The Demise (14 page)

The sound of heavy footsteps behind her didn't raise the hairs on the back of her neck. She knew it was Murder, coming to take her home after a busy day at the bar.

“Give me one minute, Murder. I just have to finish cleaning,” she said without even turning to look his way.

“You take all the time you need, ma, but when you're done, I'm taking you home.”

She froze at the sound of his voice and then spun around in shock. Fly Boogie stood before her. He had changed. He had grown. He was still fly as ever and carried the same charming smile. “How did you find me?” she asked, now worried that she wasn't as low-key as she thought.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. He didn't want to tell her that he had committed their last conversation to memory. He couldn't tell her that she crossed his mind often. He wouldn't chump himself. Miamor had always been out of his league, but the new gift that he was about to give her would level the playing field. “I came to tell you that it's safe to come back. I took care of your problem for you, and I have someone who really wants to see you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

Fly Boogie walked up into Miamor's space. He aligned his mouth with her ear and whispered, “That nigga is a fucking memory.”

Miamor gasped as she pulled back and looked up at Fly.
You killed Baraka?
she thought in disbelief.

He nodded, confirming the question that her eyes were asking.

“Am I interrupting something?” Murder asked as he entered the bar. “What up, little nigga? I see you still pussy-whipped and ain't even hit that shit yet. Fuck is you doing here?”

Fly Boogie stepped up to Murder coolly, holding out his hand as if it were all love. Murder eased up a bit, but suddenly Fly's demeanor changed and he grabbed Murder's neck and shoved his head into the bar top. “Don't fuck with me. I ain't come here for this, but it can go there if that's how you want to play it,” Fly threatened through gritted teeth.

Miamor stood there, in shock. Fly had never been afraid of a challenge, but he had changed. He had bossed all the way up and carried an aura of power that he hadn't possessed before.

Fly mushed Murder's face into the wood hard before releasing him, tossing him.

“Let's go, Miamor,” Fly said confidently. He spoke the words as if he knew she was going to comply.

“What you mean, ‘let's go, Miamor'?” Murder challenged. “She ain't going nowhere, nigga.”

Miamor gripped the broom so tight that her palms hurt. “Miamor can speak for herself,” she said. “Fly, can you give us a minute?” she asked.

Fly nodded, but never looked her way. The stare-down between him and Murder was malicious.… Their egos were involved. “Fly?” Miamor said again.

Fly looked at her and then stepped off.

Miamor turned to Murder, who was seething in anger. He grabbed her neck roughly, pinning her against the bar as he pointed a chastising finger in her face. “You called that nigga here?”

Miamor hadn't felt this gut instinct in a long time … the urge to murk something … to bark … to attack, but as Murder gripped her neck she felt her old self emerging. Miamor reached her hand beneath the bar where she'd taped her gun. There were weapons planted all around the place. She never knew when she would need one. It was in her nature to stay strapped.

She brought the gun to his temple. “Have you lost your mind?” she asked.

Murder licked his lips in amusement. “My Murder Mama,” he whispered. The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. She could never grow with Murder. He obsessed over her being the same young, murderous girl she had always been. There was no room for maturation with him.

Miamor shook her head and lowered her gun. “You have to stop. You have to stop obsessing over me and trying to make me into who I was over ten years ago. I'm not yours, Murder. I haven't been in a long time. I loved you once, but you have terrorized my life … stalked me … kidnapped me … put my back up against the wall, all to make me stay with you. I can't do this anymore. I'm not doing it. It's time we both let go. You are a part of my past, and I appreciate you for showing me how to survive. You and I could have been good friends, but you have ruined that. You have ruined any chance of me ever wanting to keep a connection to you. I'm not yours. I'm not a possession, Murder. Damn! Just let it go. You go your way, I'll go mine. You can have half of the money. It's just time we say good-bye and it's time to move on. You have to accept that.”

