Brothers unholy 2, p.3
Brothers Unholy 2, page 3
Richard’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t one to fear anyone, especially not another man, considering he was raised fighting dogs. But there was a chilling tone to Clinton’s voice, and Richard knew when not to mess around.
“Just wonderin’ why we would be toastin’ with blood in our cups,” he plainly stated. He kept an even tone in his voice so there would be no confusion or insinuation of his true feelings.
“Ahh… questions. Questions are good. I’ll be sure to answer them, but first, drink up, gentlemen.
We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
George, eager to please, downed the blood like it was Kentucky bourbon, ending on a “mmm” to signify how ‘satisfying’ he found it. Clinton smirked. George’s eagerness to please would quickly move him up in the ranks.
Walt, not nearly as eager, took a deep breath and tossed it back. It reminded him of his mother’s oatmeal, which was just as thick and disgusting as the blood. Hesitantly, Richard drank the thickened liquid, keeping his eyes directly on Clinton. He did not trust him. When he’d initially been approached by Clinton, he knew in his heart of hearts that he should say no. That he and the men in his community could protect the town without Clinton’s help, but he’d been roped in by Clinton’s conviction to keep the villages and towns of Tennessee safe.
Richard wouldn’t consider himself a racist. He actually didn’t mind the Blacks. What he did mind, and what did worry him, was all the changes and troubles coming from the abolition of slavery. Richard figured it was easier to protect his own than have to fight against injustice and differences. However, standing in this room now, there was something iffy happening.
Something off about Clinton, and he wished he would have gone with his first instinct.
By the time the contents of their drinks were gone, Clinton’s hands were around George’s neck and the back of his head. With a harsh twist, George’s hood flew from his head, and his heavy body thudded against the ground. Walt inhaled deeply—the last mark of him being alive, before Clinton came over to
him with a knife in his hand, and slit his throat, ear to ear. Richard, quickly on his heels, frantically turned around, heading for the door. He did not want to face the same fate as the men in front of him. He could not understand how they were supposed to exact change if they were dead. Was this some sort of ploy?
Would they blame their deaths on the Blacks? Would this somehow rouse others to join the cause?
Regardless of the answer, Richard was not curious enough that he wanted to find out. Rather than stick around, he made haste toward the door, picking up his giant feet to retreat from the church. He’d made it back into the hallway of the basement, where a gust of wind pressed forward from the hall behind him. Looking over his shoulder to see where the wind came from would do him no good, so he continued running, picking up pace. In the dark, he searched for the basement stairs. He knew if he made it back upstairs, he could make it out of the church, but in the dark, he kept fumbling and banging against the walls.
Footsteps neared him. They were slow, and echoed off the walls, but the harder the footsteps clicked against the ground, the more it seemed they were gaining on him. Just when Richard thought there was no hope, his foot stumbled upon an incline.
Thank you, he whispered, and pivoted his body around to run up the stairs. With his feet leading the way in the dark, he quickly but carefully ran up the staircase and to the front of the church that was well lit. He’d made it to the double doors ahead of him and flicked the lock on the door, trying to get out.
Just as he pulled the door open, a hand on his shoulder stilled him.
“Turn around,” Clinton told Richard. His body, no longer his own, moved against his will, and he shifted around. Sweat poured down his face, fear imminently rushing through him.
“Hold your breath,” Clinton demanded, a sinister smile appeared on his lips. Richard was his favorite. He knew he could break the strength in him. That was why he’d saved him for last, so he could
see just how powerless he truly was. Clinton had to be in charge of everything and everyone. That was another reason it was so important for him to destroy the Brown brothers.
The Free Garrisons thought they were giving him a task so he could prove himself worthy of being a leader. What he was really trying to do was create the building blocks to overthrow The Free Garrisons, and the death of the Brown brothers would give him all the clout he needed to move up in ranks.
Richard held his breath, shutting his mouth, refusing to breathe through his nose, though he did not understand why. He wanted to move his hands, to open his mouth and inhale a deep, life-saving breath, but he could not. Clinton’s smile grew, and as his mouth widened, his teeth began to show. His fangs protruded, and as the life began to leave Richard’s body from the lack of being able to breathe, true fear struck him as he came to the realization of what Clinton really was.
He could not utter the words aloud, but just before his brain powered off, he’d murmured the word vampire through his mind. Richard’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, cracking his head against the wooden floor of the Sharon Church.
He would die a human, but would be reborn a blood-sucking, Ku Klux Klan monster…
Christmas Eve Celebration
nd when we get home, I expect you to rub my feet, too.” Shaylene smoothed her hands over her yellow and eggnog sequined dress as she reclined in the passenger seat of her 2016 Pink Land Rover LWB SV.
“A
“Yeah, alright,” Fletcher uttered under his breath, a roll of his hazel eyes quickly
followed.
If he could have stared a hole into the side of Shaylene’s prestigious head, he would have, and instantly killed her. Like death rays shooting her way, they would quickly take her out.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d killed one of his women. Shaylene’s only saving grace was the fact that she was carrying his child. She was supposed to simply be a one-night stand.
