West looked around the Fifth Ward of Houston as his driver navigated the streets of his old block. He remembered everything about this neighborhood. It had been home for a long time. As grateful as he was to be adopted by the Sinclairs, this still felt organic. He hadn’t been back in years and he hated that the circumstances of death had become his motivation to do so.
His Escalade stopped in front of a one-story bungalow. Green paint and brown shutters decorated the small house. It was the ugliest combination on the block but one of the most beautiful women he knew lived inside.
Leslie idled the car and got out to open West’s door. There was a porch full of young wolves eyeing them.
“I won’t be long,” West stated. He reached for the leather bag that sat on the seat and then approached the house.
The men on the porch moved inward, closing the pathway so West couldn’t pass.
West scratched his temple, wincing, because he hated when he had to pull out a piece of his past.
“This is entertaining. I guess you’re the keeper of the steps or something,” West said as he rubbed his thumb across his jawline.
“Who you here for? You don’t just pull up in your fancy car ’round this bitch. Niggas need permission, you feel me?” the man said, pulling up his shirt to expose the handgun on his waist.
Without thinking, West grabbed the man up by his neck, squeezing so hard the goon couldn’t breathe. “You on the block I own, nigga. You never know who you addressing, so you speak with respect always.” West removed the gun from the man’s waistline and delivered a vicious blow across his face before tossing the man to the ground. He discharged the gun, blowing a hole through the man’s foot before removing the clip from the gun and tossing it aside. He was calm. He wasn’t flexing. He didn’t tolerate disrespect. The bullet to the foot was a fair warning. “Next time, I’ma blow your fucking head off.”
The other men fled at the sound of the shot and the front door was pushed open.
“Man, get yo’ ass off my mama lawn bleeding and shit!” Sire said as he emerged from the house. “Aye, Zo! Get his ass to Doc so he can patch him up. You teaching expensive lessons today, ain’t you?”
Sire slapped hands with West.
“Nigga think cuz you wear a suit you won’t put in work. Fuck is wrong with these new mu’fuckas around here, man?” West asked.
“You don’t come around. You mainstream now. Corporate thugging. These lil’ niggas don’t know you ’round here, bro,” Sire said.
West adjusted his lapel and followed Sire into the house. “Where’s Ma Dukes?” West asked.
“She’s in her room. It’s bad. She won’t even go down to the funeral home to make the arrangements,” Sire said.
West paused at the bedroom door. Sire delivered a knock and West waited for permission to enter.
“Ma, West is here,” Sire announced.
“Come in,” a soft voice called through the wooden door.
West entered the room and the smell of incense permeated the air.
West’s heart ached when he laid eyes on Ms. Sheryl. He had spent so much time at her house as a kid. She had mothered him, fed him, wiped his tears when he was afraid. She was the strongest woman he had ever met but looking at her now broke his heart. She was a shell of her normal self.
West hugged her, wrapping her in a strong embrace.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said, kissing the top of her head. Wasan had always been her pride and joy. A mother should never have favorites, but the entire neighborhood knew Wasan was her baby. Losing him had extinguished a light.
“We ain’t seen you around here in a while,” she said.
“I’m gonna change that. I’ve been real busy at work,” West stated.
“I know. You work hard. You’ve done good for yourself. You made it out of here. You don’t apologize for that. If Wasan had made it out I wouldn’t have to bury him,” she whispered. She squeezed his shoulders in support. “Let me fix you something to eat. You hungry?”
He knew it was a way to pull her out of her bedroom so despite the meal he had just eaten before arriving, he agreed.
Everything about the house was nostalgic, including the white gas stove that she had to ignite with a lighter.
He took a seat at the kitchen table with Sire and set the bag down on the floor beside his chair.
“I want to give you something, Ma,” he said. He reached down and unzipped the bag. He knew he had to come with cash. Ms. Sheryl didn’t believe in banks.
“Oh baby, bless your heart,” she said, pausing to sit at the table. West could see she was overwhelmed.
“It’s five hundred thousand dollars. It’s enough to cover funeral expenses and enough to get you out of here,” he said. “Buy you a house, live anywhere you want. If that’s not enough, let me know.”
Sheryl reached out for West’s hand and gave it a squeeze as tears came to her eyes. “You’ve always been a good boy,” she said.
He placed a hand over hers and squeezed back. “I don’t mean to run, but you think you can put my plate up for me?” West asked.
Ms. Sheryl nodded. “Yeah.” She swiped her runaway tears. “You go. I know you’re busy. Thank you for thinking of us, baby. I’ll see you at the memorial.”
“I may not be able to make it,” West said.
Ms. Sheryl sat back in her chair, stunned. “Oh. Okay.” West could hear the disappointment in her tone, but she nodded reassuringly. “You were always smart enough to keep your hands clean. Good for you, West.” She stood and they hugged once more.
“Aye, Ma, go get dressed. We need to go see Was,” Sire said.
