Tick, Tick, Boom!

Book 4: Say U Promise

by Ms. Michel Moore

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Having kidnapped her twin sister's newborn right out the womb and leaving her once beloved fiance for dead, this Detroit-born rebel's tragic fate is practically sealed.

Mentally drained and on the run from reality, Kenya has no options left, and she is ready to explode. No guilt or consequence is great enough to stop her inner rage. She is willing to do anything to anyone at any given moment if they dare to get in the way of her true happiness.

No more than a ticking time bomb with a short fuse, Kenya is on a path littered with doom, death, and destruction. Hang on to your seats for a wild ride in this explosive finale.

Release date: July 25, 2017

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“You backstabbing, conniving son of a crackhead. I can’t believe you think it’s gonna be all good. Hell to the naw. That treating me like my feelings don’t matter bullshit is definitely over. Matter of fact, so is me and you. You and that illegitimate bastard you care so damn much about can have each other. I’m done with all this bullshit. Fuck you and my sister. Y’all can have each other. Be one big happy-go-lucky family.”

“Hold tight, girl. Are you serious and shit?”

“You think I’m not when I am? You got me all the way twisted.” Kenya seethed with undeniable anger with the situation she had been forced to be a part of for months on end.

“So okay, bae, it’s like that, is it?”

Kenya had no delay in her swift response. She meant every single word that rolled off her quivering lips. “Look, kick rocks, Storm. Trust it’s just fucking like that!”

What the entire fuck? Just who in the hell do Kenya think she’s talking to like that? She out of her rabbit-ass mind. She must be high. I made that crazy bird a boss bitch. I put her ass on top in this city and now she talking that garbage out the side of her mouth. After all the expensive, lavish gifts he’d showered her with, the numerous times he’d forgiven her complicated lies, and all the confusion she’d brought into his life, now he was pissed. Storm couldn’t believe his ears and the slick-mouthed way his fiancée had just spoken to him before hanging up in his face.

That dumb bitch gonna spit all that venom on my unborn seed like that. I’m a grown-ass man. Flat out, I do what I wanna do for mines. Telling me to come get my clothes and get the hell outta my own damn crib like she paying bills. That Detroit-born mentality, strong-arm bullshit she be on got me all the way fucked up. Enough is enough. I swear to God when I get back home it’s on. Kenya can’t stop or slow down shit I got popping. I been making that gangsta noise since the womb. I should’ve known better. She ain’t shit but a headache waiting to damn happen.

In the middle of his mental rant, he was snapped out of his thoughts. A strange car slowly pulling up on the other side of the abandoned factory warehouse now had his full attention. Kenya’s fiery attitude, emotions, and demands would have to be put on hold. He had real business on the floor. Storm focused on the vehicle and its every movement.

Glancing at his watch, he took notice that it was seven o’clock on the nose. He was definitely on time for the meeting just like he’d promised Brother Rasul he would be. Well, here the fuck we go. This is it. A nigga straight about to get that real plug on that real shit. Rubbing his sweaty palms together, his mind raced on the possibilities these soon-to-be uncut drugs he was copping would bring to him and his struggling crew. The corners, spots, and territory that he and his brother had fought for over the years would be untouchable. They would become legendary kingpins who would be talked about for years to come. Storm took a deep breath.

He waited anxiously for the driver to make the first move in contacting him. With his cell phone now in hand, he didn’t blink. He didn’t move, but his eyes stayed watchful. This was a chance of a lifetime for him to really come back up in the game and get back on his feet. Reminiscing on all the bad luck he’d suffered over the past year, mostly thanks to Kenya and London, he didn’t want to mess things up by overplaying his position.

