Deju're

CHAPTER FOUR

Sirens sounded faint in the distance, but me an' Raquel were already four blocks deep, sliding smooth down 980 like nothin' happened. Her chest was rising fast, adrenaline mixed with anger still leaking out her pores. She kept looking at her hands like she was replaying the moment the trigger snapped back.

"You good ma?"
I asked, one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh.

She nodded slow, but I knew that wasn't the truth.
"That niggah grabbed me like he ain't know who I was, DeJu're... I ain't no square, you feel me? I ain't nobody to be played with."

I smiled at her toughness, but I also saw the slight tremble in her fingers. Killin' somebody for the first time does that. The streets never show you that part.

"Ma... look at me."
She turned.

"You did what you had to. Ain't no shame in survivin'."

Her breathing slowed. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes as we glided off the freeway toward West.

I turned the music down as my phone buzzed. Moms.

MOMS:
Slide home ASAP. NOW. Bring yo' vest.

My heartbeat thumped once — heavy.

If my moms typed in all caps, death wasn't far.

I hit the gas harder.

---

We pulled up to the house quiet. My pit bulls weren't barking — which meant moms had already put them in the back kennel. She don't like distractions when business about to pop.

I motioned Raquel to stay behind me, and we slid through the side entrance. The smell of bleach, weed, and gun oil punched me in the nose before I saw anything.

Moms was standin' in the kitchen in her robe, hair tied back, MAC-11 on the table beside her plate of half-eaten pancakes. Her eyes were calm, but her jaw was tight.

"Close the door baby."

I closed it.

Then I noticed him.

A man was tied to a steel chair in the dining room, duct tape around his mouth, face swollen like a bad balloon. He had Island tattoos up both arms and a scar across his left eye.

"Who the fuck..."
I whispered.

Moms nodded toward him.

"Shocka."

My eyes widened.
The name alone was a whole story in the Islands. My pops' brother. The one who vanished after my pops died. The one islanders whispered about like he was a walking curse.

"Mama... why he here?"

She took a breath.

"Because he came lookin' for you this mornin'... with a machete in his hand."

Raquel sucked in her breath.

Moms continued.

"He wanted to 'finish what was started with your father.' Those were his exact words."

I felt something shift inside me — a coldness waking up.

"You touched him?" I asked.

Moms smirked.
"Baby... look at him. I wore his ass out with the crowbar before he even stepped foot past the living room."

Shocka groaned through the duct tape. His left eye opened barely, but the hate inside it was clear as daylight.

I stepped closer.

"Take the tape off," I told moms.

She raised a brow but shrugged and ripped it off.

Shocka inhaled sharply, spit blood to the side, and stared at me.

"You look jus' like him..."
he said in a thick Island accent.
"Your father had the same coward eyes."

Before he could blink I pistol-whipped him across the face, the sound echoing off the marble.

Raquel flinched. Moms didn't.

Shocka laughed through a cracked tooth.

"You kill me, boy? You still gon' die. The family comin'. The Islands don't forget blood."

Moms' smile disappeared completely.

"That's why we takin' a trip," she said.

I turned toward her.
"What you mean?"

She handed me a plane ticket.
First class. One way.

Destination: Kingston, Jamaica.

Raquel gasped.
"Mama Déjà... why he goin' there?"

Moms crossed her arms.

"Because the same niggahs that killed his father are the same niggahs that want him dead now. And I'll be damned if my baby dies on U.S. soil."

Shocka started laughing harder, blood spilling on the floor.

"You walkin' into a death trap. You don't even know who your father really was."

I pressed my gun to his forehead.

"Tell me then."

He smiled with missing teeth.

"Your pops stole somethin' that belonged to the wrong man... a man named General Krow. The whole island bowed to him. Even me. And now the debt transfers to you."

Moms cracked her neck like she was warm-up stretchin'.

"I don't give a fuck who General Crow, Crowbar, Crawlspace, whatever the fuck he is — mess with my son, and I'll bury his whole island."

Raquel held my hand tight.

Shocka spit on the floor again.

"You'll be dead in three days."

I didn't blink.

"You first."

And that's when moms tossed me the silenced Glock.

"Handle that before breakfast gets cold."

I didn't hesitate.

One shot to the dome ended Shocka's bloodline and his warnings. His head snapped back, red mist splattering the wall behind him.

Raquel gasped softly, covering her mouth.

Moms smiled faintly.

"That's my boy."

She walked past me, grabbed her MAC-11, and said calmly:

"Now pack your bags baby...
Blood war just started."