“Mocha!” Jaylin exclaimed as soon as she caught up. “What the fuck, girl? Do you know who that is?”
“Clearly a hustler,” Mocha waved her hand in the air. “That nigga looks like he's used to just coming to any club and picking his victim. Fuck that.”
“Bitch, so the fuck what? That's Khiron, girl! That nigga is a walking bank. Since his daddy got popped awhile back, he's been on. Running the city like a fuckin' boss since age nineteen,” Jaylin said giving Mocha the spill on Khiron while Mocha tried not to trail his every move in the club. “And let me be the first to tell you, I ain't never seen that fine muhfucka approach a bitch at a club.”
She emphasized the word “never” to let Mocha know she'd made a big mistake by ignoring Khiron's advances. Mocha just rolled her eyes at her.
“Bitch, I don't give a fuck. I'm only here for a fuckin' weekend, and then back to Detroit I go!” Mocha tried to sound uninterested, but in all honesty, what she'd just heard sparked her attention.
Mocha studied Khiron from where she sat, and whenever they were close to connecting eyes, she shifted her gaze. It was going quite well . . . until he tricked her by doing a double take. For ten seconds, they stared at each other from across the club through a small window that the mass number of bodies provided.
“You feeling him,” Jaylin told her when she stood up to dance with a guy who'd grabbed her hand. “Once-in-a-lifetime chances are only once in a lifetime. Make your move!”
Mocha sighed when her newfound friend was whisked away on the dance floor.
“Fuck it,” she said under her breath and a flash of Antwan back home came to mind. “That nigga is probably fuckin' some hood rat right now anyway.”
Mocha stood up and slowly made her way to where Khiron sat in the VIP section of the club. As soon as she got a little too close for comfort, one of his goons stopped her with a hard hand to her chest.
“Aye, chill, she's coo people,” Khiron said to the man and waved me over to sit on the couch next to him.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Mocha flashed her sexiest smile at him.
Might as well go for the dick, she thought to herself as she watched him wet his lips with his tongue. This nigga is sexy as fuck!
“Naw, I feel you, ma, and I actually respect you more for saying fuck me the first time,” he said pouring her a drink.
“I'm only nineteen,” Mocha told him truthfully. “I don't drink. But if you have some kush I'll surely blow some with you.”
Khiron was shocked to find out her age, especially since she had the body of a grown woman, but he was pleased to hear her honesty.
“A'ight, ma,” he chuckled a bit. “Maybe later, but right now, let the music fade to the back of our minds and get to know each other a little better first.”
They sat in the corner of the club talking for the rest of the time they were there. Mocha was so comfortable with him, it felt as if she was talking to someone she'd known her whole life. The conversation between them flowed aimlessly, and it came to light that they had many things in common. Before the night was over, they'd blown two blunts, and he'd even gotten her to take a shot of tequila. When it was time to leave and everybody was heading to the door, Khiron grabbed Mocha by her hand. By talking to her, he knew she'd be gone the next day to go home to Detroit, and he felt that he had to spend the night with her. Not even to get in her panties; he just wanted to spend some more time with her.
“Come home with me tonight, ma,” he said in sincerity.
“The fuck I look like?” Mocha asked, a little offended, even though she'd wanted to jump his bones since she saw him. She still didn't want to come off as an easy ho. “A fucking one-nighter?”
Khiron shook his head.
“Naw, ma, nothing like that. I just enjoy your company, that's all. We ain't gotta do nothing like that if you don't want to.” He pulled her close to him so that their lips were barely touching. “Just say yes, shorty . . . please? I'll make sure you get back to the dorms safely in the morning. Just stay the night with me.”
Mocha melted in his arms, and the look in her eyes gave him his answer. She couldn't say no, because in all honesty, she didn't want to. She found Jaylin in the parking lot of the club and told her she'd get a ride back to the room in the morning. Jaylin gave Mocha a knowing look.
“Be careful, niggas like Khiron are only good for one night. I saw y'all gettin' friendly over there. Don't call yourself falling for a nigga like that. It's never a good thing,” Jaylin warned.
Mocha nodded her head like she was really listening. The only thing on her mind was the night she had ahead of her with a man that she had just met. Mocha went on to have the night of her life, and ever since, was hooked on Khiron.
Mocha snapped back to reality as she whipped her car as fast as she could toward the airport. Her bags were already in her trunk; they'd been packed for days.
I'm on my way, baby,
she said, smiling at the thought of being reunited with the love of her life.
* * *
“Please, Khiron!” the voice of a man screamed for mercy, but no one could hear him.
Khiron stood over a man who was bound tightly to a chair with a box of matches in his hand. He'd already poured gasoline around the chair, and with one match, the man's body would go up in flames. The victim in the seat was someone Khiron had to dispose of. He knew too much and was planning to go to the FBI with information about the drug operation Khiron was running in Atlanta. After Khiron's dad got pegged because a little bitch snitched on him to the Italians, there was nothing he couldn't stand more. Snitches made the earth stink in his eyes, and the world needed to be rid of them if anyone expected to make any money.