Seconds later, the midnight black Dodge Challenger started to creep. Cautiously it approached Storm’s general direction. As his heartbeat pounded with eager anticipation, not fear, he tossed his phone over onto the passenger seat. Unarmed, as he was instructed to be, he felt slightly naked, but it was what it was. He understood he had to earn trust. Yet, instinctively from growing up in the streets, Storm kept his foot on the brake while the car was still in drive, just in case this was some sort of setup bullshit. Dealing in the line of work he did, anything could and would happen at a drop of a dime. If there was one thing Storm knew for sure, it was that hustlers definitely had no honor among thieves. Just because his woman’s homeboy, Brother Rasul, had hooked him up with this meeting, that meant nothing. After the way Kenya had just spoken to him, everything seemed suspicious.

Raising his left hand to shield the last bit of shine from the setting sun, Storm tightened up his right grip on the steering wheel. The vehicles, now side by side, both revved their engines as if they were preparing to race. When the driver of the Challenger finally lowered the tinted window the anticipation of what to expect was ended. Storm was more than relieved, as well as shocked, to see a female posted up behind the wheel.

“Hey, what up, doe.” The platinum blonde beauty grinned, winking her eye. “Park your whip, baby boy, and come take a ride with me!”

Hearing the chick say, “What up, doe,” Storm immediately recognized she must’ve been from Detroit. Oh, hell naw. Not another one of these females. What in the entire fuck? “Yeah, okay, but hold tight. Where we going?” his first mind told him to ask before stepping out his car.

“To the beach, out to dinner, and then maybe to the show,” she teased sarcastically before cutting to the chase. “Look, guy, are you riding or not? Because if you want me to go back and say you told me to get the fuck on and you wasn’t interested in getting in the car with my cute ass, I can do that too. Shit, it ain’t a problem. I’ma get paid regardless any way it go. So that’s on you. The choice is yours.”

Trusting that Brother Rasul wouldn’t send him on a dummy mission, especially knowing it would hurt Kenya in the long run, Storm put his car in park. Turning off the ignition he smoked the female over after getting out of his vehicle. “Damn, girl, slow ya roll. I’m coming!”

Clicking the automatic locks, the feisty, sharp-tongued driver allowed Storm to get inside and shut the door. “Look, man, I hope you ain’t got no guns or bullshit like that on you. Because if you do—”

“Naw, my dude already told me ahead of time. I’m straight.” Paranoid, he looked in the back seat to make sure no one was hiding there on a sneak ambush attack mission. “Okay, so now what’s next? Where we headed and why can’t I just follow you?”

“Damn, boy, you ask way too many questions. You sure you ain’t the police?”

“Say what?” Storm frowned at even the implication of being a so-called officer of the law.

“Look, nigga, just sit back, relax, and ride. That’s what’s next.” Respecting his gangsta for checking out his surroundings, she sized him up while running her fingers through her braids. “You wanna win or what?” the girl asked, laughing after blowing a nice-sized bubble with the gum she was chewing. Mysteriously, the female then sent a text to someone, before pulling off.

Just then Storm realized that not only was he at a total disadvantage not having a gun to at least have a fighting chance to protect himself if any wild shit jumped off, but he’d left his cell phone back in his car as well. “Hey, hold up. I need my phone,” he abruptly blurted out.

“Look, guy, didn’t I say just sit back and ride?” She shook her head and smirked before turning out of the deserted parking lot. “I see you one of them damn hardheaded recruits. I already done texted that we was on our way, so we on the clock with it and I ain’t being late for no-damn-body, not even Jesus.”

Having a flashback to the tropical island and all the torture Javier put him through while he was being held hostage, Storm manned up, rubbing his ear, which was missing the lobe courtesy of his past host. Just thinking about the entire ordeal made him get a headache. It seemed like it was only yesterday. Sadly his mind drifted back.

After carefully observing Storm’s and Deacon’s response to seeing the picture, he then reacted. He waved his hand and had his men remove both Storm and Deacon to a back room. Storm was totally speechless and in shock. He couldn’t understand what he had just seen.

Deacon was terrified. “Damn, man, what the fuck is Kenya off into? I knew that bitch was to fucking good to be true. I can’t believe this shit! What did she say she was flying out East for anyway?” He asked Storm question after question.

