Two Weeks Later
Gina awoke from her sleep sweating from the stuffy atmosphere in the room, since the air conditioner had been cut off, which was highly unusual.
Why is it so damn hot in here, and where the hell is Pat? Gina wanted to know, after discovering that he was missing from the bed. I wonder where the hell he’s at? Gina thought as she emerged nude from their king-sized bed and then slid into a pink satin robe.
Gina walked out of the room and downstairs, where she saw the illuminations from the mute flat-screen television lighting up the entire living room. When she saw, the images displaying on the TV, her heart dropped and began rapidly beating.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed while staring at her and Shamoney wildly fucking on the same bed on which she and Pat made love and shared.
“Uhhh shit, daddy!” Gina’s cries came off mute, which startled her and made her almost jump out of her skin.
When she turned around, she stared into the eyes of her husband, who had a devilish smirk on his face while holding a sleeping Patron Jr. in his arms.
“Pat, I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry that this happened.”
“There’s no need to be sorry, Gina,” Pat said as he walked toward his wife, who began backing away from him fearfully.
The look in his eyes was a look she had never seen on him before. He had Patron Jr. in his arms, so she knew that he was aware that the baby wasn’t his son.
“Eleven years, and you had everything from nothing, Gina!”
“I’m sorry!”
“I gave you the world, and you played me like a yank. What was it, Gina? Too much rope, huh? Or because yo’ hero saved your day when I couldn’t?” Pat inquired as he backed her into a corner.
“Pat, it was a mistake!” Gina cried while badly trembling. He’s going to kill me. “Pat, give me a chance. I will give him away for adoption.”
Smack!
“Agghh!” Gina cried out from Pat’s backhanded slap that spun her around to clutch the wall for support. Blood trickled from her busted lip as a result of the rough slap.
“No, Gina. You’re going to be a real mother and bring this baby to his father!” Pat demanded.
He wants me to set up Shamoney. Oh my God! Gina thought, afraid to turn around and face Pat.
He spun her around by her shoulder to face him.
“I’ma ask you again, Gina. You’re goin’ to bring this boy back to his daddy, right?”
Gina looked at Patron Jr. and saw that his eyes were now open as opposed to being closed when he was yawning a minute ago. She had to do whatever would suit her husband. She couldn’t let him down any more than she’d already done, so she decided quickly. “Yes, Pat. I will bring him to his daddy,” Gina responded shamefully while looking down at the ground.
“Go get dressed, and I mean hurry up!” Pat shouted.
“What about the girls, Pat?”
“The girls are fine. They’re with their new nanny. Now do as I say, Gina,” Pat demanded.
Gina quickly stormed around Pat and dashed upstairs.
A nanny? He’s been planning this all for awhile, Gina concluded as she looked into the girls’ empty rooms.
“Pat, please don’t hurt our children,” Gina cried out.
She badly feared for her kids and couldn’t imagine seeing him harm them in any way. She had seen the compassionate way he cared for and played with them. The girls were his heart, but she had never seen the compassion he had for the girls given to Patron Jr.
“Oh my God. He’s known since Patron Jr. was born that he wasn’t his child,” Gina said to herself while she got dressed and prepared to set up the real father.
* * *
Black now had all the pieces of the puzzle. He was not only at war with Shamoney, but also his eldest brother, who was most responsible for the sudden wrath.
Real, huh? Black thought while sitting in the backseat of the luxurious limo.
He was tired from running from the FBI and his enemies, especially those who didn’t have the heart to face him like a man. Pat had given Black the information passed down from B-Zoe, who had lost two of his soldiers while trying to abduct one of Real’s lieutenants.
Keshia is the one to thank, not Pat or B-Zoe, Black thought.
He would see that Real and Shamoney took their last breaths at his hands. It had been years since Black had had to lay down a nigga himself. He would not leave it to any other man to silence the two who had his gold mine in their palms.
He was disappointed in Gina for her infidelity, but he also thanked her, because if it wasn’t for her sleeping with the enemy, he wouldn’t be in the position to have his enemies in his reach. Now all that needed to happen was for Shamoney to walk into the trap.
