Kiss the Ring (27 page)

Nelson's face was still twisted with pain as his eyes shifted down to her hand. “Please . . . please don't kill me,” he said before he puckered his lips against the gold metal.

She frowned in disgust at the feel of his wet lips and wiped her hands against her jeans. “Did Brandon beg you for his life?” she asked him.

Nelson lay flat on his back. “Nothing I say is gonna keep you from killing me,” he said, his voice cold and flat.

“Nothing,” she agreed with a sad shake of her head.

She sat back from him. “You recognize the ring, don't you? He was wearing it and the chain the night you killed him,” she said. “I guess you ain't had time to snatch his ring too.”

“The chain was in the way when I cut his throat.”

Naeema took a step back. “Well, ain't shit in the way of this motherfucker.”

She fired her gun.

POW!

The kickback knocked her shoulder back a little but she watched the bullet go straight between his eyes. Moments later, thick crimson blood pooled from the back of his head.
His body convulsed twice before the look in his eyes was filled with death.

Her hand dropped down to her side, smoke filtering up from the hot tip of the gun she still held.

She stood there, shaken by it all; she tilted her head back and her chest rose and fell deeply with her heavy breaths.

It was all finally over.

She felt weak and spent and just wanted to crawl into her bed, cover her head with pillows, and sleep. Yes, she had taken a life before but never like this. She was shaken and maybe not as hardcore as she thought. Her anger at his words had fired that gun even more than her will to kill him out of revenge for Brandon.

With one last look back at Nelson's dead body, she left the abandoned house and walked back to her bike, dropping the gun and his knife in one of the saddlebags as she fought not to give in to her tears and the steady trembling of her hands. She climbed onto her motorcycle and was happy to speed away from the scene of her crime.

16

N
aeema sped through the streets of Newark, easily zooming in and out of traffic and taking turns to avoid red lights. She was more running toward home than running away from the murder she'd just committed. Time had settled her nerves because she did what she had to do. Nelson killed Brandon—a fourteen-year-old man-child—over a jealous rage like a man-bitch.

An eye for an eye.

She turned down Eastern Parkway and made the right onto her street. She was just slowing down as she neared her house when she spotted a tall and broad figure with a bald head walking up her driveway. The darkness soon covered his figure but Naeema would recognize Red's crazy ass anywhere.

“Sarge,” she whispered behind the visor of her helmet, alarmed that her actions would bring harm to him.

Naeema didn't have time to think of just where she had shown her true hand to them, as she continued up the street and paused at the end of the drive to lay on her horn. Red stepped out of the darkness and came running down the driveway at full speed.

Damn that big bitch is fast,
she thought, revving the bike to speed away.

A car's passenger door opened just as she reached it and Naeema screamed out as she tried to brake in time not to collide into it. She felt like her heart leapt out of her chest, while her body was propelled forward over the handlebars of the bike and the open car door until she landed against the asphalt of the street. Her head slammed against the inside of the helmet and her body ached as she rolled to a stop on her stomach.

A pair of deck shoes came to a stop right next to her and Naeema kept blinking to regain clarity.

“Just who the fuck are you . . . Queen?”

Bas
.

He tapped his toe against her helmet just before she felt someone lift her up and carry her, then roughly drop her on the rear seat of a vehicle. She winced and lay on her side. She heard the two front car doors close.

“I told you that bitch was foul,” Red said. The car lurched forward and he drove away.

She felt a little relief that they were leaving the house and Sarge behind.
And the gun. It's in the saddlebag. Shit.

“Her mail says her name is Naeema Cole,” Bas said, tossing the stack of envelopes over his shoulder onto her like she and it were trash. Obviously he'd swiped it at the house.

Naeema looked through her visor at Red behind the wheel and Bas on the passenger seat.

“You think she's undercover?” Bas asked, glancing back at her, his jaw squared up with anger.

“She's not wired,” Red assured him.

Bas tapped cocaine out onto the back of his hand and sniffed it. “Regardless, she know too much.”

“True,” Red agreed.

What the fuck am I going to do? No weapon. Body bruised and aching. Head pounding. Two men against me. Think, Naeema, think.

“Who else knows?” Bas asked.

“Just you and me.”

“Good.”

They rode in silence. Naeema didn't know how far they traveled away from her house. The car slid to a stop and Bas climbed out.

The passenger door opened. She looked up as Bas took her helmet off and dropped it in the street. Just behind his shoulder she could make out the garage door leading into the church. His eyes were glassy and there was powder still clinging to the edge of one of his nostrils. He wiped his hands over the top of his head as he looked down at her.

“Nelson killed my son, Brandon. I wasn't coming for you. I don't give a fuck about whatever y'all got going on. I'm not a fucking cop. I just wanted to know who killed my son,” she said in a rush, knowing her only chance to stay alive was the truth. She held up her hand and showed them Brandon's ring on her finger.

“Nelson?” she heard Red say in disbelief.

“What sucking my dick gotta do with any of that?” Bas asked with a laid-back shrug.

“Word?” Red asked before he chuckled.

This is the most I ever heard that motherfucker talk. Damn.

“Kill the lying bitch,” Bas said cold as fuck.

A chill raced over her body. “Bas,” she said, pleading with her eyes as she held her pounding head up from the seat.

He reached in to massage her ass and thighs. “Damn shame. You got some bomb-ass pussy too,” he said, before he stepped back and slammed the door closed.

Naeema dropped her head down onto the seat and closed her eyes.

An eye for an eye.

