Shanice Wilson, born and raised in Harlem, moves to Atlanta for her new job. The company sets her up in a lovely cul-de-sac in an almost deserted part of the suburbs.
Nate Dylan is the president of the Dead-Eye Angels MC. He rides with his buddies...
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Even with the air thick and hot, the boys are still going hog wild for the girls. But playtime is over. It's time to work. Daniel gave me the information we need to make the Crest Goon talk.
We hop on our bikes and head towards the abandoned hotel on Washington-Pearl Road. The Ebony Comfort was Atlanta's premier hotel in the 80s, but it shut down after people found out about the owner's penchant for young boys.
Now, it's an eyesore and the perfect place for the Dead-Eye Angels to host guests. The full moon's light peeks through the heavy curtains from the presidential suite, shedding light into the most empty room save for our visitor, whose hands and feet are tied behind him and suspended by a metal chain from the ceiling.
The boys surround the light-skinned bastard, who Daniel found out his name is Tommy. Even though the moon is the only source of light, you can still see that half of Tommy's face has swelled up. His one good eye meets mine rapt with horror. That teaches the little bitch not to talk.
"Tommy, I hear you don't wanna talk," I say to him as I approach his beat-up body.
With the bit of strength he can muster, he hocks a loogie at my cut. These kids have no respect. My fist connects with a thud on his cheek, sending his entire body swaying back and forth. One of the boys hands me a handkerchief to wipe the asshole's spit off my leather jacket.
I grab the bastard by the collar and pull him close for him to see me dead in the eyes. That I'm not playing games no more. "Try that again and I'll cut your fucking tongue out." My hands loosen from his shirt.
His eyes dart around maniacally, looking for an escape from my wrath.
"Prospect, give me the tablet." Daniel puts the pad in my outstretched hand.
In a few taps, a folder holding all the information I need comes into view.
"You don't wanna talk, Tommy. Guess we should visit one of your baby mamas. How about Sanaa?" He looks at the picture of his girl and daughter on the screen.
Tommy snaps, "Leave them alone, they've got nuffink to do with this!"
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Do you want to leave your fifth child motherless?"
The Goon struggles against the chains, but it's no use. There's no escape.
"Tell me what I wanna hear, or." I tilt my head towards Bryan, who's standing next to me. "My brother is gonna pay Sanaa a visit, and I promise you it won't be pleasant."
He mutters some things we already know and some other stuff that catches me by surprise. It isn't enough to eliminate the Crest Goons, but at least we can hold them back until I figure out something.
"Good."
"You'll let me go, right? You'll leave Sanaa alone?" Tommy asks with such hope in his eyes.
"Did you think you were gonna get out of this alive, son?"
