces as they look out at the road leading to the bank. There, in the middle of the street is the black armored truck that’s supposed to be coming to us, but instead, it’s stopped down the road, all of the doors are open, and the two deliverers are face down on the concrete road with their hands behind their heads, their tan shirts and black pants flapping in the breeze as they lay on their stomachs in the middle of all the confusion around them. “What the fuck?” I hear myself say as I watch
it all unfold. The truck is being hit by someone else. There’s another crew dressed in all-black, waving around AR-15s at every vehicle in the road dumb enough to get too close to the crime scene. Four men are standing on each corner of the armored truck, guns pointed at traffic, forcing them to stop and turn around. The two delivery boys are being held at gunpoint by a man each, and as I’m watching it all, four men hop out of the back of the truck with duffel bags that look stuffed full of cash. As they hit the ground, one of them makes a circular signal with his arm, and every single one of them turns on a heel and runs for a black van with blacked-out license plates. It took them less than sixty seconds to make it all happen. It’s like they took our plan, and upgraded it with heavy artillery and more bodies. How the hell? What the hell? Five seconds later, as bewilderment freezes me and my crew in place to do nothing but watch, the van is pulling away from the scene while the deliverers lay there on the ground, unmoving. After the van is gone, pedestrians and drivers get out of their vehicles to check on the scene, and I see people scrambling to pull out their phones, obviously dialing 9–1-1. It’ll only be a second before the sirens start to wail, so I know we’ve got to get out of here. Nix stands about thirty yards in front of me, still stuck in a stare as he realizes our heist has been
hijacked right in front of our eyes, and there’s nothing we could’ve done about it. He just stands there with his hands at his sides as Rock and the rest of the crew look at us for direction. I’m not sure what to say to anybody, but then a thought hits me like a punch from Mayweather. “Hey, we’ve gotta go!” I hear Rock shout as he starts to get back in his SUV, followed by the rest of the crew. “Where’s Tim?” I ask, low at first, but louder the second time as I look down the street next to the bus stop he was supposed to be sitting in. “Where is Tim?” Nix looks over at the bus stop and he sees what I see. The armored truck is already passed the bus stop Tim is supposed to be in. He was supposed to text Rock and me when the truck approached and passed him, but we never heard from him. He never texted, and he’s nowhere to be found. Nix turns and looks at me over his shoulder as it dons on all of us. Nix was right. Tim played us.
I WANT HIM found.
I want him dead. After the heist-gone-wrong yesterday, the crew split up and went their separate ways—Donny and Ricky going back to boosting cars like they were doing the day we contacted them to meet us at Club Aslyum, Rock went back to who-the-hellknows, and Marcell went back to being the evil genius he is, probably in some lab computing ways to hack the online bank accounts of the closest major corporation. Nix and me, however, we’re on to a different job—finding Tim Sandusky and the people responsible for taking our money. My money. As I pace around my loft, I can’t get the image of the heist being stolen from me out of my head. I can still see myself standing behind Hyperion Bank with my mouth wide open, jaw nearly touching the ground as I stood in awe of the robbery being carried out right in the middle of Girard Avenue by a crew of at least ten, wearing all-black and aiming AR-15s at passersby like they didn’t have a care in the world, as if everyone around them was totally irrelevant—and that ‘everyone’ included me. This is the kind of thing that can never be allowed to
happen. This is not how kings are treated, and I’m a king. I’m the king. Whoever did this is going to pay, and there’s going to be a ton of interest on that payment that’ll come in the form of someone’s life, starting with Tim Sandusky! I manage to raise a foot from the place it seemed cemented to in front of the enormous window overlooking downtown Philly, and walk over the dark hardwood flooring, past the red couch and loveseat and into the kitchen. I walk past the red barstools that are tucked under the bar counter and open a dark gray, custom-made cabinet next to the stainless steel refrigerator where I keep all of my liquor. I stare at the glass bottles displayed in front of me as if they’re my best friends in the whole world, but I’m disappointed that I have to choose one over the others. I eye them all, bypassing the row of Italian liquors, although the Fernet Branca and Amaretto call out to me. I scan over the row of Russian vodkas and decide I’m not in the mood for anything like that, and decide to go with a big boy drink on the top row of the fourshelf cabinet. After a deep breath, I reach for the decorative glass bottle of Bowmore 1957. It’s not every day a man decides to drink from a onehundred-sixty-five-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch, but tonight is a special night, because I’m a special kind of pissed off. I grab a short glass from the cupboard, drop in two cubes of ice, and let the
expensive scotch pour over the cubes, my mouth already watering from the look of it. I pour in two fingers worth and immediately knock it back, letting the liquid burn my throat so good all the way down, and I already feel a little calmer. After a breath to steady myself, I pour in three fingers, replace the cap on the bottle and walk over to the living room, where I sit down on the red couch and rest my glass on top of a coaster sitting on the edge of the marble end table. Once I’m settled, I let my mind replay the scene over and over again until I’m sick from it. I see the black van waiting for the job to be stolen from me, the delivery boys lying face down on the hot concrete with their fingers interlocked behind their heads as if being instructed by the police, and the empty bus stop where Tim was supposed to be standing. We haven’t heard from him since the whole thing went down, so I’m left to assume that he had everything to do with how our job was stolen from us. I imagine him selling our entire plan to someone else, and it sets my blood on fire with rage. He is going to pay, I swear it. If he even has half an IQ, he’ll get out of Philly right now, and even then, we’ll find him. But the real question is who the hell he told about what we were going to do, because whoever it was, they pack some real fire power. It takes titan-sized balls to stand in the middle of the city and wave an AR-15 in broad
daylight. So who could it have been? I sip my drink and let my mind go to work as I stare straight ahead at my blank seventy-inch TV resting on it’s own marble table. I’ve heard of some up and coming crews from Mantua in West Philly who supposedly are making quite the name for themselves, robbing mom and pop stores in the neighborhood and doing some light extortion, but this feels too big for a crew that isn’t established yet. That’d be like Nix and me robbing Hyperion when we were sixteen. I had the balls to think of it, but there’s no way we would’ve had the means to pull something like that off. There’s a bigger crew out of Hunting Park, but just like the gang in Mantua, they’re just too new. When your crew hasn’t even made it out of the hood yet, you don’t have enough experience, money, or clout to pull off a job like Hyperion. No, this is something much bigger than a neighborhood gang trying to come up. This is a crew who is established. This is a crew who has a ton of money and connections, and there’s very few I can think of who could do something like this and make it look so effortless, but there are a couple. There’s one in particular, actually, and if it’s them, everything is going to change. I won’t hold my tongue on it anymore, regardless of what Nix or Mason says. It’ll mean war. Admittedly, I’ve yet to
know war. I’ve had my share of street beefs, to say the least, but not an all-out war between everyone I call an associate and whoever has gotten on my bad side. It’s something that excites me to my very core! I can only imagine what it would feel like to go to war with a worthy opponent, so I can let them watch everything they love burn to the ground around them as they die. Maybe there’s a part of me that’s hoping I’m right. After knocking back the rest of my drink, I place the glass on the coaster a little harder than I mean to and it lets out a sharp crack. I can’t help it, really. I’m so frustrated that all of this happened, and sitting here waiting for Nix to contact me isn’t helping. The image of those four guys jumping out of the back of the armored truck with duffel bags stuffed full of my money haunts me like the ghost of Christmas past, but there’s something else that’s sticking with me, too. For the first time in my life, I let myself get distracted. I’ve been doing this a long time, and there isn’t a person in the world who is better at being bad than me, but just before things started to go down, I saw something that was like kryptonite to Superman. I close my eyes and I can still see it. She walked towards us wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. Her blonde hair was swaying behind her as she stepped, and for just a moment, I was convinced it was her. Reina. Even sitting here
thinking about her now, I feel a rush of unidentifiable emotions racing through my veins like I’ve just taken a hit of ecstasy. I don’t know if it’s love or hate that fuels my heart, forcing it to pump hard and fast, but I feel every bit of it, and it nearly knocks me over, even as I sit soundly on my couch. I haven’t let myself think about Reina in years. After she left Strawberry Mansion without saying a word, it took about a year to force myself to stop thinking about her every single day. It was like I had to play tricks on myself just to learn how to let her go—to let an hour go by without thinking of her face or her hair or her smile. I had to keep myself busy by hustling, figuring out what jobs Nix and I could hit as fast as we could. It was my need to get over Reina that drove me to become the kingpin I am today. When thoughts of Reina crept into my mind, I worked. When I missed her, I worked. When I needed to feel her, to smell her, to taste her, I got on my grind, schemed, plotted, and worked. I pulled off job after job with Nix, nearly driving him crazy with my obsession, but I needed it. I needed to get out of Strawberry Mansion, no doubt. I needed to get out of Whitney’s house, for sure. But I needed to get over Reina more than anything else. I hungered for it, and it was that hunger that led me here. As funny as it sounds, I guess I have Reina to thank for my success, even though she wasn’t there
to help me to it the way I thought she would be. Then again, maybe she was always there, in the back of my mind, in my heart, surging me forward, telling me just how great I could be. Maybe what I needed was to be as big as she always knew I could be. Regardless of all that, I know I have to get over it. The woman I saw outside of Hyperion wasn’t Reina. She was just some cheap knockoff version with the wrong color eyes! Damn it! It wasn’t her, so I have to do whatever I have to do to get over what I thought I saw. Reina isn’t here. She’s still just as gone as she was when my mother died. She’s just as gone as she was when I avenged Whitney’s death by committing my first murder. She’s still gone, and I can’t allow myself to be weakened by thoughts of her, so when my phone rings, I find comfort in knowing it’s Nix. It’s work, and I’m anxious for the distraction. “Put a smile on my face, Nix,” I say as I place the phone to my ear. Nix clears his throat the way he always does when he has news, and I can already feel my smile forming. “Meet me outside,” Nix says, and I can hear his own excitement coming through the other end. “I found Tim.” Germantown is in Northwest Philly, about a ten minute drive from where I grew up in Strawberry
Mansion, and just like the rundown neighborhood I was born in, Germantown is a hellhole. It’s a low income neighborhood that’s been trying to get better over the years, but the crime and drugs in the place have kept it down, just like Strawberry Mansion. As Nix and I drive through the streets, I recognize the familiar symptoms of a poor neighborhood where people commit crimes to feed their families. On one corner there’s a liquor store, where five or six downtrodden people stand outside and sip from their brown-paper-bag-covered bottles right in front of the store, stumbling and slurring their speech. On the other side of the street is a gun store, ready and waiting for any person with enough cash to waltz right in and get themselves some ammo. Places like this and Strawberry Mansion are kept this way on purpose, which is why every ghetto or bad neighborhood is never in short supply of liquor stores, gun stores, and rundown schools. Just driving through here reminds me of how I lived in my mother’s house, struggling to keep from giving up and killing myself simply to avoid feeling the shame and sadness of being perpetually broke. Every dilapidated house is a reminder of my past and how I fought, scratched, and clawed my way out of it all. But I have to push those thoughts aside, as lovely as they are, because driving through Germantown isn’t about me. Germantown is about Tim.
Nix presses the gas pedal in his Denali as we cruise past homeless people who look up as we drive by, wondering who we are and assuming we’re drug dealers, because only drug dealers have nice rides in neighborhoods like this, unfortunately. I look out the window at the houses and wonder which one Tim Sandusky is sleeping in right now. It’s just past midnight, and I assume he’s sleeping in one of these decrepit shacks, but when Nix turns into a decent driveway and a two-story house stares back at me, I’m taken aback. I’m not sure what I thought when I saw Tim in his little hoodie at Club Asylum, but I didn’t expect the nicest house on the block with a navy blue BWM in the driveway and a thick glass door that I’m almost certain is bulletproof. I didn’t expect the lights to be on upstairs in what looks like a fancy bedroom. As we park, I look up to the second floor window that has it’s maroon curtains pushed to both sides of the frame, letting all of the light out without a care in the world. The kid has his life on display in a neighborhood like this? That kind of nonchalance can only mean one thing—Tim Sandusky is a somebody in this neighborhood. He leaves his windows open because he knows there isn’t a person here who would dare attempt to steal from him. “Nix, I thought you looked into this kid,” I say as Nix kills the lights and shuts off the engine and
the two of us stare at the house, occasionally looking into the upstairs window, waiting to see if Tim makes an appearance. “I did, and I didn’t know he had it like this,” Nix replies, rubbing his hairy chin. “Maybe it’s not his place. His parents died in a car accident, remember. Maybe it was theirs.” “Could be,” I reply, immediately running out of patience. “I really couldn’t care less whose house it is. Let’s go pay him a visit.” Nix nods his head and the two of us step out of the vehicle, closing the doors as quietly as we can since the window is open. We creep up to the house, not even bothering to see if anyone is watching us, and just as we’re about to reach the front door, there’s a loud bang from the upstairs window. Nix and I look up to see a brunette woman standing in the window completely naked. She looks over her shoulder at something behind her just as she bends forward and grabs the window sill. Out of nowhere, Tim Sandusky comes into view behind her. He’s naked too, and Nix and I see him reach down between his legs and slide himself into the brunette. Right in the window that the whole damn neighborhood can see into, Tim starts banging this brunette from behind. She lets out loud, unabashed screams that echo into the night air, and Nix looks at me with nothing but pure bewilderment on his face.
“Arrogant little prick,” I snip as my frustration starts to get the better of me. It’s one thing to ruin a job of mine, but it’s something else to do it and then come back to your house and have sex in the window without a care in the world, as if you didn’t just steal from Solomon King! He’s not cowering in the corner of his room with the shades drawn and a gun in each hand, praying I don’t come bursting into his house and snatch his life from him with a smile on my face. He’s fucking in the window! I’ve seen enough, and I turn to check the doorknob to see if my suspicions are legit, and sure enough, it’s unlocked. What a brave little sonofabitch. Today he’ll learn not to be so foolhardy. Nix and I walk right into this cocky bastard’s house in the middle of the night like his home is ours. All of the lights downstairs are turned off, but I can tell the place is nice. Even through the shadows and darkness that are cast upon every piece of furniture in the place, I can see fancy couches and a huge grandfather clock in the living room, a marble countertop in the kitchen, and thick, white rugs lying on the floor in front of the stairs leading to the second floor. The darkness can’t hide the fact that this kid is obviously doing better than we thought he was, but as we approach the stairs, I’m suddenly struck by a memory that catches me off guard. Suddenly, I
remember walking through Reina’s house after I picked her up on prom night, saving her from that asshole she was with—Charlie-something, I think. I can still see the two of us tiptoeing through her gigantic house in the same part of Philly I live in now, as we made our way to her oversized room. I remember how it felt being with her that night in her bed, and I remember the heartbreak I felt when she suddenly fell off the face of the earth. As Nix and I climb the stairs of Tim Sandusky’s house, I’m filled with a plethora of emotions and I can feel my nerves standing on end as we take our steps as quietly as possible, trying to catch the young, pompous asshole off guard. When we reach the top of the stairs, his room is the only one with the light on at the end of the hall, so we head that way. I struggle to push my emotions back down as Nix draws his gun and quietly chambers a round, and now the sound of the woman moaning and letting out a string of profanity is nearly as loud as it was when we first saw them outside. We stop as we reach the door, and Nix looks to me, waiting for me to lead the way as I always do. This is exactly the type of situation that puts a big smile on my face, and I grin at Nix and wink before slowly turning the knob and gently pushing the door open. The room is pretty big, with a large bed in the center that’s encased in a wooden frame with long poles on the end that nearly reach up to the ceiling.
There’s two wooden dressers that are covered with jewelry and neat lines of cocaine, and a black leather couch in the corner that has a shiny, wet residue on the seat, which I assume is from the brunette woman who’s now lying down in front of the open window with her legs high in the air. On top of her is good ole Tim Sandusky with his slick black hair, skinny body, and chiseled smug face. He’s lying on the woman pumping up and down like his life depends on it, and I can tell from the sweat pouring off of him that he’s high off of the cocaine that’s on the dresser. He’s focused and dripping sweat onto the woman’s face, but she doesn’t seem to mind, as her own sweat is soaking into the white carpet. Imagine how comfortable this asshole has gotten in his life that he has left his house totally unsecure, and doesn’t even notice when two men come in and stand in his doorway. I don’t even want to be that comfortable. I’d rather be cautious and keep everything I love. Since Tim and the brunette aren’t paying us any mind, I leave Nix standing in the doorway like a bouncer from a nightclub, and walk into the room. Tim keeps pumping, the woman keeps screaming, and I take a seat on the edge of the bed. I pull an old switchblade out of the pocket of my black jeans and press the button on the red handle, exposing the three-inch, silver blade with a loud snap that catches Tim’s attention. He finally stops pumping
as I set the knife down on the bed next to me and look over at him, and I see the recognition in his eyes, followed by the fear. I smile at him, and he freezes, staring at me without even acknowledging Nix, who hasn’t taken a step from the doorway. “Hi, Tim,” I greet him, still smiling. “Solomon,” is his reply as he slowly starts to stand up. It’s then that he notices Nix in the doorway, and I see his eyes scanning the room, either for clothes or a weapon. “What the hell is this?” the brunette asks with a surprising attitude as she sits up on her elbows and glares at Nix and me. “What the hell are you guys doing in here? Tim, what the fuck? I don’t do orgies, okay! What made you think I’d be okay with sleeping with your friends? Damnit Tim, you’re never satisfied, are you?” “Shut up, Valerie,” Tim snips without looking down at her, and she does as she’s told, confusion still resting in her brown eyes. “Valerie, what a pretty name,” I say, still sitting and smiling. “You’re a pretty woman, Valerie. Nice tits, too.” Valerie seems to suddenly realize that she’s naked in front of total strangers and looks around the room for something to cover herself up with. When she goes to stand up, I stop her. “If you move, I’ll cut off both of your nipples.” She instantly stops moving and stares at me, wide-eyed. “Don’t do anything stupid, Solomon,” Tim says,
and I’m almost caught off guard. Bravery? Boldness as I sit on his bed with this knife next to me? Courage in the face of me? I’m honestly surprised, and it pisses me off to my core, but I don’t let it show. No, that’s not how I play the game, and that’s exactly what all of this is, a game. My game. “I’d be very careful of what I say if I were you, Timmy,” I reply with a smile. “You have no idea how deep in you’d be if you did anything to me,” he replies, straightening himself out and letting out a sigh. “Is that right? Oooh, I like being deep in,” I answer with a quick glance at Valerie, who replies by lifting her hands and covering her decent-sized breasts. “I wonder how deep I can shove this knife up your skinny little ass.” I pick the knife up off the bed and stand up, but Tim throws his hands up in defense. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, unless you want to start a war,” he says, trying to mask his fear with faux confidence. It’s an interesting statement to make, and it gets my attention. “A war? Interesting, Tim. If I cut you and Valerie up into tiny pieces right here in your room, who exactly would I be going to war with?” Tim takes a deep breath and stands up straighter, as if he’s wearing a fancy Italian suit instead of standing here with his little pecker out in
the open. “You kill me, and my uncle will kill both of you,” Tim replies with a grin. He’s confident, and I think we’re about to find out why. I feel my own sense of anticipation creeping up. “Alright, Timmy, I’ll take the bait. Who’s your uncle?” “My uncle is Dante Rossi.” And there it is. That’s why Tim is standing here like he isn’t concerned about me at all, because his uncle is the underboss of the Scarfo family, the mob that has its hooks in every part of Philly. I look over at Nix, and I see the concern all over his face as he wrinkles his forehead and twists his mouth. Shit. Sensing the stress that’s now wafting off of Nix and me, Tim smiles, and the insecure, innocent kid who presented himself to us at Club Asylum disappears. He morphs into a confident man who doesn’t have a hint of fear on his face as he looks back at us. “Put some clothes on, Val,” he says, to my surprise. “He ain’t gonna do nothing.” My eyes bulge. He thinks he’s running the show now! The brunette smirks and confidently gets up. She struts past me to the other side of the bed, where she picks up a skinny black dress and slips it over her naked body, her hard nipples still visible through the thin material. As if that wasn’t surprising enough, instead of leaving, she takes a
seat on the black couch, making sure to avoid the wet spot. Valerie sits down, flips her long, brown hair back behind her shoulders, crosses one leg over the other, and looks out at the three men in the room with a sneer across her mouth. Wow. “Your uncle is Dante Rossi?” Nix suddenly asks, drawing my attention back to Tim who’s now moving towards the dresser to his left and picking up white boxers from the floor. He slips them on and locks eyes with Nix. “That’s right,” he replies. “How is that possible? I looked into you,” Nix says. I can hear the disappointment in his words. He missed something, and that never happens. “Guess you didn’t look deep enough,” Tim says. “I can only assume you looked into my background and found my parents, who weren’t criminals. My dad wasn’t into anything illegal, and he made sure I had nothing to do with the life my mom’s brother, Dante, was involved in. My dad, Steven Sandusky, was a simple businessman. He worked at a bank with my mom, Victoria Sandusky, and both of them worked hard until they died in a car accident five years ago, when I was eighteen. My mother’s maiden name was Rossi.” That’s how Nix missed it. The kid’s mother got married and changed her name from Rossi to Sandusky. Damn. “After they died, my uncle reached out to me,”
Tim continues. “He felt terrible about what happened to my mother, and he just couldn’t shake his need to take care of me somehow. I knew what he was into, and I knew my dad would’ve hated it, but Uncle Dante was the family I needed at the time, so when he called, I came running. I did whatever he needed me to do, and the next thing I knew, I was making money and a name for myself. But I wanted to go bigger. I wanted more. That’s where you come in, Solomon.” “How’s that?” I reply, calmly. “You’ve been doing really well out there in the streets,” Tim says, still standing in front of the window in his boxers with all the poise in the world. I envision myself running over to him and pushing him out the window to his death, but I hold it in. It’s my game. “Your success has really grabbed the family’s attention. Did you know that?” I don’t answer. “Angelo, and especially my uncle, don’t like that. They don’t like that you’ve been hitting banks and whatnot, so close to places they own. They don’t like that you’ve developed a reputation. Truth be told, this is their city, I mean our city, and you’re doing too much. They’re not gonna stand by and let you take what’s theirs, regardless of what people say about you. So, after your little stunt at Philly First National Bank, they were fed up. They
decided to use me against you. They asked if I was cool with infiltrating your little operation and reporting back to them. It was them who sent me to go see you that night in your club, and you took the bait, just like that. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when you called and asked me to go rob Anthony for that ten grand. You should’ve seen me, I was giddy! Especially when I told my uncle, and he immediately called Detective Mason and told him I was coming, and to play along. It was brilliant, and it worked like a charm. You were so anxious for me to prove myself that you never even saw any of it coming.” “The thing with Mason wasn’t real?” Nix asks, shocked by the admission. Me? I’m not shocked. I’m furious. Keep spinning your web little Timmy. I’m going to knock it all down! “It wasn’t,” Tim replies with a smile that nearly sends me over the edge, but I contain myself once more. “I never shot him. Of course not! The guy’s a detective and he works for Angelo! If I shot him, I’d be dead before the sun could rise the next morning, I’m not stupid. I went to his house and met him in front of his garage, where he handed me that backpack, knowing all along that I was going to give it back you, gain your trust, and use it against you. We didn’t know it would happen so fast, but the whole Hyperion thing was just too
good, too lucrative for my uncle and Angelo to pass up. So instead of standing by and letting you make that hit, I told them all about your plan and they simply executed it themselves, all while you watched. Ouch. I’m sure that stung, huh Solomon? Oh well, it wasn’t anything personal. Just family business. I didn’t think you’d roll up in here ready to slit my throat with your little knife so soon, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t touch me, knowing who I am. Your best bet is to call my uncle up and beg for his mercy. After all I’ve heard from them, that’s the only way you come out of this thing alive. Otherwise, they’ll kill you and everyone that’s ever worked with you.” I stare at Tim with tranquility in my expression as the ferocity of the storm brewing internally grows with every passing second. Who the hell does this kid think he is to tell me to contact his uncle in order to keep from being killed? Does this prick not know who I am? Have I not made enough of a name for myself as someone not to be played with? His little bitch is sitting behind me with her arms crossed and an impatient look on her face as she watches us, waiting for Nix and me to leave with our tails tucked between our legs. She looks at me like I’m inferior to her boyfriend, like Nix and I are school children and Tim is the principal. She doesn’t know whose world this is. She has no idea how close she is to death just by sitting on that
couch. Tim has no idea what he’s done by infiltrating my team and driving distrust and betrayal into the heart of what I do. This won’t end the way they think it will. I promise it. “Solomon,” I hear Nix call to me, but it sounds muffled as blood rushes in my ears, drowning him out. I turn to my right-hand-man and see him glaring at me. He can read my mind, and we communicate through nothing more than facial expressions. He’s always been hesitant when it comes to the Scarfo family, and it has always gotten on my damn nerves. He acts as though they’re untouchable since they’ve been around longer than we’ve been alive. I don’t care. He is yet to realize that it’s he and I who are untouchable! “Look, Solomon,” Tim pipes up again, still not satisfied with his perceived victory. “The truth is, you got played by my uncle, but you should consider it a compliment. There are tons of criminals in this city who steal and do dirt, but out of all of them, you’re the one Dante and Angelo see as being too big. You’ve made a ton of money, and your reputation is just as legit as they said it was before I ever met you. But that’s over now. Get out while you still can. Call my uncle, strike up some sort of deal, and close up shop before they force you into retirement.” Close up shop before they force you into retirement.
A smile forms on my face as I let my right hand calmly reach for the knife on the bed next to me. “Solomon,” Nix calls for me again. “I know what you’re thinking, and I hate to admit it, but we need to make this call before we do anything else. We can work with them.” I look over at Nix and glare at him, showcasing disappointment in what I’m seeing and hearing from him. He’s been my partner in crime since the beginning, and I’ve never known him to be afraid, but what he says now sounds a lot like fear. He’s doing it on purpose, and when I lock eyes with him, we know the same the thing. I’m Solomon King. I bow to no man, and I’m not looking to acquire a new business partner. “Hey, you should listen to your friend,” Tim agrees with Nix with a nod of his head, his slick hair bouncing with the movement. “If you play your cards right, maybe you can stay in business, maybe work for Angelo. I think they’d be cool with that.” “Do you?” I finally speak up, my nerves tingling with excitement. “You think they’d be okay with us working for them? I mean, we could really bring in a lot of money. We could make their enterprise so much bigger with the added revenue we bring in. Oh yeah! You think they’d be cool with that, Tim?” “Absolutely,” Tim answers with a reassuring
smile, all of his worries have left the house. “Don’t let this whole thing be the end, strike a deal and make money with us. That’s perfect. Imagine the money we all could make if you worked for Angelo and my uncle. Hell yeah, Solomon. Just make the call, and I bet you could work out a big deal. Hell, tell them I brought you in—convinced you to join up with them. It’ll be huge for me. We all can win, Solomon!” “Yeah? You sure?” I ask. “Most definitely. Dante and Angelo are businessmen just like you. I know they’d be down for it.” “Oh man, that makes me feel so relieved!” I chirp with a broad smile. “Phew! Alright, well then I guess we’ll get out of your hair—let you two get back to it! You two lovebirds!” I let out a boisterous chuckle that makes Tim jump. “Come on Nix, let’s go make that call.” Nix stares at me, unmoving, as I grip the switchblade and turn towards the door. After a step towards Nix, I stop on a dime, turn on my heel, and rush towards Valerie, who’s still sitting comfortably on the couch. She barely sees me coming as I step towards her with my arm swung behind my back and the switchblade gripped tight in my fist. In a flash, I jam the three-inch blade into her stomach as hard as I can, and give it a twist for good measure. I hear Tim let out a scream that’ll surely wake the
neighbors as I let go of the knife, leaving it stuck in the brunette’s stomach. Blood begins oozing out of the wound slowly at first, then it picks up speed and starts to look like she’s really going to need to some medical attention. “Valerie!” Tim screams as he comes running across the room to his whore’s aid. As he reaches us, I spin around and punch him square in the jaw, knocking him backwards, then I lift my right foot and send my black Timberland boot flying into his balls. He lets out a high pitched chirp and drops to his knees before falling completely over, clutching himself. Valerie whimpers behind me as tears start to flow from her pretty little eyes, and the look of impatience and confidence melts off her face just like her makeup. Nix stands silently as I take a knee next to Tim and speak directly into his ear. “Tisk, tisk, Timmy,” I whisper as I reach down and pull loose one of the hands he’s using to hold his balls. I grip his pinkie and ring finger in my fist and bend both of them backwards until they touch the back of his hand, then violently twist them towards his thumb. The result is a gruesome and beautiful double snap, followed by a blood curdling scream from Tim. He’s yelling so loud I actually have to slam my hand over his mouth to shut him up. “If you scream again, I’ll break every damn
finger you have, then I’ll go for your toes, and the last thing I twist off will be your little prick,” I tell him as I drop his twisted hand to the floor. “You pulled one over on me, Timmy. Made me look bad in front of my company, and that’s a no go. The only reason you’re not dead already is because I listen to my good friend, Nix. He wants to sit down with your uncle, and I’m open to that, but not to discuss a partnership. We don’t have partners. I will, however, discuss the return of the money your uncle’s crew stole from Hyperion. That money belongs to me, and if they don’t give it back, everything will change. This is not the Scarfo’s city. It’s mine, and I don’t reach out to people to strike deals, you arrogant little shit! Your uncle will reach out to me, or I’m gonna come back here and set your house on fire with you and your slut still inside. I’ll tie the two of you to your bed, and set a fire on the first floor so that you can hear it coming for you while you lay here on the second floor. You’ll smell hell creeping towards you and you won’t be able to do a thing about it. I’ll make sure you suffer much worse than you’re suffering right now. This is child’s play compared to what I’ll do if your uncle doesn’t reach out to me. Understand?” Tim nods his head as sweat pours off of his face. The combination of pain, fear, and cocaine are overloading his senses, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the little bastard had a heart attack right here
on his floor. That’d be a sight! “Good,” I reply with a smile. I lightly tap Tim on the cheek before standing up and heading towards the door. Valerie is clutching her bloody stomach on the couch, still breathing and whimpering, full of terror as she tries to lean back away from me when I move. That’s the proper response when I’m around. If she lives through this, she’ll never be confident around me again, and she’ll never forget the day she met Solomon King. I smile at Nix as I approach him, and he lets himself release a sly smirk of his own with a playful shake of his head. He knew I wouldn’t let Tim get away with all of that talking. I’m a man of action. When were kids, Nix told me to be careful where I stole from, because we didn’t have the power to deal with the Scarfo family at that time. We’re not kids now. The days of standing in front of Nix’s house, pondering where we should strike are over. We’re grown men now, both of us twenty-five. We’re multi-millionaires, and we have more associates than the Scarfos have a clue about. We won’t hide from anyone, and the only partnership we have is between the two of us. Nix turns on his heel and exits, and I follow behind him just before looking over my shoulder. “I’d get my ass up and put pressure on Valerie’s wound if I were you, Tim. Otherwise, she won’t be alive for the next time we meet. See you soon!”