“You were going to testify against me, my nigga? Put all my work into the dirt, huh?” Khiron laughed at the petrified expression on the man's face. Any hope for mercy was long gone. “Nigga, by the time this fire is out, there won't be a body to put in the dirt.”
“Man, I'm sorry! I got a kid and a wife, man.” He began to sob like a little girl, and Khiron looked at him disgustedly.
I know this pussy-ass nigga ain't start crying,
Khiron thought, shaking his head
. Hell naw, and this nigga was down with my shit? I'ma have to do a sweep of my own team soon.
“Yea, I know you got a shorty and a little son,” Khiron acknowledged the man's family. “And as soon as I'm done here, both of them muhfuckas going to have lead in their fuckin' skulls! You were going to snitch on me? I'm a fuckin' boss, and you? You a bitch, and dogs get put to sleep!”
Without hesitation, Khiron lit a match and threw it on the ground by the chair. The man gave a horrendous scream as he erupted in flames, fighting against the ropes that bound him to the chair. There was no hope for him. He had no other choice but to sit there and die a horrible death. Khiron watched, satisfied that he'd finally made his mark. He'd gotten to J. Will just before the feds put him into protective custody. Khiron had ears all over the city, and once he heard that J. Will was planning on singing to the cops, he snatched him up and tortured him in the middle of nowhere, until he told him that he was, in fact, planning to testify and putting him away for good. The feds had been hot on Khiron after he caught a body outside of a local strip club. It was a rookie move, but the nigga stepped, and Khiron made him fall. The feds couldn't link the body to him because no one would testify, and one of his goons disposed of the murder weapon within minutes of the crime. Khiron felt his cell phone vibrate on his hip. He smiled slightly seeing it was from his own shorty.
Hey, baby! I'm here, and I'm wearing that color you like.
Khiron grinned, knowing Mocha was probably laid out butt-ass naked in his bed because the color he liked was her mocha skin tone. He'd waited a month to get a taste of that, and he wasn't going to let a bitch-ass snitch waste any more of his time.
Handlin' some business, ma. I'ma be there as soon as I'm done. I love you.
He placed his phone back on his hip after sending his message and spit into the literally screaming fire. Then he went and got in his black Range Rover that was parked in the grass, taking one last look at the fire.
“Burn, bitch,” he said and drove in the direction toward home where his lady was waiting for him.
Chapter 13
Ray walked through the silent halls of his estate toward Sadie's wing. After Coopa sent his goons to his last home, he took every precaution to ensure that nothing like that would ever happen again. He had his 80,000 square foot home built quickly and in secret. His home was unlisted in any phone book or GPS. The only way to get there was to know exactly where it was. As a boy growing up, he went on many adventures that took him far from home. The land Ray purchased to build his home was discovered during one of those adventures. It was surrounded by nothing but trees and a large, beautiful pond. The home was ducked off and out of the way of mankind, but still, as a safety precaution, he had cameras on the outside of the house and large gates around it. Ray also had two of his hired hands at the front of the gate every hour of the day. He knew that he would be gone often on business and wanted to be certain that Mocha and Sadie would be well taken care of while he was away.
Ray had housekeepers to help out and keep things orderly around the place. They had their own rooms and free reign of the home, everywhere except their bedrooms and his office. Mocha and Sadie each had their own wing in the house, but when they were both home, you could always find them together. Currently, however, Mocha was gone on a trip to Atlanta and had been gone for a little over a week. He'd checked up on it and found that she had business there and was bringing home big sums of money. He respected her grind and trusted her even more for bringing the money to their business instead of being snake about it.
Ray knocked lightly on Sadie's tall double doors once he arrived.
“Come in!” her voice called on the other side.
He entered a room fit for a queen and quickly spotted her sitting in her window seat. Sadie's room was like a large suite, kitchen and all. If she never wanted to leave it, she didn't have to. When his house was being built, Ray had special import and modification requirements. He wanted Sadie to feel like a bag of money whenever she went to bed and woke up. The room was draped in nothing but Versace. Without including the sixty-five-inch TV that hung on her wall, her king-sized bed and other furniture, or the two closets filled with designer clothes and shoes, he was standing in a $500,000 room.
“Hey,” Sadie smiled up at him, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans.
Ray knelt and sat down by her feet. He studied her face and couldn't believe how much she'd grown up. Her beauty was breathtaking, and he was glad that she was focused on making money and not on any niggas. A year before, she was a college student and like his kid sister. Now, sitting before him, Ray could see the difference. A major difference, and he knew why. She'd taken a life . . . a few lives, actually. Ray noticed that the innocent blind-to-the-world look was gone from her eyes, only to be replaced with a look of hunger and anticipation. He couldn't see her as his little cousin anymore. At the age of twenty-one, she was a grown woman and clearly knew how to handle herself.