“Oh well,” Red said, all motherfucking blasé, before he pulled off and turned up the radio.

She knew things were finally over when she put one in Nelson's dome, but she didn't know this would be her last night alive too.
Fuuuuck.

Every pothole he hit caused her body to rise a bit and fall back down on the seat, aggravating the injuries she already had from the motorcycle crash.

“Don't do this, Red,” she called from the back of the SUV. “It's not worth it.”

“I got the last song just for you,
Queen
,” he said, as he pushed buttons on the touch screen.

The opening notes of Biggie's “Ready to Die” played and Naeema couldn't front that she was about a second away from shitting herself.

“As I grab the Glock, put it to your headpiece . . .”

Naeema pushed her hands against the seat of the vehicle and tried to sit up. Red looked over his shoulder and then turned back to face the road but reached back to box her with his fist as he rapped along with Biggie: “The Q-45, Glocks and tecs are expected, when I wreck shit . . .”

Naeema cried out from the sharp pain that radiated across her jawline. She cut her eyes up to glare at the back of his head. Killing Nelson had shaken her a little bit and that had been all about revenge. But Red gloating about
killing her made her want to put a Glock to
his
dome and fire off all the rounds until everything in the vehicle—including her—was covered in his blood and brain matter.
Ugly motherfucker.

He turned the music down. “What the fuck?” he snapped as he slammed on the brakes.

Naeema's body rolled forward off the seat and slammed against the back of the front seats just before she heard Red jump out of the SUV. At the sound of raised voices she sat up and looked out the windshield. Her mouth fell open at the sight of one of Tank's SUVs blocking the street.

Red posted up and raised his gun to fire at the vehicle.

POW. POW. POW.

“Shit,” Naeema swore, her eyes big as shit as she ducked down, trying to avoid the bullets she thought would bounce off Tank's bulletproof SUV back toward her.

When that didn't happen, she peeked her closely shaven head up just in time to see Red turn to stride back toward his own SUV. Naeema eyed the door that was still sitting open. “Oh, no, motherfucker,” she said, quickly climbing over the armrest to slide down into the driver's seat and lock the doors.

Red's face twisted with rage as he raised the gun.

Naeema's eyes shifted to watch Tank race from his SUV and come running full speed at Red, tackling him to the ground just as the shot fired.

POW.

The dirt and grass lining the sidewalk next to Red's SUV flew up when the bullet entered it.

Tank and Red both fought for control of the gun until Tank precisely punched Red's inner wrist against the asphalt
and his grip loosened around the handle. Tank spared a second to push it away with force before he delivered a round of ferocious blows to Red's face and shoulders.

Naeema's breath was caught in her throat like thick spit as she eyed the gun go spinning down the street like a wild top before it stopped on top of a sewer grate.

Tank cried out.

Naeema shifted in the seat to look through the driver's-side window. Red was pressing his hand to Tank's neck just enough to slide his fist up against his chin. Tank's head snapped back and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, even as he maintained his death grip on Red's own neck.

Red head-butted him and Tank stumbled back long enough for his opponent to jump to his feet and deliver a blow to the side of his head. Naeema opened the door. Tank was a proud man who wouldn't want her help, but if she had to double-deuce Red from behind to make sure he whipped Red's ass, then she gladly would.

Tank shook the hits off before he stood up tall and walked straight up to Red, avoided the next blow to his face with a swift duck, and grabbed Red's neck and jerked his hands in different directions.

Naeema's mouth fell open as Tank held up his hands and Red's body drooped to the ground with his head twisted at an odd angle.

Yo, Tank broke that fool's neck.

There was no coming back from that.

Tank motioned for her to get out of the truck before he bent to flip Red's body over his shoulder. He walked over to his own SUV. She frowned at the way Red's eyes stared off
into space and his head bounced like a bobblehead against Tank's back.

One down. One to go.

Kill the lying bitch.

There was no coming back from that shit either.

Naeema tapped her fingernail against her teeth as she watched Tank toss Red's body into the back of the SUV like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
I gotta do this. That fool ordered me dead.

She threw the car in reverse just as Tank looked up at her through the windshield.

Naeema didn't stop until she was near the sewer grate. She hopped out quick as hell and picked up the gun before she climbed back in and did a fast K-turn. The tires squealed as she turned the SUV in the opposite direction, back toward the church and as far away from Tank as she could get.

• • •

Naeema removed the clip to make sure it was still loaded with bullets as she waited at a red light not far from the church. She took the turns to drive by the parking lot. The only vehicle still sitting there was Nelson's Caddy.

Bas wasn't there.

“Unless he was waiting for Red to swing back through and pick him up,” she said aloud.

“I need a gangsta bitch . . .”

Naeema looked down at Red's cell phone at the sound of his ancient-ass ringtone. Still wearing her gloves, she picked it up. On the screen was a picture of Vivica butt naked with her legs spread wide and a lollipop in her ass.
Dumb bitch.

She took off one of her gloves to be able to swipe and sent Vivica's call to voice mail. “Lawd, why didn't I tell Red that she let a kid eat her out before his neck got snapped?” she asked as she checked his text messages.

Overlooking Vivica's long row of incoming texts steadily asking him where he was, she was checking if he and Bas ever texted.

They did.

Naeema started typing a text to Bas using the same fucked-up lettering that Red seem to prefer but before she could hit Send the phone sounded off with the old-school classic ring. BAS was displayed on the screen, without a picture, naked or otherwise.
Thank God.