The last sound Tim and Valerie hear from us is my loud, boisterous laughter echoing throughout the house.
the Scarfo family came less than twenty-four hours after Nix and I left Tim with his nuts kicked in and Valerie with a knife in her stomach. I wonder why so fast? It came by way of a direct call to Nix’s personal phone, which surprised us both a bit, because it meant they had taken the time to look into who Nix is and figure out a way to get his personal information. If they have his phone records, then what else do they know about him? How about me? We put those worries aside for now, because as Nix told me when he hung up, it was time to have a sit-down with Tim’s uncle, Dante Rossi. Nix got the call at ten o’clock the night after we had our little talk with Tim, and the man on the other end of the phone was the consigliere to Angelo Scarfo, a guy by the name of Tony Belinelli, who has been a part of the Scarfo family for nearly all of his sixty-two years of life. That’s the thing about dealing with mob families, their loyalty is unbreakable because they’ve been a part of their thing for so long. For them, the gangster life is passed down generation to generation. A guy who’s sixty-two like Tony isn’t going to budge from whatever he has his mind set THE CALL FROM
on, and we have to know that going in. They’re a hard-headed lot, the Italian families, so if you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, it could be night-night for you and whatever you’ve got planned. They don’t mess around, and we won’t underestimate them. Be that as it may, we’re not going to take any crap from them either. Tony was brief, according to Nix, and told my right-hand-man that Dante wanted to have a sitdown with us as soon as possible to discuss “ongoing matters,” which we know is the Hyperion money, the fact that I attacked Tim and broke two of his fingers, and my operation as a whole. Tony didn’t go into more detail than that, because the line was unsecure, and the Italians are nothing if not professional. They don’t make many mistakes. In fact, if it wasn’t for snitches, not a single mob boss would’ve ever gotten caught throughout La Cosa Nostra history. They’re that good. Their problem is that there is always a weak link who ends up giving the police everything they need to take down their top guy. I guess that’s a pretty big problem to have, and it’s one I plan on avoiding forever. Other than that brief description of what we’d be discussing, Tony only gave Nix a time and location, and informed him who would be attending the meeting from their end—only Tony himself, and Dante Rossi. That leads us to the here and now, and
unlike the eager and enthusiastic feeling I had before the Hyperion job went to shit, I’m calmer now, seated in the driver’s seat of my brand new, burgundy Rolls Royce Wraith. The tan interior of the car is a beauty, and I always feel like I’ve really made it when I sit my fancy ass inside this fourhundred-sixty-two-thousand-dollar sex machine, but today I have different feelings. Today I feel cautious. No money will change hands today. No surprise there. When I think about how this whole thing will go, I expect Dante to try to haggle me a bit, try to negotiate and strike some sort of deal with us in exchange for the money. That won’t go well. The money from Hyperion belongs to me and my crew. The plan that Dante’s crew executed was my plan on steroids. They took what was mine, and I have no problem telling Dante that to his face. I’d tell that to Angelo Scarfo himself. As we wait outside the restaurant, I can see two white tables in front of the entrance, right underneath the purple cloth overhang in front of the doors. Each table has two white chairs with green seat cushions facing one another, which is where we’ll be seated for today’s little conference. Nix and Tony will sit at one table, and Dante and I will sit at the table directly next to them with Nix and I on the same side. I’m not surprised to see that this whole thing will be taking place right out in the
open, in front of the restaurant only a few feet away from the street, at noon. This is a business deal, and Italians like to discuss business over a meal. I’m not exactly feeling hungry, and I can tell from Nix’s silence that he’s as anxious as I am. This is the big time, and both of us feel ready to step up to the plate. Just as I take a breath and let it out, I see a black Mercedes with black rims pull up and park behind my car. Right away, I know it’s Dante. Game time. The first to exit the Mercedes and step out into the sun is Tony Belinelli. He’s about five-foot-eight with a balding head that holds nearly no hair where the front of his hairline should be. Most of what’s left of his hair is hanging out in the back half of his head like it’s afraid to move any closer to his chubby, scowling face. The man looks absolutely miserable, with bags under his eyes like he just got done drinking an hour or so ago, and his mouth has the look of a clown with a never-ending frown. It’s like his smile has been turned upside down, and as funny as that may seem, I know Tony will gladly slice a man’s throat, so I don’t laugh when I see his hairless face. The man is wearing a typical black suit with a black tie, not even trying to hide the gangster appearance as he closes the driver’s door, just as the passenger door pops open. Out of the black-on-black Mercedes steps Dante Rossi. Standing at six-foot-one, Dante is
close to two-hundred pounds with longer hair that hangs down and has a tendency to cover his eyes, so he has to give his head a little swish to move it aside. Dante goes against the Italian mafia grain and actually has hair on his face in the form of a thin beard that runs along his jawline and comes together under his chin. Admittedly, Dante is a good-looking guy at fifty-two years young, with eyes that are so lightly colored that they almost look gray. He’s rocking a white button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone, and just like Tony, I know a killer when I see one. Dante didn’t become underboss to Angelo Scarfo at the age of fifty-two overnight. He’s done a lot of dirt in his life, and usually that would make us friends, but we grew up in different walks of life, so today we’ll have lunch together as enemies. When Nix first mentioned the Scarfo family to me in front of his house the night I sliced his dad’s earlobe off, I never would’ve thought that he and I would be having lunch with them, on the same level as them in this criminal underworld we live in. My how the times have changed! The two Italian men stand next to their car looking directly into the back window of my car, waiting for us to get out and show we’re not trying to ambush them. They should know we’re not that stupid. I want my money, I’m not trying to start a war—yet.
I look over at Nix and he looks at me, both of our faces stone cold. It’s me who smirks, and I swear my smirk puts us both at ease. This is a big moment, but we still have to be who we are. We have to be the kids who clawed their way out of Strawberry Mansion with no help whatsoever. Nix grins back at me to let me know he’s ready, and at the same time, both of us get out. The doors to the Wraith are suicide doors, so they open on the opposite end of a normal car door as the two of us step out together. Nix straightens the jacket on his dark gray suit, smoothing out his black tie as he closes the door and steps towards the setup in front of the restaurant. I look back at Dante as I run my hand down the length of my black button-up. Unlike him, I have the entire top half of my shirt completely unbuttoned, exposing my bare, hairless chest and the diamond-crown-wearing grim reaper tattoo that covers it. I see Dante glance down at the ink as I look away from him and make my way to the table to sit next to Nix. A second later, Tony and Dante are seated in front of us, eyes locked with ours. They’re all business, and so are we. I could scream from all of the intensity! A waiter, wearing an untucked white button-up and a black tie, comes out to greet us before anyone at the table says a word. We’re locked into intense stares even as we begin to place our orders. Dante orders the cliché of spaghetti and meatballs
with a glass of water, while Tony chooses not to have anything but water. I’m a little surprised at Dante’s order. His entire demeanor is tranquil, and he must be really comfortable to be eating a meal at a time like this. Nix and I, on the other hand, know that this is a business deal, and the two of us follow Tony’s lead and just get water, which is brought out quickly in wine glasses along with a basket of steaming bread before even one word is uttered at the table. After what seems like forever, it’s Dante who breaks the silence. “Mr. King,” he says with a hint of a smile. “We finally meet. You have quite the reputation.” Now it’s my turn to smile, but mine is from ear to ear. “How nice of you to notice,” I say, leaning forward with my forearms on the table. The sleeves of my button-up are rolled up just enough to show the flame-covered crown on my left forearm that I got when I was a teenager, and the crying clown on my right forearm that I got two years ago. Dante, who has no tattoos per the Italian mob’s customs, looks down at my ink and then lift his eyes back up to meet mine. His face carries the look of a man who’s trying to convince himself that he’s unaffected by what he sees in front of him. But I don’t believe he’s unaffected. I think he’s affected plenty, and it’s the fuel to the fire quietly burning inside of me.
“I have noticed,” Dante admits with a nod of his head, his long hair bouncing with the movement. “We’ve noticed you for a while now, even before you attacked my nephew and his wife.” Wow. I had no idea that pretty little Valerie was Tim’s wife, but that information puts another smile on my face. No wonder the call from Dante came so fast. I hit home with that little stabbing act. “Nothing personal with Timmy and his girl. Just business, you know. How’s Val doing, by the way?” I ask, smiling with my eyes at the thought of Valerie bleeding from her stomach and Tim lying on the ground clutching his nuts. “She’s fine,” Dante replies, his face suddenly serious. “Our docs fixed her up and she’ll recover physically. Maybe not mentally, though. It was a bold statement, Solomon. You like to wreak havoc, and that’s the kind of thing that draws the wrong kind of attention.” I smile again. “Havoc, you say? I like to think of it as chaos, and yes, I do thrive in it. I bathe in it, I drink it down until I’m full from it and then piss it out onto others. You do, too. Your family has been wreaking havoc for generations. Has it not? You just do it quieter than me.” “I suppose I could agree with that,” Dante answers, nodding again.
“Yes you could,” I snip, feeling serious all of a sudden. “The difference between us though, is that I crave the chaos and hate the quiet. I wanna be loud, I wanna be seen, and I want the world to know that it’s me who brings the chaos. I create and control the flames, and there’s nothing anyone can do to extinguish them, because they’re mine.” “That’s where you’re wrong, Solomon,” Dante says as his meal is brought to him by the waiter. The spaghetti and meatballs looks delicious as steam and aroma rise from the plate. Dante thanks the waiter in Italian and picks up his fork before speaking again. “You seem to think that you’re invincible. You live your life at a hundred miles per hour as if you can never be stopped. You disrespect those who are traveling quietly on the same road as you, the ones going with the flow of traffic as you speed ahead like a madman.” “Well, that’s what the kids are saying about me anyway, so why not play the part?” “Maybe you are a madman, I don’t know, nor do I care,” Dante snips as he nonchalantly shoves a forkful of marinara-covered noodles into his mouth. “Regardless of what you think, you’re traveling on the same road as us, and when you drive too fast or too recklessly, you draw attention to the rest of us who are operating under the radar. We can’t have that.” “Ah, so that’s what this is about,” I say as I
lean back in my seat and sip my water. “You think my style of criminal activity is beneath yours. That’s pretty funny. I didn’t know one form of being a degenerate was better than another.” “You make us look bad when you operate recklessly.” “I don’t care how you look, because I don’t work for you! I’m not your subordinate, I don’t answer to you, so why the hell would I care how I make you look?” My skin is starting to heat up, and I can feel tiny prickles on my face. I have to let out a few deep breaths to calm myself. “Like I said,” Dante answers coolly. “You’re on the same road as us, and your actions draw attention to us.” “Why are we beating around the bush with this?” I ask, feeling fed up already. “Your actions at Hyperion Bank drew plenty of attention, if I remember correctly. Your guys had fully automatic weapons aimed at innocent people in the middle of Girard Avenue. If that’s not wreaking havoc, I don’t know what is.” “Yes, the Hyperion job was a bit messy for us, but it was necessary to make a point.” “Make a point?” “We needed to show you that we can take from you, whatever we want, whenever we want,” Dante replies, his face suddenly confident and smug. “Because you’re not invincible, Solomon.”
“You’re a brave one, Dante,” I say as I take another sip of water. “I have to commend you on that. I mean, look at you! Sitting there shoving spaghetti into your ugly mouth as if you’re in front of a child who isn’t on your level. That’s crazy to see, and it’s new to me. But nonetheless, you’re gonna give me what I want. You owe me a lot of money.” “Cazzate,” he snips, and I frown. “It means bullshit, idiota. We don’t owe you a dime. You should know by now that you only get what you take in this lifestyle. You didn’t take it, so you have no claim to it.” “You planted a mole in my outfit and stole our plans to rob Hyperion’s truck,” I say between clenched teeth. “You stole the whole idea and how to pull it off from me, so I’m claiming all of it, and you’re gonna give it to me.” Dante looks over at Tony, who hasn’t even moved a muscle. The pudgy man is sitting there with his arms folded and his head low while his eyes are locked on me. He looks at me like he hates me, and the feeling is mutual, so I glare back at him, daring him to do something. “We didn’t come here with unrealistic expectations, Mr. King,” Dante says, looking back at me. “We’re prepared to bargain with you.” “That’s wonderful news, except it’s a waste of time, because I’m not here to bargain. I want my
money.” “We understand.” “I don’t think you do.” “We’ll give it to you,” Dante says before shoving another forkful into his mouth and wiping the sauce off of his chin with a napkin. “But there’s one condition.” I glance at Nix momentarily, then back to Dante as he continues. “We’ll give you every cent of the money from the Hyperion job, and you can take it to spend on whatever stupid, flashy merde you like. However, you have to leave Philadelphia. For good.” I look over at Nix again, and just before I look back at Dante, I burst out laughing. I can’t believe this asshole would think he could coax me out of my own city. I grew up here, this is my city, and there isn’t a man in this world who could make me leave. “Wow, I knew you were ballsy, I didn’t know you were funny too!” I laugh again, slapping the table with a loud bang that makes all the dishes rattle. I can see the unease finally starting to wash over Dante’s face. He’s watching me, wondering if I’ve lost it right here at the table. He wasn’t kidding when he said my reputation precedes me. He thinks I’m crazy just like the rest of them, and my laughter makes him agitated. I like that he’s agitated. “That’s the deal, Solomon,” he says loudly to
be heard over my continuing laughter. “Laugh all you like, but that’s it, and it’s the best we’re willing to offer, especially after what you did to my nephew. Take it or leave it.” Suddenly, I stop laughing and slam my fist on the table, my face as serious as ever. “Oh I’ll leave it, Dante! Because you came into my house and stole from me. I don’t give a single shit about Tim or his wife. The only reason I’m not putting a multitude of bullet holes into you and your fat friend is because Nix here asked me not to, and I decided to listen to him. You do not tell me what I’ll do. No one does.” Dante and I fall into an intense staring contest as he locks his grayish eyes on mine and totally stops blinking. For thirty seconds straight, there’s nothing but the sound of cars slowly driving by and our breathing as background noise. He can’t stand me, I’m sure he’d like to see me dead, and the irony of it all is that I want the same fate for him. I’ve been sick of the Scarfo family since Nix first told me to slow down because of them. I’d like nothing more than for them to be out of our way, but making that happen is a lot easier to say than it is to do. As pissed as I am, I know I can’t do anything drastic at this meeting. But that doesn’t mean something drastic won’t be done in the future. “Let me assure you of something, Mr. King,”
Tony Belinelli finally speaks up after clearing his throat to break the silence. His voice is like gravel, low and husky with a certain growl characteristic that’s annoying. He sounds like he’s been smoking fifty cigarettes a day since he was two years old. “We’ve been doing this a long time. We’ve been in this life since before either of yous were born. We wouldn’t be sitting at this table if we hadn’t already looked into you and your crew, and that includes the guys you’ve only used for jobs once. On behalf of Angelo Scarfo, I advise you to take the money and go. You don’t want to open a door you won’t know how to close, and Mr. Scarfo doesn’t want blood in the streets if he can avoid it. So, once again, I ask that you please take some time to consider the deal. You don’t have to decide right now. We understand it’s a painful decision, considering both of yous have lived here your whole lives, starting out in Strawberry Mansion. Please, take your time and think about it.” “There’s nothing to think about,” I snap back, glaring at Tony. “This is my city, my home, and I ain’t leaving.” “Are you sure you wanna do it like this, Solomon?” Dante asks in his Italian accent, as he sets his silverware down and leans back in his seat. “Angelo Scarfo is seventy-one years old, he’s seen things you can’t even dream of. Me, I’m fifty-two, and I’ve been in this life since I’m thirteen. I’ve
seen things I wish I wouldn’t have, and done even crazier things. We don’t have to go down this road. But just know this, refusing to take the deal could cause a war in the streets. You don’t want that, and neither do we. But, we’re willing to take it there if it’s necessary.” These mob guys have a lot of balls, and with every passing second, I want more and more to saw those balls off with a dull butter knife. After a second to act as though I’m considering their offer, I turn to Nix, who hasn’t done anything but listen to this garbage. He looks back at me in anticipation of what I might say, knowing me so well. “Let me ask you something, Nix,” I begin. “Are you afraid of the Scarfo family? Do you think we should allow ourselves to be run out of our own city?” Without a second of hesitation, Nix replies. “I haven’t ever been afraid of anybody my entire life, and even though I respect what the Scarfo family has done in this city for so long, there isn’t a chance in hell I’d take the money and run. My mother still lives here in the house I bought for her five years ago. I would never leave her behind just to make Angelo Scarfo happy. It’ll never happen.” “Music to my ears, just like I knew it would be,” I reply before turning back to Dante and Tony.
“You asked me if I wanted to do it like this, Dante, and my answer is yes. I’d love to do it this way. You’re right, I’m twenty-five years old, young and out of control! You said I had a reputation, but you obviously don’t take it seriously, because if you did, you never would’ve even considered asking me to leave my home. If you want to go to war with me instead of share the wealth in this big city, then bring your tanks and the full force of your army, because the only running I’ll be doing will be towards you to cut your fucking head off. Now, give me my money, or I’m gonna come to your house and take it.” Dante and Tony stare at me with mixed, indecipherable expressions. In their eyes is a cross between anger, fear, and shock. This family has been doing business a long time, and I’m guessing they’re not used to people standing up to them. When someone in the Scarfo family says leave town, you pack your bags and get out before they kill you, it’s always been as simply as that. Over the years, as Nix and I were coming up in this city, I’ve known guys who’ve packed up and left town out of the blue, out of fear that someone in the Scarfo family would bring misery into their house. I’ve also heard of guys flat out disappearing without a trace, no one knowing where they went, but everyone knowing where they went, knowing they’re gone for good. So, this has to be off-putting
for these two lifelong gangsters. Seeing their uneasiness now, I’m sure of it—I’ve pushed their buttons. Little ole me! Solomon King from Strawberry Mansion has managed to rattle the cage of the underboss of the Scarfo family! Laughter bubbles in my stomach and I have to force it to stay down. Dante lets out a breath through his mouth, sipping his water before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wad of cash in a platinum money clip. He pulls out a fifty and drops it on the table, a hefty tip considering his meal was only twenty bucks and the rest of us had water. “Here’s how this works,” Dante says. “We’ll give you a few days to think our offer over. After a few days, we’ll meet up again and see what you decide. Capiche?” “How many times do I have to say the same thing to you people?” I reply as Dante and Tony both stand up to leave. “The decision has already been made. I want my money, Dante.” “Okay, Solomon,” Dante answers as he wipes his mouth one last time with his napkin before dropping it on top of his plate, and the two of them head for their car. “We’ll talk again soon.” “I want my money, Dante!” I say again, but I’m ignored as the two made men climb into their black Mercedes and slowly drive away. “Well, that was interesting,” Nix says. “You
know what this means, right?” I let out a loud whoosh of air. “What’s that, Nix?” “Something’s gonna happen before we meet with them again,” Nix replies. “That’s how this works. They’re gonna show us something, then call us back to the table to see how we react to it. We need to be ready.” “I’m always ready, Nix,” I answer, sipping my water one last time as I stare at the tail lights of the Mercedes driving away from us. “Always.”
a fancy American restaurant smack dab in the middle of Center City West. It serves what you’d expect to see at a Ruby Tuesday or something similar: amazing steaks, fantastic burgers, fresh seafood, and a bar stocked with every type of liquor you can think of. If Club Asylum is our home, then The VP is our home away from home, and it’s owned by Mr. Nix Malone himself. There’s nothing like legit money when you’re involved in a life of crime. Every mob guy knows this, which is why they all invest in something legal that can’t be taken away by the feds if they get raided or shaken down. Nix, always a fan of the nineties mob life, followed suit and had The VP built shortly after we transitioned out of Strawberry Mansion. He built The VP—also known as The Vice President—I built Club Asylum. I’m a little more on the overprotective side, so I built the Box inside my club to keep out nosey people and cops. Nix, on the other hand, wanted The VP to be just another place where people with fat wallets could come spend their money on a thirty-five-dollar steak and seventy-dollar lobster without wondering THE VP IS
who the tatted up lowlifes in the bulletproof glass case are. His place doesn’t have the protective measures mine does, but it’s an elegant, cushy little number that never fails to be packed to the brim with paying customers who only spend their money at five star joints. Nix, of course, did it the best way possible—he’s the owner, not the operator, so he sits back and watches his restaurant make money for him and collects a fat check at the end of every month. He doesn’t deal with payroll or managing the joint a single hour of the day, but when he comes in, he’s got the VIP section locked down without question. So, guess where we’re sitting tonight. The sit-down with Dante and Tony was yesterday afternoon, and Nix and I are still pissed at the audacity of those two assholes. Nonetheless, we knew it was in our best interest to alert everyone in the crew about how the conversation went so that they’re aware of the situation. When your money gets stolen right in front of you, you’d like an update on when you can expect to have it paid back. That kind of thing doesn’t slide in our lifestyle. So, Nix and I called a meeting with Rock, Marcell, Ricky, and Donny to discuss where we are with the situation. Nix and I arrive first as usual. When we walk through the entrance, the hostess immediately recognizes Nix and rushes to take us to the back of
the restaurant. The woman’s red hair sways behind her as she walks with an extra pep in her step, wearing black pants with a white shirt and gold bowtie. She leads us through the crowded main floor, and I always make sure to take a minute to check out how nice Nix’s place is. Black, white, and gold are your primary colors: black walls, black leather seats, long white table cloths dangling over the sides of the tables, and a black and gold patterned carpet to really make it all pop. Even the golden-framed pictures on the walls fit into Nix’s scheme, which he won’t admit he designed himself before relinquishing control to his managers. It’s a beautiful place, and once we pass through the main floor, we enter through two black sliding doors with frosted glass blurring the vision of anyone trying to get a peek inside, and we find ourselves in the luxurious VIP section. The VIP is a fancier version of the main floor, with thick, plush, black leather seats that wrap halfway around the table before stopping to make room for two separate leather chairs. At the end of the long seats stands a gold pole with a black bucket at the top, specifically for keeping bottles of champagne on ice. When Nix and I sit in the separate chairs, there’s already a bottle of Cristal in the bucket waiting for us. Yeah, we do it big. The days of frantically searching through Whitney’s kitchen for scraps to eat are over.
Nix and I make ourselves comfortable as a waitress—this one black, and thick in all the right places with jet black hair—pops the cork on the Cristal and pours glasses for us. She flashes an inviting smile at me before setting the bottle back in the bucket and making her way to the kitchen. Just as she is out of my line of sight, I see Marcell being led through the sliding doors, followed by Rock, Donny, and Ricky. Marcell is wearing an all-black outfit with white shoes to set it off. Rock is sporting his usual tight-fitting, long sleeve sweater, while Donny and Ricky are doing their thing with two different combinations of red and white flannel shirts with Doc Martins. Our crew complete, Nix and I greet them and wait for all of the orders to be taken by the perfectly thick waitress before addressing tonight’s topic. “So, it’s been an interesting few days, gentlemen, and let me start by apologizing,” I begin. “When I call a crew to do a job, I expect it to go without a hitch. I don’t like distractions or working with people who aren’t focused enough to pull off a job the right way. The whole thing with Hyperion was supposed to be big, and all of us had to sit there and watch it be stolen from us without knowing what the hell was going on. Nix and I don’t stand for that kind of thing, so we took the liberty of doing a little digging to find out who the hell hit the Hyperion job just seconds before we
were supposed to. I’ll let Nix explain the rest, since he’s the mastermind behind tracking down our little mole.” “Mole?” Rock says with a deep canyon between his eyebrows. “Yeah,” Nix answers. “So, as it turns out, Tim Sandusky was a mole for the Scarfo family.” “Whoah,” Marcell bellows with raised eyebrows behind his glasses. “Did you just say the Scarfo family? Seriously?” “Yeah,” Nix answers. “As in Angelo Scarfo?” Donny says. “Yes, now listen,” Nix replies. “It turns out, Tim Sandusky was sent to infiltrate our outfit. It just so happened that he came at a time when Solomon was trying to get a job done involving Detective Anthony Mason, who’s also on Angelo’s payroll. All three of them colluded together and pulled a scheme to trick Solomon and me into trusting Tim. After he gained our trust and the details of the Hyperion job, Tim sold the plans to his uncle, Dante Rossi.” “Holy shit!” Rock barks. “Tim is Dante Rossi’s nephew? Never would’ve seen that one coming. Wow.” “Yeah, that makes three of us,” Nix says, frowning just from the thought of how I let us get played by a young rookie like Tim. “Anyway, so it was Dante who took our plans from Tim and beefed
them up. He pulled off our job right in front of us on purpose. He wanted Solomon and me to see that they had one up on us.” “Why would they do that?” Donny asks, which causes his brother to frown. “Why do you think, dummy,” Ricky snips. “It’s a competition thing. Angelo must see you guys as a threat. You don’t see him going after any other criminals in the city. If they wanted to take your job, it’s because they think you’re becoming too big. When you think about it, it’s kind of a compliment.” “Yeah, so we’ve heard,” Nix replies. I sit back in my seat and listen to Nix fill in the rest of the story. “So, once we got this information, Solomon forced Dante into a sit-down yesterday, after breaking Tim’s fingers and stabbing his wife in the stomach with a switchblade.” “Holy shit, Solomon! You killed the dude’s wife?” Donny chirps with a wide grin, to which I just smile. “Nah, she lived, I think,” Nix says. “At the sitdown, Dante offered to give us the money they stole, but there were conditions. They want Solomon and me out of Philly for good.” “Oh, those greedy bitches!” Rock snaps. “They can’t stand the idea of someone being able to come up if it makes them look like they’re not the top dogs anymore. Assholes!”
“Yeah, they claim it’s because they don’t like the way we conduct business, which tends to be loud and draw a lot of attention, but that’s just how we do things, we ain’t changing for them, or anybody else for that matter. Anyway, when they told us to take the money and go, Solomon shot them down,” Nix explains. “So, they claim to be giving us some time to think about the offer, and after a few days, we’ll hear back from them to meet up again. I’m sure you all know what that means.” “Yeah, they’re gonna come after you,” Rock answers for the group. “They’re gonna show force.” “Exactly,” Nix says, followed by chugging the rest of his champagne. “That’s why we wanted to meet with you all. When they set up the sit-down, they called my personal cell. I don’t give that number out to almost anybody, so that means they’re digging on us, and if they’re doing it to me, they might be doing it to all of you, too.” “Shit,” Marcell exclaims. “Yeah, so we need all of you to be on your toes over the next forty-eight hours or so,” Nix goes on. “I don’t know what the hell to expect, but we all know how deep Angelo’s operation goes. They have their fingers in a lot of shit, and they have tons of people on their payroll, including cops and judges. Italian restaurants are probably a no-go right now, at least until we hear from Dante.”
“Damn, man! I love Italian food!” Rock says, smacking his large hand on the table. “Hey, we’ve got pasta here!” Nix replies. “You ain’t got no Italian cooks back there!” Rock fires back with a grin. “Don’t be knocking my cooks, Rock,” Nix replies with his own smile. “Hey!” I snap, making everyone stop in their tracks. “Before we get loose and start acting like everything is hunky-dory, do you all understand what Nix just said about being careful? They already reached out and snatched a job away, and they did it right in front of us. I hate them with a furious passion, but I’m not dumb enough to underestimate them, and you shouldn’t be either. Before you relax and indulge on Nix’s food and alcohol, I need to know you’re aware of what could happen.” The four men look around at each other, sensing my seriousness. I’m not sure how else to convey the enormity of this situation, but slowly the four of them nod their heads. “We got it, Solomon,” Rock says. “Yeah,” Marcell agrees. “We’ll keep it low key until you say otherwise.” “Good,” I say to them all. “Now let’s eat.” An hour and a half can go by in the blink of an eye when you’re having fun. That’s what happens when
the six of us start drinking and having conversation in the VIP of Nix’s The VP restaurant. Before any of us knows what’s going on, there’s multiple bottles of Cristal on the table, surrounded by countless plates of nearly half the dishes on the menu. We’ve gone all out tonight, feeling like the kings of the world that we are. At one point, I even saw Rock get up from the table and follow one of the waitresses into the bathroom. After ten minutes behind closed doors, he came back out looking awfully satisfied with a shit-eating grin on his face. I also couldn’t help but notice the waitress wiping her mouth when she came out of the bathroom. I’ll let you guess what happened in there. At the end of the night, about an hour before The VP is supposed to close, Nix stands up with a champagne glass filled with Cristal. He raises the glass and taps it with a fork to get our attention. “Hey, listen up, you assholes!” he chirps, slurring his speech a bit. “We’re all a little faded tonight, but like we discussed before, when we leave here, we all gotta be on our game. I don’t want to hear about anybody in this room found dead or some shit on the news tomorrow. Got it?” “Yeah, yeah!” Ricky mocks, raising his glass. “You just make sure that Italian bastard gives us the money they stole from us, otherwise, me and my brother will find where they stashed it and go get it
ourselves!” “Damn right!” Donny agrees with a raised glass of his own. “Let’s toast to the good life, gentlemen,” Nix says as the rest of us raise our champagne glasses and toast with him. “To the good life!” I yell with a smile, before knocking back the rest of the golden liquid in my glass. That’s when I hear the first gasp through the doors blocking us off from the main seating area. The gasp is followed by shuffling, and then more gasps. The rest of the crew notices me turning suddenly serious, and they follow suit, shifting their heads towards the closed VIP doors to hear what the hell is going on. There’s more chattering now, and it’s clear something is happening. You can feel the intensity picking up as a sudden calmness and quiet flows through the restaurant, even though there’s still plenty of people in the main section. “Nix, maybe you should go have a look,” I say to my partner, but before he can even agree with me, the VIP doors slide open. The redheaded hostess walks in first with a horrified look on her face, followed by Detective Anthony Mason, and at least ten uniformed cops. “What the hell is this?” Nix snaps, still holding the champagne glass in his hands. “Hey there!” Mason greets in a chipper voice.