Someone he smashed and dashed, but he forgot to pull out. That didn’t seem to be the only thing he’d forgotten to do. That night was mostly a blur. Most of his encounters with Shaylene had been. He was beginning to believe he was going crazy, but he had a plan.
The moment she gave birth, he was going to get rid of her, the way he did all of his problems. Except, there was one problem he hadn’t quite seemed to push out of his life—Amionette. She wasn’t a problem, not really, he figured. If she’d been alive this entire time and either hadn’t told anyone the truth, or she didn’t remember, it was a blessing in disguise for him.
And if she didn’t remember, perhaps there was a chance he could win her back. A devious smile crossed his succulent lips as he veered onto the cobblestoned ramp of 440, heading toward Brentwood.
“What are you smiling about? I hope you’re thinking about me,” Shaylene cooed, slightly wiggling in her seat as she retrieved her phone to do her nightly social media scroll, and Fletcher all but gagged. He hated this woman.
“Definitely” he winked, lying straight through his immaculate teeth. The truth was, his mind was on Amionette and figuring out how to either win her back or successfully kill her. Since running into Zuri, his mind had been reeling with a deep want for answers. He was positive he’d shot Amionette in the back; how could she have survived? How could he?
He’d pulled the trigger—his life should have been over, but every time he thought back to that night, it seemed like a concrete blockade pressed against his memory. It sent a shrill, buzzing sound through his head, warding him away from seeking the truth, and the harder he tried, the more it hurt. He assumed he
must have suffered a head injury and somehow made it home. Fletcher considered himself lucky, though he hoped his luck would not run out.
Finally, Fletcher had made a connection with the Brown brothers, and together, their empire would grow to rival anyone on HGTV. Fletcher owned so much land in Nashville, no one could buy a house without first purchasing the land from him. He wanted to go into business with the Brown brothers so that together, he and three other Black brothers could make it. He was getting close to sealing the deal, just before things had gone sour with Amionette. Shaylene turned up pregnant, showing up at Amionette’s office with a scarf tied around her head and sunglasses on her face like Mary J. Blige, so her identity was concealed.
Fletcher could not understand why the mayor, of all people, would put them in such a dangerous situation. Amionette could have turned rabid and beat the hell out of Shaylene. Even Fletcher was surprised at the restraint she had shown. He had not expected the incident to happen, nor that she would turn her anger against him.
With his eyes on the road, he felt a gnawing inside of him, something like a proverbial knife twisting in his gut. Why had he tried to kill Amionette again? Because she was mad at him about him cheating?
No, that didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t try to kill her for something so silly.
Perhaps it was because she was trying to leave him? Fletcher’s hand on the wheel became unsteady, forcing him to swerve in his lane.
“Fletcher, are you okay?” Shaylene still slightly inclined her seat, looked over at him.
The level of concern she showed even confused her. Shaylene did not care for Fletcher the way it would seem. She didn’t actually like him, but he was a part of a grand plan that could not be messed up, not this late in the game. There was still too much to do, and him veering off the road, literally and metaphorically, would ruin everything she had brewing.
Shaylene placed her hand on Fletcher’s leg, giving it a tight squeeze, something she knew typically helped bring him back to the moment. Fletcher reached for his temples—his brain was on fire. There was something just beyond the pain, a flash of something that felt like recognition.
He saw a figure, feminine, shapely, hovering over a desk, pointing to something. It was his desk from work, he’d recognize it anywhere.
“Shit,” he hissed. The second he’d gotten past the first bout of pain, another ensued.
“Fletcher?” Shaylene urged, the word breeching the backside of her teeth as she squeezed his leg even harder. If he thought the pain shooting through his brain wasn’t going to kill him, Shaylene digging her set of almond-shaped pink and white nails would.
The momentary vision escaped his mind, and just before he’d gone too far off the road, Fletcher found his right mind and steered the mid-size SUV back between the lines of the lane.
“I think you had too much to drink. I’ve told you about all of that drinking. It seems to be the only thing you do these days. That, and work.”
“And of course you’d take issue with anything that don’t have shit to do with you,” he snapped at her, and Shaylene raised her seat all the way up. She was not one to accept a man, especially a man she had dealings with, speaking to her any kind of way. Especially not Fletcher.
“Excuse me? What does that mean?” she questioned, her eyes darting in his direction as she folded her arms over her chest.
“You know exactly what the fuck I mean. I can’t do anything,” Fletcher chastised, hitting his fisted hand atop of the steering wheel. “I can’t go anywhere, hell I can’t even wipe my ass with fuckin’ toilet paper without your say-so. Anything that don’t include you, you find a problem to make.”
Shaylene’s brow creased. She knew the harder she pushed Fletcher, the worse the night was going to be, and she had every intention of putting him to bed, so she could have the evening she’d planned for herself, and nothing was going to get in the way of that.
Softening her approach, Shaylene placed her arm around Fletcher’s neck and scooted closer to the middle console. She gave Fletcher a light neck massage as he drove them to her home, and immediately, she noticed a change in him. His shoulders began to relax, and a playful smile marked his lips.
