“Berate me later. Right now, I need your help. Everyone’s help.”
“Is this about the president’s daughter?”
“Yes. No. How do you know about that?”
“The Bureau is a small company filled with catty women pretending to be men. Gossip travels fast. Secrets travel even faster,” Fletcher said. “So, which one is it, yes or no.”
“I found Becca and her roommate, but—” Sin stopped to groan as a stabbing pain shot through her ribs.
“Are you hurt?”
“A little. Ribs, gunshot wound to the leg. Nothing I haven’t suffered before.”
“That sucks,” Fletcher said, “but why the call?”
“They have Carmelita.”
“How much time do we have?”
“I need you yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Johnson Place.”
“I’ll round up as many as I can and be there sometime tomorrow.”
Hurry Fletch.” Sin’s voice cracked as she spoke. “These guys won’t hesitate to hurt Carmelita.”
“Send me all the intel you have. We’ll catch up on the way.”
47
Onyx was in deep thought as he stared at the West Palm Beach skyline out the blackened windows of his Range Rover as he was driven north along Flagler Drive. He was mentally formulating a plan when he realized the SUV stopped. He hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours and was glad to be home. Eyeing the construction site on the corner of Dixie Highway and Palm Beach Lakes Boulevard, he smirked. In front of the site was a sign that read, “Luxury condominiums coming soon.” The sign was bogus. He was the one who stopped the construction by kidnapping the contractor’s son. Only after the man promised to stop all building did he return the boy.
“Drive around back,” he told Dauntay. “Bring the lady.”
“And the others?” Dauntay asked.
Onyx looked back at the car following them. “Dump them in the utility shed. Make sure their gags and restraints are tight. I don’t want them making noise in there.”
“It has to be close to one hundred degrees in there.”
“Do I look like I care?”
Dauntay kept his mouth shut and drove the SUV to the far east side of the property.
As the vehicle passed the chain-linked fence with warning signs telling trespassers that they would be prosecuted, Onyx looked east at Flagler Drive, the Palm Beach Yacht Club, and the Intercoastal waterway. Across the intercoastal was the island of Palm Beach, home to the rich and richer. To the north, he glanced at Good Samaritan Hospital before eyeing the water once again.
The beauty of having the Black 6 headquarters in a high-priced neighborhood is that no one expects it, he thought. Everyone thinks gangs are always in the ghetto.
“When you’re finished with our guests, send a message to everyone. I want them here in five hours,” Onyx said, stepping out of the SUV.
Inside, he walked up to the third floor, the last level completed before he halted construction. The third floor was Onyx’s home. No one ever went higher than the second floor without being asked, and no one wanted an invitation. By using fear and threats, he had managed to have electricity, Wi-Fi, and cable installed along with security cameras even though the condominium was never completed. Stepping on to the third floor, it was obvious the men he left behind to watch this place weren’t expecting him. He smelled the heavy scent of ganga and stale beer even before he made his way down the hall to the last doorway.
He was pissed to find the door unlocked. Inside, he stood in the foyer of the spacious yet cavernous unit and waited for one of the three men who were busy playing a video game to notice him. When they did, they jumped from their slouched positions on the overstuffed couch as if their butts were on fire. Onyx scowled as he strode past them, punching the first he came into contact with. “Pick this place up.”
Five hours later, at four a.m., Onyx walked down to the second floor and eyed the Black 6 gang—his gang. There were a hundred-plus men and women standing, waiting for his arrival. As he made his presence known, they all stood a bit taller, but stared at the ground.
“Look at me,” he snarled. Slowly, the members of the Black 6 gang turned their eyes toward him. He walked between them, making eye contact with each. He could smell their fear, a scent he inhaled as if starved for air. Their angst a fertilizer for his confidence and bravado.
After sizing up each person in the room, Onyx moved back in front of the room. “I would like to introduce you to our special guest,” he said. With his last word spoken, he heard the shuffling of feet. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Dauntay pushing Carmelita toward him. She was barefoot and still in her night clothes. He grabbed her by the scruff of her pajamas and pulled her forward. “In a little more than two days,” he said, “La Perla Ángel de la Muerte is going to deliver five million dollars to our door in return for the life of her mother.
Murmurs could be heard around the room.
He unstrapped his AK47 from his shoulder and slammed the butt end of the rifle off a steel rafter. The sound echoed through the room and everyone stifled their conversations. “In a little more than two days, we will be rich, and I will kill the angel once and for all.” He snarled at Carmelita for dramatic affect before finishing his thought. “I will kill the angel after I make her watch me kill her mother.” He punched his gun-bearing arm toward the ceiling and yelled in Patios, “Brothers for life; Brothers in death.”
His words rallied the Black 6 gang; in response they mimicked their leader and celebrated by grabbing whatever weapon they had, held it high and repeated the mantra like rabid dogs.
“Quiet!” Onyx yelled. “We will celebrate by dancing on the angel’s grave, but now we have a war to win. No one goes home. Everyone stays here. Check your weapons. Get some rest. We start preparing for the angel’s arrival at