Just from the look on his dumb face, I know he’s about to drop a bomb on us. “Nice to see you, Nix. You too, Solomon. Looks like you boys have been having a party up in here, huh.” “You really wanna do this right now, Mason?” I ask him as I rise to my feet and glare at the detective. He stands out amongst the group of cops because he’s the only one wearing a gray suit, while the rest are in their black uniforms. “Solomon, I’m so sure!” Mason says with a smile. I don’t like his good mood. Something’s about to go down. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here, Solomon. I lost that ten grand you gave me. Know anything about that?” I don’t have an answer, and I suddenly feel more vulnerable than I ever have. What the hell is he doing here with all these cops? “Ah, don’t worry about it,” Mason continues. “We’ll get to that later. Right now, though, I’m here to serve a warrant.” “What? A warrant for who? For what?” Nix snaps, his face melting into a full scowl. This is going to get bad real fast. “I’m glad you asked, Nix. A warrant for Donny Fontane.” “What the fuck?” Donny snaps as he stands up. “For what?” “Hi, Donny!” Mason says as he starts to walk up to Donny. “For your involvement in the robbery
at Hyperion Bank a few days ago.” “Get the fuck outta here, man,” Donny yells. “I didn’t do that shit. That wasn’t me and you know it!” “Do I?” Mason asks with a sly smile, and that’s when I realize what this is. This is Dante Rossi. “According to the anonymous tip we received— who also anonymously tipped us that you were having dinner here tonight—you had something to do with it, so I gotta take you in.” “Anonymous tip my ass!” Ricky says now. He slams his fist on the table as Mason walks up to his brother, pulling handcuffs from his back pocket. “Get the hell away from my brother!” In a flash, Ricky bolts in front of Donny to protect him, and then all hell breaks loose. Like a scene from a western movie, Mason quickly whips his hand to his side and removes a Taser from its holster, aiming it at Ricky. He pulls the trigger and the weapon lets out a pop that sends little white sticks with thin wires hanging from them into Ricky’s flannel shirt. Every muscle in Ricky’s body tightens as he falls to the floor in the fetal position. “Bad idea, man!” Mason yells down at Ricky, but his voice is cut off when Donny punches the detective in the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Mason drops the Taser and clenches his jaw, but Donny is running towards him with a bottle of
Cristal in his hand at full speed. Mason steps back with a look of fear in his eyes as he braces for impact, because Donny’s coming too fast for him to pull his gun, but the impact doesn’t come. Instead, what comes is the sound of gunshots. Pop! Everyone freezes, except Donny, whose momentum is carrying him forward so he can’t stop even if he wants to. Pop! Blood splatters on the dishes in front of me as Donny’s body jerks with each flash of the weapon being aimed at him by a uniformed cop. Pop, pop! Donny’s body jerks two more times before falling to the floor next to his brother, who’s lying there clutching his chest where the Taser got him. As soon as I see the look on Donny’s face, I know he’s gone. Just like that. Here one second, gone the next, right in front of his brother. “You motherfucker!” Ricky screams as he tries to get up, but the same uniformed officer who shot his brother is now right on top of him, pointing the hot barrel right between his eyes, daring him to move another muscle. “Make me do it,” the cop says, glaring down at Ricky who now has tears in his eyes. “Damn!” Mason says with a chuckle. “That got out of hand real fast! It always does when it comes
to you, huh Solomon? Oh well. Alright, one of you call an ambulance for Donny, and Officer Lariosa, please take Ricky Fontane out of here for interfering with our arrest and assaulting a police officer.” “He didn’t touch you!” Marcell shouts, but it’s pointless “Ah, semantics,” Mason says with an arrogant shrug. The cop who shot Donny, who I now know is Officer Lariosa, holsters his weapon before turning Ricky over and forcing his hands behind his back. He slaps cuffs on him and has another officer help bring him to his feet. Before we know it, Ricky is being dragged out of the restaurant. Rock, Nix, Marcell, and I look down at Donny’s motionless body, and we can barely believe what we just saw. Once again, Dante Rossi has reached out and touched us without having to lift a finger, and the hatred I feel inside is on a level I didn’t even know I had. “It didn’t have to be like this, Solomon,” Mason says as he steps over Donny’s body like it’s a dog in the street—like he means nothing. “This is on you, but what you need to remember here, is that it can get worse. Much worse.” “You piece of shit,” Nix says in a low, hushed voice that’s dripping with anger. “Don’t say too much,” Mason says, stopping
him. “You wouldn’t want to threaten a police officer, would you? Not after what just happened.” Nix doesn’t answer. “I thought not. Have a good night, fellas.” Without another word to us, Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, closing the sliding doors behind him. Some of the uniformed officers quickly usher the four of us out of an exit in the back of the restaurant so they can fix up the scene and bring Donny’s body out. Before any of us could ever see it coming, Dante Rossi showed us what he can do. He just brought the war to us.
than twenty-four hours for Nix to get a call from Tony Belinelli. When Nix answered the phone, I was sitting right next to him on my couch in the loft. When it rang, we knew who it was, and we knew what they were going to say. Ironically, Nix and I were discussing what our next move was going to be after everything that happened at The VP. We had a plan, and when the call came, the adrenaline built up in my stomach like volcanic lava, and in that moment, I knew our plan was going to be put into place. According to Nix, Tony Belinelli kept it brief, and he had the tone of a man who knew he was in control. All Tony said was the time and location of our next sit-down with Dante Rossi. “Tomorrow, seven PM, La Famiglia Ristorante.” Tomorrow is now today, and seven PM is now five minutes away. And I’m going to kill Dante Rossi and Tony Belinelli. I thought long and hard about what it is I’m going to do, and Nix was there to be my angel on the other shoulder, but in the end, even he agreed that we can’t allow Dante to get away with what IT TOOK LESS
happened at The VP, and Tony will try to defend Dante, so he’ll die too. Donny Fontane died for nothing. Detective Mason knew Donny had nothing to do with the robbery of Hyperion’s truck, because he’s on Angelo Scarfo’s payroll, and he knows it was them who pulled off that job. So, his actions two nights ago got Donny killed, and for that, after I kill Dante tonight, I’m going to Mason’s house, and I’m going to kill him too. Not his family, just him. I want them to feel the pain of losing him, so I’ll spare all of their lives, but I’ll make them watch for what he did to Donny and Ricky. They need to know how crooked their husband and father is. I don’t care if it was Angelo himself who put Mason up to it. Every one of them will know not to bring war to my house. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not completely insane. I know what this will do. You can’t kill the underboss of any Italian mob family and get away with it unscathed. There will be blood in the streets, and we’re ready for that. Regardless of how long the seventy-one-year-old boss of the Scarfo family has been in the life of crime, I’m smarter than him. I’m smarter than all of them, and this war will go on for a century before I let them get me or Nix. This will put us at war until either Angelo or me is dead, because there’s no way Angelo is going to forgive me for killing his underboss. So be it. Such is the
life of a gangster. Regardless of the drama and danger this act will bring to our lives, I will not give them a pass on this. No man will ever hit me or my operation and go unpunished. Ever. Tonight, Dante Rossi will die. The war will begin. As we sit at the stoplight just a few hundred yards from La Famiglia Ristorante, I hold my chrome nine millimeter pistol in my hands. It’s a beautiful weapon, and I smile at the thought of using it again, knowing it will rid the world of another one of my enemies. Tonight, I’ll use a black silencer on the front of the barrel to keep people from rushing outside at the sound of gunshots. I turn it clockwise, putting it in place just as the stoplight turns green and Nix steps on the gas. Once it’s firmly attached, I tuck it into the holster that’s slung inside my black leather jacket. Ready. Nix rides in the driver’s seat next to me wearing navy blue jeans and a jacket to match. His long facial hair is perfectly edged and touching his chest as he lowers his head and raises his eyes to drive. He’s pure focus. He has his own gun under his seat, but he won’t be using it tonight. The honor of avenging Donny is mine, and Nix will simply drive us away from the scene when the deed is done. Just a few seconds later, we’re pulling up to the curb in front of the restaurant. The lights inside are on and there’s obviously plenty of people in the place, but there’s only two people sitting outside.
Dante and Tony. Two dead men. As we park behind their black Mercedes, I see Tony wearing his usual double-chin and a gray suit. He’s fancier than when we met a few days ago, and so is Dante, who’s wearing a black suit and a white button-up with no tie. Both of the men look happy and proud of themselves as they sip wine from crystal glasses. I guess I can understand that. I’d be chipper too if I knew my power extended into the police department and criminal justice system in all of Philly and then some. As we get out of Nix’s SUV, I can’t help but notice there is a third seat on the left of Dante this time, closest to the entrance door. There’s a wine glass too, but it’s empty, so maybe it’s just an extra setting. When the two of us approach the tables, Dante and Tony raises their wine glasses to us, as if toasting to our arrival. “Ah, Solomon King and his partner, Nix Malone,” Dante says, smiling from ear to ear. His confidence is definitely up since our last visit. “Please, come have a seat. We’re just getting started having some drinks. Won’t you join us?” Nix and I sit down—me in front of Dante, Nix in front of Tony. I see Dante’s scruffy bearded face and I want to skip the BS and start pulling the trigger now, but I’ll humor the situation. After all, it’s my game.
As soon as we sit down, a waiter comes rushing out with a bottle filled with dark wine and two more glasses. He doesn’t use the one that’s sitting next to Dante. “Please, have a drink,” Dante says, waving his hand at the waiter to pour each of us a glass. “This is special edition Bolgheri Superiore, nearly three hundred dollars a bottle. Enjoy.” The waiter pours our glasses and quickly leaves, making sure to avoid eye contact with me. I watch him leave before addressing Dante. “I’m glad to see you’re in a good mood, Dante,” I say as I lift my glass and sip the wine. It’s disgusting, but I’d expect no less from a snake like Dante Rossi. “I am in a good mood, Solomon,” Dante replies, setting his glass down. “I’ve had a good few days, and now I’m here about to have dinner with friends.” “We’re not friends,” I snip. “No, we’re not. I wasn’t talking about you,” Dante answers. “Speaking of friends, though, I heard you lost one of yours. Very sad. My condolences.” He’s talking about Donny, and my blood immediately heats up, shooting warmth throughout my entire body. I shift my position a bit just to feel the sway of the gun in the holster under my jacket. Their arrogance in assuming we wouldn’t do
anything to them in public will cost them tonight. No one in the Scarfo family will ever have a sitdown without searching their guests ever again. The fact that they’ve never patted us down is an insult in itself. I’ll fix all of that tonight. When the first shot rings out, that’ll be the first thing they think, “Why didn’t we pat them down?” Then, the rest of the shots will follow, and they won’t be able to think at all. “Your condolences,” I say, repeating Dante’s words. “I assume you’d like me to believe you had nothing to do with that, huh?” “You can assume whatever you want,” Dante spits back. “It’s just a shame it had to end up that way. One of your friends being killed by police, his brother being arrested for assaulting police. People in your crew have had a rough few days. After a while, no one will want to do business with you two.” “So, that’s your plan then?” I ask, shifting again. “You wanna pick off my associates one by one, until there’s no one left, or you scare them all away, and poor Nix and me are all alone and forced to leave for greener pastures. An elaborate plan, Dante. Might take a while to complete.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I simply noticed the difficulty you and your friends are going through right now. But since you brought it up, have you given any thought to leaving for
greener pastures? Our offer?” I look over at Nix to let him know I’m running out of patience, and that the end of all of this is coming. His face tightens in anticipation. “Your offer,” I say. “Remind me, what was that offer again?” “Short memory, Solomon? No problem, I’ll repeat it for you. You get all of the money from the Hyperion robbery—we both know we don’t need it —as long as you and your partner move out of Philadelphia. Go burn down another city with your loud antics.” I shift again. “So let me make sure I’ve got this right,” I sit up straight and lean on my right forearm, positioning it close to my body. The leather of my jacket brushing lightly against my skin. “First, you send a mole to infiltrate my outfit, then you steal my plans and use them to rob me of my own heist. Then you ask me to leave the city I’ve lived in my entire life. Then you send cops to Nix’s restaurant and get my associate killed and another arrested for the robbery you committed. Now you’re asking me again about leaving everything I know behind, simply because you and your boss can’t handle a little competition. I get all of that, Dante?” Dante shifts in his seat now, suddenly uncomfortable with my words. Imagine how uncomfortable he’s going to be with a bullet in his
head. “I’d be careful with my words if I were you, Solomon,” he snips, his muscles tightening under his fancy Italian suit. I shift again. This is it. “That’s the thing, Dante,” I snip, my nerves sharpening under my skin as the moment approaches. “You’re not me. I think that’s why you hate me so much. You’re not me, you don’t run shit like me, the people in this city don’t fear you the way they fear me. You wish you were me, but I’m too big for you to even come close. I do wreak havoc. I do cause chaos, and the worst thing you could’ve ever done is . . .” The door to the restaurant opens, and my words catch in my throat. I suddenly can’t breathe as a woman steps through the doors, followed by the waiter who poured our drinks when we arrived. She sits down at the table in the empty seat next to Dante without saying a word, and as I stare at her, I feel Nix staring at me, just as confused as I am. “Ah, there you are,” Dante says as he throws his arm on the back of the blonde woman’s chair. She scoots a little closer to him and flashes a smile that shatters my heart into a million pieces. “What took you so long in there?” “Had to freshen up,” she says in a voice that I could never forget, not even if an entire millennium passed. “You wouldn’t want me to look bad in front
of company, would you?” I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My brain is scrambled and moving a million miles per second. All I do is stare at her. Dirty blonde hair that stops at least midway down her back, icy blue eyes, thin nose, and beautifully full lips. This isn’t some knockoff version walking the streets. She’s wearing a tight black dress that shows just how much she’s grown up since the last time I saw her—when she mouthed the words I love you from the window of the train as it pulled out of the station and she disappeared from my life. “You couldn’t look bad if you tried,” Dante says, and I’m frozen in place as I watch him lean over and softly kiss her on the cheek. She looks down at the floor as he does it, but she doesn’t shy away. The waiter who followed her out pours wine into the glass I’d noticed when I first arrived, and she immediately sips it, still not looking to our side of the table. “Like I said before, Solomon, I’m having dinner with friends. Allow me to introduce my date for the evening. This is Reina. Reina, this is Mr. Solomon King. He’s an acquaintance, of sorts.” Her blue eyes finally rise to meet mine, and I feel all of the blood leave my face and flood into
my feet as she reaches across the table and offers her hand for me to shake. “Hello, Solomon. It’s nice to meet you.”
at her. What the hell else am I supposed to do? It’s really her. Reina is sitting in front of me, looking more gorgeous than ever, and my mind just can’t handle it. I feel hot and prickly all over as her hand dangles in front of me with gold-painted nails and a black and silver bracelet dangling from her wrist. It only takes a millisecond for me to recognize it, and that recognition is confirmation that the person I’m looking at is, in fact, Reina Wilde from seven years ago. The bracelet is the one I bought for her when we went to Forman Mills Mall together. How could I ever forget that day? It’s the day she met my mother, and the day I asked her to help Nix and me rob Julia’s Jewels. The things that happened that day bonded us, and not even seven years apart can break that bond. Or can it? With her hand still frozen in mid-air in front of me, a million questions flood my brain as I stare at her, unblinking. What the hell is she doing with Dante Rossi? Where has she been this whole time? Has she been with him? Has she been in Philly for the past seven years, playing the role of Dante’s I JUST STARE
mistress? Does he know that she and I have a deep history? Is she in danger with him? Did she leave me to go be with him—the mobster who was running the city before I came up? And most importantly—why is she acting like she doesn’t know me? Is she trying to play me, or him? Is she protecting herself by acting like we’re strangers— like we didn’t have something serious when we were teenagers? Did any of that even matter to her? Was she playing me the entire time? By the time the questions slow down, I’m furious, and I can feel heat climbing up my neck like the tattooed, demonic hands that are permanently inked there. I feel my lip quivering as the anger takes over and I want to lash out. I want to pull the gun from the holster dangling inside my jacket and start popping off rounds in every direction. How dare she show up here after all this time? With him! After what she made me feel for her, how dare she! “Solomon,” I hear Nix’s muffled voice call to me, but it barely registers. “Whoah there,” I hear Dante say next as his movement grabs my attention. He lifts his arm and grabs Reina’s hand, pulling it down. “Don’t worry about shaking hands with him. Solomon can be a little . . . aggressive, at times. Nice of you to try to be civil, though.” Reina flashes a quick smirk and lets him take
her hand down, but she holds eye contact with me, like she’s trying to force me to read her thoughts. What is she doing? “Solomon,” I hear Nix again. “You good?” I don’t answer. I just sit there staring at Reina as Dante places her hand on top of the small table and wraps his fingers around her wrist. I want nothing more than to reach over and break every bone in his hand. “He’s fine, I’m sure,” Dante answers for me, his Italian accent coating the words. “Now, I think we need to get back to business, if you two don’t mind. We were discussing the offer we made to you, Solomon. I think it’s important that we remember what happened in the very recent past. One of your friends was arrested for assaulting a police officer. Another one died. I’d hate to see anything else happen to anyone.” “It’s not a good idea to issue threats,” Nix replies for me, because I’m doing nothing but looking back and forth between Dante and Reina. “Of course not,” Dante says with a sly squint in his eyes. “I’m simply stating the facts and showing concern for everyone involved here. We made an offer, and I’m sure both of you know that’s not something everyone gets. We’re giving you a chance to get out without there being any hostile situations, and to be frank, I’m running out of patience. I’d like to get to dinner with my guests.
So, you need to make a decision. If he can’t do it,” Dante gestures to me and then back to Nix, “then you need to make the right decision for him, Mr. Malone. We know he’s a little off his rocker. We know his reputation, and I can see it playing out in front of me right now. So, maybe you need to make the call for him, Nix.” I see Nix look at me out of my peripheral vision, but I don’t care. Unbeknownst to every one of them, my mind is moving, working up a plan that’ll get me what I want. Everything I see is red. “I don’t really know what’s going on with this situation here,” I hear Nix say as he gestures towards Reina. He’s got to be just as confused as I am, and I see Reina have a startled reaction to his movement. She glares at him, pleading with her eyes, and it’s that look in her eyes that finally snaps me back to the table. “I have a counter-offer,” I blurt out. Everyone at the table turns their heads in my direction. All eyes are on me, and I know what I’m about to say is going to shock them all. That’s exactly what I want. “A counter-offer?” Dante asks, as if to suggest that a counter-offer isn’t allowed, but he relents. “Alright, then. Let’s hear it?” “I’ll quit,” I say with a straight face. “What?” Nix asks beside me. “Give me the Hyperion money, and I’ll walk
away from this life altogether.” Dante looks intrigued, but also suspicious, as I expected. “Elaborate, please,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Is it confusing? You give me the money from the job you stole from me, and I’ll walk away from the life. No more robberies, no more deals, no more anything. I’ve made plenty of money over the years, and my club is one of the hottest in the city. I can go legit, like I’ve always wanted.” “That’s not what we asked you to do—and do you think we’d trust you to just walk away, just like that?” Dante counters, but I have a quick reply. “I don’t care what you think,” I snip. “Asking me to move away from my home is too much, and I won’t do that, but I give you my word that I’ll quit. I’ll leave all of this behind, and you can have the nice, quiet, little life you and Angelo have always wanted. Take it, I don’t care anymore. But I want the money from what would have been my last job. I think you owe me that much after all that’s happened.” I can feel Nix staring at the side of my face, wondering what the hell I’m doing, and Reina is glaring at me from straight ahead, with a barely noticeable smirk on her mouth. “You’re saying you’ll quit everything?” Dante asks, barely believing what I’ve just said.
“Everything,” I answer. “That’s an interesting offer,” Dante says. “But we’ll need more than that. Any contacts you have, any payoffs you receive, every racket you have—I want them all. Since no one ever said this was a negotiation, you get no deal unless we come out on top. So, I want everything you’ve got. All you take is your little club. Nothing more. Agree to that, and I think we can work it out here and now.” “Solomon,” Nix says, unable to read my thoughts. “Deal,” I answer Dante before Nix can say another word. “I just need a few days to set it all up.” “A few days?” Dante snips, suspiciously. “Yeah, a few days. You want my contacts, my connections, my rackets? I need to contact everyone and tell them about the change. Otherwise, you’ll get nothing. You’ll get no loyalty from them without the okay from me. I have to set all of this in motion, Dante, and I’ll start by going to my club tomorrow and making sure everything is in order. Is that not reasonable?” Dante eyes me with cynicism, considering my words. He lifts a hand and rubs his bearded chin before agreeing. “Alright, Solomon,” he says. “I’ll give you a couple of days to get it all in line, but that’s all you get. I better hear from you and everyone that now
owes me money. If I hear anything about you trying to setup another heist or anything of the sort, it’s gonna be buona notte, my friend. Capiche?” I glance down at the table, knowing I just changed everything by doing this. I can feel Nix glaring at me, but I won’t look at him. I’m going with it. “I got it,” I reply. “I’ll be in touch. Thank you, Dante.” Dante doesn’t reply as I stand up to leave, followed by Nix whose got confusion weaved into his every movement. He doesn’t know what to think as I walk away from the table towards his vehicle, but he follows me all the same. Neither of us says a word as we climb into his SUV and he starts it up. Out the window, I see Dante and Tony glaring at me. I don’t trust them, and they don’t trust me, but it’s irrelevant now. Next to them, I see Reina’s grinning face. With Dante and Tony giving us their attention as we get ready to drive away, she’s free to look at me. We lock eyes as Nix puts the SUV in gear, and just as we start to pull away, she reaches up with the arm adorned by the bracelet I bought her, silently kisses the palm of her hand, and blows the kiss to me.
“WHAT THE HELL are
you doing?” Nix looks mad enough to fight me as he drives away from the restaurant, leaving Dante, Tony, and Reina behind us. I could feel him struggling to hold in his aggression as he sat next to me at the table. He was breathing heavy, barely able to contain the rabid dog that lives inside of him, and now that we’re alone, he’s ready to explode if I don’t let him in on my secret. “Calm down, Nix,” I say smoothly, in a calm voice as I look out the window again. “Calm down?” he fires back. “You want me to calm down? You just told Dante Rossi that you’d give up everything you’ve got in exchange for the Hyperion payoff that was supposed to have been ours in the first place! Oh, and you also said that your only business would be Club Asylum! Forever! What the hell happened to you? Are you out of your mind?” “Yes, yes I am,” I blurt with a chuckle that apparently only I find funny. “Nix, we’ve been friends since we were ten years old, I know you have to know me better than that.” “I got love for you, Solomon,” Nix says, still
with a deep furrow in his brow. “But I need you to explain to me what the hell is going on. All of this is crazy. Maybe I’m a little confused, but it seemed to me that Dante just introduced us to Reina. Even I haven’t forgotten about her, so I know you haven’t. What the hell is up? Did you let her get into your head? Is that why you said all of that?” I look out the window and see the tall buildings of my city passing by us in a blurred flash, and I picture Reina sitting at the table next to Dante—her tight dress hugging her perfect body, those blue eyes that have always worked magic on me, and the bracelet I bought her when I was still a teenager. She was really there next to him, looking more stunning than ever—next to my enemy! A bolt of rage shoots through me as I struggle to push the image away, because the thought of her next to him brings back a jealousy I didn’t know I’d still have after all this time. Over the years, I’d learned to force myself to stop thinking about Reina. I’d gotten good at it, too. I’ve been with plenty of women, admittedly, and I don’t regret it a bit. There’s no waiting for someone when that someone has disappeared from your life without a trace—no phone call, no letters, no emails, not a single text message for over half a decade. She was gone, and to see her back now is like being punched in the face with brass knuckles. She was everything to me, and now she’s back. My
everything is back. But is she still my everything? How can she be after all this time? How could she possibly have left like that without saying anything? We’re in the age of technology, and somehow Reina managed to cut off all communication with me for seven straight years. That isn’t the kind of thing you do by accident. Nonetheless, it’s Reina. I can’t forget the first time I saw her at Aaron’s, doing her best to hold her own against two guys twice her size, wearing clothes that made it obvious she wasn’t from Strawberry Mansion. She stuck out for so many reasons, and she had no fear whatsoever, not even of me. She forced me to feel things I didn’t know I could feel. The truth is, she made me love her. Me! I’ve never loved anything but power, money, and the look of fear on my enemy’s face—until I met her. As much as I’d like to push that away forever because I’m pissed she was at that table with Dante, I can’t. That kind of thing is forever. “She did get to me, a long time ago,” I admit in nearly a whisper, the emotion of seeing Reina sitting next to Dante beginning to weigh me down. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with her being back here after all this time, but I couldn’t risk firing off rounds with her sitting right next to him. I could imagine him using her as a human shield because he’s a coward like that, and the
thought took control of me. Well, that thought plus a few others.” “I can’t believe she came out of the restaurant like that,” Nix says, shaking his head in disbelief. “My mouth damn near hit the floor when she stepped out, but I didn’t know how I was supposed to react. If she’s with Dante, I didn’t wanna say anything about the history between you two, because that probably would’ve gotten her killed. So, I just fought it back. I’m sure that was hard for you, too. But if she’s with him, there’s nothing we can do about that. You know that, right Solomon? We have to make a move.” “I don’t know what she’s doing with him, but something about it was strange.” “No shit. Reina from seven years ago is dating Dante Rossi. That’s strange as hell!” “No, there was more to it than that, Nix.” “What do you mean?” “Did you see what she did as we were driving away?” I ask, looking over at him. “Nah, what’d she do?” “While the two of them were looking at us, Reina blew me a kiss.” “For real? What the hell?” I look straight ahead and let out a loud rush of air, remembering the look of it and how it made me feel. “I don’t know, but it meant something,” I say as
wonderment takes over my mind. What might the kiss have meant? If she’s with Dante, did she know it was going to be me and Nix at the table tonight? Does she know about the beef between my operation and Dante’s? I need answers. Now. “Is that why you told him you’d give up everything? To keep Reina safe?” Nix asks, causing me some frustration. “Nix, you know that was all bullshit,” I snip. “Nobody could ever make me give up what we’ve earned. Everything we’ve got, we earned it through grinding. We came up on our own, and there isn’t a chance in hell that I’d ever let Dante fucking Rossi run me out of the life we’ve built for ourselves. I said what I said so I could buy some time, it’s as simple as that. I need to find out what the hell Reina was doing there, and then I need to figure out a way to do more than kill Dante. It’s deeper than that now. “Bringing Reina into the mix, whether on purpose or not, changed everything. It’s personal now, Nix. I don’t give a damn how long ago my relationship with Reina was. It’s Reina! I’m going to ruin Dante before I kill him. I’m going to embarrass him in front of his little mafia family, and then after I’m done hanging him out to dry, then I’m going to kill him as publicly as possible. By the time I’m done with Dante Rossi, everyone in this city will know who I am. A kid won’t steal a candy
bar in Strawberry Mansion without thinking of me first. “I’m going to take the next few days to get with Rock and Marcell, and we’re going to bail out Ricky. Then, all of us are going to put our heads together, and we’re going to go to war with Dante Rossi. I don’t care what happens with Angelo or the rest of the Scarfos—if they step in, they can get it too, but my focus is Dante. I’m going to burn his life to the ground around him. Then I’m going to put a bullet between his eyes for the whole world to see.” Nix looks over at me and smiles from ear to ear, and I flash a devilish grin of my own as confidence shuts down all the rest of my emotions and I feel nothing but focused rage directed at Dante. “There we go,” Nix says, as he adjusts in his seat and refocuses on the open road in front of us. “Now that’s more like.” Twenty-four hours after the sit-down, Nix and I meet at my loft to get ready to head over to Club Asylum. We discussed our game plan a little more, and we agreed that until we get Ricky out of jail for that bullshit charge, we need to act like we’re doing what I told Dante we would do. So, the plan is for us to go over to Club Asylum and have a few drinks, giving the impression that we’re there to check on the finances of the club. After all, I told
Dante’s dumb ass that I was going to do it to prepare to give up everything I owned, and he bought it. Idiot. “Wanna drink?” I ask Nix as I answer for him by pouring him a short glass of twenty-one-year-old Johnnie Walker XR. By the time he says, “Of course,” I’m already walking over to him with the glass. Nix, wearing a white button-up tucked into gray slacks with white shoes, sits on the couch and sips his drink, while I sit down on one of my red barstools wearing black pants and a white wifebeater with white shoes of my own. “What’s the latest on Ricky?” I ask as the whisky burns its way down my throat. “Marcell has his lawyer looking into it,” Nix answers. “Judge put his bail at two-hundred grand for whatever reason, but Marcell’s guy is trying to get the charges dropped. Either way, Ricky should be out no later than tomorrow or the next day.” “Good,” I reply. “As soon as he’s out, I want a meeting with him, Rock, and Marcell, at the club so we can figure everything out. I wanna know everything Marcell can possibly find out about Dante and his operation. I want every detail. No one has ever tried to go at the mob the way I want to do it, so I need it to be perfect. I want Ricky there because I know he wants to avenge Donny.” “You think he’ll wanna take out Mason
himself?” Nix asks. I can still see the image of Donny trying to rush Mason. The shots rang out in Nix’s restaurant and the look on Ricky’s face as he watched his brother fall to the floor is something I won’t soon forget. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say Ricky is going to want revenge for his brother, whether it’s Detective Mason or Dante probably won’t matter. If it was me, I’d end them both for the hell of it. “Can’t say,” I reply. “I would, but Ricky is the quieter type. I’d do them both, but he might settle just for Mason. I’ll make sure he’s aware that Dante is done for, regardless of what he wants to do. Mason would be a bonus for me, but I’ll leave it up to Ricky.” “Now that we’re going down this road,” Nix says, resting his large arm on the back of the plush red couch. “I’m sick of Mason. I was down to overlook a lot of stuff before all of this. But now that this is going down, I’d be quick to pull the trigger on Mason.” “I’ve been sick of him.” “I know you have. Why don’t we just . . .” The sound of my personal cell phone ringing on the glass coffee table cuts off Nix’s sentence. Nix leans forward to look at the screen and frowns at the phone. “Blocked number,” he replies, drawing a scowl from me.
“Nobody answers blocked numbers,” I say, letting the phone ring until it stops. Not even five seconds later, the phone rings again. “Blocked,” Nix says again. I don’t respond this time, I just scrunch my forehead and wait for the phone to stop ringing. It does, and immediately starts up again. “The hell? Toss it to me.” Nix underhandthrows the cell phone to me and I answer. “Who the hell is this?” “You’re just as good a liar as I am,” a female voice says on the other end. I’d have to be deaf and dumb to not recognize this voice, and my breath catches in my throat before I can speak again. “Reina,” I reply, causing Nix to sit up like he just heard a gun go off. “Wow,” she replies behind an exhale. “It’s good to hear your voice. Been a while.” “Try seven years,” I snip. The image of her sitting next to Dante rushes to the front of my mind and I feel anger bubbling in my stomach. “Where have you been all this time? How’d you get my number? And what the hell were you doing with Dante Rossi?” “I don’t have time for all of that right now,” she spits back, her voice quickly turning serious. “I need you to listen to me, Solomon.” “Listen to you? You show up at a sit-down on
the arm of the man whose throat I’d love to slit, and you want me to listen to you?” “Not now, Solomon, we don’t have time!” she fires back, shocking me. Nix raises his arms, gesturing wildly to me, so I take the phone from my ear and put it on speaker so both of us can listen to Reina. “What’s the rush?” I ask as I set the phone down on the bar and Nix moves from the couch to the barstool next to me, resting his hand over his mouth. “I just don’t have time to explain, so I need you to listen carefully,” Reina says. “They’re gonna try to kill you tonight.” Nix and I look at each other in shock. “What?” I reply. “Just listen, please! Dante has a team waiting for you at your club,” Reina continues as if a clock is literally ticking down in front of her. “He’s the one behind everything. He hates your reputation and how fast you’ve come up—you and Nix both. So, he plans on taking you both out. They know all about both of you—where you live, what establishments you frequent, everything. They know you go through the back entrance of Club Asylum to avoid being seen, and that’s where they have a three-man team waiting for you tonight. They’ll have handguns with silencers in the hopes that if they can at least hit you, no one will know,
and you’ll bleed out if you don’t die immediately. “Your rise to power was meteoric, Solomon, and guys like Dante—guys who are planning on being the boss of the mob in this city someday soon —they don’t like to see legit competition to their throne. Dante wants you dead. But if you don’t show up to the club, they’ll know something’s up. So, you’re gonna have to handle it.” Pissed off, I snatch the phone off the bar and start pacing around the room. I settle in front of the over-sized window with my tattooed reflection staring back at me. “Handle it?” I bark. “You say that like it’s not a three-man hit team waiting to assassinate me at my place of business.” “Something tells me you’re plenty capable of handling yourself,” she replies, her voice suddenly soft again. I can basically hear her smiling through the phone, and I smile back. “That I am, Reina,” I say, before wiping the smile off my face and getting back to business. We’re not teenagers anymore. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you after all this time? You’re acting like everything is supposed to just fall back into place.” “I don’t expect it to fall back into place just like that,” Reina says, her voice mimicking the seriousness in mine. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
I let out a loud chuckle. “Trust you? You were having dinner with him like you two were an item.” “Don’t believe everything you see,” she says, and I stop in my tracks. “No matter what happens, Solomon, just remember—it’s me. I’m still me.” The line goes dead. I turn around and toss the phone onto the couch as Nix gets up from the barstool and walks towards me. “This shit is getting insane, man,” he says. “An assassination attempt in public. It’s something the Scarfo family would do, for sure, and I’m sure Dante would want us out of the picture if he felt like people would fear us more than they’d fear him once he takes the reins of the family. But, can we really trust Reina with this? She was having dinner with him, Solomon. Seven years went by, and then she shows up at dinner with him. That can’t be overlooked.” “You’re right,” I agree, but Reina’s words can’t be overlooked either. I’m still me. “But we both know it’s not a crazy idea that Dante would try to pull this shit, especially if he thinks he’s going to be boss soon.” “So, what do you think?” Nix asks. “Seven years is a long time, Nix” I answer. “But it’s Reina. The way I felt about her was real, and that’ll never disappear, even though she did.
