Page 15 of Welcome to the Heart Of A Maniac
“Is she a virgin?”
“I’on know.”
Pops chuckled. “So, you accepted a woman who you don’t even know if she’s a virgin or not and think that she can be an asset for you? I thought you was smarter than that.”
See, now this nigga was pissing me the fuck off. This the exact reason why I waited to say anything to him in the first place. I’ve been running this family for years and hadn’t steered us wrong yet, he needs to back the fuck off me and trust my judgement.
“I just came here to let you know. I’m out.” I hopped into the driver’s seat and drove off with the cart. “Find yo’ way back to the house, bitch,” I mumbled.
Wren
THE FOLLOWING DAY
My mind has been on what Uncle Trayvon did. It’s been bothering me badly. I still couldn’t believe that he willingly sold me to some strangers. They may not be strangers to him, but I didn’t know the first thing about those people. To sell me to a married man at that is just diabolical. What in the world can this man possibly want with me when he has a whole wife at home. I feel sorry for her. She isn’t enough for him that he has to come and collect another woman.
I lay there in my bed, gazing up at the ceiling, contemplating on what I’m going to do. Aria was right, I didn’t owe my uncle and brother anything, but at the same time, if they were to get killed, I’d lose my mind. I was extremely young when my daddy got killed, but it still hurt to know that he was taken away from me. To lose two people at the same time by the hands of someone else is something that I’m not certain I’d be able to come back from.
Reaching over onto the nightstand, I grabbed my phone and dialed Tyree’s number. I don’t care if it’s still early in the morning and he probably hadn’t gotten up yet; I needed to knowwho these people were that they were trying to put my life in their hands.
“What?” he finally picked up the phone. It rang so many times that I thought it was gon’ go to voicemail.
“Who are these people?”
“Wren?”
“Yeah… who are they?”
I hadn’t told them about my lil interaction with the guy who I’m assuming his name is Maniac from his chain, but I can’t be too certain. He could be just walking around with that around his neck because he’s a maniac. No one knows but my brother and Uncle. If they wanted my help, they were gon’ have to give me answers. If I was to put my life on the line for them, they owe me big time.
“Ugh,” he groaned and I heard shuffling noises coming through the phone. “You’re seriously not thinking ’bout doing this are you?”
My eyes bucked. “I mean, do I really have much of a choice, Tyree?”
“They are the Saint-Mercier’s. The one he sold you to, his name is Kairo, but everyone calls him Maniac.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he’s one of the most ruthless mufuckas that you’ll ever meet. That man is certified crazy and needs to be in a nut house.”
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “Will I be safe?”
“I can’t answer that question for you. All I can say is, if you really plan on doing this, stay on his good side. Don’t do anything to piss him off. These are really dangerous people, Wren. Don’t trust ’em.”
“Thanks.” Removing the phone from my ear, I disconnected the call and went straight to Safari to Google. I’ve heard of theSaint-Mercier’s before. In fact, they sold some of the best liquor in the country. I just never knew who they were. From the name, I thought they were some foreign people or something.
Soon as I typed in the name, different pictures of people popped up. There he was. Kairo “Maniac” Saint-Mercier. The man was so fucking fine. Too fine to be so fucking crazy as people were putting it. He didn’t have any social media. Most of the pictures of him that showed up on Google were professional photos that they took while he was out. That’s understandable. A man as dangerous as him has to be cautious of the trail he leaves behind.
I moved over to the next Saint-Mercier. Luxe. She’s gorgeous. Long, thick curly hair. It says that she’s twenty-nine, single and an appraiser, which means that she deals with a lot of fine art.
“I can see it.”
Swiping off the screen, I went to my call log and pressed Aria’s number. It rang a few times and she picked up.
“Please come on, we’re already late,” she begged before turning her attention to me. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey.” I popped up in bed and traced my fingers over the pink flowers on my comforter. “You’re fussing at Zion?”
“Ugh, yes!” Zion is Aria’s three-year-old son, who she’s been raising on her own. His father is nothing but a dead beat that hasn’t been in the picture since he’s been born. Aria has tried so many times to try and get him to be a father, but you can’t force someone to do anything. She been learned to just let shit be. As long as Zion is well taken care of, that’s the only thing that really matters.
