Adored by a Brooklyn Drug Lord 2 Page 9

  Kelsey gulped down half of her drink. “More than I'm ready to talk about. You think you can be there for me when I am?”

  “Of course. You know I got you,” I said, hugging her. “I had you when I taught you how to wear makeup right? ‘Cause without me you’d still be wearing the wrong shade of Fenty…”

  “It was a sample and the lighting was bad,” Kelsey said in mock exasperation.

  We spent the next ten minutes catching up (for real this time), the feeling of genuine vibes all throughout the air. On the topic of housing, Kelsey mentioned finding a loft house in Williamsburg. I felt a pang of jealousy; at the mention of “waterfront” I knew Kelsey had dropped a few million on her new spot. The events of earlier were still fucking with me. The police had stopped by our apartment, asking if we heard anything. Mal answered most if not all the questions while I stood beside him. He was the one who picked out my clothes and encouraged me to show up tonight.

  “You know, I'm going to be living in this large apartment by myself…it would be nice if I had a bomb ass roommate to move in with me.”

  I choked on my drink. “You want me to live with you? Kelsey, I can't even pay a piece of your rent—”

  “I'm not asking you to. I want you to come live with me so we can get back to the way we were. My actions haven’t shown it, but I miss hanging out with you.” Kelsey took my hand into hers, giving me the full on puppy dog pout I had seen her use on her father to no avail. Much to my chagrin, it worked on me. “Please? I promise to be the best roommate ever. No niggas running through, wild parties, none of that.”

  “I'm taking care of Mal—”

  “Why don’t you split your time then? Check in on Mal as much as you want, and come home to our place. Yes, I'm calling it our place.”

  Kelsey was a persistent one. She wasn’t going to let up off of this anytime soon. Part of me knew I could use the change of scenery. This morning told me as much. If I was going to start moving weight throughout East New York, a new place to rest my head was necessary. Having people know where I rested my head was what almost had me in a drawer at the morgue. Mal was showing signs of improvement. I didn’t even have to tell him I was moving out; I could come and go under the premise of hanging out, keeping him on his feet. This offer was right on time, and I needed to accept it as God’s will.

  “Fine,” I relented. “I’ll move in with you.”

  A feeling of relief swept over me as the words poured from my mouth. My subdued cousin lit up with excitement, and it was contagious, something neither of us had experienced at the same time in a long time. We shared another drink as we discussed furniture, food, general house rules. I counted this as an opportunity to start over with Kelsey again. On the walk to the party, I smelled it. The entire spread Normani and my grandmother slaved over turned my stomach. I played it real cool, excusing myself to wash my hands again. In the privacy of the bathroom, I threw up the contents of my stomach, feeling the alcohol and hors d’oeuvres I had eaten minutes ago splash the porcelain toilet bowl. Chalking it up to being a bad case of mixing food, I washed my mouth out and made my way to the party, only to be stopped by my uncle waiting in the doorway of his office. He rose up off the doorway, beckoning me to enter.

  “When Kelsey said you were coming for dinner, I didn’t believe you would show up, but I'm happy you did, Bri,” Urban said, taking a seat at the edge of his desk. “You have been missed. What have you been up to? I hear things are going well for you over in Mott Haven.”

  I responded with a nonchalant shrug. “The numbers don’t lie.”

  “They don’t,” he agreed with a nod. “Malone would be proud.”

  “Don’t do that,” I cut him off. “Don’t talk about my father. Not after what you did to him. You were supposed to protect him, and instead you sold him out in the worst way possible.”

  “Bri—”

  “Don’t ‘Bri’ me. I know y'all had beef and I know he wasn’t perfect, but he was your blood. You're one of the smartest people I know, Uncle Urban, and if you wanted to save him you could have! Instead, you fed him to the same pigs that ruined his life,” I choked out, closing my burning eyes. I opened them to find Urban staring down at me, shaking his head in disappointment. “All he wanted was to do more, be more than a street nigga from Mott Haven. You and Koi had your educations from those fancy ass schools while he had a PHD in the School of Hard Knocks. He went to jail to save all of you and you couldn’t even make him your right hand? We lived in the fucking projects while you stay in this lavish house that’s worth what, ten, fifteen million? And don’t give me that ‘Malone was a proud man’ shit! You could've given him a chance to put in his work!”