Can I trust her after all this time? I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out tonight.”
IS TONIGHT THE night
I die? Of course not! What a silly thing to ask! The more realistic question is; is tonight the night Dante Rossi sends three hitmen to kill me outside my own club? How about this one; is tonight the night I distrust Reina for good? Because if we show up to Club Asylum and nothing happens, my history with Reina won’t matter. I’ll have to get over any feelings I had when I was a kid and admit that things are different for us as adults. I’ll have to go against everything from my past—I’ll have to go against Reina. The thought of it fills me with enough emotions to blur my vision, but I don’t have the luxury of just forgetting about all of it. Nix and I move around the loft like focused men on a mission. Together, we trek up the stairs to the second floor, past the red chairs at the top of the steps and the California King-sized bed. We turn into a space that used to be a guest room, but is now modified into a closet. All my clothes are hung up around the perimeter of the room, with ceiling-high vertical shelves stocked with shoes separating the clothing sections every six feet. In the center of the closet is a red island
with a black marble counter top that has a multitude of drawers on all four sides. This is where I keep my accessories: belts, bracelets, rings, watches, cologne, etcetera. On the very bottom of the island, however, is a hidden drawer with no handles or knobs to open it. This drawer has to be opened with the push of a hidden button on the underside of the marble counter top, and I head straight for it. I press the button and stand back as the island shifts with a light hissing sound, then lifts and separates from the base as all four sides of the island release and expose four large drawers stocked with guns, each in their own custom setting cut into black insulated foam. The narrow side Nix and I are on is full of handguns, including my favorite chrome nine millimeters, which I’ll immediately go for. The wider sides of the island are filled with rifles and knives, and the other narrow side opposite us has accessories of its own: silencers, scopes, laser sights, harnesses, extra clips and magazines, and even a hand grenade. It’s my own personal armory, and just looking at it puts a smile on my handsome face. “Let’s load up,” I say to Nix, who’s standing behind me with an admiring smirk on his face. Per usual, I grab the two chrome beauties, plus a small black thirty-eight special, and place them all on top of the marble counter as Nix reaches for two
nine millimeters of his own and sets them down. I walk over to the far side of the island and pick up shoulder harnesses for the pistols we’ve chosen, and an ankle harness for the thirty-eight special, plus black silencers for each pistol. Like SWAT members, Nix and I equip ourselves with everything we need to go to war tonight before slipping on our jackets—gray for Nix, black for me —and head out the door. We climb into Nix’s black GMC Denali and set out for Club Asylum. The ride over is quiet. Nix drives with his head down and eyes up as usual as the bright lights of Center City flash past us. He’s all focus and anger as the miles go by and we get closer to the club, and I keep my head turned towards the tinted window, looking out at the city I grew up in. Memories of Reina play in my head like a violently romantic movie montage, and I can’t help but ask myself what I expect as we get closer to the club. Do I really expect Reina to be telling the truth? How ironic is it for Reina to show up here again after seven years, just in time to call me up and tell me my enemy is plotting to kill me? That’s just too perfect, isn’t it? I have so many questions that I don’t have answers to, and my mind is a ball of confusion and anger, because when I don’t know what the hell is going on, I get pissed off and things get damaged. Under normal circumstances, I’d torture somebody until I get the answers I want, but
I can’t torture Reina. So what do I do? In the midst of all this, there’s another question that weighs on me heavier than the rest; if it turns out that Reina is lying, do I kill her? If she’s really with Dante and this is all some elaborate ploy to set me up, do I kill her like I’d kill anybody else in this situation? Can I kill Reina? As we approach the last stoplight before the club, I feel a sense of anxiety creep over me. It’s not out of fear of Reina being right, it’s fear of her being wrong. If we park this SUV, get out, and waltz into Club Asylum like we do all the time, with no issues whatsoever, what the hell am I supposed to do? What does it even mean? Why would she call me up and tell me something is about to go down for no reason at all? The only thing I can think of is that this would be some sort of distraction for something bigger. Nix and I show up here awaiting this expected hit, and while we’re here, something is happening elsewhere. But what would that be? Where would it be? My loft? Nix’s place? Nix’s restaurant? I can’t figure out why she’d do this if it wasn’t true. There’s so many questions, but the answers are coming, because the stoplight has turned green and we’re turning into the parking lot behind Club Asylum. My nerves immediately stand up as we take our usual route and find our familiar parking space near the back entrance of my club. Nix parks the SUV,
shuts off the ignition, and waits, looking out the window to his left while I survey the area to my right. Nothing. Both of us sit completely still and look for signs of absolutely anything to be out of place, but there’s nothing. No suspicious vehicles, no strange people lurking anywhere either of us can see. There’s nothing but the orange glow of the streetlights and the dark shadows they cast in the corners of the alley next to us. “I’ve got nothing, Solomon,” Nix says, and I can hear the accusation in his voice. He and Reina were friends all those years ago, so I know he would be upset about Reina lying to us just like I would, but after over half a decade, he’s obviously lost trust in her. Right now, I can’t blame him. “Yeah. Let’s go,” I reply through the growing frustration. Nearly in unison, Nix and I open our doors and step out into the night, the bass from the music in the club humming in our ears. Trying to listen intently through the music inside, I hear only our footsteps as we walk to the back of the SUV and meet there. Neither of us says anything. We just look at each other, silently acknowledging that we only have about fifty feet between us and the private entrance of the club. There’s no need to say anything now. Whatever happens next will speak
volumes. We start walking, making sure to step with each other like a military parade. Nix looks to the right, I look to the left. My side is darker than his, but the streetlights are doing a great job of casting shadows, turning sections of the alley pitch black We don’t slow down or speed up, we just walk as if everything is totally normal, even though I’m growing more and more concerned for Reina with each passing step. Halfway to the entrance, I hear something. The sounds closest to me are our own footsteps, still in sync, but there are more footsteps coming from my left that aren’t matching ours, which is exactly why we walked in step to begin with. Someone’s not stepping when we step, their foot isn’t landing when ours do. They’re marching to their own drum, and it’s a dead giveaway. Whoever it is, they’re trying to be quiet, but Nix and I had them outsmarted before the game ever began simply by walking in sync with each other. I keep my head straight as we step, but I shift my eyes over and see a dark silhouette coming towards us on my side of the alley. It’s a man for sure, maybe six-feet tall, wearing tight-fitting dark clothing. I can’t see a weapon, but he’s there, and he’s heading straight for Nix and me. My nerves come to life as I slowly reach into my jacket and pull one chrome nine millimeter from
its home in my shoulder harness. Just as I remove it and have it exposed, I see Nix reaching inside his jacket to pull his, but he seems to be in much more of a rush than I am. The next thing I know, Nix has his gun out and is aiming to his right. Next to him is another man wearing a full black sweat-suit, and he already has his gun drawn. I didn’t even see him coming from Nix’s side of the alley, but I see him now, and he’s covered from head to toe, including a black mask over his face. The masked man points his gun at the side of Nix’s head, but Nix ducks under it and punches the guy in the gut, lifting him up off his feet. The hitman is rocked by the punch and unintentionally fires off a round into the concrete. The weapon lets off a soft, muffled pop, and it’s then that I know Reina was right about them coming with silencers. Reina was right! She helped us! Like a movie playing out in front of me, I watch as Nix kicks the hitman in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. The next sound I hear is four highpitched, soft pops from Nix’s gun. The hitman’s body jerks up and down as Nix’s bullets pierce his body, bounce off the concrete beneath him, and reenter him through his back. He’s dead within seconds of the shots. “Shit!” a man with a heavy accent bellows from behind me, and I whirl around while simultaneously
aiming my chrome nine in the direction of the voice. I squeeze the trigger two times and see the shadowy silhouette from before making jerky, sporadic movements to try to dodge the bullets coming for him. I can’t tell if I hit him or just got close, but I’m suddenly shocked at the sight of the silhouette spinning around and breaking into a sprint in the other direction. As he runs and his footsteps get further and quieter, I aim my weapon and fire three more rounds. The silhouette stumbles, but manages to dip around the corner, out of sight. That’s when I hear another muffled pop. A piece of brick right in front of me breaks into tiny pieces, and I realize someone is shooting at me. I spin around to see Nix trying to dance away as quiet shots ring out and zip past us. Nix jumps and lands behind a dumpster with a thud. “Solomon, get down!” he shouts from his position in the alley, and I hear another shot whiz past me. There’s another shot, and then the sudden sensation of fire kissing my shoulder. I’m hit. My body jerks from the bullet entering my left shoulder and I feel like my mind immediately goes into shock. I feel the blood running down my arm, soaking my black jacket as it sticks to my skin at the wrist, but I don’t move. I don’t run away, even as another shot pops and a round buzzes by my ear
like an annoying insect. “Solomon!” I hear Nix shout, but it doesn’t register. They say before you die, your life flashes in front of your eyes. I don’t know what those people who say that may have seen, and I imagine whatever they saw is probably a lot better than anything that’d flash before me. Regular people probably see a nice, tidy little childhood with both of their parents. There’s probably an image of a joyful Christmas morning, opening up presents, drinking milk and eggnog together. Sitting around the fireplace and singing songs while little puppies bark and run around in the background. I bet this moment for normal people is peaceful, like being welcomed home after being away for a lifetime. My moment is nothing like that. As I stand in the middle of the alley listening to Nix’s muffled voice and quiet gunshots, I see a nearly empty house. I see a living room covered with syringes and little bags of yellow crap. I see my junkie mother sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, her body blocking the refrigerator, but it doesn’t matter because the fridge is empty anyway. I see myself in the back of an old El Camino as it drives away from my house after my mother has sold me to one of her dealers so she could get a score of her medicine, followed by the sight of Whitney lying on her back in the middle of a warehouse as that
same dealer is “paid” for my safe return home. I see Whitney lying dead on her bed with white foam spilling from the side of her mouth. I see myself, lying on my bed in the basement, staring up at the ceiling, dreaming of becoming a king. I see my first robbery. I see my first thousand dollars stuffed inside of a black duffel bag. I see Nix. I see Reina. Suddenly, as another bullet comes within inches of my face and the world’s worst hitman steps out from the black shadow and aims his weapon again, I see Reina and me lying on my bed, rubbing each other’s skin. I see Reina standing outside of a castle wearing a red dress at her prom. I see her smiling at me as I look down on her, both of us naked in her parent’s house. I remember being in her bed, then moving to her parent’s bed, then to the floor in the hall. I remember seeing her walk out of La Famiglia Ristorante and I remember how my heart felt in that moment when she blew me that kiss as Nix and I drove away. I remember Reina—the only positive my fucked up life has ever had, and I’m suddenly filled with a determination stronger than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire, pathetic life. Reina was there when I was going through my horrible childhood, and she’s back now. There’s no way I’m dying when I know she’s back. No. Way. “Solomon!” Nix shouts again, but this time his voice is crystal clear as I snap back to reality.
I see the hitman, wearing all-black with a balaclava over his face, and without any regard to anything else, I run towards him. “Solomon, no!” I hear Nix shout, but it’s too late. The hitman sets his feet, squares his shoulders, and fires another round that grazes my right shoulder. I’m closing in on him fast, and I let out a maniacal scream as I run full speed at the hitman. He’s uneasy now, and let’s another round fly from his black nine millimeter, but his nerves are shot and the bullet sails wide, not even close to me. As his panic takes over, the hitman turns to his right and tries to take off running, just like his friend. Cowards! I let him take a few hurried steps before I raise my gun—while still running—and fire three consecutive rounds. Pop, pop, pop. The hitman lets out a painful scream as blood splatters out of the back of both of his legs and flies into the night air in a red mist. Once I see his body crumble onto the dark pavement, I stop running. “No!” the man screams as I walk up to him, breathing heavily from my little track meet. “Damn it! No!” As I step up to him, Nix runs over and takes his place next to me, his gun still drawn. “Solomon, you’re hit,” he says when he sees the blood running down my sleeve, but I don’t
acknowledge him. Instead, I kick the hitman’s gun away from him, and turn him over onto his back. “Hi there!” I chirp with a smile. It’s my game, and this guy has no idea how badly he has messed up. He really should’ve had some target practice before coming here tonight. “Please don’t,” the man says from behind his black mask before I reach down and snatch it off his face. He’s a young kid, barely in his twenties. More than likely, he’s an associate for the mob who wants to become somebody in the Scarfo family, so they sent him here to prove himself by killing me. The disrespect! They sent a child to kill me. Me! I take a deep breath and squat down next to the kid, who now has fear smeared across his face. “Do you know who I am?” I ask him as I shove my gun into the holster inside my jacket. The kid is trembling, but he doesn’t respond. Too scared, or trying to remain loyal? If he talks to me, his family will kill him. I let out a loud chuckle that startles the kid, but it’s hilarious to think that he’s concerned with what’ll happen to him after he leaves this alley. He doesn’t realize he’s not leaving this alley because he’s dead already. “Let’s try a better question,” I say after I laugh. “Who sent you here, kid?” Again, he doesn’t answer. So, I reach into my left pocket and remove an old friend that I’ve carried with me since I was a kid myself. I slide the
sharp point of the razor up on the box cutter and put it on the kid’s cheek. He looks like he might want to speak up now, but I don’t hesitate. I slice the kid’s cheek from the bottom of his left eye socket down to the curve between his lips. He lets out a terrific scream before I clamp my hand over his mouth. “Sshhh,” I whisper. “How about this question then. Did Dante Rossi send you to kill me?” The kid trembles with fear as I squeeze his mouth with my hand, but through the pain, he nods his head up and down. He’s too young to be good at being a gangster. Dante messed up sending him here, especially since Nix killed a guy and the other one ran off. Dante was cheap and must’ve put an open contract on my head, because he certainly didn’t pay professionals to do this the way he should’ve. He’ll regret it, but only for a little while, because he’ll be dead soon too—as soon as I use Reina against him the way he used Tim against me. “Dante,” I say as I look up to Nix. We both silently agree on the matter we were concerned about the whole night. Reina told the truth, and is obviously trying to help us from the inside. “Thank you for your honesty, kid. Now that we have that all straightened out, I need you to send Dante a message.” I remove my hand from the kid’s mouth, and he immediately starts begging and pleading.
“Yes! Okay, I’ll tell him whatever you want. Just tell me what it is,” he says, just as I stand up, and Nix grabs him by his shirt. Nix drags the young hitman back into the dark recess of the alley from which he came, and slams him up against the brick wall so that he’s propped up against it. “Alright, alright,” the kid says, raising his hand. “Just tell me what you want me to say. I swear I’ll tell him. I swear.” As Nix walks away, I squat again in front of the kid and smile. “I said I needed you to send Dante a message,” I explain. “I never said I needed you to say anything.” Just as confusion climbs into the boy’s expression, I lift my box cutter and run the razor’s edge across his throat. Panic takes over his face as blood oozes from the wound and he uselessly tries to stop the bleeding with his hands. As blood slips between his fingers and he starts to make gurgling sounds and falls over, I turn my back on him and walk away, leaving him to die alone and in the dark.
intense, to say the least. In fact, I’m not even sure intense is a strong enough word to describe it. It was surreal, and now that it’s over and I’m within the comfort of my loft, it seems like it went by in a flash. First, there was Reina showing up at the sitdown with Mr. Dead Man himself, Dante Rossi. I was flooded with all the emotions of seeing her again, and I had to jump from that to hitmen being sent to execute me and Nix at the private entrance of my own club. The next thing I know, guns are popping off, Nix is killing a guy, and I’m pushing my razor into some kid’s throat and dragging it across his flesh. That last part, let us not forget, happened after the kid admitted that it was Dante who sent him to kill us, proving that Reina was right about everything. Now, here we are—back at home with a drink in my hand and the satisfaction of knowing that Dante Rossi has no clue about the storm coming his way. What could be better than having an enemy be in the dark about death creeping up on him? Actually, there’s an answer to that—the look of fear that’ll take control of his face as he sees me LAST NIGHT WAS
coming. That look will be the best thing yet. After all the drama last night, Nix and I actually left the two bodies in the alley. We had to, of course, erase the footage from the security cameras pointing to the back entrance so that the cops wouldn’t know what actually happened. When they questioned us about the bodies behind the club, I told them I had no clue what they were talking about. Must’ve been some sort of mob beef that went down in the dark. “Had nothing to do with us, Mr. Police Officer, sir. Please investigate and keep my club safe from the violent hooligans in this city!” The cops will investigate but they won’t come up with anything. When it’s mafia related, the cops that are on the mob payroll tend to help make those cases either end quickly, or disappear altogether. I imagine this one will be no different. I do, however, hate that one of them got away. Dante sent three people, just like Reina said he would, and Nix and I handled two of them, but the third one lived to tell the story. I’m sure he ran right back to Dante and explained why he failed to kill us, which is why an Italian male body was found floating in the Delaware River, just under the Benjamin Franklin Bridge this morning. I could be wrong, but I imagine it went something like this: hitman runs back to Dante to explain that his friends were being slaughtered as he approached,
so he tucked his tail between his legs and ran away like a coward before he could be killed too. Dante lost his mind and put a bullet between the hitman’s eyes before having another one of his goons toss his lifeless, cowardly body into the river. The mob isn’t subtle. You make a mistake, you sleep with the fishes, as they used to say—or still do . . . I don’t know. Who cares? I wonder if Reina was there when it happened. I haven’t heard from her since she called to warn me, but I can’t help but wonder if she was there when the hitman made the mistake of going back to report what happened. Did she see it? Did she feel guilty knowing it was her that caused the guy’s death? Or, did she smile as Dante put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger? Everything in me hopes it was the latter. The number Reina called from was blocked, so I have no way of getting back in touch with her, and I don’t know when she plans on contacting me again, but I don’t have time to wait around for that. I have to get moving, because now that Dante’s hitmen have been found and identified by police, he knows Nix and I are still alive, and he knows we’re aware it was him who sent them. I’m sure he feels safe and protected behind his curtain of La Costa Nostra, and he’ll be looking for another opportunity to strike, but he won’t get one. Nix and I won’t be visiting either of our establishments until
this thing is finished, and unlike Dante, who’s riding solo in his war with me, I have a crew behind me that’s starving for revenge for what happened to Donny Fontane, and it just so happens that Ricky’s charges were dropped this morning. Time to get to work. I look at the digital clock on the stove as I pour myself another half-glass of 1972 Port Finish Bourbon, and I realize I have a phone call to make. Now that Ricky’s out, we have to get down to business, because killing an underboss in the Italian mob will be no easy task, and I don’t have patience for mistakes like the ones Dante’s hitmen made. I demand efficiency, and unlike Dante, I plan on being present when the deed is done. I don’t have people killed on my behalf. If I want you dead, I’ll pull the trigger myself. It’ll be me who runs the blade across your throat. Even if I have Nix, or Rock, or Ricky set it up, in the end, I’ll be the last person you see. I put myself at risk when it comes to stuff like this, and I will not allow myself to be caught by police, so I need a crew who knows what they’re doing, and since the Hyperion job was stolen from my last crew, I’m going to use them to make this happen. I sit down on my couch and send a text to Nix, telling him to set up a conference call with everyone who was involved in planning the Hyperion heist, and he texts me back ten minutes
later, having contacted them all. My phone rings as Nix’s number pops up on the display, and I know it’s time for business. “Alright,” I say upon answering. “Do we have everyone here?” “I’m here,” Rock says in his usual low, baritone voice. “We’re good,” Marcell answers next. “Yep,” Ricky says, and I can tell from his voice that he’s still grieving from the loss of his brother, but I’m not worried—we’re going to make that right for him. “Good,” I say to them after a sip of my drink. “We’ve had some developments since the last time we were all together at The VP. As if that night wasn’t bad enough, Dante has gone and made matters worse by ordering a hit on Nix and me. As we made our way into Club Asylum last night, three hitmen tried to come after us.” “Motherfucker,” I hear Ricky whisper, either to himself or to the group, I’m not sure which. “Wow, this guy just doesn’t quit,” Rock says. “No, he doesn’t,” I reply. “Nix and I handled it, obviously, but we’re done wasting time. After what happened to Donny, and now this attempt on our lives, it’s time to make a move to get rid of this asshole for good. Now, you all know Dante’s position. He’s the underboss of the Scarfo family, so getting to him won’t be easy, and it won’t be
without consequences. We need to be detailed and extremely thorough. “Marcell, I need to you to look into absolutely everything you can about Dante Rossi. I want his social security number, his home phone, his cell phone, his home address, I want his mother’s freakin’ maiden name by the time you’re done. I need you to dig for the next seventy-two hours.” “Okay, I got you,” Marcell says, sounding thrilled about his assignment. “I’m not questioning you or nothing like that, Solomon, but why seventytwo hours?” “Because in four days, I’m going to kill Dante Rossi,” I answer with a smile none of them can see. The thought of killing Dante just makes me giddy. “But this is about more than just killing him,” I continue. “If I wanted him dead, I’d just go after him now. I want to humiliate him first, and I want to take everything he owns away from him. Before he dies, I want him to know that every dollar he had coming in is now coming to me. You get me what I need, Marcell, and I’ll put a hundred grand in your hand after it’s done. Cash.” “You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” Marcell says. “Rock and Ricky, I need you to tail Dante,” I press on, laying down the rest of the plan. “Rock, you’re the only one slick enough and crazy enough to get close to this prick, and Ricky, nobody drives better than you. If it gets tight, I know I can trust
you to make the getaway. I need you all alive in order to make this happen, so I can’t have you getting caught and tortured by some mafia goon.” “No sweat,” Rock answers. “That’s easy, Solomon,” Ricky says, but he has rage in his voice. “But what about Mason?” I smile again. I figured this was coming, and I’m glad to hear Ricky has vengeance on his mind this evening. “What about him?” Nix speaks up, pure curiosity coating his words. Even Nix is ready to make Detective Mason disappear. “We getting him too?” Ricky asks. “I’m glad to hear you ask that, Ricky,” I reply. “Tell me, what do you think we should do about the good detective?” “I don’t think you should do anything,” Ricky responds, to my surprise, but then he continues. “I think you need to let me handle him. He’s responsible for what happened to Donny, and I had to watch as my brother laid on the floor with four bullet holes in him. Mason didn’t tell the officer to hold his fire or anything like that. He just let it happen. He let my brother die. So I want him. I don’t care how we set it up, but in the end, it needs to be me who pulls the rug out from under him.” “Well, I wouldn’t dare deprive you of your much-needed retribution, Ricky,” I reply, still smiling. “I’ll tell you what, Ricky, you and Rock
don’t worry about tailing Dante. Focus on Mason. Follow him, see where he goes, who he’s with, and when the best time to end him is. In three days, we build our plan and add Detective Anthony Mason to our hit list. Sound good?” “Hell yeah,” Ricky replies. “Good,” I say. “Clear your schedules, because until this thing is over, we’re all on the clock. I need you all on top of your game, because it’s gonna get thick. In three days, I’ll tell you when and where to meet up so we can put it all together. The day after we set up the plan, we execute it.” “Looking forward to it,” Rock replies. “Perfect,” Ricky says, and we all hang up the phone, knowing we’re about to go to war for the entire city. After this is over, we’ll either all be dead, or all be kings. And me? I’ll be the king of kings! Sometimes life throws curveballs at you. It’s really all about how you react when one of those curveballs comes flying at your face that shows what kind of person you are. I never expected any of this. When I was stressed out in Whitney’s basement all those years, I never thought I’d be on the cusp of greatness. I never thought the notorious Scarfo family would be coming after me because my rise to power was too quick for them to handle. I never thought I’d be at
this level, with street guys who were willing to risk their lives for me. Yet, here we are. After Whitney’s overdose and Reina’s disappearance, I dedicated my life to becoming the most feared man in the city, and I made it happen. If Whitney could see me now! Thoughts of my mother rarely happen, but tonight, as I walk to the liquor cabinet to refill my drink, she’s with me. I hated that woman, and I’m pretty sure she hated me because she hated herself, but when someone dies, things change. People tend to forget about the bad things and focus on the good things. For me, that’s not the case. Whitney wasn’t a good person, and she made my life miserable. Even now, as I pour this drink to add to the few I’ve already taken down, I can remember the stench of her vomit soaking into the discolored carpet in the living room. I remember the first time she pissed her pants after taking a hit right in front of me. I think I was five when I saw that for the first time. My life has been insanity from the beginning. Believe it or not, I don’t get sad when I think about it. It emboldens me. It reminds me of what life can be like when you’re poor with nowhere to go, stuck inside a life where no one cares about you. That’s what happens when you’re all alone and no one gives a damn that you exist—you simply deteriorate, just like Whitney. I won’t let
that happen to me. I’ve been poor, and I’ve been rich, and once you’ve been rich, there’s just no going back to being poor. That’s why I could never go back to Strawberry Mansion to live. I still own Whitney’s house, but I’m not about to live in it! Dante has no idea what he asked me to do when he suggested that I leave Philly and give him everything I own. It was the ultimate insult, and he’ll pay for the request. I set my chrome gun on the counter and grab the bottle of bourbon I’ve been hanging out with all night. My glass is completely empty, so I open the freezer and drop new ice cubes in before securing the bottle and leaning it over. The brown liquid spills into the cup, and just as I set the bottle back down to put the lid on, I hear a knock at my door. Knock, knock. No one comes to my house uninvited. It literally has never happened, so the moment I hear those knocks, my first thought is Dante. Does he really have the balls to send somebody to my house? This is why I’ve been walking around with a gun all night because I thought it was possible. It’s also why Nix and I planned on spending a few nights in a hotel until Dante’s death was freshly on my hands. I guess I waited too long. Being alone right now is a problem. If I was Dante and I decided to send people to a home, I’d send at least ten, just to make sure. Especially if the
person I’m after has my kind of reputation. With that thought, I assume I’ll be met with more firepower than I can go up against alone, so I’m going to have to use my home to my advantage. Knock, knock, knock. How many of them will I be able to kill before they put me down? I can’t just let them come in and end my life without the greatest gunfight the world has ever seen! Knock, knock, knock. I don’t know why they’re just knocking on the door, but I assume that’ll stop once they realize I’m on to them, so I pick up my drink and take the entire thing to the head, swallowing it in one big gulp before grabbing my gun from the counter and heading for the stairs. As I walk, I develop a plan on how to wreak havoc on this hit team once they burst through the door. I’ll stand at the railing in front of my bed, and from there, I’ll pick off the first few with a silencer on my nine mil before tossing down the hand grenade I have stashed in my armory. Once the explosion goes off, I’ll pick up one of my fully automatic rifles and spray into the cloud of smoke that’ll still be lingering from the grenade. I bet I take out eight or nine of them before one of them can make it up the stairs. Knock, knock, knock, knock. I step onto the first stair and prepare for them
to burst through the door, but instead, I’m stopped in my tracks as another knock comes, followed by a voice. Knock, knock, knock, knock. “Solomon?” My heart starts to pound as the voice sends memories exploding throughout my mind like birds being released from a cage. It can’t be. I blink a bunch of times and shake my head, wondering if I’m just drunk or if I actually heard what I thought I heard. Then she speaks again. “Solomon, it’s me.” I don’t answer. I’m honestly not sure if I can. So instead of speaking, I speed-walk to the door and snatch it open. Like a nightmare suddenly shifting to a heavenly dream, my world changes when I look into the icy blue eyes of Reina Wilde. After a few seconds of staring at each other, Reina smiles at me, and I drink it in. She’s wearing an inconspicuous, all-black outfit with large, silver, hoop earrings, and the bracelet I bought her in the mall. Her blonde hair is in a tight ponytail and her makeup is minimal, yet perfect. She’s so gorgeous it takes my breath away. “Solomon,” she says again behind her perfect smile. “It’s nice to see you.” I don’t know how to respond to her being here. I have so many questions to ask, so many things I’ve always wanted to say and do, things that have been pent up for seven years. My body hums with
excitement and curiosity, and I’m not sure which one of the million things I’m thinking I’ll act on first. So, I stop thinking and do the first thing that comes to mind. I lift my chrome nine millimeter and point it at her beautiful face.
off the thoughts that’ve been attached to me like a leech for the past seven years, I grab Reina by the collar of her black sweater and yank her inside, slamming the door closed behind her. She doesn’t make a sound as I push her up against the wall, grab her by the throat, and point the barrel of my gun at her forehead. Something in me expects her to show fear. I look at her as I press her against the wall with my left hand and hold the gun with my right, and I search her face for alarm or panic, but neither is there. Reina simply locks her blue eyes on mine and stares, unblinking, with the smallest smirk turning up one side of her mouth. Her lack of fear pisses me off, and I squeeze her throat tighter, turning her perfect skin red beneath my fingers, but she still doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t lift a hand to try to stop me, she doesn’t attempt to scream. She just stares at me, unable to breathe as tears fill her eyes from the lack of oxygen. Not even the slightest hint of worry about what I might do to her. It’s like she knows I would never kill her. Her eyes start to bulge, and I feel a spike in my chest as my own emotions take over AS I CUT
and I finally release my grip, but I keep my hand in place. She takes in a deep breath, but she doesn’t try to get away or even rub her throat. She just keeps staring and grinning. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, my voice like gravel as suppressed rage starts to surge its way through me. I’ve waited for this moment for seven years, and there isn’t a hair on my body that can believe it’s finally happening. She’s finally here. “I needed to see you,” she replies, her voice ragged from the pressure I put on her vocal chords. “I’ve missed you, Solomon.” “You’ve missed me?” I shout, bringing my gun closer to her face. “It’s been seven years, Reina! Seven years have gone by, and you just now realized that you missed me? It took you that long? I should put a bullet in your skull right now, and rid myself of the agony your presence causes me. I was over you! I was done. I had moved on, and now you show up here at a sit-down on the arm of my enemy, wearing jewelry I bought you! No phone call, no text, nothing! I should kill you for making me feel what I felt for you and then destroying it all!” I really should do it. I even think about pulling the trigger as I press the barrel against her forehead. She made me feel things I never thought I could, and just left without saying a word, forcing me to
deal with all of that alone. I had to deal with Whitney’s overdose while still struggling to deal with Reina’s departure. She broke me without saying a word. But looking at her now feels no different than it did the last time I saw her, when she was staring at me through the window of the train. After all these years, what I felt for her hasn’t changed, I just got better at suppressing it. But her return makes pushing those feelings down completely impossible. She’s back, and so is everything I ever felt for her. “I know it must’ve hurt you,” Reina says. “It hurt me more than I could ever explain to you, but after all this time, I managed to make it back here. To you.” Her words fill me with too many emotions to act on just one, and I feel like I’m losing my mind just listening to her. “That’s bullshit!” I snap. “You think everything is forgotten because you were telling the truth about the hitmen? I don’t think so. I don’t trust you, not after what you did to me all those years ago, and definitely not since the last time I saw you, you were sitting next to Dante Rossi. You let him kiss you on the cheek in front of me! If you were any other person, it’d already be over for you. I’d be paying someone to come over here and clean up your blood and dispose of your dead body.” “But you can’t do that,” she interjects, showing
her first sign of emotion since she arrived. “You can’t pull the trigger because I’m not just any other person. It’s me, and you know it. You still feel for me, the exact same way I still feel for you, Solomon. I loved you then, and I still love you now, even after all the years, and all I’ve been through since I left Philadelphia. I still love you.” My heart jolts with pain and fury like a bomb just went off in my chest. In my mind, I see the image of Reina sitting next to the window on the train as it hissed and began to pull out of the station. I stood on the platform and watched her go, as she looked out at me and mouthed the words I love you. I didn’t return the gesture. Not because I didn’t love her, but because that emotion was just something I couldn’t showcase. But she said it again, here and now, and I still don’t know what to do. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare into her eyes, struggling to push the growing emotions down into the pit of my stomach. I won’t let her break me. I’m Solomon King! “No,” I hear myself say. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that after how you left without a trace and then just reappeared out of the blue. I don’t believe it, and I don’t trust you. So, I suggest you tell me what the hell you’re doing here. Did Dante send you here?” Reina frowns at the accusation and doesn’t
answer, which sends me through the roof. “Answer me!” I yell as I tighten my grip on her throat again. “Did your boyfriend send you here to trick me? I’m gonna tear his fucking heart out, and I should rip yours out too, for letting him use you against me!” Reina’s eyes turn as cold as the ice they resemble as she squints at me, rage seeping through her pores. “Are you kidding me?” she asks, her voice tight and aggressive now. “You think I’d let myself be used? You have no idea what has happened to me since I left Philly, so you have no clue what I’d do. Let me fill you in on something, Solomon. In the seven years I’ve been gone, I’ve been through more than you can imagine. In fact, I’m willing to bet that since I left, my life has been harder than yours! I’ve been through the absolute worst, and I’m telling you right now, nobody uses me! Ever! So if you think I’d let Dante Rossi use me to take you down, then go ahead and pull the trigger! Go ahead! Do it! If you think I don’t love you, that I didn’t spend every day and night thinking about you for seven straight years, if you think I didn’t cry myself to sleep every night for over half a decade missing you, if you think I didn’t overcome everything I went through just so I could get back here to you, then you go ahead and pull the fucking trigger!”
