Page 71 of Dope Boys: Most Wanted
Scanning the area, everything seemed to be put together. While his men searched the two thousand-plus square feet, he roamed toward the room. His wife was tangled in the sheets in a post-sex slumber. Naked, and if he didn’t know better, at peace. While he was alone, he covered his hand in leather gloves and removed the unregistered Glock from the breast pocket of his trench coat. He never thought that the body he added to his list would be his wife’s. But his ambition surpassed his love for her.
There was a shot. One, he fired himself into his sleeping wife’s body, and the other, he felt a rip through his chest, causing him to collapse; gun still in his hand. Silent and deadly. He was still driven by an ambition that he would never fully realize. Luciano hovered over him. Security didn’t appear because they were on assignment.
“You bitch,” Mayor Norman grunted as he attempted to roll over.
“You thought you were going to bring your ass in here and get me, huh? You think you run this muhfuckin’ city, nigga?” Luciano taunted, anticipating Mayor Norman to be alone.
He coughed up blood and wheezed. Hope flashed in his eyes, seeing one of his men at the door. “Fuck you.”
“Nah, Norman, fuck you. You used to be my boy, my nigga. But you violated. Took my bitch, tried to bring me down. I’ve told you,” Luciano gritted, pressing his gun into his temple. “I run this shit.”
With his finger still on the trigger, Mayor Norman laughed. “See you in hell, bitch.”
The top of Mayor Norman’s security fired a shot through Luciano’s skull. Another death they weren’t counting on. Now that all the men were in the room and Mayor Norman was bleeding onto the carpet, there was a decision to make: save his life or be free of him.
“Don’t,” the head of security spoke up. He’d seen too much, knew too much, and knew that with him dead, their lives could go back to normal and they could salvage what was left of their souls. “Don’t call yet. There needs to be a uniform story.”
“What? He’s the mayor,” the other guard spoke.
“Think about how that nigga is now. He survives this, he’s going to be untouchable. Were you not at the same party last week?” the first guard spoke, striking thought into the other men.
“So, what are we going to say?” the third man asked.
“We came in, and she was shot. Luciano shot him in a rage. I fired to protect the mayor, and he succumbed to his injuries,” the first spoke. “You got it?”
“Y-yeah,” the third spoke as the first reached down to grab the gun off Luciano’s dead body. The mayor, mere feet away, was struggling to breathe.
Six silent shots were let off, three into the mayor’s wife, three into the mayor, putting him out of his misery, although his top security guard thought it better to let him suffer. For the sake of the crime scene, it needed to be done. For a moment, he reflected on what got Mayor Norman elected in the first place – a dead opponent, shifting his mayoral campaign from wholesome to a war of gun violence. There was always a catch with him. Now he was dead, and the men were free.
Once the prints were wiped off and the gun was back in Luciano’s dead hands, the first man fired one more shot into the back of him. Turning, he looked at the two men. “Now, call them.”
She could still feelhim all over her body. Every nip, lick, suck, throb while their bodies were connected transcended her to another level. She hadn’t ever experienced anything like him. Markus was a different beast, and what she’d stumbled into with him wasn’t something to be toyed with. It was more than sex, more than her providing pleasure to someone else, and she gotnothing in return but layers of pain and mental anguish. What she felt last night was freedom.
Freedom had her in the shower, standing under the hot water with nothing on her mind. No weight on her body, no pain, no nightmares, no second-guessing herself, just peace. When she woke up, Markus was still there. Peacefully sleeping, his arm draped over her. She eased out of his hold after minutes of staring at his face, softly tracing her fingers over his features. Markus had her seeing sounds and hearing colors. Sex before him was always violent and felt like a torturous chore. He listened, paid attention, and, more importantly, granted her permission and space to be free. To come into herself.
Yeraya’s new album played softly in the background. Reign hummed along with the ballads of freedom, each note registering with her. So much so, a few tears slipped from her eyes as she pressed her hands against the stone slab of the shower.
“Please let this feeling last. Please let it be real,” Reign quietly sobbed into the stream of water. “Please, God, I’m begging you.”
“You supposed to be sleepin’,” Markus’ voice flooded her being over the music.
Reign popped her water-drenched face up from over the stream and found him in the door of the shower, the fog dancing around his body. Reign pushed her wet hair out of her face and watched as he took off his pants and stepped into the steam with her. Like clockwork, he wrapped his hands around her waist and welcomed the melt of her being against him. “Why you in here cryin’?”
“How long have you been in here?” Reign wiped her face and hummed. “Just watching me like a stalker.”
“Went downstairs to make your breakfast. You been in here for an hour. What’s going on?” he questioned.
She turned around to face him. “This feeling. I’m still reeling, and I didn’t know that was possible. And I’m trying not to psych myself out.”
“Psych yourself out? I just washed your laundry and changed the sheets. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“You say that, but I’m very aware of who you are when you leave me,” Reign spoke, attempting to turn around, but he held her still.
“Who am I?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“Markus…”
“Who am I? Not out there, but right in here, with you.”
