The Demise (5 page)

“You will,” she said as she kissed his lips. He wiped her tears. “Because we both know what will happen if you don't.”

Carter pulled her close and she sobbed into his shoulder. She cried in a way she had never done before. He held her, but his mind was spinning as he tried to think of a way out of this. His son or his wife? His wife or his son? Why couldn't he just give his own life to save them both?

“Lay with me,” he said as he pulled her to the bed. The pain of his injuries paled in comparison to the ailments of his heart. They lay side by side, facing each other as they held hands. Her tears fell onto the white pillows as she stared into his eyes.

“Close your eyes, Miamor,” he said.

She trembled as she lowered her lids. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying aloud.

“Pray,” he whispered. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

Memories of the last time she had said that prayer flooded her mind. Mecca had locked her in a basement … had tortured her … and she had prayed to God. She had been much tougher then. She hadn't feared anything on that day, but on this one, she feared it all. Loving Carter, having his child—it had changed her. She had become vulnerable in a way she had never expected. It wasn't the thought of it all ending that frightened her. It was the thought of never seeing Carter and C.J. again. Leaving them … abandoning them. Facing her karma at the hands of a man whose child she had killed. It all overwhelmed her.

“Thy kingdom come,” she joined him. “Thy will be done. On Earth as it is in heaven,” they said together.

Carter took a pillow and placed it over her face, then pointed the gun at it. He knew he wouldn't shoot if he had to look at her. He never stopped praying. “Give us this day our daily bread,” he continued. His hand was shaking so bad that he thought he might miss. He gritted his teeth as his finger settled on the trigger. “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Miamor stopped and said, “Just do it.”

“Grrr!” Carter yelled as he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gun bullet whistling past her head almost gave her a heart attack.

“Why didn't you just do it!” she shouted. “You're gonna give me cardiac arrest! Jesus, Carter!” She turned on her back and looked at the ceiling as she panted.

“I can't,” he whispered, tormented as he threw the pillow and pulled her into him. The weight of her crushed him, sending bolts of pain through his body. He didn't care, though. He just wanted to hold her. To feel her. To keep her. He stood to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To call Monroe,” Carter replied. “I can't give you up, and I'm not losing my son. There's only one way to make this go away.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“To kill him before you have to turn yourself in,” Carter replied.

“You're hurt. You almost died, Carter. You're in no condition to do anything,” Miamor said.

“I can't just do nothing,” he replied. He quickly grabbed one of his designer shirts out of the closet. He could barely put it on by himself, but he fought through the pain.

“Carter, stop,” Miamor whispered, but he was determined. He stepped into a pair of Versace slacks. The effort that it took to dress himself caused sweat to form on his forehead. His body was too weak. He had lost too much blood. He was still so fragile. The room started to spin.

He reached out and gripped the post of the king-sized bed. Miamor rushed to his side. “Carter,” she said with a sigh. “Please just lay down. I'll call Monroe. I'll get him over here so you can two can figure it out.”

Carter gripped the back of her neck and placed his forehead on hers. “On my life, I'm going to fix this.”

“I know,” she replied. “I know.” She helped him back onto the bed. “Let me get you some tea. It'll relax you until Monroe arrives.”

She slyly palmed the Vicodin in her hand before easing out of the room. Miamor couldn't let Carter intervene. It would do no good for him to take a stand against Baraka. She had to turn herself over to him. It was the only way to guarantee C.J.'s safety. She quickly made him a cup of hot tea and took three pills out of the bottle. She ground them up fine and then mixed them into Carter's drink. It was enough to knock him out for hours. He drank it without question. It wasn't long before he began to feel his head cloud.