Tears fill Reina’s eyes as she glares at me, full of anger and completely void of fear. I’m shocked as she reaches up with both hands and wraps her fingers around the gun, pressing it tighter to her head. “Do it!” she screams. “If you believe that leaving you didn’t completely break me into a million pieces, then you do it! If you really think I don’t still love you with every fiber of my being, then do it, Solomon. Get it over with.” I stare into her eyes as my fingers tighten around the grip of the gun and my body heats up with adrenaline. Reina’s tears start to spill over as her breathing becomes labored by emotion. We glare at each other, unmoving, in complete silence as the temperature in the room seems to raise by fifty degrees. I know what my mind is saying: kill her and rid yourself of the burden she brings. I can’t trust her since seeing her with Dante, and I know my ability to think clearly will be compromised if she’s here. But it’s Reina, and my heart says that I’m still in love with her. My heart tells me that no other woman has ever mattered to me, and now that she’s here in front of me, I couldn’t possibly be without her again, not even for a second. I couldn’t bear to watch her walk away. I’d die if I let her leave this loft and disappear from my life again. It tore me apart the first time she left, and I can’t let it happen
again. It’s my mind versus my heart, and my heart wins. Like a dam breaking, I let the flood of emotions overtake me. I yank the gun from Reina’s grip and toss onto the floor, just before aggressively pressing my mouth against her and kissing her for the first time in seven years. She responds by wrapping her arms around my neck and plunging into me, her mouth crashing into mine like a head-on collision. There’s no more anger now. All I feel is the heat between us as we frantically try to make up for seven years apart by clawing at each other. Our clothes can’t come off fast enough. Our tongues can’t dance together quick enough. I can’t be inside of her fast enough, and she needs me just as much as I need her. Our bodies overload with passion and I feel my back slam against the bar counter behind me as Reina pushes me backwards, her mouth working on mine like we can never be apart again. As we kiss, Reina lifts up my white tank top and pulls it over my head before tossing it behind her and letting it fall to the floor. She eyes my muscular, tattooed body and runs her fingers across my skin, awe etched in her facial expression as she realizes that I’m not the kid I was in Strawberry Mansion. I’m a man now, and I have the body of a man who has had to fight to become king of the criminal underworld. You don’t become a legend the way I
have without doing the work yourself. I had to bleed, I had to eat, I had to grow to become unbeatable, and Reina’s eyes bulge at the sight of my arms and chest. After letting her appreciate my body, I reignite the passion by kissing her again. This time it’s Reina who’s back slams against the wall behind her as I wrap my hands around her throat again, but this time for a completely different reason. I feel her mouth lift into a devilish smile as we kiss and I squeeze her neck. She moans and pushes herself away from the wall as the two of us go stumbling into the living room, bumping furniture as we go, still kissing, still licking, still biting. As we shuffle past the couch, the urge to have Reina becomes so strong that I can’t wait any longer to see her flesh. I reach for her sweater and use both of my hands to tear it apart. It rips down the middle, stopping halfway before I use a jolt of strength to tear it completely apart. She’s braless and sporting a giant tattoo on the right side her body, between her back and stomach. It’s a large bird made of bright orange and yellow fire, lifting itself into a black and blue sky like it has just come back from the dead. It’s a rising phoenix, and it’s breathtaking on her flawless, pale skin. On the opposite side of her body, running vertically, are letters written in red and black, spelling words that put a smile on my face because I know they’re for
me. ONLY A BEAST CAN TAME A MONSTER. I marvel at the words, knowing full-well that she is the monster, and I’m the only beast who can tame her. I lift my eyes to find Reina glaring at me, grinning from ear to ear, silently confirming my thoughts about the words inscribed in her skin. I yank the rest of the sweater off of her and pull her close to me, pushing my hands under her arms and lifting her off the floor. Reina lets out a satisfied exhale as she wraps her legs around my waist and I spin around, pressing her back against the giant window overlooking the city. Our hot bodies cause the window to fog around us as I press my mouth into her neck and bite down—gently at first, then harder to cause the perfect combination of pain and pleasure. Reina moans into my ear, telling me how much she missed me, and I rub her body with my hands, from her stomach, to her perfect breasts, to her supple neck. We breathe heavily together, our bodies starting to sweat from the intensity as kissing is no longer enough. Still holding Reina, I carry her to the stairs and climb every one of them with her body in my arms and her mouth attached to mine. She starts to suck my tongue as we ascend the last step and finally crash on top of the thick red comforter on my bed. I yank Reina’s pants off and find that she’s not
wearing panties, and the sight of her sends my desire into overdrive. Before I can stop myself, I dive forward and let my tongue taste her. My mouth covers her and sucks as my tongue slithers inside of her before sliding back out and dancing on her clit. Reina moans like a woman who knows exactly what she wants as she puts her hands on the back of my head, begging me to keep going, and I grant her wish, sucking and licking until she lets out a scream that bounces its way down the stairs and into the halls of my building. As she recovers, I push off my own pants and position myself over Reina. Her skin is flushed red and sweat is beading on her face, but I swear it’s the most beautiful she has ever been. As she looks up and finds me waiting for her to catch her breath, Reina reaches down and takes me in her hand. She massages me and strokes, pulling gasps from my lips before she speaks. “Are you my beast, Solomon?” she asks, her eyes overflowing with lust. “Damn right, I am. The only one that can tame you,” I reply. “Show me,” she says, just before she slides my erection inside of her. She lets out a gasp as every inch of me fills her up, forcing her to adjust to my size. She’s wetter than I could ever imagine or explain, and immediately begins grinding her body up and down,
pleading with me to take her, to help her forget whatever it is that she’s been through for the past seven years. Tonight, she’ll only think of me and how I make her feel. I am her beast. I pound into Reina over and over again like a man possessed, and her screams are fuel to the fire burning within me. I don’t hold back, I don’t take it easy, and I don’t stop. Sweat pours off of me and my breathing is ragged like I’m finishing a marathon, but I don’t dare stop. Tonight, I’m making up for seven years apart. I’m making up for never telling Reina how much I’ve always loved her. We switch positions from missionary, to doggy style, and my onslaught never wavers. I take full control of Reina with the intention of letting her know that our bond will never be broken again, as I grip her hips and pound into her, our bodies smacking together repeatedly, and sending sweat flying into the air. I’m sealing our fate by taming the monster inside of her, and even after the two of us have come at the same time and collapsed onto the bed side by side, it only takes one touch of her skin and one thought of how much I’ve loved her all these years to get it all started again. If I can help it, tonight will never end. Not an inch of her will go untouched, neither outside nor inside her body. Thoughts of Dante are nowhere to be found. Tonight, it’s just us. The monster and the
beast, back together at last. Behind me, the city of Philadelphia shines brightly in the night with the orange glow of the streetlights. It’s the city that Reina and I will run together now that she has come back to me. When it’s all said and done, I’ll be the king, and she’ll be the queen at my side. The two of us will reign supreme over everything we lay our eyes on, and we’ll bring fire and chaos to anyone who stands in our way. I never thought it was possible, but Reina is back, and she’s not getting away this time. I don’t care how damaged she is. We’ll be damaged together—a madman and his insane woman. The perfect match made in hell. Only a beast can tame a monster.
THE RED DIGITAL clock
on my nightstand turns from three-fifty-nine to four o’clock in the morning. Reina and I, having finally gotten our breathing under control, lay in bed with the sheets half on us and half hanging off the side of the bed. She has her head resting on my chest as she lays on her back with a champagne glass half-full of Cristal, while I lean back on the headboard, smoking a thick Cuban cigar. The white smoke curls into the air and forms a cloud above us, and I look up and through it, focusing on the image of Reina and me reflecting in the mirror on the ceiling. It’s been a few hours since she showed up, and seeing the two us together still feels brand new and strange, but it’s the best version of strange I’ve ever felt. I rub her soft, smooth skin as she sips the champagne, staring out the window in front of us. The city lights shine brightly into the dark room, providing us our only light, and I swear, there isn’t another place in the world I’d rather be. As I marvel at her skin, I try to force myself to get over the awe of it all. It’s the best thing in the world having her back, but there’s so much I don’t know about what happened to Reina. If she didn’t
tell me anything about the past seven years, I’d still love her all the same. But, my desire to know would never go away. She left, and I have to know why. So, after a few minutes of silence and letting her get a buzz from the Cristal, I ask the question I’ve been dying to ask all this time. “What happened to you, Reina?” I say softly as I continue rubbing her skin. “Why’d you leave?” Reina doesn’t move a muscle. She just keeps staring straight ahead, out the window. There’s something in her face that grabs my attention, though. Something about the way she doesn’t react makes me think there’s something dark in there that wasn’t there before. Reina looks like she’s been through something, and the look on her face reminds me of someone else whose been through so much trauma that people call him a madman. Me. Reina lets out a loud exhale before swallowing the rest of the champagne in her glass. As she sits up, her demeanor darkens and her eyes turn cold. She had an innocence in her before, and from the looks of it, that innocence has been snatched out of her. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” Reina finally replies, looking down at the sheets that are still wet from our sweat and her come. “I’ve wondered for so long,” I reply. “I wanna know everything. Everything, Reina.” “You sure?” she asks. “Not everything is as
pretty as you may think.” “What makes you think I need it to be pretty? I don’t care how ugly the story is, Reina. As long as it’s your story. Tell me.” With that, Reina leans over and grabs the golden bottle of Cristal from the nightstand, but she doesn’t pour any into her glass. Instead, she places the glass on the nightstand and keeps the entire bottle with her as she rests her back against the headboard next to me. She takes a swig from the bottle before staring straight ahead again, her bare chest drawing my attention from time to time. For a moment, I think she won’t tell me. But after a minute of staring out the window, she takes a deep breath and lets the words come out. “I remember the last time I saw you,” she begins, still looking outside. Her eyes aren’t moving, but I can tell her mind is replaying like a movie, and she’s watching it, unblinking. “We’d had sex in your mom’s basement,” she continues. “Then you walked me to the train station. I remember thinking about you the entire ride, wondering how somebody like me— somebody with parents like mine and a background like mine—could fall in love with somebody with a life like yours. I was shocked as I realized just how much I loved you while I was sitting on that train. I remember feeling like I was in heaven, on cloud nine, and then the train stopped and my cloud
disappeared. It evaporated from under my feet and I plummeted towards the ground. You weren’t there to catch me though. Charlie was.” I feel a sudden shudder hit me and my muscles tense at the mention of the name. How could I forget Charlie? He was the pompous little prick Reina was being forced to hang out with. Her dumbass parents were trying to play matchmaker and force her into Charlie’s arms, and when she wouldn’t do it, she’d get in trouble. He was the asshole I confronted at her prom. Scared the kid half to death. So hearing her say he was there to catch her and I wasn’t is like taking a knife to the gut. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as I struggle to hold back the rage I feel surging. “When I got off the train, Charlie was there,” Reina replies. “I can still see it all like it just happened this morning. He was wearing a royal blue letterman’s jacket that used to belong to his father, and he was leaning against his white BMW with a smug little smile on his face. He knew he’d caught me red-handed coming back from Strawberry Mansion because he’d followed me to the train station, saw me buy my ticket, and actually waited in the parking lot the entire time for me to come back. He wanted to catch me so he could tell my parents, and that’s exactly what he did.”
“Seriously?” I interject with a frown. “That prick from your prom told your parents you’d been coming to see me?” “He took great pride in telling them,” Reina answers, her eyes still gazing out the window. “He was pissed about what happened at prom, and he was looking for a way to get his revenge.” “On who? You or me?” “On both of us. He wanted to hurt you by hurting me,” she says, her voice trailing off after the last two words. Her eyes finally move from the window down to the bed before she closes them tightly, remembering. “What?” I ask, sensing her distress. “What’s the matter, Reina?” “After hearing what Charlie had to tell them,” she continues, ignoring my question. “My parents decided it was best to send me away. I always knew that if I didn’t act the way they wanted me to act that they’d send me away, and after hearing about me leaving the safety of Center City to take the train to the poor people’s neighborhood of Strawberry Mansion, they finally decided to do it for real. They decided to send me to boarding school, all the way in fucking France.” “France?” I snap, my voice booming down the stairs. “You went to France? That’s where you’ve been all this time?” “I tried to call you at first,” Reina presses on as
if I’m not even there. “But they took my phone from me. My father threw it on the ground and shattered it right in front of me. So I tried to sneak onto the train, but my parents were having Charlie tail me wherever I went. He caught me again— brought me back home.” Her voice trails off again. “That little bitch,” I say under my breath as the feeling of pinpricks settles into my face. “Then that was it,” Reina continues again before taking another drink from the bottle. “The next thing I knew, I was on a plane, flying away from everything I’d ever loved—flying away from you.” I puff my cigar and send smoke rising into the air above us as I look at Reina. She looks lost in her words. It’s like she’s not even here as her eyes bounce back and forth from the bed to the tall buildings outside. I want to be able to comfort her, but I’ve never been good at that kind of thing. I’m more of a laugh-at-your-pain kind of guy, and I don’t think that’s what this situation calls for. So, I just watch her and wait for her to continue as she takes another swig from the bottle and exhales. “The boarding school was called Ecole des Roches,” she says. “When I got there, I knew from the beginning that it was going to be hell. After everything I’d seen in Philly, there was no way I could conform to that kind of life. With you, I’d
committed robbery and bought fancy things, and lived a life that filled me with exhilaration. Hell, even my parents spoiled me enough before I was permanently on their shit list, and they knew what they were subjecting me to when they signed me up for Ecole. They knew I would struggle, because they knew that as soon as I got there, the staff was going to take everything away from me, which is what they wanted—to cut me off. No make-up, no nail polish, no jewelry, no phones, no laptops, no internet, no elaborate haircuts or anything else they considered to be fancy. I showed up and there was strict schedules and curfews, and a dress code where I had to braid my hair every day because it was too long. I was surrounded by snotty little rich kids who were so good at being sneaky, and school authorities who were verbally abusive in public, and physically abusive in private. They honed in on me from the moment I got off the plane, and they never left me alone. It was like they knew I was a rebel, and they weren’t going to get off my back until they broke me. “My first year there was bad. I missed curfew my very first weekend, which meant I wasn’t in my room at the mandatory ten o’clock. When questioned by the Student Life Counselor, I told her the rules were ridiculous and that I wasn’t going to follow them, especially on the weekend. The counselor responded by calling a security guard in
and forcing me to kneel on top of frozen peas they’d poured onto a concrete floor. I didn’t think it would hurt as much as it actually did, and the marks on my legs took three days before they finally went away completely. “Even when I tried to do what they told me to avoid their punishment, I couldn’t do it for long. They reacted to the smallest things, and before long, I wasn’t having issues with other students. The staff became our enemy, and it was a war we could never win. “Things only got worse as time went on. The longer I was there, the more I wanted to leave, and the less I cared about breaking their rules. Once, I left my hair unbraided on purpose. So my Activity Leader decided to give me a haircut in front of the class. I threw a fit and hit him, so he called the guards and they held me down while he cut my hair with scissors in front of everyone. I cried, but it didn’t matter to them. They wanted me to cry, and the staff made me stand in the middle of the hall with my nose in a corner while everyone walked by, laughing at my new, boyish haircut.” As Reina speaks, I feel my blood staring to boil. I wasn’t there to protect her while she was going through absolute hell. I thought my life was bad after Whitney died and Reina left, but after all of that, I was making a name for myself. I was stealing money and becoming a legend on the streets while
Reina was being tortured in France. Every bone in my body wants to get up and head straight for the airport. I’ll burn the whole damn school down for what they did to her. “It was my second year that got me out of there, though. That was when things hit rock bottom.” Reina swigs more champagne as if she isn’t even affected by how much she’s had already. She still looks like the Reina I once knew, but something inside of her is different. Darker. “I had a Student Support Advisor who thought I was pretty. His name was Arthur. He had black hair, a clean-shaven face, and a smile that immediately told me he was a creep. But he also had a reputation around the school of being abusive. There was a rumor that he once made a kid wear a hat that he called the Cone of Shame. Kind of like the ones dogs wear when you don’t want them to lick themselves. When they sent me to him, I was nervous, I admit. I got sent to his office after one of my teachers found some scratches on my leg where I’d cut myself shaving. They thought I did it on purpose, so they sent me to Arthur—told him I was troubled and needed special attention.” As Reina tells her story, I want nothing more than to hunt this Arthur down and drive a knife into his throat. I don’t even know exactly what he’s done yet, but I already want him dead. I want the entire staff dead and buried in unmarked graves.
“He was cute,” Reina says, cutting off my train of thought with her shocking words. “I have to admit he was cute for a forty-five-year-old. But as soon as we started talking and I saw the way he was looking at me with his dark brown eyes, he was instantly hideous. Before the first of our three meetings was over, he’d already written on my arm with permanent marker after I told him he could go suck himself for accusing me of being a cutter. His response to my insult was to write the word Monster on my forearm in thick black letters for everyone to see. I scrubbed my arm all night until it was red and raw, but it still wouldn’t come all the way off. Everyone could see it, and they knew he’d given it to me.” “Son of a bitch,” I snip, but Reina mows over my words as if I never said a thing. “The second time we met, he gave me a compliment for not going off on him. It’d been a week since the marker incident, and the letters were mostly gone by then. The session went well and he told me I’d made progress since we first met, and when I went to leave, he got up to walk me out. At the door, he rubbed my shoulder, and then slid his hand down to my lower back before unsubtlety grazing my ass as I stepped over the threshold. When I turned around to look at him, he was already closing the door behind me.” There is fire in my veins, but Reina takes
another drink, makes herself more comfortable, and keeps talking. It’s as if a gate has been opened that she can’t close now. “The next session we had he tried to rub his penis against my hand as I sat in the chair in front of his desk,” Reina says, and I feel like screaming. “When I felt it, I snapped, because he wasn’t even trying to be slick about it. I grabbed a pen from his desk and stabbed him in the leg with it. When he screamed, I pulled it out of his thigh and stabbed him again, this time aiming for his prick. I wanted to stab a hole right through it. He screamed and pushed me away, and I walked out of the room, leaving the pen stuck in him. I don’t know if I actually hit his dick, but I tried with everything I had, and his scream of agony was music to my ears. They kicked me out after that, and my parents refused to pay for my flight back home, so I was forced to stay in France with barely any money and no place to live.” “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask her, wishing we could go back in time and do it over again. I would’ve been there on the next flight. I was already halfway to being a millionaire by the time Arthur tried this shit. I would’ve flown over and burned him alive inside his office. “I told you I had no money. The school took everything I had, and my dad had broken my phone before they ever sent me away,” Reina explains.
“So once I was on my own, I learned a new trade. I learned how to manipulate people.” As if a switch has been flipped, Reina sits up straighter and finally looks at me. Her eyes are wet with tears that never fell, but her expression is pure defiance. When she was talking about the boarding school, it was a difficult memory, but now that she’s referring to something afterwards, she’s different. She looks strong and intimidating in my dark bedroom. The lights from the city shine in and plaster shadows to one side of her face, and I can see a feint grin on her lips. “I met a man named James a week after I left Ecole des Roches,” she goes on, looking me straight in the eye now, more confident than I’ve ever seen her. “He was a bank manager and financial consultant for a big time law firm here in the states, but he did it all from France. He was a multi-millionaire who liked to cheat on his wife when she went out of town on business. We went out on three dinner dates, becoming more flirtatious with each one. I made sure to lead him on. I wanted him to think he had a real shot at an affair with me behind his wife’s back, and he bought every bit of it. The day he tried to sleep with me in a hotel I’d rented, I told him I’d recorded the entire thing and that I’d tell his wife if he didn’t pay me off. He didn’t believe it at first, and left the room in a laughable fuss. The next day, I emailed him a video
snippet of the moment he pulled his teeny, tiny, little prick out of his pants in front of me while I sat on the bed, in perfect view of the camera I’d placed in the room two hours before. I told him I had his wife’s email address, and that if he didn’t wire a million dollars to my account in the next hour, I was going to click Send. Forty-three minutes later, I was a millionaire.” My eyes bulge. “You blackmailed him out of a million dollars?” I ask, in complete shock. “Yeah,” Reina answers behind a giggle, her mood quickly perking back up with the story. “Damn,” I exclaim as I take the champagne bottle from her and swallow a swig of my own. “Okay, then why didn’t you come back after you had all that money?” “I wasn’t ready yet,” she says, still looking right at me. “Once I had the money, I knew what I wanted to do. It wasn’t enough to blackmail one guy. I needed to make more than just a million if I wanted to have an impact.” “An impact? An impact on what?” “Everything,” Reina replies. In her eyes, I see something I’d never seen the entire time we knew each other before she was sent away. Ambition. Reina looks at me and smiles from ear to ear for the first time, and I feel a tug on my heart. I’d forgotten how gorgeous that smile is, but it’s made
even brighter by the look of aspiration I see in her eyes. “A few weeks after you and I met, you said something to me that I never forgot,” Reina continues as she snatches the bottle of Cristal from me. “You said that one day you’d have everything you’d ever wanted. You told me that the things you’d do to get them wouldn’t be pretty, and that you liked it that way. You said you were gonna be the most feared and respected man in the city. When that money hit my account, I knew I had the power to make that dream come true for myself. Getting the money didn’t make me want to quit and fly back home to my parents, or even to be your trophy girlfriend who needed to depend on you for every dime. Everything I’d been through made me tougher than that. It made me want to take more and more, so that when I did come back, I could change everything. I knew that when I came back, I wanted to be powerful enough to bring the people who’ve hurt me to their knees. Everyone who’s ever done me wrong, or taken advantage of me, I want them all to suffer. So, I stayed and got to work. I started conning people.” “Are you kidding?” I ask behind a chuckle. “You became a con artist?” “The best you’ve never seen,” Reina replies, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Over the next few years, I conned countless men, a few women, and a
few couples. I’ve taken more money from people than I care to count anymore. But I know one thing for sure—I have more money than the first guy I ever conned.” “Who? James, the multi-millionaire?” “Uh-huh.” “How do you know that?” “Remember I told you James was a bank manager and financial consultant?” Reina asks, and I nod. “The bank he works for is called Natixis, and a year ago, I bought out the owner of the France branch. James works for me now.” “What the fuck?” I blurt out. I can’t believe what she just said. “You own a bank?” “Not the entire company. I’m not the CEO of Natixis, but I bought quite a bit of the shares and stock, and I own the branch in France. James works for me as the manager.” “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” I exclaim as I rush to get out of the bed in pure excitement and shock. “You’re only twenty-two years old!” “True, but I’m also a Wilde,” Reina says as she looks down at my naked body. She smiles at my length before looking back up at me. “My parents are worth at least three or four billion at this point, and I grew up watching them hustle money. I guess some of it stuck, and I learned a thing or two about investing and acquisition. One thing my dad always said when I was kid was, ‘Make your money work
for you.’ My father bought businesses and sat back, watching the profits pile up while he moved on to the next business to acquire. When you’re the owner, the business makes money without you having to show up to work. My parents are sick, twisted, corrupt, vicious people who’ve always treated me like crap for not conforming to their rules. But they’re smart, and soon, they’ll realize that they taught me exactly how to be their worst nightmare.” As I stand next to the bed with my dick in plain sight, I realize what Reina is saying, and it’s like a slap in the face. For me, making a name for myself and coming up was about getting out of the dirty gutter that was Strawberry Mansion. I wanted to be a big deal and run the criminal world because it was what I was always good at, as if I was born to be bad. For Reina, it was about leaving a life that she felt she wasn’t supposed to be a part of. She wanted to be like me, but she was trapped in her parents’ world. So when she went to France and her parents cut her off, she decided to come up as well. She decided she would grow up to be even bigger than her parents, and she had one thing in mind the entire time. Revenge. “You want to take over your parents’ business,” I say, my look of excitement replaced by a hunger I’ve never felt before as her plan becomes clear to me. The whole time I was dreaming about being
big, Reina was dreaming about being even bigger. Her ambitions have far surpassed my own. “I want us to be king and queen,” she replies, “of everything.” I smile as wide as my face can manage as I jump back into the bed and kiss Reina on the mouth. After all this time, I was becoming the king, and my woman was becoming the queen. Now it’s time for us to rule together! “Okay, so how do we start?” I ask. “Let’s not waste any time. Tell me what to do, Reina, and we’ll go after your parents starting first thing in the morning.” “No,” Reina answers. She places a hand on my cheek and rubs my face, staring into my eyes. “It’s not just about them, Solomon. It’s about us. “When I came back to Philly, the first thing I wanted to do was find you, so I started digging, and when I finally tracked you down after three months of trying, I also found out that you were about to go to war with the Scarfo family. People talk. When I heard the Scarfo family was about to come after you, I decided to step in. That’s how I met Dante.” I don’t even know what to say at this point. It’s like she’s become a criminal mastermind, I just stare at her in awe as she goes on. “Dante’s wife died two years ago, and he’s known for getting around and courting younger women these days. So, I put myself in his path on
purpose, so I could learn about him and his businesses. I wanted to come back to you, but more than that, I wanted to help you. Now, I know everything about Dante Rossi and his dealings. I know exactly how to get rid of him and the entire mafia in Philly.” “But you’re putting yourself at risk being inside like that. If he finds out you’re conning him, he’ll kill you, and I won’t be able to take that,” I say. “I don’t care about the danger,” she answers as she scoots closer to me. “It’s about us, Solomon. When Arthur wrote the word Monster on my arm, it meant something much different to him than it did to me. I remember not being able to get the letters off after I’d scrubbed so hard, and it made me sick at first. But after a while, I liked it. I embraced it. I realized that I am a monster, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am what they made me. I’m a monster, and you’re my beast, Solomon. You’re the only one I belong with, and just like I showed Arthur the day I stabbed him, no one can handle me but you. “We’re soulmates—two peas in a pod, and together, no one can stop us. Not Dante Rossi, and not my parents. Together, we can make them all pay, we can make them all bow to us. So we need to do it one step at a time.” “And the first step is Dante,” I say, finishing her sentence for her. “We take the mob out first, then
we step up to something bigger.” “Wilde Inc.,” Reina says now, filling in the rest for me just before finishing off the rest of the Cristal with a big gulp. “Wow,” I say to her, rubbing my hand through her golden hair. “Who would’ve thought that you’d end up just as twisted as me after all this time apart? I love it, Reina. I love you.” Reina stops moving. She stares at me with her eyes wide just as a smile spreads across her mouth. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me,” she says, her voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve always loved you, Reina,” I reply. “You know that.” “I did, but hearing you say it is another thing entirely. It means everything.” Reina leans over and kisses me gently on the lips. Here, in this moment, sitting in darkness, our bond is made stronger than ever. We’re inseparable now. As our lips touch, it erases the last seven years. It’s as if we were never apart. Our hearts have been together the whole time. After our kiss, Reina and I lay down in the bed together. She rests her head on my chest and rubs my stomach while I look out the window and go back to my cigar, puffing smoke up to the ceiling, feeling every bit like a true king. “So,” I say. “Whatever happened to Charlie?” I hear her hesitate before clearing her throat
and answering. “He became CFO of Wilde Inc.,” she replies. “He helps run the business with my father now.” I sense something in the way Reina speaks when it comes to Charlie, but I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about him that bothers her. I’m not one to mince words, so I ask her. “What is it, Reina? You obviously don’t like talking about Charlie. So, what is it? Is there something else I need to know about all of this?” Reina stops rubbing my skin for a second, before clearing her throat and starting up again. “In due time, my love,” she says, more confident now. “All in due time.”
“WHERE ARE YOU going?”
