NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 37
Like there is one. A singular word that’ll tie us together for life.
There isn’t.
Just me.
Everything went sideways as soon as Amirah left for school.
She kissed my cheek, thanking me again for forcing her to go back to bed and feeding her. Unfortunately, I only got to revel in the soft press of her lips for a minute before my phone went off.
Come to find out, my Mom lost control of her car with Grandma in it, who’s now in the hospital.
To an average person, it says accident.
To me and my bullshit, it screams just that—bullshit.
Thankfully, I’m only less than an hour away from Staten Island, where Ma lives, and the hospital that Grandma is now in with being in New York.
With Ma fretting over how many pillows she has, she’s fine. What’s not okay is Kyson’s first words to me when he comes up to the third floor of Staten Island Community Hospital.
“Brake lines were severed.”
My jaw locks as I watch Ma on the phone in the bustling hallway of nurses and technicians trying to get a hold of my dad. “I want them dead by the end of the week.”
My walking and breathing rationality with red hair and stubble peppered along his jawline gives me a few seconds before saying, “What about Amirah?”
“Fuck, Amirah,” I growl out. “I’m not going to lose anyone over this.”
You’ll lose her.
I shake the thought. I was never supposed to have anything from her in the first place.
This is all a dream, one that came from a nightmare, but it was never going to settle into anything but a fantasy.
“Bishop is coming up.” I bob my head as Ma excuses herself from accidentally bumping into a young man in blue scrubs. “Marty will be in tomorrow. Then we’ll talk about everything.”
I swing my focus to him. “I already told you what I want.”
Kyson’s expression doesn’t alter, his voice the epitome of calm. “And we’ll make sure we talk some more when you have a clearer head.”
He has no problem taking my stare head-on, standing two inches over me and appearing like we’re just hanging out in the middle of a hospital because we want to.
Zero fucks given.
Me, on the other hand, knows better.
I’ve been chastising myself for weeks to get this shit over with, and I’ve been too busy focusing on things that didn’t need to be looked at. I gave Amirah her life back. She doesn’t need me anymore.
“Whatever,” I dismiss. “Answer is still going to be the same. Just need the game plan behind it.”
“Grandma is okay?”
“Yeah, she’ll probably be released in a few hours. She just has some cuts and bruises. They're just running her some tests.”
“I’ll look at buying Ma a new car,” Kyson ventures. “Hers is fucked and outdated.”
I shrug. “At least I won’t have to fight with her anymore about it. Been trying to get her to trade that piece of shit for years.”
“I’m going to go say hi.” Kyson places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Go smoke…outside.”
Striding in the direction of my grandmother’s hospital room, Ma catches sight of him and immediately marches up to him. She wraps her arms around his middle, then pulls away and pats his cheek.
With Kyson here, they’re in good hands, so I take the elevator down and walk outside to the small wooden area at the side of the parking lot and sit on the brown mulch to light up.
The moment my lighter hits the end of my blunt, my cell rings.
Bishop.
“Hey, man,” I greet, inhaling deeply and always enjoying the first hit.
“Kyson there?”
“Yeah, he’s upstairs with grans.”
“She good?”
I nod. “Cuts and bruises, they’re running tests. Kyson said it was cut brake lines.” Bishop is silent on the other end, more than likely mauling over the different ideas in his head about how he can make Amirah’s sisters and mother suffer.
“We’ll take shifts at your Ma’s place,” he finally says.
“No need,” I retort. “I’ll be staying there.”
“Not going back to New York City?”
I shake my head against everything crashing in it. Amirah’s there. She needs my protection against her sisters. I like being around her. I like how she makes me feel like me again. “Nah, I’m done.”
“Huh.” Bishop’s one-word answer creates my brows to fall.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t take you for a bitch is all,” he emits placidly.
The hell?
“You know what, you can turn your fucking ass around and go back home to your wife because your type of asshole isn’t really needed around here, prick.”
“I don’t listen to bitches.” I pull my phone away from my ear, about to end the call, when I hear him speak again. “You like the girl. So date her.”
My cell buzzes in my palm then, and I glance down to see the fucking angel herself.
Amirah.
Immediately I’m irritated.
I’m pissed off because I’ve wasted too much time.
I’m livid that I haven’t killed all these females sooner.
I’m beside myself because I think I like her, like her.
Her family that is numbingly still alive, led me here with my grandma in a hospital and how this could be so much worse.
“For what?” I snap out to Bishop and ignore Amirah’s call. “Are you really fucking telling me that you’d date a woman that raped you?”
“If it was Emmy, yeah.” I roll my eyes because, yeah, the fuck right. Bishop’s past is more screwed up than what I experienced weeks ago. He’d gouge Emmy’s eyes out if she wasn’t part of B723 or burn her alive.
“Emmy isn’t a follower,” I state. “So…”
“And Emmy doesn’t have sisters either to hold shit over her head.”
“She has brothers, and she still wouldn’t have done what Amirah did. Bro, I’m about to off half her family. Think about it.”