“What did you do, ma?” he asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“What I had to,” she replied. “I'm not letting you jump into another war over me. I love you, Carter. Good-bye, handsome.” She leaned down and kissed his lips one last time. She didn't even look back as she made her exit because she knew if she did, she would never walk away.
This is the right thing to do,
she told herself.
It's the only way to make this right.
When she made it to her car, Miamor picked up her phone and called Baraka. As soon as he answered, she said, “I don't need any more time. I'm ready to meet today. I need your word. If I give myself up, you'll let Leena and the boys go.”

Baraka simply responded, “Meet me where you buried my daughter. One hour.”

*   *   *

Miamor took her time heading out to the desert. Baraka would wait. His need for revenge would make him stay there until she arrived. She sat on the side of the highway, splitting a dutch. She rolled down her window and emptied the contents, then pulled out a Baggie to empty the Kush weed inside. It had been a habit she had given up when she had her son, but in this moment she gave herself a pass.
Thank God for Aries,
she thought, chuckling slightly at the fact that she was smoking the small stash her friend had left in her car.

She rolled up like an expert, as if she had never stopped. She sat and smoked patiently, silently, as she watched the minutes of the clock run down.
Thirty-six minutes,
she thought. It was the amount of time she had left on this Earth. Her life of tyranny had come down to this. She had left bodies on top of bodies in her wake. She wasn't naïve. She knew that this day would come. She was surprised it hadn't come sooner. She wasn't a good person. She didn't deserve to grow old. She knew exactly what sins she had committed to deserve this fate. That's why she took her time and savored the blunt. She was stalling. When she had finished her smoke, she flicked it out of the car and sped off down the highway route, headed to the middle of nowhere.

She saw the headlights coming up in her rearview and they were coming at her fast. She frowned as the car passed her. It swerved in front of her, forcing her to hit her brakes to avoid a collision. The windows were tinted, and Miamor couldn't see inside, but she was sure it was one of Baraka's goons. She reached for the pistol that sat in her passenger seat, but then halted. She would go willingly. It was instinct for her to fight, but this time she had to concede defeat. The doors of the vehicle popped open, and two masked men hopped out. She opened her door and stepped out. She kept her hands by her side, palms out, so they could see she wasn't carrying a gun. “What is this?” she asked.

The two men rushed her, and she immediately noticed their hands. They weren't Baraka's men. They were black. “Did Monroe send you?” She instantly began to regret getting out of the car without her gun.

They said nothing and approached her with guns drawn. “Why would he do this? Do you know what's at stake?!” she shouted. One of the men grabbed her, and she snatched away from him. “No! Don't do this!” she said as he grabbed her waist.
Why is Monroe stopping me? Why would he do this?
she thought as she kicked and screamed as she was pulled toward their car. Miamor fought with all of her might to break free, but when they slipped a rag over her mouth, she knew it was useless. The familiar smell of chloroform overwhelmed her, and within seconds everything around her faded to black.

*   *   *

The sun shined brightly through Monroe's window, awakening him before he had the chance to recover from the bottle of cognac he had consumed the night before. He didn't even want to turn toward the window. He squeezed his eyes closed, pulling the cover over his head as he groaned. Drowning his sorrows away had brought him no relief. The only thing that would make this right was Miamor's sacrifice. Monroe had already decided he was handing Miamor over to Baraka, whether Carter agreed or not. This was bigger than a woman. This was about family. Miamor was affiliated by association; she didn't have Diamond blood flowing through her veins. That fact alone made her expendable. He knew he would be at odds with Carter for years to come over the decision that had been made without him, but Monroe didn't care. His only concern at that moment in time was his wife, nephew, and son. Monroe knew it would take some time for Carter to accept this. He only hoped Carter could see that this was the only way to put an end to things. He grabbed his phone and called Carter, but when he didn't receive an answer, he decided this was a conversation best had in person. Monroe stood and quickly dressed before heading out. When he made it to his car he noticed his trunk was slightly ajar. He frowned as he approached it. “What the fuck?” he mumbled. When he pulled it open, the sight before him ripped him apart.

