Like a Sister(29)

The man in the photo wasn’t Mel. But that tattoo…

I looked up just in time to see Free once again cradling baby me to his chest. His bare arms covered in blood—and a very familiar handcuff inked on his wrists.





INSTAGRAM LIVE APRIL 18, 2019,

12:30 a.m. Gulf Standard @TheDesireePierce212




Desiree Pierce stares at the screen. Comments scroll over her neck and chin before disappearing.

You one of those annoying people who look better without makeup, sis!

I’ve been wondering where you been.

Pull the camera back some, ma! Let’s see what you rocking.

She laughs at the last one. “Pull the camera back? You just want to see my tits.”

But she obliges, revealing a cleavage-less T-shirt. She’s in bed, hair down and uncombed.

She pushes a button on her phone. Suddenly the screen divides into two squares stacked one on top of the other. Erin Ambrose appears in the bottom box. “Oh, Freck,” she says. “You look like shit.”

“That’s ’cause I slept with my head in the toilet.”

“You’ve been throwing up?”

“Yes,” Desiree says. “Think it’s food poisoning.”

“Just you?”

She nods and flips the camera angle. “You guys have to see the view, though.”

As she gets up, she knocks a man’s watch off the nightstand. Desiree’s hand picks it up and dismissively puts it back. She heads toward the window.

“Look at this!” She tips the camera down. She’s on a high floor of a skyscraper.

She brings the camera back up. At this height only the tips of sleek silver buildings are in frame, contrasting with a clear sky that’s a mix of purples and deep oranges.

More comments scroll by.

That Audemars Piguet is 50Gs at least. Sis is so rich she don’t even care.

I would trade places with your sick ass in a heartbeat.

Definitely worth the trip. From the US. And from the bed!

Desiree reads that one and laughs. “And I can’t even enjoy it!”

Erin’s straight-faced. “I hope someone is taking good care of you.”

“If you mean room service, then yes.” Desiree flips the camera again to show her face as she walks back toward the bed. “And my driver will be making sure I get to the airport okay.”

“You’re going to the airport by yourself?”

“Apparently, they are expecting other guests. Tonight.” Desiree gives the camera a look that’s clearly meant just for Erin.

Erin shakes her head. “They aren’t shit for that. They should have let you know before they flew you out there.”

Desiree gets back in bed and balances her phone on her knees so she can put her hair in a sloppy topknot. “Oh, I already let them know I was not happy with the service. At all.”

When she picks the phone back up, Erin gasps. “Where’s your earring?”

Desiree’s free hand immediately moves from hair to ear. She’s wearing only one clip-on. She stares at the camera, again clearly staring at Erin, who stares back. They look at each other as comments come in double time now.

Girl I hope that earring wasn’t expensive.

Check under the bed, sis!

At least u kno it’s in the room since you aint left.

Erin speaks. “You should probably look for it.”

Desiree smiles. She looks up to no good. “I probably should, huh? We don’t want the next guest to find it.” There’s a knock on the door. Desiree’s smile just gets bigger. “Gotta go.”





Nine



Mel and Free were about the same skin color. Desiree would’ve been able to name their exact foundation shade in MAC, Fenty, and NARS. I had to settle for saying medium-ish brown. A quick Google search showed Free’s Free Money cuffs hadn’t been lasered off or covered up either, displayed in recent pics a few inches from a wedding band as thick and bronze as an Instagram model. I’m sure his keeping them was a power move, like Mel still showing their old videos. His reminder to everyone that Free Money’s success was just as much his as it was Mel’s.

Another check of Desiree’s IG post confirmed the ring definitely matched. If I’d been paying better attention earlier, it should have been a red flag. Mel never wore one. He and Veronika had matching ink on their ring fingers, Veronika wanting every assurance he couldn’t take that off.

Unlike Mel, Free was still with his high school sweetheart. They’d had a rough patch a few years back when she’d filed divorce papers. TMZ had had a field day when they discovered there was no prenup. Either the filing was a wake-up call or Free decided it was cheaper to keep her, because his wife withdrew the petition a few months later. And like a true hustler, Free used his personal problems for professional gain. His Love & Marriage album was twelve tracks insisting he was as new and improved as a box of Pampers. A man who didn’t cheat.

So much for that.

Although their official bio claimed Mel’s scholarship money had funded Free Money, hip-hop legend held there was more to it. Free, who had never gone to college, had indulged in a variety of extracurricular activities. He had ten LPs’ worth of claims about drug deals, corner shoot-outs, and home invasions. That stuff had built the entire hip-hop industry, with its focus on driving fancy cars, screwing fancy models, selling fancy drugs. But hip-hop was nothing if not exaggeration. The Bentley gets repossessed. The hot girl goes home when the director says cut. And the only things most rappers have ever stolen are the stories about illegal exploits.