Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 24- Brielle

I'm happy for Dice.

I really am—at least that's what I keep telling myself. Maybe if I say it a million more times, I'll believe it. It's been three days since life on Ruby Cove changed forever. The once long, war-weary faces have been rejuvenated with Fat Ace's return. Now everyone talks about taking the streets back block by block.

The Vice Disciples and the Grape Street Crips are officially on notice. I try my best to blend into the celebration, and play my position as a new petal with the Cartel Lord Flowers. So far these evil bitches won't give me the time of day. I have history with a few of them from Morris High School—particularly with Shaniqua Barrett's ratchet-ass.

If that bitch ain't raping Dice with her eyes every time I turn around, she's busy staring a hole into the side of my head. Only one chick has even bothered to say more than a few words to me and that's one of Shaniqua's besties, who gave me a warning: Watch your back. If she thought I was scared, I set the confused girl straight.

"Step to me again and I'll give you and Shaniqua matching profiles." Adaryl reflexively touched her scar-less her face.

"You're never gonna be a real Cartier. I don't give a fuck whose arm you're hanging off," she said, scrambling back to her side of the road. "

Don't let them get to you," Dice whispered.

"Give it some time." He means well, but I don't think he gets it.

It's all right. I'm not interested in him fighting my battles. I can take care of myself. I'll have to earn my own reputation. At the same time, I don't know if I want to be a part of these bitter bitches' family, but what else is left? I can't go back to the safe life in suburbia. That road, that avenue—that's over now.

Every day since the fire, I've picked up the phone to call Tracee or Reggie's parents. What are the police saying? Have they claimed their bodies? Will there be a funeral? Will I be welcome? That last question is what's fucking with me. I didn't torch the house, but there's no doubt in my mind that I am responsible for the Douglases' death.

I unleashed Le''Shelle on them. There are no words to make up for that. Finally, this morning, Tracee and Reggie Douglas are listed in the obituaries. Funeral services will be at Forest Hill Funeral Home.

"Are you going to go?" Dice asks. "I don't know." I set down his smartphone, on which I was reading The Commercial Appeal online. Profit glides into the empty seat across from me at the kitchen table. Shirtless, he's still wearing an easy smile that he's had on since his brother rose from the dead. I reach for my bowl of cereal, but I have no interest in eating it. "You should go." My eager gaze jumps to meet his eyes. "Yeah?" He nods. "I can go with you. You know—for support." He takes my hand.

"But . . . what if they hate me?" He laughs.

"C'mon, baby. Nobody hates you." My brows arch high for a you-can't-be-serious look.

"Okay. Nobody but that evil-ass sister of yours—but she doesn't count. I'm going to take care of her ass soon enough. The bitch can only be so lucky for so long."

"I don't know. There's been a lot of street miracles lately." Dice leans back and pats his legs.

"C'mere." I stare at him, but then get up and sit in his lap with my head bowed.

"Look at me." He tilts my chin up. "Have faith in your man and trust me."

"I do—with my life." Doubt flickers across his face.

"You don't believe me?" He hesitates.

"I want to believe you, but given what happened—"