  Urban Mackenzie wasn’t a man of apologies—everything he did was well thought out—and I expected nothing less of him than to give me every reason in the world to justify what he did. In a voice that was nothing like his, he said, “I am sorry for taking your father from you. Malone and I may have had our issues, but I can honestly say that when I made that order I didn’t have you and your siblings in mind. The pain I caused you is something I’ll never be able to repair. What do you need me to do in order to help you heal, Briana?”

  “Give. Me. That. Seat,” I said through gritted teeth. “Make his death worth something.”

  Urban moistened his lips, mulling over my request. “I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Malone when he asked for a promotion: prove you deserve it. Not based off of nepotism, or how hard you ride in the streets. Show me that you're willing to die for this as hard as you want to live for it. That stunt you pulled with Goo was some amateur shit!” he hissed, and he was right. “I am more than willing to give you that seat, Briana—but I don’t think you want it. You want to live for Malone, move like him, keep him on this earth through material means all while losing yourself.

  “Show me that you're doing this for yourself and the world is yours.”

  Truth seeped from Urban's monologue, more than I had intended. Any rebuttals I had died on my lips. My uncle held his arms out to me, his hands shaking up something terrible. I knew I felt something in the air tonight, that I was missing a piece to the puzzle on why Kelsey had decided to move home. Soon the throne of The Trust would be vacant, and if I proved myself to my uncle, it would be mine. I stepped into his arms not out of sympathy, but with the recollection of my father’s words, reminding me to play my enemies close.

  9

  Quill

  The early morning North Carolina air blew over the stoic Winthrop family. It cooled off LaKeith, Bull, Amos, and the rest of the pallbearers who carried Deon’s body from the church and helped load it onto the lowering vault that would seal him into his resting place. Drea inhaled the wind to keep calm as she cried with her mother, an austere woman who kept her face buried in one of Amos’s handkerchiefs the entire ride to the burial site. I relied on the air to keep myself awake.

  “Easy, little man,” I said as I patted Legacy on his back, bouncing him as I looked on at the Winthrops from the last row of chairs underneath a large black tent. “We’ll soon be back home.”

  Legacy grunted in reply. He might not have been my son, but we connected on another level from the day I met him. The hospital advised Drea against bringing Legacy to my room for the fear that he may contract a hospital borne infection, and after leaving the hospital once, I wasn’t going to risk my health doing it again. Two weeks later, I was cleared to return home where Legacy awaited his unofficial pops. An exhausted Drea greeted me by placing the crying baby in my arms and locking herself in her room, coming out long enough to supply milk. In the mix was Bull, who was living on our couch yet couldn’t find it in himself to help the girl out. I made up for lost time by spending every waking moment with Legacy, who had taken to me more than he did his mother. Drea didn’t care; between working on her summer body and planning Deon’s funeral, she wasn’t invested in being a mother to Legacy. Not even today.

  “The service was beautiful,” I told Drea in the
privacy of our hotel room. Legacy was down for a nap, and I was gearing up to take one myself. “You did a good job planning everything. The entire hood came out to say goodbye. Deon would be proud of how you sent him off.”

  Drea stood in front of the mirror holding her stomach as she posed in different angles. “Deon was one of the few people I could depend on whenever I was going through something, and he's gone…. He had to be sent off like the real one he was.” She spun around, taking in her bubble butt over her shoulder. “Damn, the baby took some of my ass. I need to hit the gym harder once we get back to New York. Better yet, I want a trainer.”

  “Who’s paying for this trainer?” I queried.

  She cut her eyes at me through the mirror. “The man who promised my father profits within a month of the shop being open. It’s been six weeks, Quill. LaKeith said the money is pouring in. You mean to tell me we don’t have enough for a personal trainer?”

