The Family Business 3(73)

Rio must have sensed my confusion, because as he kept his eyes on Bernie, he explained to me, “Those texts were from Paris. After we left the house, Elijah told them some shit you’re not gonna believe. This motherf*cker here has been playing us, O. He’s been in cahoots with X from the beginning.”

Bernie began waving his hands in protest. “It’s not like that!” he shouted, sounding scared.

I reached for my gun. Those bodyguards might have been big, but they sure were stupid, I thought thankfully. They hadn’t even attempted to search me or Rio for weapons when we got there. Probably didn’t think we were a threat. This was one time I was glad that someone had underestimated me. “Oh, no? Then exactly how is it, Bernie? Did you or did you not make a call to free my brother?” Bernie didn’t answer. “Hell, you weren’t even going to wire the money, were you?” I bent over and picked up the paper Bernie had handed to Michael, expecting to see nothing but scribbles on it. Instead, it was something much worse.

“What’s it say?” Rio asked when he saw me shaking my head.

“It says Kill them,” I replied. “But thanks to you, that’s not going to happen, little brother.”

“You f*cked up, Bernie,” Rio said. “No offense.”

In spite of his fear, Bernie tried to play tough with us. “Do you know who you are messing with?”

“Yes, I do. I mean we do.” I looked to Rio, who cocked his weapon.

“Obviously you didn’t know who you were dealing with,” Rio spat. “This is for LC Duncan.”

Bam!

I got out of my chair and turned to my brother to ask the million-dollar question: “So, is Vegas still alive, or what?”





Daryl





51


Thunk! Thunk!

Junior and I took down the two sentries standing guard in front of the small East New York brownstone with no resistance, thanks to a major distraction from Paris. Those two Muslim brothers didn’t have a chance the way she sashayed down the street in that skirt that left nothing to the imagination. Hell, even I had to raise an eyebrow at how sexy she looked, and I didn’t want any part of that little vixen.

The moment the sentries were down, Paris kicked off her six-inch heels, snatched up one of the fallen guards’ automatic weapons, and ascended the stairs, holding position at the door. Junior and I posted up at the bottom of the stairway, guns drawn, sending four men scurrying into the backyard. Two were then stationed on either side, while another two were set up as lookouts.

I thought I’d gotten it out of my system, but I really did love this Jason Bourne type shit that Vegas was always dragging me into.

“Where the f*ck are they?” Junior groaned, checking his watch for the fifth time in the last five minutes. He looked at me with a frown.

“I know,” I said, trying to keep Junior calm while we contemplated our next move. So far, all the intel that Elijah had given us had panned out, except for one big thing: He should have been out that door by now with Sasha in tow.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Three gunshots rang out from inside, without return fire. I turned to Junior, whose worried expression said, This is not good. Paris looked like she was about to say f*ck it and just go in, so Junior and I ran up the stairs. Three of our men took our place at the curb, pointing weapons at the front door. We had ten other men around the building, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I turned to Paris, who was holding the gun she’d confiscated from the dead guard like she really knew her shit.

“You ready for this?” I asked. She checked her gun, giving me this sensual look that made me feel very uncomfortable.

“Just keep up, handsome, and make sure you don’t get your dick shot off. I might have use for it after this,” she said, pushing the door open.

I glanced over at Junior, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “That’s just my sister, Dee. She’s off the wall. I don’t know what else to tell you.” We followed her inside, with six of our men trailing behind us.

Junior and Paris handled things with a military precision, using hand signals as they entered the foyer to communicate that they spotted some of X’s men nearby. One of those men came to the foyer, and Paris took him down with a quick burst before we stormed the living room, killing all but one of the men in there. Junior snatched him up like a rag doll.

“Where are they? Where are my brother and my cousin?” Junior’s voice would have sent chills down the spine of any normal person, but this man clamped his mouth shut, refusing to answer. Junior whacked the guy over the head with his gun, sending him slumping to the floor.

At the sound of a disturbance, another soldier came rushing in, gun raised. Before I could take the shot, Paris landed a cluster right in his midsection.

“Good shot,” I called out just as I took out another one of X’s men who appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Fan out,” Paris told our men. They all did what they were told, moving from room to room in pairs, taking out X’s men on the first floor. Junior headed up the stairs in front of Paris and me. Two quick shots later, we heard bodies falling.

At the top of the stairs, there were three doors, the first of which was locked. Paris and I stood with our guns pointed at the other doors, ready to shoot, while Junior slammed his size eighteens into the first door, spraying the two gun-toting men hiding inside. It turned out no one was in the second room, but like the first room, the third room was locked. Tiptoeing up to it, Junior placed his ear against the third door. He jumped back, signaling to us that he’d heard movement.