Torn by the Code

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Authentic and gripping, Eureka debuts with a poignant novel about one woman's climb to success and those ready to pull her right back down.

Elana Dolvan lived through a treacherous childhood in Chicago, and wants to be more than another "hood life" statistic, so she sets her sights on the top. Elana works her way up the steep ladder of white collar success, achieving one of the most impressive careers in her family's history. She becomes a powerful attorney, but the lure of the streets is still strong. She is also known in the underworld as Dutchtress, one of the most ruthless female bosses in the U.S. Trapped between the two worlds, her double identity soon creates problems, and all hell breaks loose. The unpredicted fallout leaves nothing but murder and mayhem in its path.
Dutchtress refuses to allow her enemies to take another breath of fresh air after they take her most precious possession. She will stop at nothing to get back what's hers. With her right-hand man, Flex, by her side, they perform a bloody symphony, reaching all the way from the Windy City to Jamaica. Family or not; no one's spilled blood is off limits.

Release date: November 27, 2018

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Sitting at the long table adorned with marble and smoke-colored granite, I had a million and one thoughts going through my mind. Thinking about my son being missing, then thinking about the ones who were claiming responsibility for it made me even more furious. I tapped my fresh and very expensive manicured nails against the table, trying to come up with my next move. Someone was going to pay—and pay dearly.

“Lady Dutchtress, where do you want the package?” one of my highly trained murder-team members nervously said as he walked into the room.

The one thing my team knew was that when I was furious, no one was safe. I would sacrifice the first person I saw if I wanted to, so they all knew to walk on eggshells. I looked up at him and leaned back in the chair I had positioned right at the head of the table. With an inquisitive expression on my face, I said, “Is this the evidence of the snitch?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, it is. He is the very one who told them where they could find you and your family.”

“Good. Bring him to me, but before you do, assemble the cleanup crew. I want to prepare this place first. No one will cross me and live to tell about it! As a matter of fact, go and round up his entire family. I want everyone from his momma, daddy, and grandma down to his seeds. Leave no family member untouched. I want them all!” I said with venom dripping from every word.

He politely nodded his head and rushed back out the door.

I slowly stood up and walked over to the large bay window to take in the view. “Aaah! It’s days like this I wish for the simple things in life,” I said aloud as I took in a deep breath. I looked at the downtown area of Chicago from my office suite located on top of the Deloitte Towers on Wacker Drive near the lake. The view was simplistic yet breathtaking . . . high above the clouds where nothing mattered. During the days, I watched the hustle and bustle of the crowd below and the glimmering lights throughout the skyline. It was just as incredible to watch as it was to be there. The feeling of everyone moving around while they did not know who was watching . . . I watched as the busy crowd below went about their daily routine, unaware of the empire that was built right in their grand city.

I drove to the warehouse where all the suspects would be lined up. I have mixed feelings about this. First, my heart was overjoyed with the answers I would finally have to get my son back. Then my heart would sink because this may be a dead end like every other avenue I tried. But I knew my presence was needed, so I had to bury my feelings and boss up.

The warehouse served many purposes. The front of it looked like any other mechanic shop. Cars parked outside lined up for sale. Wrecked cars waiting to be fixed. The building had five floors. The lower two floors were strictly dedicated to the mechanic shop. The upper floors were only entered by members of my crew and me. The top floor was my destination. The top floor was set up with one large room in the middle of the floor, then other rooms surrounding it. The only way to enter those rooms was through the large room. At the back of the warehouse were two entrances. One entrance led to the mechanic shop which had a key lock. The entrance to the upper floors had keyless entry, and the pass code was changed daily.

I walked toward the back and punched in the code. The door popped open, and I walked toward what looked like a metal door, but it was actually the door of an elevator. I pressed the small panel on the side of the door, and the elevator opened. As I entered the elevator, my emotions were on overdrive as I pushed the button for the top floor. I closed my eyes as the chimes went off. When the final chime sounded, the doors opened. I took a few steps and rested my hand on the doorknob of the metal door. I took one final deep breath and put on my ice-cold face. I was taking no survivors. I turned the knob and saw my soldiers standing around.

The room was lit well and was set up like a conference room. There was a large table dead center in the room with filled seats all around it. There were different colored doors around the room and a few windows which were lined with mirror privacy film. Plastic lining covered the floor at the front of the table. I was ready to get answers . . . and nobody was gonna stop me.

“I see everyone is in attendance. Let’s start the show then,” I said as I walked into the room. I took long strides with confidence, letting everyone know who the boss was as I reached the long table. I took my place at the head and looked every bit of the Queen Bee that I was. After folding my hands in front of me, I threw a menacing glare over toward the snitch, Polu. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?” I asked him, still studying his face for a reaction.