  Legacy let out a grunt of dissent. I gave his back a little pat. “Drea, you look fine. You need to be worried about spending time with Legacy. You're wasting precious time you won't be able to get back trying to make sure you can fit into your Fashion Nova wardrobe. Get out the mirror and spend some time with us.”

  “Spend some time with y’all? Nigga, my girls are pulling up in an hour. I'm not laying up in here with you. Unless…” Drea unzipped her dress, the silky material falling down her caramel-colored legs, revealing her curvy figure soft from motherhood. “You giving me some of that dope dick. Hmmm, William?”

  Like a panther, Drea leapt onto the hotel room bed, slinking across the king sized bed with her eyes on me. Wearing nothing but a lacy La Perla bra and panty set, Drea’s sex appeal was on one hundred. I was reminded of the night we met. She stalked me from the other side of the club, and with an affirmative nod from me, she crossed the room with only eyes for me, gliding as everyone moved out of her way. She was the princess of the south and accustomed to having her way.

  Except tonight.

  “Drea, we ain't fucking,” I said, stopping her fingers from working on my belt. “Once was enough. Next thing you know, we’ll have a real child together. Fuck all that.”

  “Why? You think you got a chance with your little girlfriend? That girl is not about to date a man with a baby mother and child fresh out the womb, so you might as well kill any idea of getting back with her…” Drea said, rolling over to the other side of the bed, sliding off and making her way to the bathroom.

  “Not if I can find a way to get you back with Anthony,” I said to myself, feeling a plan brewing.

  I spent the next hour resting my eyes, listening to Drea get ready, peeking at her every few minutes. The City Girls’ latest album was on blast as Drea slipped into a black latex dress, styled her wig, and slipped on a pair of matching patent leather red bottoms. Legacy slept on my chest throughout the entire process, waking a bit as I placed him on his blanket laid out in the center of the bed. I sat up, rubbing my nose at the smell of Drea’s Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume mingling with her hairspray residue. Drea spun around the middle of the hotel suite, modeling for me.

  “How do I look?” she asked, slinging her YSL bag on her shoulder.

  I rubbed by beard. “Like you about to get into some bad shit.”

  “Good, ‘cause I am,” Drea quipped, making her way to the door with an extra kick to her switch. She blew a kiss over her shoulder. “Have fun tonight, boys.”

  “We sure will,” I said, getting to work.

  It was my turn to change out of my funeral clothes, throwing on a pair of black sweats, shirt, and some speed trainers. Legacy managed not to mess up his pajamas, making it real easy to wrap him up in a thick blanket. I stocked up his baby bag with the essentials, and we were out the door with plenty of time to spare. Amos had all of Raleigh on lock, which would make it impossible for me to move around without being noticed. What I was doing was risky, but I needed to make the impossible possible. I called up one of my old classmates who stayed in Durham and went home to Raleigh on the weekends. One Cash App and fifteen minutes later, Legacy and I were on our way to his father’s house. I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say to Anthony, but it was somewhere along the lines of him stepping up to do the right thing. The Uber turned onto the quiet street where Anthony resided with his wife and four children, slowing to a stop in front of his two-story home. I noticed his car was gone on the walk up the cobblestoned path. Legacy began crying from either an empty belly or wet diaper. I rang the bell. Nothing. I rang again.

  “Hold on a got damn minute,” a woman barked from the other side of the door. “I don’t know who the fuck this is, but you better have a good reason for knocking on my motherfucking—Quill?” Katrina, Anthony’s wife of five years, stood in the doorway clutching a terry cloth robe to her voluptuous figure, her eyes darting from me to Legacy’s carrier. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Trina, we need to talk,” I said over a now screaming Legacy.

  Katrina opened the door wider, stepping aside for us to enter. I made a beeline for the bathroom, changing Legacy’s soiled pamper. Katrina was laid across the black leather sectional taking up most of her living room, sipping on a glass of wine when I returned. I took a seat across from her, shrugging out of my jacket and working on Legacy next. The living room was silent save for the sounds of her sips and Legacy’s little grunts as I got him situated on my lap.