Sheryl left the room and Sire stood to his feet.
“You just walk in here and put your money on the floor like we need charity? I’m taking care of this whole block. We ain’t short on paper. Nigga, my brother died putting down a move for you and you too good to come to the funeral?” Sire asked.
“You know it ain’t like that. Every move I make is being scrutinized right now. I just took over the company. The rig explosion has all eyes on me. What you think going to happen if the press catches me in a photo with you? I got to move smart. It’s not personal,” West said. “What about the diver? Did he say who hired him? I need a name, Sire. I put two people I love in the ground. I need to know who to see about that.”
“Nigga, my blood brother got his head blown off on behalf of you and you back to business already? Don’t come around here talking business, throwing around paper, talking about it ain’t personal. It don’t get more personal than that, businessman,” Sire said. He couldn’t believe how far life had separated them. West had helped Sire make his first million dollars. He had fronted him the money to cop bricks back in the day and Sire had flipped it effortlessly. They were silent partners, fifty-fifty. Sire even had a stake in the sports agency. But the more West submerged himself with the Sinclair family, the more he seemed to forget where they started. “Better get out of here before somebody see you with one of us.”
West nodded and bit his tongue. Normally he wouldn’t have tolerated the tone, but he knew emotions were running high. He knew his pain couldn’t compare to what Sire was feeling.
“Tell Ma I’ll be back for my plate,” West said. He patted the side of Sire’s face sternly, brotherly, remorsefully. “I’m sorry about Was,” he said.
“Me too,” Sire answered. “Remember where you came from. Don’t get too big, my nigga. Don’t want none of these little niggas around here to feel like they got to bring you down a notch.”
“It would be a shame to leave mothers sonless, so I pray they know better,” West replied.
“Thank you for helping us,” Honor said. “You were never in danger. I just want you to know that. We were just desperate.”
“She put a gun to my head,” Maria replied.
“It was a hairbrush,” Honor admitted.
“A hairbrush!” Maria exclaimed. She was in such disbelief that she laughed hysterically, infecting Honor with the giggles as well. “A goddamn hairbrush.”
Honor pulled curbside and parked valet.
“Next time, just ask. Come inside; I’ll send you with medication to manage the pain and stop infection,” Maria said before opening the door and rushing back inside. Honor handed the keys over to the valet and followed Maria.
“Wait here,” Maria instructed.
“How do I know you aren’t going to call the cops?” Honor asked.
“I like money. Consider our relationship doctor/patient confidentiality,” Maria said. “I’ll be right back.”
Honor waited anxiously, half expecting to be arrested at any minute.
“You like hanging out in hospitals, huh?”
Honor turned to the sound of someone’s voice. She was caught completely off guard when she saw August on the opposite side of the circular reception desk.
“Just picking up a prescription from my doctor,” she said. “How’s your brother?”
August looked behind him and then back at Honor. “Why don’t you see for yourself? He loves the toy he found inside the basket. He owes you a thank-you.”
“Oh I…”
Honor was grateful for Maria’s interruption.
“Every six hours take these,” she said, holding up an orange medicine container. “Take this one once daily until they’re gone. And call me if you need anything.”
Honor nodded. “Thank you.”
“Now I’ve got to try to go save my job,” Maria said with a wink before rushing off. Honor stuffed them into her bag and then glanced at August. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tapered on the sides. He had a single tattoo on his face at his temple, but his neck and forearms were covered in ink. White Boys weren’t Honor’s thing, but this white boy had a little extra flavor in his juice. She understood the hype surrounding him.
“I’m headed up now if you want to pop in,” August said. “We’ve hired your firm. You might as well join me. You can tell me how you and your sisters plan to fix this mess.”
Honor squinted as she took him in. Charming Southern boy with money and legacy. He had to have an alter ego because she could not fathom this man in front of her maliciously raping and murdering anyone. He had, however. He had left her sister to die. She and her sisters were working Sinclair Enterprises from the inside out. She had direct access to the perpetrator himself in this moment. No way would she not take advantage of it.
“Sure, I can stop in for a few minutes,” Honor said.
“I’ll walk you up,” August replied.
“It says a lot that you made the time to personally drop off that gift for Beamer,” August said as they traversed the hospital hallways.
“He’s just a kid. He didn’t deserve what happened to him,” Honor said.
August led the way onto the elevator, and they took opposing walls.
The silence between them was awkward and she breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the children’s floor.
“After you,” August said, holding out his arm. Honor was positive he let her go first so he could look at her ass. To her surprise when she glanced back at him, his eyes were focused on his phone. She paused at Beamer’s room and August went in first.
“Beamer, I’ve got a surprise for you. Remember that nice gift you got the other day?” August asked.
Beamer was covered in bandages but the ones on his face had been removed so his burns could breathe. He was so red. So badly burned. Honor’s eyes prickled.
“This is who got them for you,” August said. “Her name is Honor LaCroix.”