“I-I-I swear, Dutch, ma, it wasn’t me! I would never go against family, man. You fed me. Why would I. . . .” He trailed off nervously.

I smiled and didn’t say a word. I looked over at Flex, who was sitting on the other end of the long, regal-looking table.

“So what you sayin’ is that all the intel we have on you is lying? You didn’t tell the Nu-money organization the pickup time? And where li’l man would be? Nigga, who the hell you think you fuckin’ with?” Flex said as he stood up, getting ready to walk over and deliver a blow to his head.

I held my hand out to stop him in midstride. “No, Flex, this is my show. Let me run it,” I said sternly. I stood up and slowly walked over toward the weapons I had neatly laid out on a table to the side. “How long you been rocking with us? About a few years now, right?” I asked as I lifted the machete. I looked over and motioned for one of my team members to drag the chair where Polu was sitting to the middle of the floor. Then I slowly started circling his chair.

“Anthony—I mean, Polu,” I said with a sly smirk on my face, “I have a very reliable source that screamed your name. Look, if you tell me where they are holding my li’l man, I will spare your life and your family’s lives as well.”

I turned my glare over toward Polu’s mother, who was sitting and shaking in fear. His father and two sisters sat beside her, also trembling. I gave Flex a knowing nod. Two of the team members, Snook and Terrance, stood by one of the mirrored windows. I had Polu in the middle of the floor where the plastic lining was. His entire family sat around the long table. Their hands were tied to the chair, tears streaming their faces, but I didn’t care. My heart was cold and wasn’t gonna stop until I got the answers I came for. Even his grandmother was there. I didn’t want to leave any of his bloodlines. Everyone must pay.

I stopped in front of Polu and leaned closer to his face, staring deeply into his eyes as I spoke. “You have one of two choices: talk or I’ma cut this ear right here . . . off.” I lifted the machete toward his right ear, never taking my eyes off of him.

“Dutchtress, I swear to God, I haven’t betrayed you like this. All this so-called evidence you claim to have on me is all a setup,” Polu said, pleading.

“You right. It was.” I lifted my body upward and looked over at Flex again and gave him a nod.

Flex turned and walked over to a metal red door and opened it to walk into another room. He came back into the room with three blindfolded females, one of whom held a newborn in her arms.

I looked over toward Terrance and Snook. “Do these people look familiar? Hmm? Let’s see . . . Terrance Carter . . . T-baby is what you like to be called. Tell me this: Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? Muthafucka, you turned on the family! You are responsible for my son being taken!”

I had found out that Terrance—not Polu—was behind the setup. I pulled a remote control up and pressed it. Immediately, a large screen appeared from behind a wall panel behind the head of the table. It was a feature I specifically requested when building this warehouse. It was to include numerous rooms and one very large room where I could deal with perpetrators in the open. Terrance looked on in fear as Snook slowly moved away in the opposite direction from him. All eyes were on the screen. It was blank at first; then a picture, followed by some audio, came on the screen.

“Yeah, I got the little muthafucka. You got my money?” Terrance asked a man dressed in all-black. He roughly shoved my crying son on the ground. We all watched as Terrance punched the child in the face.

I flinched, then pressed the pause button. Seeing my son suffer was pushing my feelings to the surface again. I took a deep breath and looked up, secretly praying that my heart would not be broken for much longer. I shifted toward Polu’s family. “Untie them and take them to the other spot. I’ll call you with further instructions,” I said to Snook.

I didn’t even think when I had cameras installed that it would prove to be vital. It never crossed my mind that one of my soldiers was involved. Money clearly trumped loyalty. If Flex didn’t remind me of those cameras, I would have never looked at the footage since I’m the only one with the pass code.

After I made sure they were out of the room, I walked over to Polu and cut his ropes with the machete. “See, there is something that people underestimate me about. I leave no stone unturned and cross every T. The fact that this muthafucka was too eager to hang you out to dry drew my attention. He was more than ready to kill you and your entire family, and that started me thinking. Why would he be so eager to sell his boy out? I mean, you two were thick as thieves. So that had me wondering.”

When my son was taken, I was a mess. I couldn’t even think straight. I had everyone on my payroll turning over every stone, not caring who was killed, hurt, or came hunting for my crew or me. After a week, Terrance came to me and told me his suspicions, but my headspace was clouded and couldn’t see that it was just bullshit.