I try to blink away the brightness shining into the loft through the big window, but it’s a struggle as I wake up to find Reina standing in front of the bed, buttoning up one of my shirts. Her blonde hair has waves leftover from last night, and she looks like she’s getting ready to leave. “I have to get back to my place so I can change clothes. I have a date,” Reina replies behind a smile. Even in my shirt, she’s truly stunning, but I’m fuming on the inside. “A date?” I ask, even though I already know where this is going. “Yes,” she answers as if nothing’s wrong with her going on a date with someone else after the night we had together. “With?” I ask. “Dante, of course.” Heat begins to brew in my stomach and quickly climb up my body and into my limbs as I think about Dante being with Reina. I could snap right now, but I won’t go there. Not with Reina. “Dante,” I state. “Now maybe I’m a little crazy, but perhaps you should remind me why you’d be
going on a date with Dante after last night.” “Why wouldn’t I be going on a date with Dante after last night? It seems to be that’s exactly what I should be doing.” I sit up in bed and lean back on the headboard, spotting the bottle of Cristal from last night lying on the hardwood floor. I think to take a sip, but I know Reina and I emptied it. Damn it. “Reina,” I say, trying to sound calm. “Do you remember what I was like when we were teenagers?” Reina smiles and nods. “Of course I do.” “Right. Then you know I don’t do well when it comes to sharing.” “You’re not sharing me, Solomon,” Reina replies as she begins walking to my side of the bed and sits down next to me. “We discussed this, my love. I’m conning Dante. That’s all this date is—a con. We planned this a week ago, and I can’t cancel just like that, otherwise, he might know something’s up.” “So you’re gonna keep seeing him? Sleeping with him?” I feel rage burning a hole in my stomach and takes everything to hold it in. “I’m not sleeping with him!” Reina snaps, her brows curving into a deep furrow. “We’ve been seeing each other on and off for almost three months now, but we have never slept together. I don’t even let Dante drive me home. When we go
on dates, we show up separately, and we leave the same way.” “Really?” “Like I said last night, I’m the best at this, Solomon. I’m good at reading people and seeing what makes them tick—what they want. When it comes to men like Dante, they enjoy the hunt. Women who give it up too quick get dropped in a hurry. Women like me, who make them wait and work for even the smallest taste of affection, we’re the ones these guys keep chasing. He likes chasing, and he thinks I like being chased. That’s how it has to stay, at least for today.” “What’s after today?” I ask, honing in on that last part. “After today, I think I’ll have all the info you’ll need to make a move on Dante,” Reina says, her face completely serious and focused. “Dante has something big coming up, something I think you could use to your advantage. But, there’s still some details I need—times and dates. I know where he’ll be, but I need to know when he’ll be there. Once I get that info, you use it to hit him in a way he’ll never recover from. If we do it right, he’ll be finished, and that means the entire family will be finished.” “You seem awfully confident in that,” I say, holding back a smile. It’s incredible to see Reina grown up and
outsmarting men. Even after seven years, I feel a sense of pride, because she grew into this unstoppable force without any help from me, and now here she is, telling me what’s going to go down. It’s honestly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “I’m confident in it because I know it,” Reina replies, grinning. “Through my time with Dante, I’ve learned a lot about what’s going on in the Scarfo family. I know where their strengths and weaknesses are, and I know how fragile the leadership is at the top, which means the whole thing is fragile.” “You have my attention,” I reply, adjusting in the bed to make myself more comfortable. “The most feared man in the Scarfo family isn’t Angelo Scarfo anymore,” Reina says. “It’s Dante Rossi. The reason is because everyone knows he’s about to be the boss soon, and he’s the one who’s basically running the entire show now. Angelo Scarfo is seventy-one years old, and is slowly dying from pancreatic cancer. Everyone in the family knows that, and as a result of that diagnosis, Angelo has started delegating virtually everything down to his underboss and consigliere. Dante is taking over rackets left and right, trying to really build up his capital so that when he ascends to the top spot soon, he’ll have the money to buy off everybody he needs to pay off. He wants the big names: judges, police chiefs, governors, senators, mayors. He’s
trying to bring the mob back to life in Philly, because it’s not as strong as it was in its heyday. “So, if you destroy Dante in the middle of his ascension, it’ll ruin the family. Dante is set to become the next boss, and Tony will be the next underboss. You get rid of those two, and Philadelphia will be yours to run. Nobody would dare challenge you, Solomon. So, I need you to trust that I can get the information you need. I have to go on this date, and I have to play the part. I have to be the character he expects me to be. So you gotta let me work, because I got this. Okay?” I let Reina’s words settle in my head and play again on repeat. She’s definitely educated on the topic, but the reason I feel hesitant isn’t because of how much she does or doesn’t know. I feel hesitant because she’s been gone for so long and suddenly shows up ready to hand me the keys to the city while still hanging on the arm of Dante Rossi. I love this woman, but can I trust her? She said herself that she’s the best con artist I’ve never seen. Is she conning me? I guess we’ll see, and I’ll keep my favorite box cutter handy, just in case. “Reina, you know I love you, right?” I ask, to which Reina replies with a nod of her head. “Good. Then you know how bummed I’d be if I had to kill you for lying to me about this. I’d hate to do it, and I’d probably hate myself for the rest of my life, but if you’re playing me with all of this, you know
what’ll happen.” I expect her to frown or move away in fear, but instead, Reina smiles and places a hand on my rugged cheek. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Solomon,” she says. “That’s why we’re meant to be together, because if you’d let anyone get away with lying to you about something like this, you wouldn’t be worthy of me.” Reina kisses me softly on the cheek before standing up, straightening out the shirt she’s borrowing from me, and walking towards the stairs. When she reaches the top step, she stops and turns around. “We’re having lunch at Vetri, on Spruce Street,” she says. “We’re gonna have a table that’s next to the window. If you want, you can watch from a distance. Don’t get too close, because Dante tends to look around a lot when he’s out. But if you’re still feeling unsure about me, come watch.” I nod once in response. “Gotta go. I’ll see you soon,” Reina says before turning around and descending the stairs. “What are we doing here?” Nix asks from the driver’s seat. I sit next to him staring straight ahead, looking down the street and through the window of Vetri, where Reina and Dante sit side by side, talking and smiling together.
Dante is wearing gray slacks with a matching jacket over a white button-up. His hair is messier today and his beard is scruffier than before. He’s less business-like now, and he’s leaning towards Reina as she eats something I can’t make out from this distance. He’s talking her ear off, and I can imagine myself walking into the restaurant and slicing his ear from the side of his face just so I can feed it to him. He shouldn’t be anywhere near my Reina. I know she said she has this all under control and she’s playing a role to get what she wants out of him, but maybe I shouldn’t have taken her advice about coming to watch her eat with Dante. I should be far away from this, because the longer I watch, the harder it is for me to hold myself back. I’m not a man who is reserved. I don’t hold back. If I did, I wouldn’t have become the feared man I am today. I want to let loose and fill Vetri with the sound of broken glass and whizzing bullets. I want everyone within a block of this place to know not to ever come near Reina. “Solomon!” Nix shouts, stealing my attention away from the two of them. “What are we doing here?” “I told you, I want to see,” I reply as I refocus on the restaurant. Nix, wearing a navy blue jean jacket, stares at the side of my face as I look straight ahead. Something is bothering him, and has been since
Reina came back into the picture. He lets out a loud sigh and rests his head on his hand. “You sure about this, Solomon?” he asks. “Sure about what?” I reply. “Look, I know you love Reina,” he says. At the mention of her name, I look over at Nix and wait for him to make his feelings known. “I had love for her too, back in the day, but we’re not teenagers anymore. This isn’t Cash N Check or Julia’s Jewels. It’s the mob. Are you sure you want to trust her with this? She’s been gone a long time, and you know she’s changed. Of course she has. Maybe letting her into the mix right away isn’t the smartest way to play this. You know what I’m saying?” “Nix, you’re my closest friend,” I say as I let my eyes drift back over to the restaurant, where I find Reina looking in our direction. It seems she’s spotted us, and she flashes a quick grin while Dante is stuffing his stupid face with pasta. In a heartbeat, the smile fades and she’s back to business. “You’re the only person I’d ever call my friend—the only person I trust one hundred percent. You came up with me in this game of ours, bled with me, and killed with me. And it’s because of all of those things that I’d really hate going to war with you. You know me better than everyone else, so you know how much Reina means to me. It’s never changed, Nix. If I listened to you, and it turned out you were wrong about her, it’d ruin everything.”
“Solomon, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I know how much Reina meant to you. I’m just saying that maybe you should exercise caution when it comes to her.” “I am exercising caution,” I snip. “You think my feelings for Reina will cause me to act like an idiot? You think it’d somehow change me into some love-struck buffoon who’s no longer worth fearing? You think I’d let it destroy everything we’ve built?” “No, Solomon,” Nix replies, glaring at the side of my face. “But I know you love her, and love makes people do stupid things, and it makes you vulnerable. If Dante finds out about you two, he’ll use her against you. You know that.” “Then it’s best he doesn’t find out, huh?” I blurt without looking over at him. I feel the tension in the air, but it’s something we’re just going to have to work through, because Reina isn’t just some chick from the club I met last night. It’s Reina, and she’s everything. “Do you trust me, Nix,” I ask, looking at him now. “You know I do.” “Good. Don’t let her presence change that. She knows what’ll happen if this turns out to be garbage, and she’s still over there with him. Soon, we’ll find out if she’s telling the truth again. Don’t forget, it was Reina who saved our asses the other night at the Asylum.”
Nix nods his massive head, remembering how Reina tipped us off about the assassination attempt. “Okay,” he says as he looks ahead himself. “I’m riding with you on this, and I’ll be there with you if it turns out to be bullshit.” Knowing what he means by that, I simply nod my head and face the restaurant just in time to see Reina and Dante standing outside Vetri, moving into a hug. My heart rate picks up as Dante leans in for a kiss, and Reina quickly turns her head to the side, forcing him to her cheek. I struggle to exhale through a sigh of relief as Dante smiles at the move and looks her up and down. I can see the lust in his beady little eyes, and I want to gouge them out. Once they separate, a black Mercedes pulls up to the curb, and out steps a kid dressed in a white button-up and purple vest. The valet walks around the car and hands the keys to Dante, who takes them, waves goodbye to Reina, and hops in the car. Once he’s gone, Reina looks in our direction and starts walking over to us. “Did you enjoy the show, boys?” she says once she’s in the back seat. “Enjoy the show?” I ask. “No, I wanted to burn the show to the ground!” “Well, I’m glad you didn’t, because I have good news,” Reina says, her voice perky with excitement. “Hi Nix!” she chirps, as if seeing him for the first time.
“Hey, Reina,” he replies in his low drone of a voice. “Nice to see you again. Surprised to see you with Dante, though.” “I bet you are,” Reina answers playfully. “I’m sure Solomon already filled you in on what I’m doing with Dante.” “Yeah, he did.” “Good, then I won’t bother going into it again,” Reina says, completely confident. She’s fearless, even as she sits behind two men who’d kill her for being wrong about all of this. “Anyway, Solomon, am I correct in assuming you’ve got a crew behind you on this?” “Of course I do,” I reply. “Good, you’re gonna want to call them up and set up a meeting tonight.” “Is that right? Why would I do that?” “Because I got it,” she answers, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “You got what?” “Everything,” she says. “Without even knowing it, Dante just opened up a gigantic window of opportunity, and something tells me you’re gonna wanna climb your sexy self right through it.” Reina and I smile at each other before I look over at Nix, who’s as stone-faced as ever. He won’t believe anything until he sees it, and I get that. Hopefully what Reina has will convince him. “Alright,” I say as I turn around and look out
the windshield. “Let’s do it.”
always been my sanctuary. I’ve always loved the blaring music and dancing women, the lowered inhibitions and flowing money, and the feeling of being a god amongst men as I sit in the Box with Nix or whatever crew I was working with recently. Now, the feeling is heightened as I sit on the white couch, wearing white pants and a black tank top, exposing every muscle and tattoo, as Reina sits next to me in a long white sweater that hangs to the middle of her thighs with tan leggings. As the baggy sweater hangs off of her shoulders, Reina is the epitome of sexy. She sits with one leg over the other and her hand on my thigh, watching as the waitress sets our drinks down on the small, red end table next to me. I hand Reina her short glass as I take mine, and I’m shocked to see her take a sip of the expensive Remy Martin Louis XIII as if it’s not a big deal. Part of me expected her to order something fruity or some stereotypically weak drink, but she sips the cognac just like me, and doesn’t seem at all fazed by the burn that accompanies a straight drink. I’m nearly as impressed by that as I am by how her hair CLUB ASYLUM HAS
flows over her shoulder in perfect waves, and her eyes shine blue as she looks through the glass walls of the Box. She’s clearly miles above any woman here, and the confidence in her demeanor makes her even more of a standout. She’s so perfect— everything I want in a woman. Nix sits at the glass conference table with a drink of his own, sporting a black-on-black suit, but he’s an afterthought to me at this point. My mind is solely focused on Reina. Outside the Box, it’s the usual club scene, but with one exception. Music from the DJ on the first level is blaring loudly, as usual, and there are tons of men and women roaming both levels, sipping drinks, ordering new ones, dancing, exchanging numbers, basically what you’d expect from a nightclub like this. Tonight though, the women who dance around and on top of the Box are fixated on the blonde woman sitting next to me. Usually, when I have a woman in the Box, I switch the Smart Glass to privacy-mode so people can’t see inside, and that usually happens after the business portion of the night has come to an end. Tonight is different, because Reina is here now, and there will be no need to use the Smart Glass. Reina is here for both business and pleasure, and women I’ve hooked up with over the years seem to be able to tell the difference as they watch how Reina and I interact, laughing and touching each other as if the past seven years hasn’t gotten in the way of
anything. Every now and then, Nix and Reina share a laugh as the two of them work to get reacquainted as well, and the whole vibe seems to be irking certain people who’ve made the mistake of growing attached to me for whatever reason. In particular, a certain redhead I recently had a one-night stand with. Even after being kicked out of the loft the morning after we had sex, Cynthia is peering into the Box with envy written all over her face. She’s wearing a black dress that’s so tight it looks like it’ll have to be peeled off of her, and dancing with a few of her girlfriends right next to the Box. And just like before, she’s doing her best to get noticed, hoping to win favor with the madman. But tonight, her staring is gaining the attention of someone else, and as soon as Reina’s eyes lock onto Cynthia’s, her attitude shifts a bit, and I swear I feel a cold breeze sweep into the hot club. “You’re a celebrity,” Reina says to me, breaking eye contact with the redhead standing directly in front of us on the other side of the glass. “Why do you say that?” I ask. “Because the women in here are basically throwing themselves at you without saying a word. They all want you, Solomon, I can see it in their eyes.” “Maybe I’ve made a bit of a name for myself over the years,” I say behind a small chuckle.
“How does that make you feel?” Reina peels her eyes off of Cynthia and looks at me with a devious grin. “It’s fine,” she says, but something much more sinister is behind her eyes. “I didn’t expect you to become celibate while I was away. I wasn’t. However, I’m back now. We’re back.” I smile at the words. “Yes, we are.” Reina smiles wide as she cuts her eyes towards Cynthia, who’s still staring too hard. Seeing the redhead watching us, Reina turns to me and passionately presses her mouth to mine. Warmth shoots through my body in all directions as our tongues graze against each other, heating both of us up right here in front of everyone. Once the kiss is done, I open my eyes to find Reina already looking back at Cynthia, who now looks as if someone killed her puppy before turning away, leaving her drunken girlfriends behind. My woman and I share a laugh, just as we see our guests ascend the steps to our level and walk up to the entrance of the Box, where Lenny stands with his giant arms crossed. After a brief discussion with Rock, Lenny turns to look at me, and I nod my approval. Rock, Marcell, and Ricky walk into the Box with their usual grim faces. Rock is dressed to the nines, wearing a white suit with black features and a black tie. Marcell is the nerd of the group, with
skinny jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt and his signature glasses, while Ricky is wearing an orange and red flannel shirt and the emotion of a man who lost his only brother just a few days ago. The three of them walk in and take a seat at the conference room table with Nix, who greets them all simply by nodding his head. As they make themselves comfortable, all of their eyes fixate on the person none of them has ever seen before, and I’m sure they’re wondering what a stranger is doing in the room if we’re here to talk business. “Shall we?” Nix says to the two of us. Reina and I stand up to move to the table with the crew. I grab for my red leather chair at the head of the table just as I see Cynthia come back into view out of the corner of my eye. When I spot her, so does Reina, and before I can make an introduction to the crew, Reina shifts her position and starts speed-walking towards the door. “Excuse me,” she says to the five of us, before walking out of the Box. Reina quickly pushes the door open and snatches a bottle of Moet off of a waitress’s tray. The waitress starts to protest, but it’s too late. Reina swings her arm and shatters the bottom half of the glass bottle on a table, sending people around her in VIP reeling and scurrying to get away from whatever is to come. Cynthia can only watch in horror as Reina races over to her with the jagged,
top-half of the bottle still in her hand. As Reina approaches, Cynthia backs up in fear until her back is against the glass of the Box, directly in front of me. Reina has her trapped, and she raises the sharpest point of the bottle, pointing it at Cynthia’s bare throat. I hear Cynthia gasp, followed by the gasps of the people in VIP watching it all unfold. “Hi! My name’s Reina, and if I were you,” Reina says without regard to who may be listening, “I’d get my shit together and stop staring at Solomon. Whatever you had with him before is over, because I’m back now, and he’s mine. Do you understand? He’s mine! If you look at him one more time, I’m gonna come out here and gouge your eyeballs out with this broken bottle. Got it?” When Cynthia doesn’t respond quickly or loudly enough, Reina keeps going, completely relentless. “What? Speak up so everyone can hear you! Do you understand?” “Yes, yes, I understand,” Cynthia replies as tears stream down her face, and she turns her head to the side as if she can get any further away from the bottle now being pressed against her cheek. Nix looks over at me with wide eyes, and I’m not even sure what to say. I knew Reina was different before she left, but I never thought she would come back like this. Everything she went through in France and with her parents has apparently pushed her over whatever limits she
may have had before. She wasn’t kidding when she said she’d been through a lot, and I’m convinced that this isn’t the same Reina that left seven years ago. This is a new and improved Reina. The teenage Reina was down for robbery, this one is down to commit murder in the middle of a packed nightclub! Watching it all happen in front of me makes me want her now more than ever, and I can feel the oncoming arousal in my pants as I look at her holding the bottle to Cynthia’s weeping face. “Solomon,” Nix says to me, wondering what we should do, because everyone in VIP is watching. “Go get her,” I tell Nix, who moves quickly. I watch from inside the Box as Nix approaches Reina, grabs her by the shoulders, and pulls her away from Cynthia. As Nix drags Reina away and Cynthia’s friends move in to console her, Reina bursts into loud, maniacal laughter. She laughs like she was just kidding the entire time and she’s entertained by Cynthia’s tears. The people in VIP frown, wondering what the hell is wrong with her. I can see the looks on their faces, and I recognize it. My heart pounds with excitement as I see what Reina has done in one act of violence. With a single show of force, she showed them why she’s different, why she’s with me. She just became the madwoman who’s in love with the madman. The perfect queen of chaos. As Nix pulls her back into the Box, the smile on my face is too large to
wipe away, and I pull Reina into a rough, passionate kiss in front of all the people watching. They want a show, and we’ll give them one. After we kiss, the two of us laugh together as we look out at Cynthia being helped down the stairs by her friends who are too scared to look back. Once they’re gone, I walk over to the silver button on the floor and step on it, activating the Privacy Smart Glass. “Now that’s how you start a night off right!” I exclaim as I take my seat at the head of the table. Nix sits to my right, in his usual spot, and Reina takes her place on my left, the new designated spot for my queen. “Well,” Rock says, staring at Reina as if he’s not sure if he can trust her not to attack him. “I was gonna ask who you were, but you already made quite the introduction.” “You can relax, Rock. Allow me,” I say with a smile. “Gentlemen, as you heard her say a second ago, this is Reina Wilde. I met her well before I knew any of you—back before I had a cent to my name. She knew me before all of this, and she recently came back into my life with a grand entrance, similar to the one she made here tonight. To go along with all of this beauty, Reina has brains. More than you can imagine. And she has information you’ll never believe. So, I need you all to give her your undivided attention.”
“Hold up,” Ricky chimes in with a raised hand. “That’s great that you know her, Solomon, but I don’t. How do I know she can be trusted?” “Oh, that’s not a good question to ask,” Reina replies behind a giggle. “Because I said so!” I snip. “See?” Reina whispers, still giggling. “Let’s make sure this is clear from the beginning,” I continue. “Reina is mine, and I’m hers. Our bond is thicker and tighter than any of you could ever truly understand, so I won’t bother trying to explain the depths of it, but know this; she’s the queen of my growing empire, so if she says something, it’s as good as me saying it. You’ll afford her the same respect you show me, because there isn’t a man in the universe who could protect you if I ever hear otherwise.” Ricky’s face is still hard, but he relents and doesn’t ask another question. As for the rest of them, Rock and Marcell just sit there, waiting for a full explanation. “Reina has been pulling off the world’s greatest con job,” I continue, addressing them all. “For the past three months, she’s been on the inside with Dante Rossi.” “On the inside?” Rock asks. “That’s right,” I reply. “The same way Dante sent that little weasel Tim Sandusky to us as a mole on the inside, Reina has been on the inside for me
—I just didn’t know it until recently.” “What does that mean?” Ricky asks “Don’t worry about it,” I snip, annoyed by his questioning. “Just know that she’s been conning him for the past three months, getting valuable information for us to use against him, and yesterday, she got the final piece.” “Is that why you’re calling us in a day earlier than we’d expected?” Marcell asks now. “Yes. We have a change of plans, so listen up, because it’s gonna take skill and accuracy to pull this off. Reina.” I look to her, giving her permission to step up and fill in the crew on who she is and what she knows. If we want them to trust her, it’ll start with this. “Okay,” Reina says without hesitation before turning to the men at the table. “I know you don’t know me and don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I don’t know or trust you either, so welcome to the party. But, Solomon trusts you, and I trust him, so it looks like we’re in this together. I know you all want to take Dante Rossi out of the picture for good. He has a monopoly on criminal activity in this city because he’s next in line to the Scarfo family throne. Angelo Scarfo is dying, and Dante is destined to take over. Right now, his game plan is to grab power wherever he can find it, and he won’t allow anyone else to have any, that’s why he tried to kill Solomon and Nix a few days ago.”
“And you know all of this from all the time you two spend together?” Ricky interrupts, his voice coated with sarcasm. “I couldn’t con him if I didn’t spend time with him, genius!” Reina snips, glaring at Ricky. “Geez, what’s with this guy?” she asks me, frustration creeping into her voice. “Ricky’s brother was killed recently. Dante is essentially to blame since he was the one who sent Detective Mason to us in the first place,” I tell her. “Aww,” Reina replies with a sad face directed at Ricky, and I can barely tell if she’s kidding or serious. “Okay, I’ll forgive your grumpiness, Ricky. So anyway, over my time with Dante, I’ve learned his habits, his routines, and quite a bit of other information that wasn’t really of any use until yesterday. He’s good about keeping things to himself and being hard to track. He knows being a mob boss is a tough job and can be short-lived, so he keeps a low profile and avoids public issues. But, I managed to pry some information from him a while back. He told me about these three hotels he deals with. He called them his piggy banks because the owners pay him money to keep them protected and in business. They’re the Rittenhouse, Kimpton Palomar, and Franklin Hotel. Each of these three businesses has owners that let Dante skim off the top to keep them safe from crime that of course would be carried out by Dante’s minions of they
didn’t pay. But, since they’re big time hotels, they pay a huge chunk of change to the underboss.” “How much?” Marcell asks, intrigued by the thought of money. “I don’t know how much,” Reina answers. “The guy’s an underboss for the mafia, he doesn’t divulge all the information. It was hard enough trying to pull this out of him. So, you need to take this information, and put it to good use. That’s where my Solomon comes in.” “Okay, so when is he supposed to deal with these three hotel owners, and what are we supposed to do about it?” At the sound of the question, I smile from ear to ear, feeling motivated by the challenge of ruining Dante before taking him out completely. “That’s the beauty of it, gentlemen, Dante goes to pick up the money from these three hotels tomorrow evening,” I tell them, and they react with the worry and confusion I expected they’d have. “Tomorrow?” Rock says. “Damn Solomon, that’s fast. We were just staking out Mason’s house earlier today, now you wanna drop that and go with your girl’s idea?” “Yes I do, and that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” I answer. “We have a narrow window of opportunity to severely hit Dante’s wallet with this. If we kill those payoffs, he’ll be perceived as vulnerable and weak, because the mob doesn’t like
guys who get their things stolen from them.” “So you wanna steal the payoffs?” Marcell asks. “No, I want to do much more than that,” I tell him. “I want to ruin him all in one day, and I want it to be big and public so that everyone in his little family knows it was me who did it to him—it was me who embarrassed him and took everything away from him. That’s what I want to do.” “Okay, and what about Mason?” Ricky asks with a furrowed brow. “It’s not Mason’s day to die,” I answer quickly, although I know it’s not what he wants to hear. “Tomorrow is the day we take Dante out. I promise you, Ricky, Detective Anthony Mason will have his day, and you’ll be the one to end him.” Ricky doesn’t answer, he just nods his head in silent approval. “Alright then,” Rock says, speaking for the entire group. “So we know what he wants to do, and we know when. Now, how do we go about bringing it all down?” I take a big sip from my cup of cognac and smile at the entire group. “Settle in, boys,” I tell them. “We’ve got a long night of planning ahead of us. Tomorrow, we’re gonna bring chaos to Dante Rossi’s doorstep.”
“THESE ARE AMAZING! What
made you decide to go with this image? Oh wait, never mind, I remember. How could I forget that?” I smile at Reina as we stack up the freshly printed papers and place them behind the unconscious man, right next to the stuffed duffel bag. I kneel down and place the radio under the passenger seat while Reina gets to work behind me, being careful not to bump into anything. “This way, in the end, he knows who it is,” I reply to Reina with a wide smile. “Everyone will know who it is, and if they don’t know, they’ll wonder. They’ll think about it at night when they go to bed. Soon, everyone will know, but won’t be able to finger us for anything. There won’t be any witnesses, but they’ll still know.” Reina finishes tying the knot in the thick rope and backs away, nearly hitting her head on the ceiling. “Okay, I’m done,” she says. “This is really it, isn’t it? This is the beginning.” “Yes it is,” I reply as I grab her by the waist and pull her in for a kiss. We press our mouths together and embrace both each other and the moment, our
all-black outfits matching like a his-and-hers set. “Alright, baby. Let’s go watch it all come crumbling down.” “Wait, so how does this work again? You just call the number, and that’s it?” she asks, looking down at the phone in the duffel bag. “Yeah. Just call the number, it’ll ring once or twice, and then, fireworks!” “Oh my god, I can’t wait!” “Me either. Alright, now let’s go.” After you, my love,” Reina responds with a grin, and the two of us climb out, closing the doors and taking the keys with us. Dante’s house is well-guarded, so we don’t waste time trying to setup camp somewhere where we’d have to worry about being seen. Instead, we park five houses down from his, and wait for him to leave, taking the road we know he’ll take, on the way to the place we know he’s going first. Reina and I sit side by side in a rented black Honda Accord, keeping a low profile while we wait for Dante to make his move. We’re in complete silence as the time we expect him to leave approaches, and we just hope we got all of this right, because the wheels have already been put in motion. There’s no going back now. We’re all in this together. “Did Rock do what he needed to do?” Reina asks as she looks past me, trying to see if Dante is
on the move yet. “Rock’s done, so are Ricky and Nix, although Nix tells me his situation got a little messy,” I reply, looking out my window. “Messy? Did they kill him?” “Yep. It’s fine. As long as they got it, it doesn’t matter how. I don’t have all the details yet, but Nix will fill me in once I get him on the phone,” I reply. “Alright, here we go.” Down the street, we see Dante’s Mercedes being driven out of his giant white gate and onto the road. The car takes a left turn and drives towards us. Once it passes behind us, Reina and I smile at each other as I start up the rental car and back out of the driveway. The game has begun! We follow Dante’s car at a distance. The last thing we need is to have him spot us and take a detour from what we have waiting for him. All we need is to stay close enough to see him. In all honesty, we don’t even have to be doing this. Reina and I could’ve just set up camp at the first location and waited for him to arrive, but I decided to do it this way. I wanted to be there for every moment of this day. I wanted to see his face, feel his anger, and watch the pressure and confusion build up on his face as he drives along, his life collapsing around him. Our plan has been thought out and put together using our six collective minds, and as long as Dante stays on the path, by the time today’s
over, he’ll know who owns Philly, and so will everyone else. We follow the Mercedes as it exits the freeway and heads towards our first destination: Rittenhouse Hotel. As we approach, I tell Reina to use the burner phone we put into rotation first thing this morning to call Rock. He answers on the first ring. “We’re close,” I tell him. “Everything in place?” “You know it. Channel seven,” he answers, and we end the call. I park the rental down the street from the alley behind Rittenhouse. From this distance, we can see Dante’s Mercedes pulling up to the back of the hotel and coming to a stop. However, not only can we see it, we can hear it all too. Our resident criminal genius, Marcell, was kind enough to find us four long-range walkie-talkie radios to use today. Rock planted one under the dumpster next to the back door of the hotel and used it as a baby monitor. We can hear everything, and they have no clue we’re listening. When Dante and Tony get out of their car, I grab my radio and flip it to channel seven. It lets out a short hiss of static before clearing up and granting me access to the show playing out in front of us. We can hear Tony banging on the back door to Rittenhouse as clear as day. Let the show begin! The door swings open and Dante is greeted by a
young black kid he obviously wasn’t expecting to see. The kid has a smooth face accented with a scowl as he sticks his head out to look at them. Tony’s body language tightens at the minor inconvenience, and I smile at Reina, who watches with a nervous expression. “Can I help you?” the black kid says as he glares at the two gangsters, both of them wearing black suits and the scowls of made men who are used to everything working out the way they want it to. “Where’s Matteo?” Tony asks on behalf of Dante, who stands behind him with his hands in his pockets, trying his best to look completely disinterested the way a mob boss would in this situation. The only problem is that his scowl and confused face give him away. He was expecting Matteo to answer the door, but instead, he’s greeted by this nobody. “Umm, he’s inside. Upstairs,” the kid replies with a deep, puzzled furrow in his brow. “Well, go get him!” Tony snaps. The kid jumps at the volume of the command and closes the door as he runs to tell Matteo someone is here for him. Thirty seconds later, Matteo opens the door and pokes his head out. Immediately, I see the bewilderment overtake him. “Dante?” he says as he steps outside and closes the door behind him. “What do I owe the surprise?”
“Surprise?” Dante asks. “You knew I was coming. How could you be surprised?” “I figured you had no reason to come after earlier,” Matteo replies. I kind of feel bad for the guy, because I know how this ends for him. But, all’s fair in war, including collateral damage. “Earlier? What are you talking about?” Dante says as he finally pulls his stubby little hands from his pockets and steps towards the hotel owner who’s really about to piss him off in the next few seconds. “Earlier,” Matteo says, wondering why Dante isn’t catching on. “You know, when I dealt with your guy.” Dante’s eyes widen and look like they actually might fall out of his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snips. “What guy? I didn’t send no guy.” Poor Matteo turns as white as a ghost. If what Dante just said is true, he knows what it means. He takes a second, looking back and forth between Dante and Tony, before swallowing hard and speaking up. “Now, wait a minute, Dante,” he says, raising his hands in fear. “He said he worked for you and that I was to give the money to him.” Tony glances over at Dante and the two of them look livid and shocked at the same time.