Honor glanced at him, shocked. He had remembered her name. She supposed there was no harm in that. Their companies were in business with one another. Of course he remembered.
“Thank you. That was nice. You didn’t have to,” Beamer said.
“A lot of people are rooting for you,” Honor said.
“People at school thought I was a freak before. They’ll destroy me now,” Beamer said, looking away in embarrassment.
August rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. He hasn’t been feeling the best. The burns bother him, but I told him he’s lucky. He’s not even supposed to be here.”
“I wish I wasn’t,” Beamer huffed.
Honor’s chest caved. “You’re a miracle,” she said. “I know it feels really bad right now, and I know it seems like your burns will never heal, but they will. And no matter what scars they leave behind, you should be proud of them. Scars are beautiful. They remind you of how strong you are. You survived something that those kids at your school never could.”
Beamer still didn’t turn to her.
August blew out a breath of frustration. “Beamer, bro, you’re being rude.”
“It’s okay, he’s not,” Honor said patiently. “You want to see my scar?”
That got his attention. Honor pulled a makeup wipe out of her bag and handed it to Beamer. She pointed to her hairline. “Go ahead, wipe it off,” Honor said. She tapped her temple and Beamer took the wipe to her face. A long scar ran from her ear to her chin.
“Whoa!” Beamer exclaimed.
“I was shot when I was a little girl,” Honor explained. “It was much worse back then. It’s taken years to fade but it made me feel strong. It made me feel like I could survive anything.”
“It’s really cool,” Beamer admired. “It looks like a ladder on the side of your face.”
“It’s from the stitches,” Honor said, smiling. “Guess what?”
“What?” Beamer asked, intrigued as he rubbed her scar.
“Yours are cooler,” she said. “Get better, Beamer. You’re a fighter.”
She stood upright and smiled at Beamer then waved to August as she made her way out.
Honor made it to the door before he stopped her.
“I’d like to see you outside of the walls of this hospital,” August said, finessing his lips as he stared at her. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
Honor scoffed, ignoring his invitation and walking out of the room.
“I swear you be cheating, Beamer,” August said as he tossed the Xbox controller onto the hospital bed.
“I’m just better than you,” Beamer bragged. It felt like old times. The smile on Beamer’s face was worth the time August was missing from the company. West was holding down the crisis while August spent time at the hospital. After all the pain Beamer had been through, it was good to see his little brother smiling.
“Hang tight,” August said as he stood from the chair and retreated to the bathroom. He popped three percs, washing the pills down with water from the sink, and then ran his hands down his face. He hadn’t slept well since the explosion. Grief was a bitter bitch and he couldn’t shake the emptiness he felt without his parents. They were all he knew. They had provided for him his entire life and although they left behind a fortune he would never be able to spend completely, it wasn’t worth their lives. Knowing the blast was intentional had him searching for answers. He needed to know who had a target on his family’s back. His soul would be unsettled until he got them.
“Hey, Beam, how you feeling?”
August heard West’s voice and he cleared his throat, straightening the lapel of his suit and running a hand through his disheveled hair.
He stepped out of the bathroom.
“What up, bro?” August greeted, slapping hands and embracing West before taking a seat. “You heard any news on who might be behind this shit? What Sire saying?”
West dismissed August’s questions, focusing on Beamer. “You excited to come home, kid?”
“Yeah! I can’t wait! I’m tired of being here.” Beamer grimaced as he sat up in bed, making himself more comfortable.
“You’re healing good. You’re strong. I knew you would,” West said.
“Where am I going to live when I come home? Mom and Dad are gone,” he said, his sadness dripping off each word.
West glanced at August. “We’re going to figure that part out, Beamer. You don’t have to worry about that. You can come stay with me or August. Wherever you want to go, that’s where you’ll go.”
“I want to go home,” Beamer said.
West nodded. “I know, buddy,” he said. “We got something real fly planned for you to celebrate you getting out of the hospital. A welcome home party. Everybody is real excited to see you.”
He glanced at August. “Let me holler at you,” he said.
They walked into the hallway and West said, “Don’t talk about the explosion in front of Beamer. He don’t need to know it was intentional. It’ll just scare him.”
“What do we know?” August asked. “The diver that Sire shot. Did he talk?”
“Didn’t say a word. That’s a problem because it means whoever hired him is official. Whenever a man will rather die than switch up on his boss, the boss is powerful. We need to know who the fuck we’re up against,” West said.
“They took my parents.” August sneered. “I will spend every dime I got to find out who’s behind it. Somebody has to pay for this.”
“They will. We just have to play chess. Move silent,” West said under his breath. “If we talking about murder, we have to move smart. Put the right people in place. You’re not thinking straight. You’re high right now. You got to leave the pills alone and move correct so we can find whoever’s responsible.”
“They were my parents,” August stated. “Excuse me if I don’t have enough patience in finding out who killed them. Fuck being a Boy Scout. I want revenge. If you don’t get it, I’m going to make sure it’s taken care of myself.”