What man would deny their own blood? Black thought.
Once Shamoney and Real were gone, Black would give his sacrifice to the gods, a sacrifice for which the gods themselves had asked and one that would restore him the power to regain his lost gold mine.
* * *
Since Real had buried his mentor, Jake, he had been on the edge and was on a slaughtering spree. Bellda did everything in her womanly power to keep her man sane and with a comforting place to dwell in with her. She knew that Real was out killing muthafuckas, as evidenced by the blood on his clothes. She just played it cool and prayed that he was careful and would come home to her every night.
They were enjoying the pleasure of each other while relaxing in their Jacuzzi. Bellda straddled Real with her arms around his neck and slowly rode his dick. She was making love to him and wanted him to know that she was there for him. She understood his grief, and she made it her business to console him thoroughly.
“I love you, Jermaine!” she purred as she felt herself on the edge of her orgasm.
“I love you too!”
“Uhh shit!” Bellda released, with her body trembling from the electrifying orgasm.
“Arrghh!” Real grunted while exploding inside her. “Damn, baby. I love you!” Real exhaled as he passionately kissed Bellda.
After making love to her, Real showered with his woman, made love to her again, and then prepared himself for the task he had in front of him.
It was 4:00 a.m. when Real stepped out the front door in his all-black attire. Bellda watched him leave in his smoke-gray Suburban, with an eerie feeling in her stomach.
“Something about to go down. Today just don’t feel right. Lord, please watch over my baby,” Bellda prayed, and then walked back into their bedroom, where Real’s scent perpetually lingered.
She cuddled in bed with his pillow until she fell into a coma-like sleep.
* * *
“Delta Zone, one line up for breakfast. Last call!” the sergeant announced over the loud PA system.
It was 5:45 a.m. and they were the third dorm called for morning chow.
Kentucky hopped out of his bottom bunk after playing possum on his cellmate. For years he’d routinely gotten up every morning precisely at 4:00 a.m. to do his hygiene, make his bunk military style, and then lay back down on top of his made bunk awaiting the chow call.
Kentucky’s cellmate, Ronnie, who was a new arrival, hopped down out of his top bunk and began his super-fast hygiene. Kentucky walked past him and out of the cell to line up with the other inmates.
“Last call. Last call. File out!” the sergeant exclaimed as he popped open the front door to allow everyone to file out into the sally port.
“Hurry up, snail!” the sergeant shouted to Kentucky’s cellmate, Ronnie, who was running as fast as he could.
Ronnie was a tall slim redhead and looked like his knees were climbing his chest at every stride he took. He was the only one lacking a jacket and would surely pay for it once winter hit.
This kid better get with the program, or he’s gonna have a long thirty years, Kentucky thought as he looked at his G-Shock digital watch and saw that it was now 5:49 a.m. Hurry, man! Kentucky thought.
He had to be behind B-dorm with Chucky at 6:15 sharp.
When Ronnie made it to the door and breathlessly closed it behind him, the sergeant popped the sally port door and allowed the eighty-two inmates to file out into the dark morning atmosphere. It was foggy, and the watch towers had the spotlight illuminating the cold darkness.
Kentucky looked at the two watch towers and knew that behind the spotlights were two trained COs in each tower armed with M-16 rifles. The sun wouldn’t come up until 6:45 a.m.
Kentucky saw the darkness as all game. He had stabbed plenty of enemies in the confines of morning darkness and left them for dead.
When he passed C-dorm, he saw the inmates gathered in their own sally port about to be let out to file off to the chow hall as well. Kentucky furtively began dropping back in line to catch up with Chucky, who would be coming out of C-dorm. Because he had his hands in his jacket pocket, the veteran inmates knew that Kentucky was up to something. And they knew when he was about to stab one of his enemies.
Chucky was the third inmate in line and stormed out of C-dorm with his hands buried in his jacket pocket as well. It was in the low forties in the winter, a season that Chucky loved, for it reminded him of his childhood growing up in New York.