“What? Who told you that?” Tony shouts as Dante moves in and grabs Matteo by the collar on his black button-up and slams him against the door. “You gave my money to someone else?” Dante barks into Matteo’s face. “Is that what you’re telling me, Matteo? After six years of me coming over here and making this pickup myself, you decided to give my money to someone else?” Matteo has crossed the line from panicked to purely terrified now. His eyes are wide and he’s turning bright red as sweat starts to gather on his forehead. “I thought you sent him! He said you sent him!” Matteo tries to explain. “And I told him I didn’t believe him at first. I swear I did! But then he showed me pictures of my wife that were obviously taken from outside our kitchen window at my house. He’d been at my house, and I thought that was something you might actually do if I didn’t give over the money, so I gave it to him. What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do? He had pictures of my wife!” “What were you supposed to do?” Dante bellows as he reaches back and punches the hotel owner in the stomach. Matteo crumbles to the floor, gasping for air. “You were supposed to keep my money until I came and picked it up, Matteo. If a guy threatens your wife over it, then I guess you prepare yourself for her death. But what you don’t
do, under any circumstances, is give my money to someone else. I trusted you, and thought we had a good, understanding relationship after all this time, and this is what you do. Damn you, Matteo. Why you gotta make me do this, huh? Damn it!” “I’m sorry, Dante, I didn’t know,” Matteo says in between gasps of air. He looks up at Dante, pleading with his watery eyes. “Please forgive me, Dante. You know I would never do something like this on purpose. We go back, you and me. We’ve been business partners for six years. You know me! Give me another chance, and I swear I’ll get the money back. I swear it, Dante, please.” Reina and I watch from the end of the alley as Matteo crawls towards Dante and grabs his leg. The Italian man literally grovels at the feet of the soonto-be boss, begging to be spared his life. Honestly, it’s sickening to watch. Who the hell begs like this? No one worth respecting would do this sort of thing. I’d rather be shot in the face than beg like this. Not to mention that it won’t do him any good. Matteo will plead for his life without a bit of dignity, but in the end, Dante will have him clipped anyway. I wouldn’t want my last moments to be this way. Dante looks over at Tony, who shrugs his chubby shoulders. Looking down at Matteo now, Dante kicks his leg, knocking the man off of him. “You know me better than that, Matteo,” he
tells him. “Now tell me what this guy looked like.” “Umm, he was a black guy,” Matteo says, describing my associate, Rock. “Big shoulders and arms. He had a scar on his face, and he had pictures of Laney on his cell phone. Oh please forgive me, Dante. Let me get the money back for you. I promise I’ll track him down. I don’t care how long it takes.” Dante takes a moment to think about the description he was given. I don’t know if he knows Rock well enough to be able to draw him based on that description, but he’ll have something to go off of now. Rock knew that going in, and he didn’t give a damn. Rock is a bit off his rocker, so when we were figuring out who would go where, he didn’t hesitate to volunteer to be the one to take the money from Matteo. He knew he could convince him, and we didn’t question the method he’d use. I just trusted him. I guess the pictures of the guy’s wife were his secret weapon. Way to go, Rock! “Please, Dante,” Matteo continues to beg as Dante lets out a loud breath. “Shut up, Matteo,” he says, before shoving his hands back into his pants pockets and turning on his heel, leaving the hotel owner on the dirty concrete. On his way to the Mercedes, Dante nods to Tony before opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat without looking back.
“Okay,” Matteo says, turning his attention to Tony. “Okay. Is he letting me go?” Tony slowly shakes his head as he pulls a black nine millimeter from a harness inside the jacket of his suit. He quickly attaches a silencer to the barrel just as Matteo’s panic becomes evident. “No! No please, Tony!” Matteo begs one last time. “Please don’t. You know I have a family!” “Sorry, Matteo,” Tony says just as he points the weapon at Matteo’s forehead. “You picked a bad time to mess up. Sorry.” The gun lets out a soft pop, and Matteo’s brains eject from the back of his head before he collapses onto the ground, facedown. Without any regard for Matteo’s body or the fact that the kid who answered the door could ID them, Tony turns around and gets back in the car, and the two of them drive away as blood pools around poor Matteo’s head. “So, explain this to me, Nix,” I say into the phone as we exit the highway and make our way to our next stop. “First off, is everything in place?” “Of course, Solomon,” Nix replies. “But Ricky is hotheaded.” “Yeah, we all know that by now, but I wanna know what happened before we show up in a few minutes.” “Well, when we pulled the guy outside, he
didn’t believe that we worked for Dante,” Nix explains as we navigate around a corner, bringing us less than a block away from Kimpton Palomar Hotel, our second destination for the day. “We knew that was a possibility,” I reply. “So what happened? Just tell me he didn’t go so out of control that he ruined the plan. Because if that’s what you’re telling me, that’s gonna be a problem for him, Nix.” “I know that, but I don’t think it ruined anything. Once we started talking to the guy, he wasn’t feeling anything we were saying. Dante must’ve really put the fear of God in this guy, because it didn’t matter what we said, he just wasn’t buying it. So, Ricky pulled his gun and pistol whipped him.” “Oh shit,” I exclaim in both excitement and annoyance. Since Donny died, Ricky hasn’t been his normal, mild-mannered self. He’s becoming a bit of a pain in my ass. “Yeah,” Nix continues. “So, I don’t know if the guy believes us now or not, but as Ricky is pummeling the guy, he knocks him nearly unconscious before getting him to tell us that the money is in his car, which is parked in the front of the hotel. So, Ricky makes him hand over the keys, and I drive to the front of the hotel to get the bag out of the guy’s trunk. After I get it and toss it into the back of my rented car, I drive around to pick up
Ricky. As I pull up, I see Ricky digging into the guy’s pockets and taking stuff. He snatches the guy’s watch and wallet before standing up as I stop the car next to him. Just as he starts to walk to the car, he pulls his nine and shoots the guy in the chest twice. No silencer either. The shots were loud as hell.” “Ugh, damn it,” I snap. “Is he out of his mind? Stupid sonofabitch! Did anybody see you?” “Nah, I don’t think anybody saw us.” “Not him, you. I don’t give a shit about Ricky right now. Did anybody see you, Nix?” “Nah, Solomon. I’m good.” “Okay, good. Did you plant the radio?” “Yeah.” “Good,” I say, just as I turn the corner onto the street of the hotel and see it covered with flashing lights. “Damn it.” “What’s up?” Nix asks. “Uh-oh,” Reina says next to me as she sees what I see. “Well, that’s interesting. What do we do about this?” I have to react fast, because Dante’s car has stopped on the street about thirty yards in front of us, and he could see us if he looks in his rearview mirror. So, I quickly put the car in reverse and whip it into a parking spot on the side of the road between two other cars. Dante’s car stays put in the middle of the street, their eyes focused on the scene
in front of them. “Nix, where’s Ricky?” I ask. “He’s right here.” “Put him on the phone,” I demand, and Nix doesn’t hesitate. “Solomon,” Ricky answers. “In front of me are about a dozen cop cars surrounding Kimpton Palomar Hotel,” I explain, as fury fills my body. “Apparently, your impulsive little act was heard, and whoever heard it, called the cops. They’ve flooded the hotel lobby. Now, as far as Dante is concerned, I’m not upset. Either way, he doesn’t get his money and he’s as confused as I want him to be. But, if this comes back to Nix or me, you and I will meet again, and that won’t go well for you. So if you believe in a god, you better pray to him that nobody spotted you. Now, don’t say a word, and give the phone back to Nix.” A second later, Nix is back on the line. “Everything good, Solomon?” he asks. “I think it’ll be fine,” I tell him as Dante’s Mercedes flips a quick U-turn and drives right past us. Luckily, the two of them were too confused by the scene at the hotel to be looking for people possibly following them. “Dante is moving on. I figured he wasn’t gonna risk being spotted at a crime scene. Return the rental car and drop Ricky off. Tell him to stay put until he hears from us after this is all over. I’ve gotta get back on the road and
follow Dante. Let’s hope he’s still going to Franklin.” “Alright,” Nix answers before hanging up and carrying out my orders. “You sure this is going to be okay?” Reina asks as I pull out of the parking space and step on the gas to catch up to Dante’s Mercedes. “No, I’m not,” I answer honestly. “But I’m not concerned about that right now. At least not until I need to be.” “You gonna let Ricky live after this?” Reina says as she places a hand softly on my leg. “If you want him dead, let me do it. He’s a liability, Solomon, and I didn’t like the way he talked to me at the Asylum last night.” I turn towards her and meet her gaze. “You didn’t?” “No. He was rude and arrogant. So, if he has to go, I wanna be the one to send him away. Okay?” “Well aren’t you a little firecracker,” I reply behind a chuckle. “Alright, if this goes south, he’s yours. Now, let’s hope Ricky’s little stunt didn’t scare Dante back into his hideout. Buckle up, baby. It’s time for the grand finale.” Franklin Hotel is a beast of a structure. Its three massive buildings look like gigantic Lego bricks stacked on top of each other, and the three humungous brothers stand side by side by side,
casting their shadows over every building on the block. It’s a sight to behold, especially for the tourists. Tonight, everyone inside will get a special treat, put in place by the king and queen of Philly. The three-towered structure is nestled on the corner of Chestnut and Ninth Street, with buildings directly to its rear and left side. On the backside of the monumental landmark is an alleyway that is used to deliver food and other supplies to the hotel. It’s also where Dante goes once a month when he picks up his payoff that none of the tourists have a clue about. While everyone is hanging out inside, enjoying their stay at a historic location, Dante is outside, picking up a duffel bag full of money that’s his payoff for making sure nothing bad happens to the place. If the owner, Lorenzo, didn’t pay up, little Scarfo goons would show up at some point, and the power to the entire building would mysteriously go out. Or, somehow the kitchen would magically catch on fire with a couple of people trapped inside. Then, of course, Lorenzo would have to call Dante Rossi to make sure these mishaps don’t continue to happen. Such is the life of an Italian gangster and hotel owner. Just like his relationship with Matteo, Dante and Lorenzo go way back. We’re not sure how far, but Lorenzo has been letting Dante skim off the top of his hotel for nearly a decade now, so the two of them have grown close, and they have their
business dealing down to a science. Dante shows up in the alleyway around nine in the evening and knocks on the manager door in the back. Lorenzo comes out and the two of them walk over to a white van to do their business in private. Inside the van, Lorenzo hands Dante a black duffel bag stuffed with one-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollars in cash! The life of a mob underboss is good! That amount of money may seem like a lot, but Franklin Hotel is a feature in this city, and it brings in that amount on nearly an hourly basis, so skimming at that rate is virtually unnoticeable to anybody paying attention. Now, this information isn’t something that’s publicly known on the streets. This is private stuff we’re talking about here. The only reason I know about it is because Reina and I beat it out of Lorenzo about two hours ago. As Dante and Tony turn their Mercedes into the alleyway behind the behemoth hotel, they have no clue that their biggest cash cow is now running dry. Dante once told me that I cause chaos. Tonight, he’ll see it firsthand. There’s no adjacent alley for Reina and me to park in this time, so we have to setup shop across Chestnut Street, behind a small credit union on the corner. From our hideout, we watch as Tony and Dante exit the Mercedes and walk up the delivery ramp to the manager’s door. Dante, just like he always does, bangs on the door and waits. He looks
confused and frustrated when no one comes to the door, and without a radio near him, Reina and I can’t hear what he’s saying to Tony. He looks livid as he pounds on the door again, to no avail. Once again, he vents to Tony, who shrugs his fat, stupid shoulders, because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know what to do. When their irritation reaches a fever pitch, I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys I made sure to bring with me a couple of hours ago. With a giant smile on my face and as Reina watches with her own grin, I press the Lock button twice, making the lights on the van behind Dante flash as the horn honks once. Dante and Tony both spin around at the sound, wondering where it came from. I see them eyeing the white van that looks so familiar to them, but neither of them makes a move towards it. It’s been a long day for these two, so it may take them a minute to remember that they’re supposed to be badass gangsters who aren’t afraid of anything, and not little bitches who jump at the sound of a horn. After another thirty seconds of letting them look around, I press the button again. The lights flash, the horn blares, and Dante finally realizes that Lorenzo must be signaling him from inside the van. “He’s going!” Reina chirps, as the excitement that’s been building in her all day makes her fidgety. “I thought he was gonna stand there forever.”
“He’s a moron,” I snip, watching the two of them walk down the ramp towards the van. “I wish I could be standing right in front of him, so I could see his face when he opens the doors. It’s gonna be classic.” “I know, but we’ve got a plan, my love, and we’re carrying it out the way it needs to be done,” Reina agrees, and the two of us fall into silence to watch our scene play out exactly the way we drew it up. Dante steps up to the back of the van and knocks on the door. Nothing. He knocks again, and I respond by unlocking the doors with the key fob. At the sound of the click, Dante reaches up and pulls both of the back doors on the van open. When he sees what’s inside, he freezes. In front of Dante and Tony is Lorenzo, wearing black pants and a white shirt that’s covered with blood. His feet and hands are tied by thick rope, and his mouth is duct taped. He’s lying on the floor of the van, still unconscious from when Reina and I left him there. I figured he would’ve been awake by now, but oh well. “Che cazzo?” we hear Dante swear in Italian over the radio I placed under the passenger’s seat before we left. “Is that Lorenzo?” Tony asks, and I can hear the fear in his voice. It took him all day to see it, but he seems to be coming around to the idea that
maybe today wasn’t full of coincidences. “What the hell is this?” Dante blurts as he climbs into the van and starts shaking his longtime friend. “Lorenzo, wake up. Wake up, man! What the hell is going on?” Over the radio, we hear the sound of Lorenzo slowly making his way out of his slumber. He mumbles behind the duct tape just before Dante rips it off of his mouth and he lets out a scream from the pain. “Lorenzo, what the hell is going on?” Dante shouts as Tony climbs into the back of the van and closes the doors so they can be in private. Once their inside, I remove the phone from my pocket and dial in a number. Reina smiles from ear to ear as I place my thumb on Send and wait. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Lorenzo! Why are you in here? What happened?” Dante shouts. Reina and I listen closely to what sounds like someone trying to remove the ropes from Lorenzo, but we know he won’t be successful. Reina tied those up nice and tight. “What? Where are we?” Lorenzo asks, obviously still groggy from being knocked out. “We’re in the back of your van,” Dante snaps. “You don’t remember where you are? This is crazy! What the hell happened, Lorenzo?” “Wait, what? Shit, Dante, you have to get us out of here!” Lorenzo yells as he finally remembers
what happened to him. Suddenly, we hear shuffling as Lorenzo tries to free himself from the ropes. “Shit, shit! We have to get out!” “Whoah, what’s the matter with you? Calm down,” Dante barks, but it’s no use. Only Lorenzo knows what’s about to happen. “Dante, we have to get out!” Lorenzo yells. “Wait! What the hell is this?” Dante asks, then there is silence. We can’t see them, but I know Dante just found the gifts I left for him next to the duffel bag full of his cash. “Lorenzo, what is this?” We hear the sound of paper rustling, confirming our thoughts. “I don’t know what that is, but we have to go, Dante. Now. The van has explosives in it!” Lorenzo bellows. “What did you just say?” Tony asks. “Did I stutter? The van is gonna explode!” After a brief silence filled with the realization of danger, Reina and I listen as panic breaks out in the back of the van. There’s rustling and shuffling as the three men inside scramble to get out. “Do it, now,” Reina says. “Not yet,” I answer. The doors to the van fly open and Tony is the first to jump out. He lands with a thud and turns around to see Dante jumping out after him. “Go,” Reina chirps in my ear, this time a little more irritated.
“No, not yet, babe,” I reply, still watching the scene unfold. After Dante hops out of the van, he turns around and realizes his friend is still tied up. Lorenzo can’t scoot his way out of the van because Reina made sure to loop his ropes around the passenger seat. He can’t get out on his own, one of them has to help him. “Shit! Help!” Lorenzo screams at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing down the street and powered by fear. “We can’t leave him,” Dante says, but we can barely hear it over Lorenzo’s terrified screaming. “Tony, get him out.” “He’s tied up, Dante!” Tony blurts. “I can’t get those knots out without a knife.” Suddenly, Dante reaches into the inside pocket of his suit and pulls out a small knife, handing it to the Scarfo family consigliere. “Use this, and get him out!” Dante barks. “Fuck! Why didn’t you give me this before?” Tony exclaims as he climbs back into the van and goes to work on the ropes. “Do it, Solomon!” Reina barks in my ear again, and I smile at her, immediately calming her down. Tony gets the rope on Lorenzo’s feet cut, and as he’s working on his hands, he hears a cell phone ring inside the duffel bag in front of him. Over the radio, we can hear him pause briefly before
dropping the knife and clambering to turn around and get out. Dante hears the phone and sees his friend leaving his other friend behind, but his fear takes over and he whirls around to run. He gets a few steps away before the phone rings again and Tony places a foot on the concrete. Boom. The sound of the explosion is deafening, and the blast shakes our rental car and every building on the block. C-4 is a hell of an explosive! Marcell, the criminal mastermind, strikes again! “Holy shit!” Reina screams as the fireball engulfs the van and shoots straight up into the sky, peaking at the top of the massive hotel. Black smoke whirls over the building and begins blackening the entire alleyway. In front of us, Dante lies face-down on the ground, having been blown off his feet by the explosion. The radio was obviously destroyed in the blast, but we watch him struggle to turn himself over as the money and paper from the van begin to float down from the sky. Dante tilts his head up to watch it, and I’m sure he’s filled with more emotions than I can imagine, because not only is Lorenzo gone, but Tony was killed in the explosion also. Dante manages to stand up, and he faces the flame-engulfed van as it burns in front of him. People from inside the hotel have started to come
out, and they’re shocked by what they see. Dante doesn’t even bother trying to get away from the scene. He just stands there as the money and paper falling from the sky start to collect on the ground all around him. With an unshakeable grin on my face, I watch as Dante looks down at the paper. He bends over to pick one up, and studies it carefully. “Grand finale, baby!” I say to Reina, who kisses me on the cheek as I put the car in gear and step on the gas. “God I missed you!” Reina says behind a giggle as we begin to pull out from behind the credit union. We’re directly behind Dante now, and before I drive away, I notice the moment he realizes what’s on the papers floating down to him. “These are amazing! What made you decide to go with this image? Oh wait, never mind, I remember. How could I forget that?” Dante holds the paper in his hand and stares at the image of a gold, flame-covered crown. The same one that’s been tattooed on my left forearm since I was a teenager. It’s my first and favorite tattoo, and I’ve noticed him looking down at it nearly every time we had a sit-down. It was his interest in it that helped me decide to make it my symbol, kind of like the Z for Zorro, or the Joker leaving a joker card behind for Batman to find. In this movie called life, I’m the ultimate villain.
Dante may think he brought this on himself when he tried to have me killed, but that was just a small part of it. The real reason for the chaos surrounding him right now, is the fact that he put his dirty little fingers on my Reina. The second I saw her at that table, the war began. It won’t end now until one of us is dead, and I have no interest in dying anytime soon. Now Dante has experienced chaos firsthand, but soon, he won’t be experiencing anything at all.
Reina shouts as we drive out of the parking structure of North-XNorthwest luxury apartments, where my loft rests on the sixteenth floor. After taking the rental car back and having Marcell drop us off at my loft, Reina and I decided to go on a ride through the city. Our city! “I can’t believe we pulled that off!” Reina continues as she rolls the window down on my Alfa Romeo 4C RS and I veer the car towards the on ramp, heading for the highway. “Did you see the size of that fireball and the look on his face? Oh my god, it was perfect. The plan actually played out exactly the way we thought it up. It was genius. We make a helluva team, you know.” “Of course we do!” I reply as I step on the gas and the lightweight sports car revs up, sending us shooting past traffic on the highway. Wind zooms in through the open windows as our speed rockets past eighty and quickly eclipses ninety miles per hour. “Do you know how powerful we can be in this city?” Reina goes on, her adrenaline still pumping from watching Dante stand in the street surrounded “THAT WAS UNBELIEVABLE!”
by his shattered hopes and dreams. “This is gonna be our city, Solomon. Yours and mine. Nobody will ever try to step in our way, because they’ll know we’re willing to do anything to get what we want. We can be unstoppable. Untouchable!” “As long as we’re together,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the road as we fly by slower cars. “I never thought in a million years that you’d come back here, Reina. Seeing you at that restaurant was the best and worst thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” “What? Why the worst?” “Because you were next to him! Seeing you sit down next to Dante was like having a little man inside my chest, kicking the crap out of my heart while wearing steel-toed boots.” Reina lets out a soft giggle that makes my heart jump a bit. “You’re crazy,” she replies, smiling at me while I drive on. “I was wondering, what made you keep quiet that night? I was worried you’d have some sort of an outburst when you saw me, but you and Nix both kept it together.” “Two things. One, I was worried that if I reacted, it could get you killed. I didn’t know what Dante would do if he found out we knew each other. And two, you were wearing the bracelet I bought you.” “Yeah, the bracelet,” Reina says. “I was hoping
you’d notice and know I was sending you a message. Good eye.” “How could I not see that? Once I noticed it, I still didn’t know what to think, but I was hoping that it meant you were trying to communicate with me. Then you sealed the deal by blowing that kiss as we were leaving.” “That was genius, and Dante had no clue. Hell, he still doesn’t!” “How often do you guys normally go out together?” “It’s only a handful of times a month. We’re not in a serious relationship or anything. I keep him at a distance for a reason.” “Well I’m glad,” I reply. “I couldn’t handle you guys being together all the time and sleeping together. I never would’ve been able to pull off what we did today if that was happening. Knowing it wasn’t is what helped me stay composed.” “You? Composed?” Reina jokes, giggling in the way that only she can. “I’m kidding, my love. You did well. It was impressive, sitting there watching you at the head of the table, commanding your troops in the club you own. You told me that you’d change your life, and you did it. You’ve become exactly what I thought you would.” “Well,” I answer as I yank the steering wheel and the car responds by weaving through two cars. “You became more than I ever imagined. You
became so much more, Reina. I was so focused on what I wanted to do when we were teenagers that I never thought about what you’d be doing. You went through hell with what your parents did to you, but you came back bigger and better than they could ever have thought. They made you their perfect enemy, a beautiful, sexy, evil genius, and I couldn’t be more impressed. All those years you were gone, no one could ever come close to replacing you in my mind. It was always you, Reina. There isn’t anybody else that could handle being with me. I know I’m not like everybody else, and neither are you. There’s nobody else in the world like the two of us. That’s why we’re perfect together. That’s why we’re gonna run the world together. You and me. King and queen. Forever always.” “Have I told you how much I missed you?” Reina says, and I hear how wide her smile is. “And have I told you that I love you more than anything in this world? Because I do, Solomon. I love you.” As I see red flashing lights in the side-view mirror, I smile at Reina’s words. “I love you,” I reply. “Don’t ever think I don’t. I’d kill for you, and I’d die for you. You’re the only person I could say that about. I love you. And we’ve got company. I guess you’re not supposed to drive a hundred miles per hour.” Reina turns around in her seat and her eyes
light up at the sight of a cop car speeding up to catch us. Other cars on the road slow down to let the cops pass them, and before I know it, the police car is nearly right behind us. “Oh no,” Reina jokes with an amused laugh. “I guess we’re going to jail!” I chuckle as I look over at her. “They’ll have to catch us first, baby.” I turn my head and look out the windshield as I downshift and stomp on the gas pedal, pressing it all the way to the floor. The engine revs and lets out a loud, high-pitched scream as we speed forward. The pressure from accelerating so quickly presses us back against our seats, and we immediately put distance between us and the cop car. I weave through traffic like a NASCAR racer, nearly hitting a few cars as Reina lets out an excited yell. “Yeah! Do it, baby!” she screams, and I feel instantly motivated. The feeling I have as the two of us evade cops is something I’ve never felt before. This woman, instead of cowering and telling me to slow down, is telling me to lose the cops! She’s egging me on and has a look of exuberance on her face as we narrowly avoid deadly crash after deadly crash. How could a woman so perfect possibly exist in this world? She’s incredible, and putting that smile on her face drives me more now than it ever has. Behind us, there are at least two cop cars trying
to chase us down, but my car is too fast, and my skill behind the wheel can’t be matched. Before too long, I can’t see their lights anymore as we manage to get away before they can deploy their helicopter to hover above us, and I take the car off the highway and into Strawberry Mansion for a little trip down memory lane. When Reina recognizes the neighborhood, her excitement jumps again. “Wow,” she exclaims. “Strawberry Mansion. Never thought I’d see this place again. Look, there’s the train station I used so often.” Now that I’m not speeding at over a hundred miles per hour, I take my time cruising through the neighborhood. I look out my window and recognize the old, decrepit houses I used to walk past and I’m filled with memories of my childhood. I’ve owned my mother’s house since she passed away, but I don’t come down here too often. Too many bad memories, but now that Reina is back and we’re together again, the thought of how she left doesn’t sting like it used to, so it’s easier to be here now. After a slow drive through the neighborhood, passing by Cash N Check and Aaron’s Arcade, I turn the car onto the street Nix and I grew up on. As if time has stood still, there are still poor people on the corner with liquor bottles wrapped in brown paper bags, and homeless people all over the place. It’s been a while, but I’m reminded of what life in the hood is like. It’s like being forgotten about by
your own country. Nothing you do is good enough for people who live outside your area and judge from the outside, and your environment doesn’t provide enough for you to ever make it out, unless you’re willing to get grimy and break the law. Breaking the law is what made me who I am today, and as I bring my luxurious car to a stop in front of my mother’s old house, the people on the street look at us with admiration as we get out. “What up, Solomon?” a man says as he walks by slowly, eyeing the car. I simply nod to him in response. “Hey, Solomon!” a woman shouts from her car as she drives by. “Wow,” Reina says. “They love you around here.” “They respect me,” I explain. “They know what I did to come up, and they think of me as some sort of mob boss, ironically. That’s why no one messes with this house.” “Yeah, I was actually wondering about that,” Reina says as we leave the car parked in the street and approach the house. “So no one tries to mess with the house when you’re not here? Nobody is gonna mess with the car? I mean, it stands out a lot.” “After everything I did to make it out of Strawberry Mansion, there isn’t a single person who’d mess with this house while I’m not here, and
we don’t have to worry about anyone messing with the car either. They all know me.” “That’s crazy,” Reina answers with a smile as I open the door to the house and we step into the living room. Inside, nothing from my childhood has been touched. I could’ve renovated the entire house, but after Whitney died, I couldn’t bring myself to change any of it. So, the crappy tan couch, vomitgreen recliner, and twenty-seven-inch TV all remain untouched. “Wow,” Reina says with a smile as I close the door and sit down on the same broken recliner I was on when Whitney came in and knocked my cereal out of my hand. Ah, the memories. “I’m not sure what I expected, but I don’t think I expected it to look exactly the same.” “Yeah, I didn’t want to change it,” I reply. “We both know I hated Whitney, but after she died, I spent a lot of time here, game planning and plotting my rise to the top. I moved out of the basement and into her old room, but other than that, I stacked my money as we stole it instead of putting it back into the house. On those rare occasions that I do come back here, I like that it looks the same as it used to. It’s a good reminder of how far I’ve come. It still motivates me.” “That’s good, because I’m surprised you still get motivated after seeing how high you’ve
ascended. It can be easy to be complacent and happy with where you are, but you’re still working for more, never satisfied. I’ve always loved your ambition, Solomon. It motivates me.” “Is that right?” “Oh yeah,” Reina replies as she walks over to me and slowly lowers herself, straddling me. “It’s a turn on, too. A man who has everything yet still wants to work for more. You’re a force to be reckoned with, Solomon King.” Reina wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me softly on the cheek. I can feel the warmth of her breath as she leans over and nuzzles against my neck. “You keep this up, Ms. Wilde, and I’ll have no choice but to fuck you right here on my mother’s couch,” I whisper in her ear. “Oh yeah? Prove it.” In an instant, I stand up with Reina’s legs still wrapped around my waist. I walk over to the couch and turn around, laying her down underneath me. She lets out a playful, seductive giggle as I press my mouth against her neck and suck her skin while I slowly pull down her black pants. “Oh yeah. Show me how much of a boss you are, baby,” Reina says into my ear as she reaches for my waistband and starts to pull my pants down as well. “Give it to me, Solomon.” I don’t reply with words. Instead, I snatch her
pants completely off and push her panties to the side, slowly sliding my fingers inside of her as she moans. Reina grinds against my hand as I stroke my fingers in and out of her with one hand, while pushing my pants and underwear off with the other. I feel her warm wetness on my fingers and take in the look of her face as she watches me, staring at my naked length with desire in her blue eyes. “Take all of it off,” she tells me. “I want to see all of you.” At her command, I pull my fingers out of her and take off my shirt, giving her a full view of my completely naked body, covered in tattoos and small beads of sweat from my rising body temperature. Once I’m naked, I reach down and tear Reina’s lace panties completely apart. She giggles at the sound of her underwear ripping, but I can tell it turns her on even more as she reaches up and grabs me by the waist, pulling me down on top of her. I slide into Reina with ease, and it feels like we were always meant to be together in this way. It’s like her parts were made for me and mine for her. Both of us moan and grind with each other, rocking the couch backwards and to the side as the intensity picks up. Reina’s moans get louder and louder as I pound into her, not holding back in the slightest. We’re like two animals having sex with no regard for anything but what we’re doing.
After the couch, Reina and I switch positions violently, knocking the old coffee table completely over on its side as we slide down to the floor, and Reina climbs on top of me. I force her shirt over her head as she sits down on my erection and takes it deep inside of her. Reina doesn’t work slowly, she immediately starts grinding as hard as she can, giving it to me like the excitement from earlier today has been building this up inside of her the whole time. She screams my name as I spank her on the ass and leave a giant red handprint in my wake, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if there were tons of people in Strawberry Mansion who could hear everything, because the two of us are sweating, panting, and moaning like there isn’t anybody else in the world but us. When Reina comes, it’s like a freight train hit her, and she releases a gut wrenching, guttural scream that turns me on so much I end up coming at the exact same time before she collapses down on top of me, panting heavily. “Damn,” she says between gasps for air. “How did I ever live without you for seven years? Holy shit, Solomon.” I lay my head back on the carpet and try to take in as much air as I can, breathing heavily as sweat pours down my face. “I ask myself that question all the time,” I reply behind a chuckle.