  “Honey, Anthony isn't here; he's at the Class Act with Amos and the boys,” she said, referring to her two older sons who were working under Amos as well. Her eyes rested on Legacy. “Is that whose baby I think it is? What is he doing here?”

  “Yes, this is Drea's son, Legacy. She had him six weeks ago, right after I was shot.”

  Katrina eyed him suspiciously. “I know what you came here to do, Quill, and it isn't going to work; my husband is not claiming that child.”

  “So you expect me to spend the rest of my life taking care of someone else’s child? Anthony doesn’t have to claim him in public, but he needs to do right by his son! How would you feel if one of your sons was in the same situation as me?”

  “They would never be stupid enough to sleep with some cheap little slut they met at the club. At least, not without some form of protection,” Katrina countered with a snide smile.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Too bad you can't say the same for your husband.”

  The smile slid right off of her face. “Get the fuck out of my house. You, and that little bastard of yours.”

  “If I walk out of here I'm going straight to Amos and telling him the truth; that your husband was fucking his daughter. He’ll be mad, livid, but when he finds out that his own cousin didn’t even bother to tell him what was going on, who do you think he’ll kill first? The person bound by blood or title?”

  Katrina finished off her wine, placing the glass on the table with more force than necessary. “Tell him. But when he asks who the baby’s father is, you still won’t have an answer. I’ll tell you this much: it ain't Anthony.”

  “Drea was fucking around with—”

  “You don't have to keep reminding me. What I'm trying to tell you is that Anthony ain't that baby’s daddy because I made his ass get a vasectomy a long time ago. Right around the time he was fucking with this little bitch up the street. I told him I could deal with the stepping out, but I wouldn’t tolerate any outside babies. We agreed that we were done having kids. He got snipped two months later—”

  “Which means there's still a chance—”

  “Two years ago. Any swimmers he had don’ already waded in the water,” Katrina finished, a smug smile on her face as she tucked her hands behind her head. “If you want to know who the real father is, you better ask that hoe. I’ll tell you what she got right though; pinning this baby on you.”

  “‘Cause I'm stupid?” I shot back, reaching in the baby bag to prep Legacy’s bottle before we returned to the hotel.

  “No, because he really can pass for being
your son. You don’t see it? You have the same brows, eyes, ears, lips…if I didn’t know any better, I would think it was your baby and you were trying to pin it on someone else.”

  I stopped at her words. There were plenty of men in the club that night with more clout and money than me. Any one of them would have been willing to play father to Drea's baby if it meant becoming a Winthrop through marriage. I didn’t even want to go to the club in the first place. Bull pressured me to go out for drinks with him that night under the premise of cheering me up. We took shot after shot, living it up. Bull left to handle business, and not even twenty minutes later Drea came along. They played me. The reason was why? I rose from the bag with the bottle in my trembling hand. Katrina had poured herself another drink while I was down there, and she was sipping on it as she watched the dots connect.

  “Drea’s real good at having people think she fucks with them. Her and my two girls used to be real tight, hung out every day for years. My youngest daughter wasn’t with her boyfriend for three months when Drea got caught fucking her boyfriend. Broke my baby’s heart.” Katrina took a pensive sip of her drink. “I don’t know what her end game is for you, sweetheart, but you better figure it out real soon. Whatever that girl wants, she gets it, be damned of how many necks she has to step on to get there.”

  Katrina’s words haunted me for the rest of the night. I was shaking with so much anger it rocked Legacy to sleep. As I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I felt like a bottle shaken too tight, liable to pop at the slightest touch. Drea was going to walk into this hotel room drunk and high, smelling like whatever nigga she fucked in the men’s room, and the sound of her breathing was going to send me over the edge. I needed to calm down. Fast. There was only one person I could count on to get me out of this mood and I knew for a fact she wouldn’t take my calls. After another hour of tossing and turning, I decided I didn’t have anything to lose. I sent her a text asking if she was awake. Nothing. I called her five minutes later, selfishly uncaring of whether or not she was in bed, or who she could have in bed beside her. She picked up on the second ring, her voice groggy.