Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Alright,” Tennessee replied. “Just finished forcing Momma and Auntie Peaches to upgrade they alarm system.”
“Damn, they finally getting that done? You installed it?” I sat before my plate and wolfed a few bites.
“Nah.” He yawned. “I made them pick the one that reaches the calvary, you feel me? In case they need me to roll up with sirens, lights. Some beads for effect.” He chuckled.
“Fighting fires?”
“Just finished putting out a flame in Congo Square.”
“Congo—”
“That’s what I said,” Tennessee replied. “Some fool set up a catfish fry inside Congo Square. Almost stepped out my turnout coat and whooped some ass. Like, bruh, this is history, not a tailgate party. Now I’m about to head to my shotgun.”
“Got a minute?”
“Got till I pull my Black ass into the driveway.”
“Good enough for me.” I pressed into the brother’s group and started up FaceTime. Tennessee appeared first, face and cornrows ashy from fighting fires. Then Washington popped on, bald head glistening in the afternoon sun.
“That’s the parachute,” I murmured, staring at his head.
“What?” they asked.
“Nothing.” I chuckled to myself as Texas answered, hoodie up, looking suspect. I brought them up to speed on Zuri’s past—everything except for the man she murdered in New York.
“The bébé was tied to the cartel? All this time?” Tennessee said, turning the wheel of his truck.
“Yeah. Darius’s trash-ass-daddy”—my jaw tightened as I stabbed a stack of shrimp onto my fork—“played her.”
Washington leaned in, smirking like a law professor in a comedy club. “Boy, we talking a whole buffet of felonies. Conspiracy to traffic opioids, fraud, extortion. Add his cartel connections … that’s racketeering, bribery, obstruction of justice.”
“Dude, you done?” Texas asked.
“He’s looking at a lifetime sentence with parole eligibility—”
“Eligibility?” I growled. “If they don’t cook him, I will!”
“What cartel, Montana?” Texas asked. “You ain’t tell us everything. I’ma infiltrate. See if they’re all after Zuri and our boy. Bring ‘em down from the inside and if not—coz it seems trash daddy had a side deal with the one guy—I’ll stay linked up.”
“Makes sense,” Washington said. “The side hustle part.”
“Thought that too,” I agreed. “The Queso Kings would’ve found her by now. Seems like it’s just the one.” I exhaled in relief. Leave it to my no-brain-cells-ever-connecting lil’ brotha to have a reverse lapse in judgment. Boy done tripped and fell straight into common sense.
“Stay linked?” Tennessee brought up what nobody wanted to hear—his twin’s foolishness. “Why? Are you tryna step your game up from them thugs you run with?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. Wasn’t here for this. But Texas was.
The bad twin grinned. “Man, I ain’t gonna lie. Cartel? Bruh, that’s diversification!”
I scooped up more grits, knowing this was just the beginning.
And nah, he wasn’t done. Texas leaned forward, shoved his hoodie back, giving Tennessee more reason to groan. “Who tightened your locs, Tex? How did you pay for that design?”
Texas smirked. “We’re still talking about me infiltrating the Queso Kings. I call that a portfolio move. I’d put it on my resume. Professional Organized Crime Consultant. Better networking. Benefits. Maybe a 401(k).”
Tennessee gritted out. “You’re evasive ass ain’t serious.”
By now, I started on the extra plate I made for Zuri.
Texas grinned. “Sounds better than you kicking me out, talking about I don’t pay rent. Now shuddup, young pup.”
“Young pup?” Tennessee shook his head, dragging himself into his apartment.
Washington typed on a laptop, and I still had a couple more bites left.
Tennessee sniffed and pulled his NOFD shirt over his head. “You treat life like a damn side hustle. You’ll end up in a back-alley, and Momma—”
“Don’t,” Texas growled, “bring up Momma. You act like you on Washington’s level.”
“I ain’t in this,” Wash murmured, typing paused.
“Well, you ain’t no Big Country, Tex,” Tennessee said.
“Rich coming from somebody who flipped crawfish tails on Jackson Square for charity. You and your firefighter friends, y’all’s the charity.”
Tennessee snarled, “We know how I make money. How you get that ride?”
“It’s a Charger.” Texas chuckled.
“Who you stay with?” his twin asked.
True. Tennessee was the only one keeping our brother in check. But right now? I had finished breakfast, so I wasn’t worried about the mess Texas was trying to get into. “Wash, you got a connect with the Feds?”
He nodded slowly.
“I want this handled.” Before I handled it my way.
zuri
. . .
Aweek later, Cheetos stains blemished the contract Montana and I had signed. I should’ve trashed the paper. I trusted Montana. He’d told me that Washington would look into Edwin and the cartel connect—and left out the dead guy angle. He’d also paid me cash for our days in Paris … not that my heart had wanted the money. But I kept the paper anyway. Kept me sane.
“What am I gonna do?” I murmured, brushing off the orange crumbs and folding the paper again to shove it back into my purse, resting on the kitchen table.