Page 36 of Roulette: The Madam

I tilted my neck leftward until it popped. I then tilted it rightward until it popped a second time. My shoulders lifted and fell a total of four times before I settled in my seat.

Twenty-eight minutes later and the coop was in my line of vision. I exited the car with my bag in-hand. The engine purred as I put distance between us. There was no need to shut it down completely. I wouldn’t be long.

The door echoed in the empty space, announcing my presence. The dust from the floor crowded beneath my feet, forcing the hardening of my nostrils as they spread. I pursed my lips, advising my allergies to stand down. When the urge to sneeze left me, I continued.

“El–” Samson called out.

I tipped my head in his direction, greeting him without words. There was a more pressing matter on my dome. I didn’t have any words to share. The limp, fear-infused body sitting before me had captured my attention.

George.

He was the root of my daughter’s issues. He was the root of my daughter’s mother issues. He was the bane of my existence and the pain of Malaya’s. His time on earth was limited the minute I noticed the subtle changes in my ex, Yara.

I watched her beautiful spirit disintegrate before my very eyes. Month after month, those pretty brown eyes were stripped of life. Her soul was a bit more tainted. And, her light dimmed a little more.

The day I had to rip my daughter from her care was the first time I’d shed a tear in my forty years of life. Though she was a functioning addict, she wasn’t fit to care for Malaya twenty four-seven. Because she worked from seven in the morning until seven at night, she gave her best twelve hours to her patients. The other twelve were a smear on her calendar.

The second her body touched the toilet and her vein was visible, the needle was in her arm and she lost her natural spark. It was replaced with a heroine-induced nod that slowed her down completely. By two o’clock, she was coming around and her high had worn off. Malaya was already in bed after crying herself to sleep or tucked in her bed at my home.

Before I gained full custody, my daughter spent two weeks at her mother’s home and two weeks at mine. Those two weeks at my house, away from her mother’s pain, she thrived. She worried less. She was able to be the child she was supposed to be at her age. But, it didn’t come without the stress of her mother’s illness.

She imagined coming home to a cold, stiff body one day. I couldn’t take that chance. When she began expressing her fears, I had to step in fully and control the narrative of my daughter’s life. To the naked eye, Yara was an angel. She was caring, careful, and a giver at heart.

How she’d allowed a low life motherfucker to convince her to put a needle in her arm was beyond me and I’d never understand. But, in the midst of her shortcomings, I’d make sure all was well with our daughter. This wasn’t Yara’s story. It was only part of it and I still had faith she’d come out on top of this as she did everything else. She just needed time and patience and love. Malaya and I had enough of that for her.

What we’d shared was over, but my relationship with Yara wasn’t. We had a daughter. She’d keep us linked for life and I had no problem with that. I just needed her twenty-four hours to resemble the twelve hours she was clocked in and walking that hospital floor, making sure her patients didn’t die on her.

Malaya and I were rooting for her and hoping she didn’t die on us. I wouldn’t allow it. Our daughter needed her. Death wasn’t an option for either of us.

I snapped back to reality.George’s eyes were covered with a black cloth. His mouth was stuffed with the same fabric. Both were obstructing my view. My joy. My pleasure. My happiness. My gratitude.

I reached behind his head and untied the black cloth. It fell to the ground next to his chair. I removed the tape from his mouth.

“URGH!” He yelped in pain as the cloth fell onto his lap.

I grabbed the bottled water from the small table next to him. Simultaneously, I sat the black bag on top of it. Suddenly, everything inside of it felt pointless. I had other plans for George.

“Israel– Israel, man. What– what’s going on, man? What is–”

He didn’t deserve a quick death. Nor did he deserve a simple one. He needed to suffer. Just like Malaya. Just like Yara. Just like me.

“Drink.”

I held the uncapped bottle at his lips.

“Tell me what this is all about, man. I– What I do, Is– What’s happening?”

“You’re dying tonight, George. Drink.”

The silence around us made the sound of gushing fluid ring out. Because I had yet to begin pouring the water, confusion plagued me. But, when the scent of urine entered my nostrils, I had a full understanding.

Hydration was clear. George didn’t need even the smallest sip of water. I placed the water back on the small table and removed my gun from my waistline. I sat it on top of the bag with the rest of my tools. I pushed my sleeves up toward my elbows and retrieved the knife from the holster around my ankle. This was personal. This wasveryfucking personal.

The first breech of the blade entered his rib cage, just underneath the third bone. He’d survive it, but there were more to come.

“Ahhhhhh.”

The sound of pain in his voice was profound. It brought unspeakable joy to my soul. It was addictive, leading to the next piercing. And, the next. And, the next.

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