Page 50 of Roulette: The Madam

When I returned to the theater, baby girl hadn’t moved an inch. She was in desperate need of the rest she was getting. To settle the madness in her head that she didn’t quite understand, I scheduled father-daughter activities that I knew would bring her the peace she craved. Even if only for a little while.

The weekend with her mother was cancelled at the very last minute. Discovering the demise of George had shaken her mother up, leaving me to make a decision I had dreaded since my knife cut through his flesh the first time. While it was revitalizing, it was just as condemning.

George hadn’t disappeared by choice. I’d made the message clear that it was best he found something safer to do than Yara. He’d done far too much damage when I finally connected the dots and stopped being in denial about her addiction. Learning that it was heroine she was addicted to nearly sent me over the edge.

It was called dog food for a reason. It was a very hard drug and an even harder drug to disobey. Your body became dependent upon it to survive at some point. Fortunately, Yara was far from that point of her addiction. She was still a newbie, essentially. Her commitment to her patients saved her veins most days and a few nights.

That was the only reason I hadn’t forced her to end her employment. It was all she had to hold onto and she refused to lose her license, even more than she was afraid to lose her child. Because, Malaya had me. Without her license, Yara would have nothing. Or at least, she felt that way.

I lowered my lips onto her forehead and pressed them against her pretty dark skin. She didn’t budge.

My baby is tired.

I decided to leave her alone to get some rest. I had a more pressing matter to tend to in the meantime. Unfortunately, rest wasn’t a luxury of mine, either. I couldn’t close my eyes andpeacefully sleep knowing my daughter’s world was crumbling around her.

I steppedout of the Ralph Lauren pajama pants and folded them neatly before putting them away with the top that matched. I replaced them with black slacks that I buttoned at the waistline. The crisp white shirt slid up my arms with ease. I gathered the buttons at the center and began fastening them. A matching jacket and black socks completed the set of threads I’d chosen.

I slid the Patek on my wrist and employed the diamond bracelets to accompany it. On the opposite wrist, I settled for two of my Cartier bracelets. After sliding my feet into the loafers, I removed the rag from my head. The thin, damp washcloth that kept the stray strand of hair in place followed.

I conquered the length of my home. My exit was accompanied by a black SUV and its struggle to keep up with my pace.

Hi

My name is 6lack but people call me 6-lack

I don’t mind because they’re stubborn and my bank account is looking mighty fine

I hiked the volume of the stereo as I mashed the gas. My head nodded to the beat. My heart matched its rhythm.

I ain’t sliding if you with him

Baby, you gone have to leave him

I got morals

The street light turned red as I approached. I gripped the handle of my burner and placed it on my lap, prepared to shoot through the window if anyone wanted to get stupid. From one side to the other, I turned my head, checking my surroundings.

I was in the suburbs of Clarke, but one could never be too careful. Motherfuckers were hungry, and I was a very good meal ticket. My jewelry alone would put them up two hundred grand if they were smart enough.

Scccrrrrrrrr.

I slammed my foot on the gas, disinterested on waiting for the change of the light. I entered the freeway at full speed. Everything around me blurred as my mileage per hour increased. I weaved through the vehicles that were stifling my temporary need for speed.

Fuck.

I quickly remembered there was one following me. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed the distance between us. Raquim’s name flashed across my dashboard at the thought of him.

“Yeah,” I answered with a single tap of the touchscreen.

“Just tell me where you’re headed, El. A nigga can not keep up with you,” he huffed.

Chuckling, I revealed my intentions, “Headed to Yara’s.”

“Bet. See you there.”

I ended the call and the music resumed. Because he knew where I was headed, Raquim was no longer my concern. I eased my foot down on the pedal, increasing my speed by the millisecond.

Yara’s homewas nestled in a quiet neighborhood in Windridge. The two-story, three-bedroom, modest family home was her proudest purchase. Admittedly, she’d done well for herself.

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