Page 62 of Kandie Shoppe

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” comes Mateo’s singsong voice. We all huff out a laugh despite the darkness falling around our lives.

(WeeksLater)

“I ain’t scaredof none of them. Coming up in my place thinking they are going to stop something. You showed them, though.”Ms. Queenie clinks her shot of Casamigos Silver with mine before tossing it back with nary a wince from the burn.

“Damn straight.” I wink at her. In the weeks that Easy and Saban have been gone, Angel and his crew have all but turned Shelby-Love upside down looking for his wife. He’s attacked every Love business and stopped commerce in the city. Bikers lined up in front of businesses is a big deterrent. Which has led to fights with my male cousins and some of his crew. Gun play has been expressly forbidden, but Nebraska, Nehemiah, Benjamin, and their brothers came back bloody and bruised from a hijacking of the Honey Love Apiary the other day. One of the bikers was put into the hospital. Then there was a big thing over at the apothecary with Crimson and Clover, that somehow got resolved with Rocco and Padre stepping in right when things were about to escalate.

Still, all the good his hell raising is doing. No one is telling the big bad cartel boss anything. Try as he might to intimidate us, Loves don’t bend and we sure don’t fucking break. Our ancestors didn’t withstand hundreds of years of enslavement to have us bow to some machete swinging cartel boss throwing a tantrum because his ass got left for being a dirty ass dog. Nope. Nopity. Nope. Nope.

I hearthevroomrumbling of the choppers long before they stop in front of my bakery. Technically, there has been a curfew enacted since all hell has broken loose between the Loves and El Diablos. Loves don’t scare, but that can’t be said for the rest of the denizens of Shelby-Love. The Spencers have even stepped in to try to broker peace but their reputation is only slightly better than the Shelbys.

They were quick to have all businesses closed by eight p.m. It’s eleven and a Friday night. I ain’t studying them. Yeah, theyhad The Shack shut down, but they aren’t going to do that to me. I don’t care how many of them park outside my place all day and night. They better not touch me because I will stab them fifty-four times.

We ain’t going to stop having fun just because Angel can’t have my cousin, who’s too good for his big mean ass. He bullied her into that marriage anyways. Snake is being just as bad. He started that mess over at Crimson and Clover’s place. He’s even more unhinged about his so-called ward than Angel is about his actual wife, threatening two sweet girls on the autism spectrum because they formulate pigments for Saban. Asshole.

I don’t even look up when the giants step into my establishment, just sprinkle salt, lick my wrist, toss back the shot, and bite into a lime wedge.

“Look there.” Queenie nods in their direction with a bitter expression on her face.

Angel winks and she flips him off.

Sliding him Padre and Snake, a lazy look. I straighten sauntering over to them putting an extra sway in my hips that has their eyes narrowing. Yeah, I know they are pent up since they don’t have their women to play with anymore. If anything, their stances tighten like they’re preparing to be attacked — smart of them because I don’t have to win. I just have to maim.

Stopping in front of the meanest of them all I throw my head back to meet his hard gaze. “Get your big ugly ass outta my bakery.” Spearing looks at Padre and Snake, I add, “And you. And you.”

On my fifth shot of tequila I’m feeling no pain and ready to fight plenty.

“You need to slow down on the booze.” He scans the place like he’s looking for a threat. It’s most of The Shack’s regulars, all seem harmless but you never know.

“Oh, ho?” I rock back a little on my heels before leaning forward steady and strong.

“You care about people now? Hm?” Pressing my lips together I muse hilariously. He’s such a funny big ass dummy. “What about all them kids you were trafficking to pimp out you sick ass fuck?”

Every word raises until I’m damn near shouting into his hard face. Padre flinches but I ignore his ass — he was there. I saw him clear as day.

“You are all the rankest pieces of shit,” I spit out.

People look up but the thing about this place is secrets run deep. It will spread and there will be more suspicion and distrust, but no one is going to talk about it publicly. That’s not how it’s done. Places like Shelby-Love are built on secrets, lies, and the blood of the innocent. That’s how Bishop Smith was able to victimize so many kids for so long. Sometimes I hate it here.

“You don’t know what the fuck you are talking about. Those kids were brought over by Rudy and I ended his ass. Is that what you told Ezekiel-Jane?” His words are low but they carry because everyone in this room wants to know what I have to say.

“How did you get there? Saban?” Angel looks back at the first words Snake, his lieutenant, speaks since entering my place. They sound raw, almost painful to hear, but not with sadness no. That emotion is not one I think either of them feel. It’s rage. A rage I share having seen the state those kids were in — the state so many of the girls were in at that foster home. They were seeking safety no different than Kerania and I so yeah, I’m so hot I’m ready to burn their whole organization down. Short of that and limited resources I will be the force of resistance as long as I can.

I relish in telling him how I discovered their little enterprise and what I gladly shared with the authorities and Easy leaving out her devastation and how she tried to defend him until thetruth settled on her — that her husband was the worst of villains. It was the first time I have ever talked with the law since I was a kid. I know well enough when things are beyond my scope and LL is who I trust above all. He was by my side the whole time.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, staring him down. “I saw her when I got there. All those kids.” I shake my head in disgust, recalling bunk after bunk of scared kid, remembering another time with that same setup. Tears burn the back of my eyes. I hate them so bad for dredging this shit up in me.

“I know you bring people over. Hell, some of them are in here.” The fierce need to get away from them, not to mention not letting them see how this is affecting me, has me waving them off and going back over where another shot freshly poured by Ms. Queenie awaits.

I toss another back and pat the counter. “Another, sugah.” Just as I try to grab it, Angel storms over, slapping it out of my hand. I wring my burning fingers, looking at the violence barely leashed in this mountain of masculine rage. I feel a thrill of violence rise in answer to his aggression.

“Where is my wife?” Baring his teeth like the mythical chupacabra he demands, like he’s about to rip me apart. I return with a “do your worst, bitch,” glare.

“I. Don’t. Know. Away from your ass. One of those girls said her sister was raped.” My eyes well with tears of anger. “When I told Easy, she looked like she wanted to die. Just like I did knowing—” my words cut off. I look past him as Ulysses slams into my bakery like an avenging angel — no, demon. He was never good. The worst of the lot since he’s supposed to be the one protecting and serving, not lining his pockets off trafficking kids to be used by perverts.

“It was you,” he roars, stalking toward us. The tendons in his neck stand out harsh in the light. His jaw is working so hard I’m sure he’s grinding his molars down to nubs. He deserves to be abare mouth bitch. Maybe it will interrupt some of that beauty. I can’t stand his ass and it fuels me.

“Damn straight you fucking monster, you gotdamn, dirty ass cop, hypocrite ass motherfucker,” the scream rips out of me at the top of my lungs. A hush falls over the already quiet room. I stand alone like I’m in a tomb of despair, tears streaming down my face. I hurl shot glasses, napkin dispensers, hell anything I can at him.

---