Miamor spoke with so much passion that tears came to her eyes. It was like she was pleading for her freedom. This relationship had run its course. If she was honest, she would admit that Murder had put a fear in her heart when she was only sixteen years old. He had used that fear to control her ever since. Miamor had always thought that the passion he had for her … the obsession … would be the thing that killed her. She wasn't doing it anymore, however. She wasn't living this way. Baraka was dead. Fly had come back for her when Carter himself hadn't even bothered to. She was leaving.

Murder lowered his head until their foreheads met. “I love the shit out of you, Miamor. It's always been you,” he admitted.

There was just something about Miamor. Murder, Carter, Fly … she had connected with them in a way that no other woman could. It wasn't her sex or even her looks, but her mentality that captured their hearts. She was it for them, but there wasn't enough of her to go around. She only wanted one of them … Carter. But because of all that had occurred, he no longer wanted her.

“I know,” she whispered. She hadn't anticipated this sadness. When she thought of the day they would part ways, she had thought she would feel joy, but she was letting go of her oldest friend. She didn't have family. She didn't have cousins or brothers. Her mother was gone. Her sister was gone. It was just her, and Murder was her oldest connection. “Just let go and take care of yourself. Good-bye, Murder.”

“Good-bye, Murder Mama,” he replied. She placed the gun on the bar and walked away, breathing a sigh of relief. It was easy. He had let her go. He was letting her walk away. He was …

BANG!

The bullet took her breath away and she gripped her stomach as she placed her hands on the blood spot growing on her white sundress. The burning that invaded her back brought tears to her eyes.
He shot me,
she thought in disbelief.

She turned around and looked him in the eyes as Fly Boogie rushed in, hearing the blast.

She fell backward, stumbling into his arms, but her eyes never left Murder's. She knew what he was about to do. She knew him like the back of her hand. He was as connected to her as one of her limbs.

She watched in horror as he turned the gun on himself and put a bullet in his head.

Fly Boogie picked her up. “It's okay. It's okay. I'm going to get you to a hospital, Mia. Just hold on,” he said.

“He's dead?” Miamor asked. So many times she had assumed so, only to have him come back to haunt her later.

Fly Boogie turned around and looked at Murder's body. “He's dead, ma.”

*   *   *

Miamor awoke. “I must be in heaven,” she whispered as her son's face came into view. He was older, a big boy now, and so close to her that she could reach out and touch him. “Hmm,” she whimpered as she shook her head trying to shake off the haze of medication. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

Fly Boogie was standing over her now. “Shhh … rest, Miamor. I'll explain everything to you when you come to.”

*   *   *

The pain that pierced her abdomen was unbearable as she finally came out of the fog. She struggled to pull herself up as darkness enveloped the room. Fly Boogie was sleeping in the chair next to her, but when he heard her movements he instantly went to her side.

“You're okay,” he whispered as he leaned over and rubbed the top of her head. “You're fine. Bitch nigga didn't hit anything major. Bullet went in and out. You just have to rest.”

“I had a dream. I saw my son,” she whispered.

“You weren't dreaming, Miamor. I came for you because I found him. I found him and Mo when I killed Baraka,” he said in a low tone.

He stood up and went to the curtain that separated the beds in the room. He pulled it back and revealed the two boys who were sleeping, cramped in the tiny bed.

Miamor's hands flew to her mouth in disbelief. She was speechless, and her eyes pooled with tears. “How? Is this real?”

She didn't care about the pain now as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “No, lie down,” Fly said.

“C.J.,” she whispered. She grabbed the rolling IV stand and willed her legs to hold her up as she hobbled over to the bed. She touched his face and gasped.

“Oh my God! You did this for me?” she asked. She knew that getting to Baraka was nearly impossible. Fly Boogie had risked it all for her. She owed him her life.

Her legs grew weak, and Fly Boogie scooped her in his arms. “It's late. Let them sleep. He's here now. He isn't going anywhere. When you're better, we'll make the trip back and take Mo to his father. I'm in L.A. getting a lot of money now, Miamor. Life is good. Only thing missing is you, but I'm applying no pressure. You have years of catching up to do with your son. I just want to be here for you.”

