Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 5- Lucifer

Silent as the grave, I'm nestled quietly in the back of the Escalade with my bloody Browning hunter's knife in my lap.

These muthafuckas killed Bishop and now they have me to deal with. I watch Shariffa exit the tattoo shop while an ice floe circulates in my veins. I know that bitch. Not personally, but back in the day, she flagged for Vice Disciples—another one of Snake's ex-flames. There's so many, I don't know how the fuck he keeps up with them.

Yet, I am surprised that Lynch would wife another nigga's leftovers—especially from another gang. That kind of shit don't happen every day—if ever. Whatever the bitch is putting down in the bedroom must be strong enough for muthafuckas to overlook rules and violations. Not me.

Tombstone looks up into the rearview mirror. "What do you want to do?" Stone-faced, I contemplate the question.

I can tell him to hit the accelerator and power down the windows. We can take care of this old-school style, but that would be too easy. I'd rather get my hands wet. Slice her ass open and listen to her scream and beg for her miserable life . . . Shariffa looks up and spots us. My hands drift from the bloody Browning to the TEC-9 lying at my side. It would be soooo fuckin' easy . . .

"Lucifer?" Tombstone nudges me. "You want to do this?"

Sooo easy . . . Lynch steps out of the tattoo shop and startles his wife. The spell is broken. I exhale a long breath and pull my hand back from the gun. "Let's get out of here. I'll take care of her later."

"Whatever you say, boss." Without hitting the headlights, Tombstone makes a U-turn from the curb and rolls back out the way we came.

During the ride back to Ruby Cove, the Cartel Lords' stronghold, the bloodlust in my heart grows. Patience. The word repeats like a mantra in my head. I gotta have patience. Rolling through the streets of Murder City, my mind trips down memory lane. Big hits, large scores, tons of body bags; Bishop, Mason, and I have been a part of it all most of our lives.

Losing Bishop so soon after Mason's death is fucking with me in ways that I'm not ready to deal with yet. Ask any muthafucka and they'll tell you that I'm not the emotional type. My brother was the emotional one. Boo-hooing every time someone close to him dropped. Don't get me wrong, he was a strong soldier, but he was never ruthless.

It wasn't in him. But it's in me. Exhaustion has settled into my bones by the time Tombstone coasts onto Ruby Cove. Like cocaine, murder has a way of taking you on an incredible high, but then it smashes your face into concrete, knocking you out. The way I feel now, I could sleep for a week—but no way that shit is going to go down. I have too much on my plate.

As the de facto leader of the Cartel Lords, I know that before the sun comes up I'm gonna have to deal with more street politics. I have to reassure our drug connects that business will go on as usual, build on our crew's relationship with our new gun runners, the Angels of Mercy biker club. Not to mention, I also have to hunt down Snake and his crazy bitch, deal with Cousin Skeet, and plot how I'm going to take out Shariffa and the rest of her crew.

Eventually, I'll have to go head-to-head with Lynch's shady ass, but fuck it. It's me against the world. "Lucifer?" Tombstone cuts into my plotting thoughts.

"Yeah?"

He shrugs. "We're here." I look up and see that we're parked in my driveway. Hell, I hadn't noticed that we'd arrived. Still, I don't reach for the door.

Instead, I look at my crib like it's just a stack of bricks. Who the fuck likes an empty house? Tombstone shuts off the engine and sits patiently behind the wheel. After a while, the silence gets to him.