Page 35 of Roulette: The Madam

“Just listen,” she begged, barely above a whisper. Her head was still planted in my chest. Her arm was still wrapped around me. My shirt was drenched in her sadness.

I nodded with every intention to do just that. Though she couldn’t see me, I knew she could feel the subtle movement. Malaya wasn’t looking for me to fix her issues. She simply wanted me to hear them. And, comfort her as she vented about them. I could do that. I would do that–whenever she needed me to.

“I feel like life is so unfair to me. I’m sad more often than not for things beyond my control. And yours. To make matters worse, this new school is taking so much adjusting. Everyone is mean and snobby and rich and have groups of friends that are hard to penetrate because they were formed at birth almost.”

Malaya paused, unable to catch her breath. Her mumbles were loud and clear, so was her disdain. She was going through the motions. I hated every second of it.

“They’re mothers are in Pilates together. Their fathers discuss business plans and 401Ks together. They swung on the same swings at the parks near their homes or right in their backyards. They study at the same coffee shops. They made the same cheer and sports teams. And, they’re older. I am a fifteen year old graduating senior. I’m just– I don’t fit in.”

You’re not supposed to. You’re special.

“It’s not that I want to, but it’s lonely. It’s lonely at home. It’s lonely at school. It’s lonely in my head. I just wish things were different. I just wish Mom was different.”

But they’re not and she’s not, so this is where we are, pretty girl.This is not your story. This is only part of it. This is the part that strengthens you to your core and helps you develop a sense of self. This is your pivotal moment. Take control, Malaya. You have to take control and claim the power I know is stored in that head of yours. I can’t do it for you, my baby, although I wish I could.

My thoughts never left my mouth, but they were still present. And, now that I was alone again, they wouldn’t allow me to find comfort. The night would be long.

“Well,” I breathed out, “A drink, I suppose.”

My hands grabbed ahold to the arms of the chair. I pushed upward, prepared to stand. However, the vibration of the phone in my desk halted me. The pattern was different. Much different from the others.

Though I knew it well, it never sounded against the wood because it never rang. It had a purpose much different from the others. The vibration signified something deeper. My heart fell into the pit of my stomach as I listened closely to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.

Once clarity struck, I slid the drawer open and grabbed the Motorola cell. It buzzed against my skin as I located the button with the green phone icon. I placed the device against my ear. With shallow breaths, I waited for someone to announce their presence. Mine was clear.

“Package secured.”

“Location?”

“The coop.”

“See you soon.”

A pause caused the silence to linger.

“Samson–”

“Yeah, bro?”

“Alive.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Don’t try, nigga. Make it happen.”

I ended the call and placed the phone in its rightful place, beside the three others. I jolted from my chair. The hairs on my back stood at attention, brushing against the damp button down with each move I made. I exited the office, conquered every square footage of the hallway, took the stairs two by two, and ended up on the first level of my home. My stride didn’t slow or stop there. I located the key fob for one of the five cars in my garage. Two taps of the start button and the engine of the coupe roared.

I continued down the second hallway until I reached my bedroom. I vanished behind the door. My closet was the destination. Once inside, I stripped my body of the threadscovering it. Within seconds I was dressed in black from my head to my soles.

Casual attire for any occasion felt ridiculous to me, but tonight was the exception. The stains on my tailored pieces would be difficult to explain to my dry cleaning lady. She didn’t need the details of my life, just the depths of my pocket because they got me to the front of her list of clients every time I dropped off a new load.

I loweredmy six-foot-two-inch frame into the coupe. A small black bag led the way. It rested on my passenger seat, pressuring the cushion from its weight.

The engine roared with a tap of the gas pedal. When the garage door was fully lifted, I reversed the car until my entire home was in full view. I lowered the garage, making sure there were no dummies ready to give their life to God lurking in my lawn. Satisfied with the security status of my dwelling and my daughter’s safety, I punched the gas, spinning around one hundred and eighty degrees and heading straight for the streets.

The black truck at the gate’s entry followed me out into the night, keeping a good distance between us. It wasn’t by choice. Raquim simply couldn’t keep up, which was why he’d been requesting theTrackhawkfor months now. The customizations were taking time. Unbeknownst to him, it would be in his possession sooner than later.

Gravel shuffled underneath my tires. Street lights passed me in a blur. The wind from the cracked moonroof revived something within me that I’d tried suppressing since Malaya’s birth. The night air breathed life into the beast, awakening him from his slumber with each mile added to the dashboard.

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