I inched my way over to a now-terrified Terrance. “Money talks, homie. I paid your own blood to tell me the low. That’s a shame when money will make a nigga kill they own mother. Oh, what’s the matter now? You not so big, are you? Hitting a defenseless child . . . You bitch-made-ass nigga! Uh-uh. I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned him as he tried to reach for his gun. My soldier knocked his hand with a bat and took the gun away with an extra wooden slap to the face. “Bring his bitch and that little bastard of his over here to me!” I spat through gritted teeth. I stood directly in front of him. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of him punching my son in the face. It was fucking with me, and my heart was turning cold and hard.

Flex roughly shoved the girl and baby over to me. Polu stood off to the side and watched with a mean scowl on his face. I’m sure he would have killed Terrance with his bare hands if they were left alone.

The girl stood there crying and pleading. “Please, don’t; please, don’t kill my baby and me! I will do anything, please!” she pleaded.

“All right, bitch, what’s your name?” I asked with one eyebrow raised.

“My-my name is Nahena. Please, I will do anything. Don’t kill us,” she said as tears flowed down her face.

“Okay, I tell you what. During this weak-ass nigga’s pillow talk, did he ever mention anything about this to you?”

“No, I can’t remember offhand,” Nahena said hysterically.

I smiled at her and turned to look at him, then back at her. “I suggest you get to thinking because when I count to five, you better have something or I will be carving your little shorty up into pieces. One, two—”

In one quick motion, I swung the machete and sliced Terrance’s arm right off at the shoulder. Blood was spurting everywhere. I jumped back to avoid some the spraying blood. He screamed out in agony. Nahena looked on in fear, screaming.

“Shut up, bitch!” I spat. “Now, I ask you—and this will be the last time—did he tell you where my son is?” I said as I slapped her across the face.

Nahena looked over at Terrance with pleading eyes. He returned her stare. He mouthed to her, “Please don’t say a word.” He held his shoulder with his left hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

“I told you everything I know,” Nahena said in a pleading tone.

I quickly walked over to the table and picked up the same remote and pressed play once more. I watched Terrance stomp on my son as he lay crying on the ground. A female silhouette emerged from the side of them. I zoomed in closer. The female standing there motionless looking on as Terrance stomped my son unconscious was Nahena.

“So tell me again how you don’t know shit, bitch!” I spat.

“I’m g-g-g-” Nahena tried to say.

But she was unable to get a word out because, in one swift motion, I waved the machete and sliced her across the throat. Nahena fell to the floor, gasping for air. Blood spewed everywhere. It covered my shoes and my clothes. Thank goodness the floor was lined with plastic because this was a bloodbath.

I looked at Terrance. “Now, muthafucka, tell me where my son is, or I will slice this little muthafucka up!” I snatched the baby from Flex and held the newborn upside down by his legs. Immediately, the baby started to cry and struggle. I ignored those sounds and movements as if I were holding a doll baby.

Terrance watched in agony as his newborn son dangled in front of him with a machete pressed against his tiny abdomen. He was holding what was left of his shoulder trying his hardest to apply whatever pressure he could to slow the bleeding down. Tears were spilling from his eyes as he watched the bloody blade pressed against his seed. Fear and anger didn’t fit well on his face. He sure as hell knew I would do anything to get my son back and didn’t give two shits about his.

I felt nothing. My heart was dead. This motherfucker had answers, and I was going to get them no matter what. If it took me slicing his child bit by bit and spilling his blood to get my son back, so be it.

I took a moment to count in my mind in case he didn’t answer fast enough.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” he said, full of fear.

“I’m listening.” I pressed the machete deeper into the baby’s little stomach. “Okay, you got two seconds or this fucka is dead.” Small trickles of blood came flowing down the baby’s stomach as the baby’s screams became louder. I didn’t care about his seed. The only thing that mattered is my blood out there alone without me protecting him.

Terrance’s eyes widened in fear. “Please, don’t kill my shorty, man. They are holding your son on the East Side, in the stockyard right off Cottage Grove. I’m sorry! I needed the money,” he said, crying and pleading.

Flex walked over toward me. “Let me handle him.”

I stood with an emotionless expression, then flinched as I heard the baby’s screams. I coldly looked at Terrance. “So, did you feel like a big man stomping my son? Did you love the feeling? Oh, wasn’t it grand when he cried for his mommy?” I asked, walking closer toward him with his son held close to my chest and rocking him. “That shit was priceless, huh? Did you like it when my defenseless baby cried for me?”

I turned and walked over to Flex, speaking to him as if we were having a casual conversation. “You know when you love your children, you will do anything to protect them, even sell out the ones who gave you everything you have.” I nodded at Flex.

“No! No! Please, Dutch, I will do anything, please!” he pleaded.

I just ignored him. He knew it was over. I rocked the baby in my arms trying to calm him down. Having him in my arms reminded me of my son when he was born and how I used to tickle his little stomach with my nose.