“Didn’t say it was going to be easy,” he replies flatly, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. “But Kyson said yesterday that you’ve been doing a lot for her.”
Of course, he did.
I lightly flick my paper to my blunt and shake my head. “Yeah, well, I guess what you and Marty always said was true.”
“What? The annoying GQ model thing that you do when you check a mirror every time you pass it or the fact that you believe that lightsabers are a real thing?”
“I did that one time,” I argue. “And I was drunk as fuck with the lightsabers.”
“Mhm.”
“I want to get this handled and finished ASAP. Shit’s been going on too long.”
“Your situation is different, Mills.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “What is wrong with you? Why are you…condoning this?”
“Because besides the fact that you’re part of my family, I want to see you happy. You’re a good dude. Simple as that.”
“Emmy told you to be nice to me, didn’t she?” Bishop’s chuckle confirms it, and I continue to stare at the front entrance of the hospital.
All of this could’ve been the end of what I know and where I came from. These fucking bitches think I’m playing, and it’s time to end all of it.
“See you in a few hours, asshole. Head to Ma’s house. You know where the key is if we’re not there. We should be home soon.”
He tells me that he will and hangs up when a text message comes through, and I can’t help my heart from lifting a tad.
AMIRAH: I won! I just got the call! My dress is going to be featured in New York Fashion week!!
AMIRAH: Wanna celebrate with me?
AMIRAH: That includes carry-out food and vodka!
AMIRAH: Oh! And movies and junk food!
I want to smile, but the muscles for that aren’t working.
It’s better this way, always was and has been. I warned her away from me, and neither of us listened.
I’m happy for you, I want nothing but the best for her, but she’s going to suffer from my hand either way. We can’t turn back time and erase what happened and what’s still going on.
It’s time to activate B723.
And that means people are going to die.
It didn’t take long for Odette to brag and, for once, I’m glad I answered the phone because I consider sending it right to voicemail as a silent fuck you.
But then she told me about visiting Mill’s mom and how she saw ambulances. That his mom hit a cement wall and the glass to the windshield shattered everywhere.
My oldest sister was even so kind enough to send me pictures.
The green minivan was totaled entirely in the front, and the passenger side’s door smashed in.
She wouldn’t tell me if she was okay, said she didn’t care. And I couldn’t help myself by turning around from heading home and pulling up at Mill’s house over an hour later.
I’m overstepping, but he hasn’t answered any of my twenty calls nor my frantic text messages either. And what was once a really good freaking day turned into gut-wrenching guilt because my sister is the cause of why Mills probably isn’t answering them.
So, in the meantime and on my way to Staten Island, I called all the local hospitals, but no one has a patient under the last name Mills.
Finally, I end up at a brick house with stones embedded around the picture window out front and the cute little flag with red leaves for Fall. Hesitantly I truck up the driveway with my heart in my throat.
Memories of being here before plague my brain. He didn’t want me here the first time, and here I am again without being invited. The porch light is on when I step up, alluding that someone may be home. I don’t know if he’s going to be okay with me here, coming unannounced like a stalker, but I have to know that his mom and grandmother are okay.
I knock three times before I begin to change my mind.
This is the hard part, waiting to see the conclusion of what I’ve been thinking about the whole drive here. If he’s going to slam it in my face and threaten to rip my life apart again.
That he won’t and doesn’t want to see me again.
The door flings open then, and the redheaded man from my school’s parking lot stands there with a blank expression behind his golden eyes and face.
I swallow and watch him stare at me like I’m a stranger who’s trying to sell him cleaning products or cheaper internet.
“Hey,” I greet lamely, not remembering his name and already feeling paranoid. “Is Mills here?”
He studies me some more for the longest moment of my entire life before opening up the door wider for me and stepping aside. “Yeah, come in.”
Stiffly, I make sure not to touch him as I walk in, smelling garlic fill my nostrils when I stand in the foyer.
“This way,” he mutters behind me before gesturing with his hand for me to follow as he strides into the neighboring room full of female voices.
I take a deep breath and hold it when I turn the corner, hearing the man that answered the door say, “Mills, you have a visitor.”
My eyes scan the room, falling on two brown couches full of male bodies that don’t seem to fit them, and a sweet-looking older woman with a purple cast on her arm in a La-Z-Boy chair.
That must be his grandmother or mom.
My heart clenches at the pain my family caused her for no good reason at all. That she was collateral damage to make a point that isn’t going to stick with me.
Movement pulls out of my peripheral as I watch Mills pushing off the ivory-painted wall to my left and head my way.
He’s dressed in the same black solid tee from this morning that shows off his hard chest and biceps with distressed jeans that are ripped at the knees. A blue La Dodgers baseball cap tops his head, and the way he strides towards me, I forget everything or anyone else in the room with how fast my heart is thudding in my ears.
I can’t focus on anything else when his eyes, those smokey blues hold me hostage to my grounded spot.
“Amirah.” His voice drips low as he stops in front of me, my chin rising to keep hold of him while trying to read his expression.