“Listen, Deacon, I swear to you, guy, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Maybe these old cats are trying to test us or something? Besides, it was your boy Zack who turned us on to her in the first place. So stop pointing fucking fingers.”

They were confused as hell and scared of what the outcome might be. The two friends paced the floor as they tried to think of an explanation for the shit they were in. After about an hour or so of being locked in the room, they heard footsteps approaching. They both started to sweat as they watched the doorknob start to turn. The door was swung wide open, and a group of men rushed in, followed by Javier. He entered the room and focused all of his attention on Storm. He had the picture of Kenya and Storm dangling from his hand. Javier had his men search Storm’s luggage, and they found the picture along with a piece of paper in his wallet.

“You men have your orders.” Javier gave his crew a slight nod. Some of his men grabbed Deacon by his throat dragging him out of the room. He was begging for his life as he struggled to breathe. His eyes were bulging out of his head. “Don’t beg! It shows no pride. Be a man,” was all that Javier said in a nonchalant manner, while still watching Storm. Deacon didn’t take Javier’s advice and could be heard screaming as they took him in the basement. Javier seemed cold and unbothered about what was obviously about to take place. Deacon was on his way to hell.

“Please, Javier! I don’t know what’s going on. I swear to God!” Storm was panicking. “I know it looks bad, but listen: that girl on the picture can’t be my girl. It doesn’t make sense. My woman is down for me. She loves me!”

Javier’s men threw Storm in a chair and tied him up. He was still trying to explain, even though he didn’t understand himself. Even though he was facing death, he couldn’t understand how his beloved Kenya could betray him. “It’s not her! It must be a mistake! Let me call her! She can explain!”

“Please don’t play with my intelligence. The way you looked at that picture was a dead giveaway of your guilt and if I wanted more proof, you yourself provided it to me. So please stop with the lies.” Javier held the picture of Storm and Kenya up next to the picture that he’d passed around earlier. He asked Storm once again, “Do you care to try to explain?” Storm just shook his head and looked toward the ground. “I didn’t think so,” Javier mocked.

Storm was in shock. The girl in the picture looked just like Kenya, only without makeup. How could this be? Storm was lost in his thoughts. How could this be his Kenya; but how could it not be? The final nail in the coffin came as Javier held up the paper that he had gotten out of Storm’s wallet. He read the words that headlined the page: MOTOWN STORAGE UNITS. It was the same receipt that Storm found in the closet and wanted to ask Kenya about.

Javier read off the name that was at the bottom of the page. Storm heard the name and couldn’t believe what he heard. His mouth dropped open.

“I guess that you still don’t know who London Roberts is, do you?”

Storm was heartbroken. Not because he knew he was about to die, but because he believed that Kenya had betrayed him.

Javier motioned for his men to take Storm away. They untied Storm and snatched him up from the chair. Unlike Deacon, he didn’t scream, as he was led away to the unknown. Javier and his men couldn’t hurt him any worse than he believed that his cherished Kenya had already done.

He came back to the present. Oh, well, it ain’t no retirement plan to this game. When you in, you all the way in. You hustle, grind, get pussy, then fucking die. For now, Storm’s mindset was focused on staying alive and securing the new plug. It wasn’t on London and his soon-to-be-born son, not on Marco and his murderous threats, and not on Kenya’s temper tantrums and pity parties she’d recently become famous for throwing. He’d deal with her and all that other chaotic madness later; that was, if he made it back alive in one piece.

O.T. ran through countless red lights. He disobeyed every law on the books in pursuit of getting to a very much distressed London as soon as possible. On a mission, he smashed the accelerator damn near to the floor of his car. Relentlessly pushing redial on his cell phone, he attempted to reach London or at least Kenya. In panic mode, he received nothing but a busy signal. From the drastic tone in London’s voice, O.T. realized that this wasn’t a false alarm or no fucking practice run. This shit was real, and it must truly be time for her to deliver his nephew, the baby he wished was his seed.