“You don’t get to call me Dutch. That’s only for family. You have proven your loyalty lies with my enemy,” I said through gritted teeth. The baby laughed and giggled as I tickled his little chin with my nose while I raised the machete.

Terrance lunged, trying to rush over to his son, but Flex caught him with a nasty right hook, punching him in the throat. Terrance fell disabled to the floor. In his mind, he knew his actions were the reason his family met their demise. He tried a last desperate attempt to get his son from me. He lay down on the floor, trying not to watch the sight before him until Polu came over and roughly lifted his head up and held it.

“Oh, bitch-ass nigga, you not gonna miss this show! You tried to set me up and get me and my family killed for your dirty ass? You gon’ watch this!”

The blood from chopping Terrance’s arm off and slitting Nahena’s throat covered my white wife beater. “Hmm, the smack you gave my 7-year-old son was epic. ‘Shut up, little bitch-ass nigga. Yo’ momma ain’t here to save your spoiled little ass.’ Isn’t that what I heard you say to my son?” I said, mocking him. “The way his little voice cried out for me must have made you feel like a big man,” I smirked, standing at the balcony door. I stepped over the threshold, still cooing and cuddling the baby. “Bring him over here,” I ordered with a mean scowl on my face.

Flex dragged Terrance over to me. “You want to hold your son for the last time?”

“Please . . . don’t . . . please . . . I’m begging you!” Terrance screamed out.

“There is no difference when it comes to that between you and me. See, you beat my son and watched him cry. My son! Now, your son, on the other hand . . . I will be nice. I’m making him laugh and smile before I—” In one quick motion I twisted the newborn’s neck without hesitation and dropped him in front of Terrance like a piece of garbage.

“No! No! You bitch, no!” Terrance screamed as he watched his 12-week-old son lying lifeless at his feet. His one hand stroked his son’s body as he screamed.

I placed my hands together as if dusting them off. Now he knows how it feels.

Terrance’s mother and sister stood trembling, still blindfolded and gagged. They were unaware of the gruesome sight in front of them. Nahena’s dead body lay on the floor. Terrance had one less arm with blood spilling everywhere, trying to crawl away. It was clear he was losing a lot of blood and was probably weak at this point, but he kept trying to crawl away anyway.

Terrance yelled, “Momma, run!”

She couldn’t get one foot in front of the other before I rushed toward her, wielding the machete. I sliced his mother’s head clean off her body. Then I turned the machete on his sister. I swung the machete as if I were conducting a symphony orchestra. I didn’t stop until nothing was left of the young girl but bone and gristle submerged in a pool of blood. When it was all said and done, blood covered the room.

I looked first at Flex, then back at Polu and gave them the nod of approval. They went straight to work, wasting no time putting Terrance out of his misery. As Flex reached for his gun, Polu pushed him aside and wrapped his hands around Terrance’s throat, watching and feeling the life leave his body.

“Hey, love, I see you’ve been hard at work again,” my husband said as I entered our plush three-story home located in the Beverly area of Chicago.

This area was home to some of the most upscale people who were deemed prominent by society: doctors, lawyers, congressmen, and more. Anyone who was anyone owned a mansion in that area. Naheri was one of the most respected private practice doctors in Chicago. He was also very handsome. He stood at six feet even and had a nicely toned body with chocolate mocha skin. It made him real easy on the eyes, and he was every woman’s dream catch: a hardworking family man. He hit the gym almost daily, which made his body well-defined. He wore his hair in long locs that stopped right in the middle of his back. He said it was his African heritage.

“How’s Junior? I want to know what he wants for Christmas. I swear that little boy gets way more than the average 7-year-old. By the way, he is coming home for the holiday break, right?” Naheri said when he came into the room, unaware of the situation that his son was experiencing.

I took a deep breath and continued to take off my shoes. My thoughts were all over the place. I had to get to my son and fast. My husband was unaware that he had been kidnapped and could be dead. I couldn’t find the words even to tell him such a thing. To him, his wife was a hardworking corporate attorney, and their son was away at a very expensive boarding school. At first, he was dead set against sending him because he felt he was too young to be away from his parents, but I convinced him that it would be good for his education.

“I spoke with him today, and he said he wanted that Xbox and a new Kindle Fire HD; he said the one with the front camera on it. It will be good for him to talk to us on Skype,” I lied, managing to hold back tears. Not knowing exactly where my son was made it feel as if a million knives were being pushed deep into my heart. I slumped down in my chair.

“Elana, are you okay, love? Is everything okay? You look a little stressed,” my husband said with a questioning look on his face.

“I’m okay, Naheri, I just had a long day is all.” I gathered myself together to keep up the facade.

My cell phone vibrated in my purse. It was a notification letting me know I had a text message. . . .