I open my mouth to tell him I didn’t mean to barge in, but I’m cut off by a woman’s voice.
“Rhett, introduce me to your friend.” I inwardly cringe because not only can’t I read if he doesn’t want me here, but now he has to acknowledge who I am to his family.
I see Mills’s jaw tick then, making my stomach curl in rejection before he looks over at the room. “Ma, this is Amirah.”
I force myself to glance over, finding a woman sitting in a plush chair staring at me with a friendly smile. She has short dark hair and light eyes, almost like Mills’s but bluer, I think.
“Rus—“ Mills gestures to his right, guiding my focus to the petite elderly woman with the purple wrap encased around her wrist. “—this is my Grands.”
“Hello,” I say with a forced grin.
“You know Kyson.” His name assembles my eyes to latch on to the man who let me in, and he gives me a nod.
Mills's hand lands on my lower back, lightly pushing me around the couch to where two men sit but haven’t turned to acknowledge me.
They both have dark hair; one is longer than the other’s with a beard and large. Their gazes bore into me, and it’s then that I believe they know all about me and what I’ve done.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m in the lion’s den, and this is the worst idea I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours.
Mills points at the man with the beard, who’s currently staring at me like I’m the biggest piece of shit in the world. “This is Bishop—“ Then his finger swings to the man at his right, leaning back and intently watching me to see if I’m going to cry. “—and Marty.”
“Nice to meet you,” I lie, not daring to stick my hand out. The man named Bishop appears like he’d slap it away, and Marty would probably continue to stare at it.
Neither of them says a word before a male voice clears his throat—Kyson—and Marty sighs, taking the not-so-subtle hint.
“Pleasure’s ours.”
“Yeah, it is,” Mills says, and I’m not sure if he realizes it, but the pad of his fingers begins to press harder into my back.
“Come take a seat,” Mills’s mom conveys through the room. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Oh, no,” I quickly retort. “I’m not staying but thank you.”
“Just swinging by?” Marty asks, lifting a brow and not looking a bit convinced that I’m here for a friendly visit.
I obviously am, but with my sister being behind why I’m here, I can see why he wouldn’t trust me. Not only because he doesn’t know me, but I wouldn’t want me here either.
“Actually, yeah,” I profess, showing that I’m going to be pushed around by someone I don’t know. I don’t want to be rude, but I get enough from Solange and Odette. And I’m here for Mills, not to make nice with his buddies.
“That’s so sweet of you,” Mills’s mom coos into our conversation. “Mom, tell her you’re doing okay.”
“Oh, yes, sweetheart, doing just fine. I just tweaked my wrist and have some bruising and cuts. I’ve dealt with much worse with Rhett as my grandchild.”
That gets me to organically lift my lips.
“Thanks, Gran,” Mills chimes in flatly before he whispers into my ear. “You wanna go talk somewhere?” I nod, and he doesn’t waste any time directing me out. “Be right back,” he announces to the room.
It falls deathly silent again, and I feel every pair of eyes on me as Mills takes me back to the navy-colored front door. He reaches out from behind me and opens it while I don’t miss a beat of getting out as quickly as I can.
The moment the cool air hits me, I take a deep breath. Hoping to God, it’ll steady me because my whole face is on fire, and my inner organs are seizing from the semi-toxic air in that house.
Hesitantly, I spin around because I have to. Once again, I have overstepped into his personal life but, in all fairness, he’s done it to me several times. I’m not close to being even if we’re counting.
“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” I apologize, finding him on the cement porch with his hands shoved in his jean pockets as he looks down at me. “You didn’t answer your phone, and I…heard.”
His brows lift. “Did you? Which one?”
Another delay on my end because I’m only giving him ammunition, but when will this stop? He deserves to know and for all this to cease. I just don’t want it to end the way he has in mind.
“Odette.”
Mills steps off the edge of the landing and erases all of the space between us. He also sucks in the air in my chest and intensifies how he will react to my being here.
I can’t move or say anything at this moment. I’m too entranced and attuned to him. I wanted to celebrate with him with what I’ve worked so hard to do, but his family was almost taken from it.
Everything could’ve ended up so much worse, and would I even have the nerve to come see him then?
Would he hate me?
He may now.
“How do you feel about it now, Rus?” he mutters, readjusting his weight and holding my fixed look. “Do you still want me to promise not to kill them?”
My jaw falls to speak, but no words come out. I don’t have an immediate answer to that question, and I feel bad that I don’t.
“She severed the brake lines,” he tells me. “What do you think she was trying to do?”
Hurt them.
Hurt him.
Teach him a lesson.
He must not like how I can’t respond right away because his hand comes up to my face, and he palms my face.
“I can’t promise you anything now,” he just about sneers. “I’ve wasted enough time. And by doing that, my mother or grandmother could’ve been killed. I couldn’t live with that. I can live with what happened to me…but not that.”
I couldn’t either.
Tears burn the back of my eyes at the thought of him blaming himself. And that he said he’d think about not offing my sisters and mother just for my sake.