“Leena, no baby, no,” he cried as he looked at her bloody, naked body. Her eyes were still open as she stared off into space. There were burn marks all over her, her hand was missing, and her face was swollen to the point where it was unrecognizable. If it had not been for her wedding ring, he might have doubted her identity. “No!” Monroe sobbed as he pulled her from the trunk. He fell to the ground with her in his arms. Blood was everywhere. “Somebody help me! Please!” he shouted. He had never been so wounded—even when his parents had died or Mecca had been murdered. This was a different emotion. This was the woman he loved. She would have never been a part of this life if it had not been for him. She was a victim of circumstance; another tragic love story. He was devastated. It felt like his heart was made of glass and had been shattered into a thousand pieces. He knew that the only thing Leena had done wrong in her life was to love him. A gangster and a good girl were never a wise mix. The dead body in his arms was evidence of that. He had known that she wanted him out of the game. If he had just heeded the signs Leena had given him, she would still be alive. This felt like his fault. Somebody had to feel his wrath. There would be hell to pay for this loss. He would drop a body for every tear that slid down his face.

 

C
HAPTER
4

Miamor awoke to the distinct smell of him. She recognized it instantly. It was ingrained in her memory. She knew his scent. She knew him and as she realized she was in his clutches, it all began to make sense. He was the only person in the world who could catch her slipping. He had taught her the game, and the student never surpassed the teacher. Murder. He was her first love, but love was a tricky emotion. When handled correctly it was a beautiful thing, but where matters of the heart were concerned it could quickly spiral out of control. Murder's love for her had become an obsession. She didn't know if he loved her or if he just wanted to say that she belonged to him. Between them, things were always so complicated. It was a constant cycle of cat and mouse and once again he had caught up to her. Her head was cloudy. She had been chloroformed, and it would take some time to shake the haze that incapacitated her. She wasn't at her best. She couldn't fight him. Not now, and if she was being honest with herself, not ever. He was better than her at killing; probably the only person whose heart was colder than hers since Mecca Diamond. She sat up, weakly, hanging her head as she leaned against the headboard of the bed. Her movements were limited and she gritted her teeth as she yanked at the handcuffs that bound one of her wrists to the bed frame.

“I thought I killed you,” she said maliciously as she leaned against the headboard in defeat.

“I thought you did, too,” Murder replied as he puffed on the Kush-filled blunt. “You did a nigga cold, Miamor,” he continued as he moved from the chair across the room to the bed. He sat directly next to her and stroked her hair. “You look like you need this more than I do.” He held the blunt up to her mouth, and Miamor closed her eyes as she took it between her lips. She inhaled and then blew it out slowly.

“What have you done, Murder?” she asked as a tear rolled down her face. “Do you know what the fuck you have done?!” Her voice raised to a holler as she stared at him, enraged.

“I saved your fucking life, Miamor! That's what I did! I'mma always choose you! That pussy ass nigga Carter was just going to hand you over if I didn't step in!” Murder shouted.

“There is no saving me, Murder! When will you get that through your fucking obsessed head? I don't need saving!” she screamed. She broke into sobs as she thought of the repercussions of Murder's interference. Her thoughts of his interference wrecked her. “I killed the daughter of a very powerful man. I'm a dead woman walking regardless. He took our son, Murder! He was going to give him back if I gave myself up. He was going to give him back—” She tilted her head back, hitting it against the wood as she cried. “All you had to do was let me do that. He's dead, thanks to you. They're going to kill my baby.” She whispered the last words … not wanting to hear them.

“I didn't know, Miamor. The nigga Fly didn't say anything about a kid,” Murder stated.

Miamor sniffed as she stared at him in disbelief. The narrow slits of her eyes were like daggers as anger pulsed through her. “Fly Boogie? He was a part of this? He's working with you?” she asked. She had trusted Fly. She had leaned on him for support and friendship. “Why? Why can't you ever just let go of me, Murder?”