“What’s up, homie?” Chucky spoke to Kentucky as they continued to the chow hall.
“I can feel it in my veins,” Kentucky retorted.
“Tell me ’bout it. I stayed up all night on coffee.”
“Hurry along, inmates,” CO Raff yelled at the group coming through the north chow hall gate standing next to his captain.
“I swear I want to stick ’im,” Chucky mumbled under his breath.
He hated Raff with a passion.
“Stick ’im then!” Kentucky enticed Chucky.
“Shit, I just might do that, homie!” Chucky retorted with an impish smirk on his face.
Kentucky knew beyond a doubt that Chucky would stick CO Raff without hesitation.
“Only problem I see, you’ll have to get to him before I do,” Kentucky said as they walked into the chow hall.
It was quiet as the COs walked the aisles barking out orders.
“Table four, last row. Hurry up and get out of my mess hall!” a sergeant named Taylor barked at the inmates in the last row out of five.
Talking was seriously prohibited in the chow hall. It was strictly eat like a hog in a three-minute cycle, look out for your enemies, and get the fuck out of Dodge.
It was “shit on the shank” day, a breakfast consisting of grits, gravy, mystery meat, biscuits that weren’t worth coming for, and bad potatoes. Kentucky and Chucky grabbed their trays from the slot behind the brick wall and seated themselves at the third table in the second row. They both gave away their trays and waited until their row was called.
It was 6:12 a.m. when Chucky checked his G-Shock digital watch, identical to Kentucky’s, while filing out of the exit door. COs wore gloves while randomly frisking inmates. Kentucky and Chucky both sighed when they passed the COs.
At 6:14 the two heard the blades of helicopters, and their stomachs instantly formed butterflies. When the spotlight trained on the approaching Bell helicopters, Kentucky and Chucky made a run for B-dorm. The both of them ran together with their shanks drawn.
“Hey, inmates! Come here!” CO Raff shouted while running after the duo with two other COs as four Bell helicopters circled the prison.
“Get them fuckers out of here now!” Captain Johnson demanded on his walkie-talkie.
The gunmen in the towers were perplexed and had no idea what was happening. They fired at the circulating helicopters, which initiated into a fusillade; however, they missed each one. One of the helicopters circled the towers and fired an M28 rocket launcher at each tower, taking out every CO inside.
“Holy mother!” Captain Johnson screamed and then ran for cover.
When Chucky and Kentucky made it to the back of B-dorm, Chucky grabbed the wall with Kentucky and stuck his shank into CO Raff’s larynx, dropping him quickly as he came around the corner. Kentucky took out the other CO, striking him through his temple. The last bold CO dropped his radio and attempted to flee the danger. But he stumbled, and both Kentucky and Chucky stabbed him on both sides of his neck, and left the fourteen-inch shanks in his neck, piercing through both sides.
When they saw, the helicopter circle the center of the field and drop a lengthy heavy-duty rope, Kentucky and Chucky made a dash toward it and began climbing, until they both entered the bed of the helicopter with the Haitians from Zo’pound.
The helicopters then parted together. Kentucky and Chucky had covered the mile distance to the swamp in no time. The prison guards and authorities were confused and had no clue which helicopter to pursue, after the helicopters split north, east, west, and south.
When Chucky and Kentucky’s helicopter descended in the soccer field at the community park in the swamp, Kentucky could see the flickering headlights on an SUV. The helicopter landed, and both men ran toward the SUV and hopped into the backseat, where they both met Real, who was grilling his mouth full of golds at them.
“Didn’t I tell y’all niggas I was comin’? Real niggas do real things. Shamoney, meet the realest cracka you’ll ever meet, and Chico too. Chucky and Kentucky, this is my lil brother, Shamoney,” Real introduced everyone and then got the fuck out of Martin County.
The authorities were chasing two escapees in helicopters, not on the ground. The Haitians were professionals who Martin County authorities were not prepared for and certainly not equipped to take down. They got away like the professionals they were, leaving a bloody scene behind and torching the ground with the M28 rocket launcher like they were flying dragons.