On the drive back to my loft, I make sure to take my time. We let the windows down again, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze against our hot flesh, and the two of us hold hands when we’re on the highway and I don’t have to shift as much. It’s like we’re kids again, and every now and then, I look over at her and marvel at her beauty as she leans her head back against the headrest and stares out the window. She’s a vision, and for the first time in my life, I feel like everything is exactly the way it should be. I couldn’t ask for anything more, and I truly couldn’t be happier. Reina is back, and she’s better than ever. “So,” I say as I take the ramp off the highway and head towards the loft. “Where have you been staying since you came back to Philly?” Reina lifts her beautiful head off of the headrest and looks over at me as if sensing what I’m about to say. “I’ve done a lot of hotel hopping,” she replies. “I settled on a fancy hotel suite on the outskirts of Center City recently though. Why?” “You know why,” I tease before telling her what’s on my mind. “We never mentioned it since you popped back into my life, but why don’t you stay with me for a while?” “You want me to move in with you, Solomon?” “Let’s not call it moving in. Just stay with me for a while. You can go back to your fancy hotel
suite whenever you want, but for now, just hang with me.” “Sounds intriguing,” Reina replies. “We’d have to be careful though, at least while Dante is still alive. Once we’re rid of him, then we can do whatever we want, but until then, we don’t want to risk him finding out about us.” “I don’t care what he finds out,” I rebut. “He’s as good as dead anyway, and I won’t let thoughts of Dante keep us from doing what we want to do.” I slow the car down briefly for a stoplight that turns green before I can come to a complete stop, before finally turning onto my street and heading for the parking structure beneath the North-XNorthwest building. “We’re not letting him control us or anything like that,” Reina replies, sensing my frustration. “But you gotta remember that I’m conning him until he’s dead. If we would’ve just killed him tonight like I wanted, we wouldn’t have to worry about it.” “I know you wanted to kill him, but I wanted to humiliate him first. The streets are tricky, and the people who work for him needed to see him brought to his knees before seeing him dead. They needed to know that there is someone with considerable power now. So, now that we’ve crippled Dante and killed Angelo’s consigliere all in one night, we can take out Dante and show the
world it was us. We’ve set it up perfectly, now we finish it.” “I know, my love,” Reina begins to say. “But until we take out . . .” In an instant, Reina is interrupted by the sound of a booming crash. Metal bends and twists all around us, and glass explodes everywhere as the car takes a direct shot from the driver’s side and begins to roll over. Reina and I rock to the right as my Alfa Romeo rolls onto its side and keeps going until it completes a full rollover and comes to a stop right-side-up directly in front of my building. Once we come to a stop, there is nothing but silence. No car horns, no screaming from injured people nearby, just the sound of our breathing and grunting from the impact of the crash. “What . . . what the hell happened?” I hear myself croak, although my voice sounds muffled in my ears. “Reina. Reina, are you okay?” “Shit!” Reina exclaims as she raises her hand and places it on her head, stopping a thin trickle of blood from going into her eye. “Yeah, I’m fine. What happened? Did we hit someone?” “I don’t know,” I answer as I look down and check myself for injuries. I’m surprised and relieved to find none, although my head is pounding from the rollover. “I didn’t see anything before it happened. Let me look.” I look out the destroyed windshield and don’t
see anything, so I turn to my left and look through the hole where the driver’s side window used to be. It’s there that I see a large black truck with a crushed front end. The headlights are completely destroyed, and through the windshield I can see that the airbag has deployed. As I struggle to see anything else, there’s movement. The door to the truck opens, and out stumbles a man wearing a black suit with a scruffy beard. I recognize him immediately. “Solomon!” Dante shouts as he gathers his footing on the broken glass beneath him. He stands next to the truck glaring at our car, holding a nine millimeter in his left hand. “I found you, stronzo. And I see you’ve got company. I guess I’m not the only one who can plant a mole, huh. Nice move. I never suspected Reina. Having her here will make killing you both much quicker.” “Holy shit, is that Dante?” Reina asks rhetorically. Dante slowly starts limping his way towards us, and I reach over to unbuckle Reina’s seatbelt after unfastening my own. “Oh yeah, it’s Dante, and it looks like he wants to play,” I reply, keeping my eyes glued to Dante. “Get out of the car, Reina. Now.” As Reina reaches for her door handle and pulls it, the sound of gunfire erupts and brings the night to life.
metal next to me as Dante unloads an entire clip in our direction. Reina quickly opens her door and falls out of the car, moving to her right to take cover next to the backseat door while I struggle to stay low and climb out next to her. Once we’re out, Dante squeezes the trigger over and over again while he screams from the fury he’s feeling. We’ve put him through a lot today, so I can’t blame him for being pissed, but shooting at me is a bad idea. Shooting at Reina is the worst idea. “Okay, so what do we do?” Reina asks as glass from the backseat shatters above our heads and sends shards cascading down on us. I look at her and still don’t see the slightest hint of fear in her eyes. “What do we do?” I repeat with a smile. “We kill him. Switch places with me.” Reina and I exchange places so that I can be near the tail end of the car as I wait for my moment. Dante, like a lunatic, has already emptied one clip, dropped it, and reloaded while we were ducking for safety. As he empties another and moves to reload again, I open the back door and BULLETS PIERCE THE
grab my own nine mil that I keep under the driver’s seat. Dante chambers a round just as I do, but before he can aim, I exit the backseat and take aim from behind the car, letting off round after round. The gun kicks back in my hand over and over again, and Dante, taken by surprise, has to turn around and run for the safety of his truck. There, he takes position behind the door and fires back, his bullets embedding themselves into my oncebeautiful car. “Son of a bitch,” I yell when I realize how much damage my Alfa Romeo is taking. “I love this car!” “Gonna have to buy another one now, that’s for sure!” Reina bellows behind an amused smile. “So much for keeping Dante from finding out about us!” she says, laughing as bullets sink into the car and buzz over our heads. “Wow, you’re seriously just as nuts as I am!” I say behind a chuckle of my own. “What do you say we kill this asshole and go buy another car?” “Sounds good, babe. Let’s do it.” “Take this.” I hand Reina the gun before snatching the back door open again and picking up the extra gun I keep under the passenger’s seat. Both of us armed now, we wait for Dante to reload a third time. When his shooting pauses, Reina and I both stand up and shoot at Dante relentlessly. Bullets hit his truck, sending sparks flying off of it
as his windshield completely shatters from the rounds hitting it. Dante ducks behind the door, so Reina and I focus our aim there. We hear him let out a scream as rounds start to get through the metal, putting him in real danger, and I’m sure regret is slowly starting to sink in for him. He came for us, but Reina and I have turned the tables. Unfortunately, guns don’t have infinite bullets, and Reina and I have to stop to reload. When we do, Dante quickly jumps into the driver’s seat of his wrecked truck and turns the key in the ignition. The engine struggles mightily to turnover, but eventually kicks on, sending white smoke floating into the air from under the crushed hood. Dante ignores it as he puts the truck in gear and slams on the gas. The tires squeal as he barrels forward, right towards us. “Shit. Reina, move!” I bark as I push her to the side and both of us fall down and roll into the underground parking structure of the North-XNorthwest just as Dante’s truck whizzes by, barely missing us. “He’s running,” Reina snaps. “He came to kill us, wrecked your car, and now he’s running!” “There’s no way he gets away that easy. Come on. This ends tonight.” I pick myself up off the concrete and help Reina do the same, before running into the parking structure and finding my other car—my gorgeous, burgundy, Rolls Royce Wraith. When Reina sees
the car, she stops and looks back to me. “You wanna drive this?” she asks. “No, Solomon, it’s too nice” “Well after tonight, we’re gonna have to buy another one, right?” I say behind a chuckle. “What about the keys? And what about your other car?” Reina asks when I pop open the door and climb into the front seat. She gets into the passenger seat as I press the button and start the engine. “I’ll have Nix send a guy to get rid of the Alfa Romeo. As for this car, it’s a Wraith, baby. Push to start,” I reply with a smile. “I always leave the key fob in the glove compartment, because nobody touches my shit.” “Oh that’s right,” Reina replies, grinning. “How could I forget?” Reina closes her door, I close mine, and I pound the pedal into the floor. The tires underneath us spin and I send the Wraith out of the parking garage and into the street. Luckily, it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, so very few cars are on the road, otherwise this chase would’ve stopped before it started. I surge the car forward in the direction Dante’s truck went, and I floor it, letting the four-hundredsixty-two-thousand-dollar engine earn its worth. We pass a few cars and luckily no cops, and before too long, I see white smoke and Dante’s tail lights
ahead. “There he is!” Reina chirps. “Get him, baby! Go!” “I got him,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the road and my foot on the gas. Dante’s crippled truck didn’t have a chance to get away even when it wasn’t broken, so we catch up to him in no time at all, just as he approaches the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. As we speed up next to him, Dante sees us coming and quickly swerves into my lane, forcing me to yank the steering wheel over to avoid hitting him. The move only pisses me off, and I let go of any plans to preserve the Wraith. I step on the gas again and when he swerves this time, I let his truck hit us. The metal scrapes together and sends sparks whirling into the air. “Fuck this!” I bark, my words coated with rage. “Reina, he’s all yours, baby.” Reina looks at me and smiles. Without thinking, she grabs the nine millimeter I handed her earlier and rolls down her window. Like a trained assassin, Reina aims the weapon at Dante’s window and squeezes the trigger. The gun kicks in her hand and she holds it, squeezing and squeezing like she’s been doing it her whole life. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Bullet holes appear in Dante’s door and he swerves the truck as he’s hit by at least one of the rounds, but before his truck can collide with us, I
stomp on the brakes. Dante’s crippled vehicle swerves directly in front of us and crosses lanes before slamming, headfirst, into the railing of the bridge. The impact causes the front of the vehicle to kick up into the air before turning on its side and rolling end over end down the road. I slow the Wraith down and watch as the truck rolls away from us and finally comes to a stop up-side-down. Reina and I sit in silence, looking at the wreckage in front of us. Oncoming cars come to a complete stop, making sure to keep a safe distance away, and I know this is our opportunity. We have to end this. I open my door. “What are you doing?” Reina says, grabbing my arm. “I got him. There’s tons of witnesses down there, we have to go.” “Not yet.” “Solomon, there’s no way he survived that wreck. You saw how bad it was. Let’s go.” “He destroyed my car, shot at us, and tried to run us over,” I reply, looking Reina directly in the eyes. “All of this after sending people to try to kill me at my own club, and kissing your cheek in front of me. I’m not leaving until I know he’s dead. I don’t care who’s watching. Let them watch.” Reina pleads with her eyes, but relents as I turn from her and step out of the car. Slowly and cautiously, I walk down the road towards Dante’s truck as it lies motionless on its roof. Glass and
truck parts are littered all across the road, and when I’m close enough, I see Dante hanging up-sidedown, still being held in place by his seatbelt. I reach the truck and kneel to get a better view, and to my complete surprise, Dante is still alive. His breathing is heavy and there’s blood all over his face, but he’s alive and conscious. “Tisk, tisk, Dante,” I say to him, leaning over to meet his gaze. “Look what you’ve gotten yourself into. You said yourself that I cause chaos, yet you still decided to come at me. Now, you’ll never know what it’s like to be the boss. Your family is done, Dante. Angelo is too old, and the mob is too weak now to do anything to avenge you. You know that, though, so I won’t rub it in.” “Fuck you, Solomon,” Dante says, struggling to get the words out as blood leaks from his head and slides down into his mouth. “You’ll never beat us, and if you’re dumb enough to trust that whore in the car with you, you’re worse off than I thought you were. No matter what, you still lose, Solomon. So, enjoy this while you still can.” At the mention of Reina, I see red, but I don’t let it show. It’s my game. “How neat for you to paint a pretty picture for yourself at the end,” I say behind a smile. “Do what you’ve gotta do to exit this life peacefully. And don’t worry, I will enjoy this.” Without another word, I grab a large piece of
broken glass from the window and jam it into the side of Dante’s throat. His body jerks and he lets out a few gurgles as blood flows into his throat and mouth, making him choke. I watch him struggle to breathe for a minute before he finally releases his last breath and dies with his eyes open, still hanging up-side-down. Once I’m back to my car, I hear police sirens coming. Reina looks at me with worry in her eyes and grabs my hand. “We good? Can we go now?” she asks. “We’re good, baby,” I reply. “Let’s go home until the sun comes up. Then, we’re going car shopping.”
“HELLO?”
“Ricky.” “Shit, Solomon, let me explain. I’ve been upset about my brother, and when we were at that hotel, he was all I could think about. I’m sorry, man. I know I screwed up, and I shouldn’t have shot that guy without a silencer. I didn’t mean to bring heat out there like that. But Mason got my brother killed and we haven’t done anything about it yet. I’m sorry, man. Seriously, I was tripping. I messed up.” “You did mess up, Ricky, but I understand. Nix is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother, and if I had to watch him die, nobody could keep me from getting the guy who got him killed. You’ve been patient, and waited your turn in this whole fiasco. However, the wait is over.” “The wait is over? What do you mean, Solomon? You’re not gonna kill me, are you? I said I was sorry. I’ll even call and apologize to Nix if he’s still pissed.” “This isn’t about Nix, and stop apologizing. You should know me well enough by now to know that’s not appealing to me. If you want to make up for what you did, I need you to do what you’ve
been waiting to do. It’s time to send Mason on a permanent trip. Nobody else but him, though. You got it?” “Yes, I got it. I’m all over it.” “Good.” “Thank you, Solomon.” “Right. Once this is done, Ricky, so are we. Don’t ever let me see you again.” “Damn, Solomon I’m so . . . Hello? Solomon?” I hang up the phone and find Reina standing next to me, smiling with a beautiful glow in her eyes. “Now that that’s done, you ready?” she says as she leans over and kisses me on the lips. Her tongue caresses my top lip and I feel the sudden urge to skip the meeting altogether. “You keep doing that, and we’re not going anywhere,” I reply as I pull her close and kiss her neck, pulling a giggle from her lips. “Uh-uh, Solomon, business first,” she replies as she playfully pushes me away. “Let’s go take care of this little thing first. You can do whatever you want to me once we get back. Come on.” “You already know I’m gonna hold you to that.” “You better! Now let’s get fancy!” It takes Reina and me a little over an hour to get
ready, and another fifteen minutes to drive to The VP. When we arrive, the valet takes my new, candy apple red Rolls Royce Wraith and parks it for us. We make our way inside and notice that the entire place is completely empty. Not a single customer is eating or even waiting to be served, because Nix made sure the place was closed for this special occasion. No waitresses, no cooks, just the valet outside and us inside. Reina is stunning in her ankle-length red dress. Her blonde hair is wavy and flowing down her back with perfect grace as she walks next to me wearing both the bracelet and necklace I gave her when we were teenagers. I, on the other hand, am wearing a dark purple suit with black pinstripes. We decided to go all out for the occasion. Reina and I walk through the main floor and make our way to the back, where the sliding doors to the VIP section are closed. I slowly slide them open and find my friend, Nix, sitting at a large table by himself, wearing an all-black suit and sipping Cristal from a decorative crystal glass. He raises it to me as my date and I approach with smiles on our faces. “A fine evening, isn’t it?” he jokes as we meet him. I let Reina sit down first and gently push her chair in before taking my seat. “Mighty fine,” I reply, pouring Reina and myself a glass of Cristal.
“Good evening, Ms. Wilde,” Nix says to Reina, raising his glass once more, as if toasting to her presence. “Good evening, Nix,” Reina replies, mirroring Nix. “So, give me an update before we get this underway,” I say. “Okay, it’s short and sweet,” Nix states, putting his drink down to get serious. “Detective Anthony Mason was killed in a drive-by shooting, about twenty-five minutes ago.” “Damn, that was fast,” Reina says. “Mason was sitting in his car, off duty, in front of a strip club, when he was killed. The shooter was on a motorcycle with out-of-state tags, and wearing a black helmet, naturally,” Nix continues. “Nobody saw his face, and he sped away from the scene before anyone could ID him. If I know Ricky the way I think I do, that bike is already getting chopped up, the gun has been tossed, and he’s completely covered his tracks. The whole thing hit the news about ten minutes ago, and the cops are doing their manhunt song and dance, but we know they won’t find Ricky. It’s done.” “It’s done,” I repeat with a grin. “Well, almost.” Right on cue, the doors to the VIP area are slid open once again. Reina and I turn around to find Angelo Scarfo walking into the room with a person I’ve never seen before. Angelo looks exactly like I
expected him to. He has thin, messy gray hair, bushy eye brows, and saggy skin that droops down from his cheek bones. The guy next to him is much younger and looks like he could be Angelo’s nephew or something. Both of them sport plain black suits and dreary expressions on their faces. Seeing him here now is almost surreal for me. My whole life, Angelo Scarfo was the man. You either worked with him or you feared him so much that you didn’t dare do business anywhere near one of his establishments. Nix knew about this guy when he was just seventeen years old, and even managed to talk me into respecting him back then. If I had known this is what he’d look like today, I probably wouldn’t have listened to Nix. The three of us stand up and greet the two Italians as they slowly step into the room. Nix walks over to them and pats down both the young one and Angelo both, making sure not to make the same mistakes Dante made the night we almost killed him at La Famiglia, before Reina showed up. Once Nix is satisfied with his security check, the five of us sit down at the table together. Nix pours the two men a glass of Cristal each and waits for Angelo to open the conversation. “I told him,” Angelo starts off. His voice is low and raspy, and it looks as though the pancreatic cancer inside of him has even made speaking a laborious task. “I told Dante not to get into with
you, but he wouldn’t listen.” I can’t help but feel a bit of pride listening to Angelo Scarfo admit that he tried to avoid having issues with me. When I was a kid, it was the other way around. “If this was two or three decades ago,” Angelo continues, ignoring his drink. “All of you would already be dead. We had the numbers and strength back then. Now, that seems more and more like a thing of the past, and I’m not the same man I was back then. I have family to look after now. My days of running and gunning are over, and Dante’s pride just got in the way of him being able to carry the torch into a brighter future.” “Just so you’re aware, Mr. Scarfo, I never wanted war with your family,” I chime in. “I just wanted my piece of the pie. Dante forced my hand. Hopefully, we can avoid anything like that in the future. “You won’t have to worry about anything like that from us,” Angelo says. “I just want a few moments of peace before this cancer takes me away. I have my son here to watch out for. I have to make sure he doesn’t end up like Dante. So, that’s what I came here to tell you. I don’t want your drinks, or anything else. We’re not friends, but we’re not enemies either. This thing between us is over. Capiche? You both played your games, and you won, Solomon. Now it’s done.”
“I’ll hold up my end as long as you hold up yours, Angelo,” I reply with a nod. “You have my word on that.” Angelo looks at me, and I can still see that there is fire inside of him. He hates me for what I did to Dante, and if the mob was in its heyday, it would be all out war between us. The fire in him is dying out now, and he’s ready to retire from the life of crime. I can’t blame him. Angelo is seventy-one years old and dying of cancer. When that is your life, everything else seems very petty. I can appreciate and respect that perspective, so I’ll honor his call to a truce as long as he does. Without saying another word, Angelo Scarfo stands up with the help of his son. I stand up at the same time, and the two of us embrace in a very brief hug to show that we’ve squashed our beef. When the hug is done, the dying boss of the Scarfo family and his son turn around and walk out of the restaurant, leaving the three of us alone. Once we know they’re out, we all sit down and I lift my glass of Cristal. “Now it’s done,” I say. Reina and Nix lift their glasses with me, and we toast to our victory over the Scarfo family, and to a bright, shiny future as the rulers of the city of Philadelphia.
Reina asked for a better reunion with Solomon. No, not in a million years could I have asked for this entire thing to have gone any better. I remember thinking about it in my room at Ecole des Roches. I remember thinking about him, dreaming about him, wishing I could be with him and hating my parents for forcing me to move simply for loving someone different than them. My hatred for them was my fuel for seven years, and while I was over there, my mind split in two. On one side was my love for Solomon and everything we’d been through together. The other side was darker, a never-ending fire burning brighter and hotter by the day. It festered inside me, ate away at me, and changed me into something much worse than what I was before I left. So, I plotted and planned for seven years, with nearly this exact ending in mind. Now, it’s here. Nearly all of it has played out the way I wanted it to. Nearly all of it. There’s one thing left. Solomon and I lay in his massive bed next to each other, wrapped in his blood-red sheets, and I I COULDN’T HAVE
let my eyes linger on the beautiful view of the city shining through the window in front of me. Philly was always a gorgeous place, and I always loved it, but now that I’m with him, it’s ten times better, and it seems to shine even brighter. I lay my head on Solomon’s chest and rub his skin with the tips of my fingers, tracing the many tattoos permanently placed there. I breathe him in, drowning in the scent of him and feeling every bit of his love as he places a hand on my shoulder and rubs my skin softly. He’s a villain in this world, but with me, he’s perfectly tender, which goes a long way to show me just how much he loves me. I know Solomon would die for me. Even as both of us lay here naked in his loft, if danger swept into this room, he’d get up and snuff it out without hesitation, or he’d die trying. It’s been that way since we met all those years so, and just like my feelings for him, it will never change. That’s why I waited to tell him the last part of my story. I was gone for a long time, and when you’re locked away in a horrible boarding school, you need something to motivate you. I had Solomon and my parents, but there was also something else. Something sinister that’ll never go away. I thought about it every day, and I still do, even when I’m surrounded by every magnificent thing that Solomon brings into my life. Something worse than the abuse at the school, and harsher
than being disowned by my parents. “Solomon,” I whisper, wondering if I should tell him. I put it off before, but now that his head is clear, it’s time. I feel nervous as his body shifts under the sheets and his breathing changes. “Yes,” he says in a sleepy whisper. “You good?” “There’s something I need to tell you,” I begin. Anxiety creeps into my limbs and makes them feel heavy as I try to stay calm. “When I was explaining what happened to me when my parents sent me to France, I left something out. Something important that I’ve never told anyone until now.” “Okay. Why did you feel the need to leave this out when you told me everything else?” “Because I needed you to focus on the task at hand, which was Dante,” I explain. “I didn’t want to distract you with this because I knew you’d lose focus on what you had going on, and I didn’t want that to happen. One thing at a time, remember?” Solomon releases a breath that feels like a hot fan on the back of my head, blowing my hair a bit. “Alright, Reina,” he says. “What is it?” “I told you that after my parents informed me that they were sending me away, I tried to get on the train to come back to you. I didn’t know what I was gonna do when I found you, but I was determined to get back to Strawberry Mansion so we could be together. Maybe I planned on just
staying down there with you forever, I don’t know, but I never made it that far, because as I approached the train station, Charlie found me. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me to his car.” Solomon shifts his body again, and I can feel heat beginning to lift from his skin. He’s already pissed just listening to this part. I remember how much he hated Charlie, so I know how deeply this will cut him. But I have to tell him. “When he got me back home,” I continue. “My mother was there. She and I had another insane argument over you and people who live in the slums, as she called it. She was furious, and after she finished yelling at me, I ran to my room and cried myself sick. I cried for a long time before I finally fell asleep in my bed. When I woke up, I wasn’t alone. Charlie was there, and he was on top of me. “I fought with everything I had in me to get in him off, but he was too heavy and strong. There was nothing I could do physically, so I screamed, but he quickly informed me that nobody was home. My parents had left the house to get a break from me and my drama, and they left him to look after me. There was nobody there to hear me scream, and he knew it. By the time I realized what was going on, he already had his pants down and was shoving mine down too. I begged, I pleaded with
him to stop, but he was so furious about me rejecting him for you. I could see the jealousy and envy in his eyes, and he’s the kind of person who lashes out when he doesn’t get things his way. He talked horribly about you, called me filthy for wanting to be with a criminal from the ghetto. He said he was going to show me he could be rough like you. There was nothing I could do to stop him, so I did my best to zone out. I went to another place in my head while he . . . he raped me. “Afterwards, he forced me into the shower and threatened to go to Strawberry Mansion with a bunch of his friends to hurt you if I told anyone. I already knew what would happen to him if he did that, so I told my parents anyway, hoping he would go down there so you could kill him. My parents, though, they didn’t believe me. I told them exactly what happened, and they told me I was making it up to get back at Charlie for telling them about you and me. They actually thought I lied about him raping me so I could get revenge on him, and all Charlie had to do was sit back and deny it. I couldn’t believe it. Their only response was to move up my flight so that I could leave sooner. Before I could plead with them any further, I was already on my way out the door. They pushed me out like I was nothing, and took my rapist in as the son they never had. “That’s why I’ve been so adamant about
coming back here and destroying everything they’ve worked for. It’s bigger than just us, Solomon. Charlie raped me, and every single one of them has to pay. Do you understand? Every single one of them.” Solomon is silent. I hear his breathing picking up, but he’s not moving. Something in me expected him to jump up and run out the door, doing his best to hunt Charlie down with no clue where he is, but he’s calm, as if he’s keeping everything he’s feeling locked away in his head. I know he’s the ultimate manipulator, and he’s much smarter than anyone realizes, so whatever is to come is going to be deep. I’ve just armed a ticking time bomb in the middle of Philadelphia. “Where is he?” Solomon finally asks. “I don’t know for sure,” I answer. “I just know he’s with them, and they have their compound somewhere else now. Their business is guarded and they bought a new house, so I don’t even know where they live anymore—Charlie either. All I know is that they’re still in Philly. The main hub of their business is still here, and they’d never leave that behind, so they’re still here. We just have to find them.” Instead of lashing out, Solomon lets out another deep breath and wraps both of his arms around me. He pulls me in close to him, squeezing my body and making me feel so safe—exactly what I’ve always
loved about him, and precisely what I need right now. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Reina,” Solomon says in a hushed tone. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve been there to protect you.” “There was nothing you could’ve done, Solomon,” I tell him as tears fill my eyes. “Maybe not then,” he replies. “But there’s something I can do now. There’s something we will do. Together. Alistair Wilde, Betty Wilde, and Charlie whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is—they’re all dead. All of them! And what is theirs, will become ours.” “It won’t be easy, Solomon. No one has ever tried to take down an empire like Wilde Inc.” “Of course not,” Solomon says with sheer, unshakeable confidence. “No one’s ever tried because there has never been anyone like me before. I’m gonna burn all of it down, and Charlie will watch it turn to ash before I set his life ablaze too.”
THE END
can’t believe it! I actually finished this book, and I did it while sitting on a plane, flying back to Guam all the way from Sacramento—well, technically I’m flying to Hawaii right now, then I’ll be heading to Guam after. Anyway, I did it! It took me over a year to complete this book, because 2017 has been the most challenging year of my life and military career. I never imagined going through what I had to go through this year, and now that I’ve persevered and fought my way through it by finishing this novel, I’m very proud of what I’ve done. I started the year by getting a military assignment to a place my family and I had no desire to go to, and then was scheduled for spinal surgery in April. I had to put my whole life on hold, obviously, and going through that surgery was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and the recovery was six months long! After the surgery, my wife had to help me in and out of bed, and on and off the toilet. She had to help me put on my pants and my socks, and for a little while, even my shirts. I couldn’t have done it without her, and that is not an overstatement at all. IT’S DONE! I
I needed her with me, and absolutely could not have made it through that surgery without her. So, my first acknowledgement has to go my wife for always being everything I need her to be. She was my ride or die through that whole ordeal, and I’m thankful I have her in my life as a wife, partner, and best friend. I love you, Roxanne. Thank you for holding me down when I couldn’t lift myself up. And thanks for helping me to make Reina awesome as well. We didn’t get to do this project together like we planned, but we do them all “together.” I love you, baby. I have to thank my kids big time for this one. I’ve been working on this book for so long, and after the surgery, I had to force myself to get back into the groove of writing. I knew this book was going to be my best and longest, and writing characters like Solomon and Reina required a certain type of environment. So, I had to close the door to my room and lock them out for at least an hour a day, so that I could get into the right headspace to become a villain. I appreciate their support so much, and they never ask me to quit what I’m doing to hang with them. They let me work hard so that we can have more in this life, and I appreciate that very much, because I’ve always been a very ambitious person. Sitting around and doing nothing just doesn’t work for me. I have to be grinding away at something, striving to become
bigger and better, and my family is more than supportive. So, thank you, Janae and Justin, for letting me work and write my dopest book ever! Janae, I said you could read this one, and I’ll keep my word. I hope you enjoy it, because you and your brother helped me write it without doing a thing. Thank you! Next, I have to thank my parents. My mom and dad have always only wanted the best for me, and I’ve probably pissed them off by doing things they don’t agree with, saying things they don’t agree with, and not believing in things that they hold dear. But being a parent isn’t about forcing your kids to follow whatever you’re doing. It’s being supportive of the path your kids choose, and my parents have been just that. They know how hard I hustle, and they know I get stressed dealing with it and my military career, but they’re always there for me to talk to. Every time we get on the phone, we get caught up and end up talking for much longer than we intended, but that’s because we’re more than just son and parents. We’re friends. So, thank you, Mom and Dad, for always being there when I need you. I’ve been gone a long time, I know. I regret that, and I appreciate you not always being in my ear about it. You’ve just sat back and waited for my grind to pay off, and it has. Me and the fam will be back soon, and we have a lot of catching up to do. I love you guys!
Shawn, my one and only brother, I love you, man! We don’t get to spend enough time together, homie. Like I said before, I’m writing this on the plane leaving Sacramento, so we just hung out for a weekend for the first time in nearly three years since that quick Vegas trip. We’ve missed so much of each other’s lives, and that sucks! Neither of us knows our families as much as we should, and when I get back to the states, we’re gonna freakin’ kick it, man! All of us. I want to know my nephew better, and you need to know your niece and nephew better too. So, get ready to hang out next year! Love you, big bro! I have some really amazing friends who I’ve met online over the years—far too many to name, but I just really want to thank my book friends and fans who’ve been waiting for me to come back from the dead this year. Sorry I didn’t answer your messages when you hit me up on my birthday. You dropped messages in my inbox and I didn’t reply because I was toughing out a very rough part of my life, but even then, I appreciated you reaching out to ask how I was doing. That means a lot. Seriously. Thank you for your continued support. I hope this book was worth the wait! Of course I have to thank my cover designer, Robin Harper, for doing it big for book number ten! This cover is so crazy. Seriously, I did a lot of comparisons when we finalized it, and there just
isn’t anything out there that can hold a candle to what we put together on this one. I know it’s a combination of both of our ideas and creativity, and that just means that this process could be so much harder if I had to do it with someone else. I’m super picky, but you always give me exactly what I want, and this cover is no exception. It’s amazing, Robin, really. You’re a genius, and I’m glad I found you back in 2013. Thanks again, and you’re already on deck for book number eleven! I gotta shout out my interior designer, the best in the game, Christine Borgford! With you, I don’t even have to do anything! I just trust that you’re gonna come in and kill it, and you do, every single time. These novels are my babies, and you help bring them to life on the inside after Robin makes them pop on the outside. Thank you for always fitting me into your schedule and getting files back to me on time. I can never stop myself from panicking about it, but you’ve yet to let me down even once. You’re worth every penny! Lastly, I’m gonna shout out someone who hasn’t been born yet. The wife and I have a baby on the way! I actually don’t even know if you’re a boy or a girl yet, but I can’t wait for you to get here! It shocks me that we decided to have another baby after all this time, but I don’t regret it at all. I love you already, and can’t wait to meet you. We’ve got a pretty dope life all set up and waiting
for you! Until next time, book fans. I’ll try not to be gone for too long this time! Thanks for reading!
WS GREER IS a
bestselling romantic suspense author, and an active duty military member with the US Air Force. He’s been serving his country since 2004, and has been an author since his debut novel, Frozen Secrets, was released in 2013. WS was born to military parents in San Antonio, Texas, and bounced around as a child, from Okinawa, Japan, to Florida, to New Mexico, where he met his high school sweetheart, who’d become his wife in 2003. Together, the two of them have two wonderful children, and are currently living overseas on the tiny island of Guam. WS has tackled different genres throughout his writing career. From romantic suspense with his debut novel, to erotic suspense with his bestselling Carter Trilogy and Defending Her, to contemporary romance with Worth Saving. WS has learned a lot about writing over the years, and his goal is to build a loyal and thriving fan base in the romantic suspense genre from here on out. His stories are deeply rooted in suspense, but WS loves the added drama of intense, emotional characters. Emotion, suspense, and drama is what WS does best. WS loves connecting with his fans and readers, and does so whenever he gets the chance, and he would love to hear from you. You can find him on
his personal blog, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Stay tuned, there’s more suspenseful stories coming from WS Greer!
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Thank you for purchasing Madman (Love & Chaos #1)! Please leave an honest rating and review wherever you purchased your copy. It’d be very much appreciated! Check out these other titles from WS Greer Frozen Secrets (A Detective Granger Novel) Claiming Carter (The Carter Trilogy #1) Becoming Carter (The Carter Trilogy #2) Destroying Carter (The Carter Trilogy #3) Defending Her Worth Saving Kingpin (An Italian Mafia Romance Duet #1) Long Live the King (An Italian Mafia Romance Duet #2) Red Snow (A Detective Granger Novel)