“I’m sorry, baby, I just worry about you. You haven’t quite been yourself lately,” she carefully
pointed out, knowing the exact reason he found himself on the other end of confusion, “and I just don’t want you to lose focus of what’s important.” Shaylene rubbed her protruding stomach, shifting her gaze between Fletcher and her unborn child.
“I understand that, but shit, sometimes I need to unwind. You don’t know all the shit I’m goin’ through right now,” he said with a shake of his head, hoping the ghosts of his past would not verbally come out to haunt him the way they visually did.
“You’re right, because you won’t confide in me. I want to be here for you,” Shaylene pressed, hoping tonight he’d finally give her something, anything. She needed to know what all he knew, what he actually remembered, and each time he shut her down, she felt she was getting that much farther away from reaching her own goals.
She stroked the back of his head, his moisturized waves slipping through her fingers with each pass of her hand.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I got a lot on my plate right now, Shay. I’m tryna get this shit with the Brown brothers together, and them niggas is top tier. I thought shit was cool, but I got a nasty vibe from the older brother. What kind of name is Syncere anyway?” Fletcher complained, thinking back to their brief encounter. He didn’t like the way it felt when Syncere shook his hand. It sent a strange feeling down his spine. He hoped that Syncere wouldn’t get in the way of him and his brothers working together. They were at the helm of signing partnership paperwork.
“It’s funny that you mention him. From what I’ve heard of the Brown brothers, they’re hard-working, family-oriented men. Perhaps what you perceived as a bad vibe was him just being protective. I heard he’s been away for quite some time.” There was an elusive tone in Shaylene’s voice, that if Fletcher had truly been paying attention to, he would have known that she knew far more than she was letting on.
“Oh, yeah?” Fletcher questioned, cutting his eyes at Shaylene. “What you know about the Brown brothers?” His voice had turned cold. Though he did not particularly care for Shaylene, she was his possession. She was, after all, carrying his child. The thought of her even looking at another man drove him mad. For all he’d lost, because of her, she would have to do for now.
Shaylene knew that Fletcher could be a handful, and the last thing she wanted to do was set him off.
She placed a kiss to his cheek and gently scrubbed the evidence of her maroon lipstick from him. “I’m the mayor—it’s my job to know anybody who’s anybody. You know that,” she offered a lie
where she needn’t volunteer one and focused her attention on the car ahead of them.
Fletcher nodded his head in agreement, though he wasn’t quite sure he agreed. It was her job to know things about people. Being the mayor, it could help to be well-connected, but Fletcher didn’t enjoy how
highly she spoke of the brothers. He’d have to remember to keep an eye on her whereabouts, and exactly who she did or did not keep tabs on.
Less than a mile ahead of them, Shaylene’s security team led them through the gates of her exuberant estate. Shaylene was the granddaughter of the former governor—following his footsteps into a position of being a state official. Her mayoral campaign had been easily won.
Her opponent was a white male, under the age of 50, who truly had the interests of his city in mind, but he wasn’t a legacy, and he hadn’t done what Shaylene had to win. Even if she hadn’t been a legacy, the mere facts that she was ruthless in debates, did homework on her city, knew it inside out, and had the resources and influence to make the changes necessary to keep the city of Nashville running smoothly, meant she would have won.
Shaylene needed to win the hearts of Nashville so that when she crushed it, no one would be wiser to her plot.
Fletcher and Shaylene arrived in the front of her home; the home Fletcher had sold her. It was a beautiful mocha-colored brick, two-story, French Country-style home, and one of the only of its kind in Brentwood, Tennessee. Fletcher put the luxury vehicle in park, killed the engine, and their doors were opened for them by Shaylene’s security team. When Shaylene’s door opened, she batted her lashes at
Henry, the head of her security detail. Fletcher noticed how Henry took her hand to help her out of the car,
she held onto it a little too tightly for his liking. Lucky for her, he was too tired tonight to say a word. Henry would just be another notch on his “kill” belt.
Standing at the front door, Shaylene fumbled with the keys, doing her best to stick them into the door. Fletcher saw this as an opportunity to get the upper hand. Henry might be able to protect her, but Fletcher wasn’t completely useless.
“Hold up, baby, let me get that for you,” Fletcher asserted himself, smoothly walking up behind Shaylene, reaching around her stomach, his hands lingering around her swollen belly just long enough to send the message that the baby she carried belonged to him. When he was positive Henry was watching, he took the keys from Shaylene’s hands and placed the key into the keyhole. When he popped the door open, he took a step back, allowing Shaylene to go in first.
“Well thank you,” she purred and carefully stepped over the threshold to her home.
“Can I get you anything else tonight—” Henry started his end-of-the night wind down, but before he could finish, Fletcher slammed the door in his face, leaving him on the porch. The hard thud of Shaylene’s heavy door caught her attention, and when she looked back at Fletcher, she noticed an accomplished look on his face.
She leaned down carefully, taking notice of her baby bump, and slipped off her wedge heels that
she’d become accustomed to wearing now that she was only a few months away from delivering. “What’s that about?” Her eyebrow raised as she tilted her head toward the door, hinting to Henry being on the other side of it.