Sadie flipped her work faster than anyone he'd ever seen. Although he taught her a few things, Sadie already knew the game like the back of her hand. Ray was feeling a little guilty. As the new boss of the city, all of attention and energy had been on moving product in and out of the city, and he hadn't had any time to spend with Sadie. They all had been staying together, but if it wasn't about business, they barely said two things to each other. Sitting there in front of her, he took his time with his words.
“We making money out here, fam,” Ray said, turning to look at Sadie's gorgeous view of the pond. The sun's rays made it look blue, like the ocean. “The Last Kings . . . us.”
Sadie smiled a small smile.
“The last of a dying breed,” she spoke, softly turning her head away from the window ever so slightly. Her long, silky hair fell in front of her eye.
Ray reached and pushed it behind her ear and nodded. The smile he wore on his face wasn't happy; it was a sad one.
“I never wanted this life for you, Say. You were supposed to stay in school. Be a doctor or some shit, not this.” He shook his head and leaned back once more. “But the fact remains that you got something that
none
of these niggas got when it comes to this game. You got the heart of a hustler.”
Ray stopped as he reflected on what Grandmas Rae used to say to Sadie growing up.
“Sadie, you're Grandma Rae's special baby. Your heart is special. Make this world, don't let it make you.”
Sadie's ambition and loyalty to the game was something Ray knew he was going to need. He remembered when they were younger and Grandma Rae could only afford to put twenty dollars a month in their pockets. Sadie would take her money to the candy store and spend it all. She sold the candy at school, and like a slanger on the corner, she tweaked the prices so that the students would still buy, but so that she would also make a good profit. Since candy at school was like cocaine to a crack house, all the kids flocked to her. Soon, it was nothing to flip twenty dollars into $300 in a matter of days. Ray knew her game was tight when she started bringing shopping bags home that neither he nor their grandmother bought.
She actually got expelled from the first high school that she attended while staying with Grandma Rae. It turned out that Sadie was the head of an operation at school that sold things; nothing illegal, however. Somehow, she got her hands on a piece of paper with the schedules of every student and teacher. It also told her when and where a classroom would be vacant. She would have one of her team send out a mass text to an exclusive number of students, letting them know when and where to come to shop. Her shop was only open fifteen minutes a day to keep it low-key. Sadie had moved up from selling candy. She started selling designer clothes she purchased on sale with the money from the original candy operation. She then sold them to all the scandalous bitches and raggedy niggas at school for the low, trying to get their stunt on. Sadie had the good shit too. Gucci, True Religion, Dior dresses, Abercrombie & Fitch, etc. You name it, and for the right price, Sadie got it.
Ray was beyond impressed when he overheard his grandmother and uncle discussing it one night. She, single-handedly, started her own business at school and was bringing in a minimum of $5,000 a week. Ray had that in mind the day he handed her that pistol. If she could flip work like that at age sixteen, he could only imagine what she could do with cocaine. The need to make money burned a fire in her eyes, and Ray knew that she was a valuable asset to The Last Kings and to himself. Out of all the six businesses, she was bringing in the most money, effortlessly. Ray knew at that very moment, Sadie was making a $150,000 deal, but she didn't feel as if that was enough money for her to show her face, so she did a conference call and had the money wired. Some of their soldiers were going to be making the drop. The way she moved her work was impeccable. Ray was a real nigga, so he could admit how crucial losing Sadie would be for his business. He also knew that out of everyone, including Tyler, Sadie was the one he could trust with everything. He knew this because they shared all of the same values, and he knew
that
because he instilled them in her.
“I've been so wrapped up in this shit that I haven't even taken the time to ask you how you've been.” Ray shook his head, disgusted with himself.
“Naw, you're good,” she reassured him. “We've all been busy, even Mocha. This cartel has to be strong. You never know when a hating-ass nigga is going to try to go to war. We have all the time in the world to spend time; right now, it's about getting this money the best way we know how.”
Ray smiled at Sadie's words and nodded once in respect. Unlike most people, Sadie got it. She understood the way of life when cocaine was involved. You got no time off. Unless your cousin ran the whole city. The Last Kings ran Detroit, and over the last year, the city saw more money than it had in ten years.
“I feel you on that.” Ray reached in his pocket and grabbed something out. “But every boss needs a break.”
He handed Sadie the contents in his hand, and when she saw what they were, her face lit up.
“Jamaica? Oh my God!” Sadie's eyes widened as she looked at the tickets.
“The perfect place to let loose, lay low, and have a good fuckin' time,” Ray told her, reminiscing on his trips to Jamaica. “And it will give me a chance to pick ya mind a little.”
“When are we going?” she asked, rolling her eyes although the effect was thrown off by the big smile on her face.
Ray smiled mischievously and took the tickets back.
“Pack your bags, shorty, our flight leaves in the morning.”