He didn’t know what had changed him or his selfish way of thinking over the past few months. Whatever it was he knew he had to be there for London and the baby. Driving down the final stretch of road before turning into his brother’s semi-gated community, O.T. got a glimpse of a car. Looking up into the rearview mirror it was more than obvious that the car seemed to be following him. Yet, considering what he believed was going on at the condo, he couldn’t care less about the ho-ass police stopping him for violating a couple of traffic laws. His normal mindset was fuck the police, and today was no different. After all the different times cops in his city had been caught on tape violating people’s rights, O.T. didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, they could provide him and London with a special VIP police escort to the hospital if they wanted to.

Turning onto the block, O.T. had to slow his car down. He had to avoid colliding with the massive convoy of Mexican workers, huge trailers, lawn mowers, blowers, and Dumpsters that lined the road. Cautiously driving over the speed bumps in an attempt not to bend his rims, he was finally near Storm’s condo.

Shit, thank fucking God I’m here. I swear I hope London is good. I hope she and my little nephew are both a hundred. That last thing she needs is all that extra stress she been going through with my damn brother and Kenya’s wild attitude-having ass.

Having no choice but to park several doors down, O.T. swerved over near the curb. Wanting nothing more than to be London’s hood Prince Charming, he turned off the engine and reached for his cell. Jumping out of his ride, which was packed with bags containing stuff for the baby, O.T. shut the door with a smirk on his face. Ignoring the fact that the car he felt was following him had also made its way down the heavily populated block, he kept it moving. In good spirits, the seasoned thug started jogging over toward the condo knowing he was only yards away from seeing London.

“Hey, nigga. What’s up, you coward slimeball motherfucker?” The hooded driver of the other car then also swerved up near the curb, getting out with gun in hand. Wasting no time, the pistol was raised, and the intent was apparent.

O.T. froze. He was almost speechless. He was shocked this field Negro was so brazen to come where he laid his head. Not to mention trying to get ignorant and then be ballsy enough to point a gun at him. O.T. felt his blood pressure jump and his anger intensify. He wasn’t scared to have a gun pointed at him. He was born into the street life, and he was definitely accustomed to gunplay. Instinctively, he stood like a solider ready to go to war before he spoke. His tone was filled with utter disdain and not a single inch of fear. “Oh, yeah? Damn, I must be seeing things. Have you lost your fucking mind? I ought to—”

“Ought to what? You ought to what, ho-ass nigga? Shut the entire fuck up and be a man?”

Instead of being terrified, O.T. was amused. He laughed as he responded to the unexpected interruption to his day. “Come the hell on. Get yourself out that fantasy you and your crew be so deep off into. What in the fuck do you know about being a damn man? Matter of fact, get the fuck on, bitch. I got business to take care of inside and I ain’t got time for this little gangsta moment you having!”

“You and ya fake-ass brother think y’all can go around ruining people lives, huh? You and him thinking it ain’t no consequences to that bullshit y’all do, but trust when I tell you it fucking is. And you gonna pay; today.”

“Listen, you twisted-hearted piece of garbage,” O.T. bossed up boldly shouting loud enough for the Mexicans working on the block to hear. “If I’m supposed to be scared because you got a little gun, then you dead-ass wrong this go-around. The way my bloodline is set up, being a sucker is impossible. Now if you gonna do something, then strap on your nuts, pretend you man enough to do it, or beat it, you feel me? But just know I’m gonna hunt ya black ass down until the day I die for coming out here to my brother’s crib like you some gangsta on a mission.”

“Oh, yeah, you real tough right about now while I’m holding this gun. Who in the hell you think you is, some ghetto, nappy-headed Superman or something, like you can’t bleed blood?”

“Fuck you with ya bitch ass. I guess you officially ain’t man en. . .