23
Mecca
Three days later, and the thoughts Arjen shared had me almost believing that I was his very own personal superwoman. The buzzing of my phone woke me as he was reciting those beautiful words in my dream.
The Black Saints business had kept me so busy that I had hardly seen him since the night he had made me a dinner to remember. The sound of his light snores was a reminder that I had made it home.
Running on auto pilot, my exhausted body had drooped as I dragged myself into the shower last night, washed the essential parts, and crawled into bed. Arjen drew me into him, even in his sleep. It was like his body knew what to do without his conscious mind.
The irritating buzzing that came from my purse yanked me from the comfort of his arms and sleep. I had gotten three hours that had flown by like three minutes. It was my disposable phone going off, which translated to trouble.
A quick glance showed it was after seven a.m. on a Saturday, the only day I had promised myself I would sleep in. I eased from the bed, doing my best not to wake Arjen. After snatching up my purse with the phone still buzzing inside, I closed myself inside my closet. I had recently discovered the area was a soundproofed safe room, so I placed the phone on speaker while I dressed.
“Mecca!” Marshawn yelled into the phone.
“What is it?”
“The Haitians contacted me and put Tash on the phone. They’ve taken her hostage.”
“What in the entire fuck?”
“They said the only way they are releasing her, is if you agree to meet with them. Mecca, they want to meet with you in their hood, on their turf.”
I didn’t give a damn where they wanted to meet.
“Set it up. Tell them we’ll be there in a few hours.”
“It’s probably a setup. Let us handle these shady ass Haitians.”
“We’ll handle them together. I’ll meet you at the warehouse.”
I hung up before he could continue his attempt to talk me out of what I was planning to do. Tash started working for me when she turned eighteen a month ago. If any harm came to her, someone would die.
The Haitians struck fear into a lot of people, but I wasn’t afraid of them. Today, I planned to call on my guardians that usually consisted of an Angel sitting on one shoulder and a Devil sitting on the other. I believed in my guardians fiercely and had no doubt they would protect me.
* * *
HB sattight against my back as we strolled into the Haitian’s territory. The atmosphere was eerily quiet, no one hanging out on the streets like they usually did, no matter the time of day it was.
Had they been warned that there was a possibility of casualties, a possible war? I had decided on a single vehicle, so they knew I wasn’t coming to start a gunfight.
“Mecca, are you sure you should be out here like this? You’re our queenpin now, head of the Black Saints, you shouldn’t be putting yourself at risk,” Marshawn stated. He stayed true to his advisor role, telling me what I needed to hear.
He drove the SUV we kept at our main warehouse, and I sat in the passenger’s seat. Shockey and Torch were in the back. Although young, they were two of my best gunmen. I’d had the Denali outfitted with bulletproofing, and the undercarriage could withstand a grenade blast.
“Those fucking Haitians are ruthless,” Torch said from the backseat. “They are going to start some shit.”
“They already have,” I muttered to myself. The Haitians were a small crew who had schemed and killed their way into a small plot of territory, from Overtown to the Richland projects that they protected with a ferocity that kept most intimidated and from breaching their lines.
“I don’t care who they think they are. Tash, unfortunately, lives on the outskirts of their invisible line, and although they are claiming she invaded their turf, I don’t believe that shit for one second,” I tossed across the seat.
“They probably found out she’s been working for us, and snatched her to get our attention,” Shockey added.
They wanted in with us, and Raymond was smart enough not to let them in. After they found out that I had taken control, they had asked to be let in, again. I didn’t say no, but I had expressed that there was no way, not even if a nor’easter rolled through hell, that they would ever be a part of the Black Saints. We were criminals, but we had standards, even a few morals, they had none.
“It’s my fault Tash is in this mess,” I stated to no one in particular. Tashonda Thomas had a desire to work for us, me specifically, since she was ten. I told her she could when she turned eighteen, figuring she would have grown out of her desire.
An honor roll student, she could have gone to college if she’d chosen but didn’t because she wanted this life. I made several attempts to bribe her with college tuition, but she wouldn’t take it.