He laid her back in the bed, but she didn't sleep. She didn't want to close her eyes and wake up to find out that this was all a dream. She watched C.J. and Mo all night until they awoke.

“Look who woke up,” Fly said, knowing that C.J. had been eager to see his mother.

“Ma!” he yelled in excitement as he hopped out of bed and ran to her, crushing her as he hugged her. She didn't care that he was on her bullet wound. It was the best pain she had ever felt. Tears came. His. Hers. She kissed the top of his forehead. “I am never going to let you go, baby. I missed you so much. I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

Mo stood awkwardly. His disappointment was evident. He wanted his mother, but he had witnessed Leena's death for himself. She was gone, and there was no bringing her back. It was the thing that Baraka had used to keep them from running away. He had promised them that he would kill everyone else they loved if they ever disobeyed him. Leena was gone forever, but where was his dad? Miamor looked at him and held out her arms. “Come on, Mo. Don't worry. We're going to take you back to your dad. Everything is going to be okay. You're safe now. I promise.”

Fly Boogie flew them all back to L.A. on a private flight a few days later. As they crossed the Atlantic, Miamor turned to Fly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn't respond, but instead he pinched her chin softly and brought his face close to hers. He felt her body tense. She was uncomfortable. He paused, thinking twice about kissing her. “You're welcome,” he said. Pulling back, ego slightly bruised, he was still full of understanding.

Miamor felt bad. She knew how much he loved her. She just didn't want to mislead him, but she did owe him.
You have to get Carter out of your system. Move on. Fly is a good guy and he did all this for you,
she told herself. Still, she couldn't help how she felt. She had love for Fly. She even found him attractive and loyal, but she was head over heels in love with Carter.
Carter isn't here,
she reminded herself.

Her thoughts consumed her the entire flight. When they landed, a black SUV waited at the clear port and they were driven to Fly's house.

“Wow, you are getting money out here,” she whispered when they pulled up to his home. It was beautiful. It was the type of home that was filled with love and laughter, kids, and maybe a dog. “All of this for just you?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I would only want to share this with one other person, but she bullshitting,” he said playfully. “Let me show you around.” Miamor blushed, slightly embarrassed. “I think there is a room set up upstairs for each of you,” Fly said to them as soon as they got inside. The boys took off, and Miamor looked at him curiously. “I had it put together while we were in the Bahamas. I figured they'd want their own space until you were well enough to track down Monroe and C.J.'s father.”

Miamor peeped how Fly didn't speak Carter's name, but she didn't say anything. She smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You don't have to keep thanking me,” he replied.

“I can't thank you enough,” she answered.

“There's a room upstairs for you, too. If there's something in there that you need that you don't have, let me know and I'll get it for you,” he said, pointing to the silver door near the kitchen. “There's an elevator so you don't have to bust your stitches trying to go up and down the stairs.”

Miamor made her way slowly to it and up to her room. She sat down on the king-sized bed slowly, wincing as she looked around. She was so grateful that she just let her tears fall. “Thank you, God,” she cried. It was time to piece her life back together. This was a second chance to get it right, and no, Fly wasn't the man she thought she would make a life with, but he was a man who loved her. He would do anything for her, and Miamor told herself that it was time to put away her hopes of she and Carter ever reuniting. It was time to live in the present, whether she wanted to or not.

She heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said.

Fly opened the door. “You like it?” he asked.

She nodded. “I do,” she replied.

“There isn't anything that you could ask me that I wouldn't do, ma. You know that, right?” he asked.

Ma,
she thought. She closed her eyes briefly. It was what Carter called her.

Her eyes fluttered open. “I know,” she replied.

He closed the door and walked over to the bed, getting on his knees in front of her. He spread her legs. “What are you…” She paused when she felt him slide her panties to the side. “Oh,” she moaned when he sucked her bud into his mouth. It had been three long years since she had been intimate with anyone. She hadn't let Murder touch her. “Oh, wait … Fly … wait.” She threw her head back.