Wrath

by K'wan

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

In the history of New York City's underworld, there have been a host of criminal figures whose exploits have gone on to inspire. Their stories are told on street corners and in back alleys.

One of them is Jonas Rafferty, known among friends and enemies alike as Wrath. Jonas, the only boy in a family of four children, came into the world under less than favorable conditions, and he has always been a fighter. From the neighborhood bullies to the stepfather who uses him and his siblings as punching bags, his life has always been one battle after another. At night, he would lay awake and dream of rising above his circumstances, and when he crosses paths with rogue homicide detective Louis "Lou" Ceavers, he's offered a bargain that will change the course of his life.

Detective Ceavers becomes like a guardian angel and surrogate father to Jonas, teaching him the game and guiding him in his quest for power. In a short time, Jonas goes from errand boy and street muscle to one of the most dangerous young men in the city, dubbed Wrath because of his violent exploits. His dreams are finally becoming reality, and Wrath feels like he's on his way to having everything he's ever dreamed of, until Alex, his childhood crush, comes home on break from college and gives him a glimpse of the one thing he's always craved more than money and power: love. Wrath begins to question himself and his decisions as he's drawn further away from the world he's created and deeper into the stable life he believes he could have with Alex.

When Alex becomes pregnant, Wrath decides that being there for her and his unborn child are more important to him than power or money, but when he seeks to end his arrangement with the detective, he's taught the final lesson in his education: no bargain comes without a price.

Release date: August 27, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Six years earlier ...

Flash . . . squirm . . . flash . . . squirm. This had been their third attempt with the same results.

“Jonas, why can’t you sit still?” Anette asked in frustration. She was Jonas’s older sister, one of a set of fraternal twins. The sour one they called her because Anette always seemed to be pissed off about something.

“The flash is too bright. It hurts my eyes,” Jonas complained, tugging at the clip-on bow tie at his neck. It was Christmas Eve, which meant picture day. Every Christmas Eve, Jonas’s mother would dress them up in their best clothes and drag them to Woolworth’s department store for a family photo after church. No matter what was going on in their lives, it was a tradition not to be broken. This is what had four of his mother’s five kids sitting on the artificial grass in front of the cheap backdrop trying to look like a normal American family.

“Your eyes aren’t gonna be the only things hurting if you don’t act right so we can get these pictures done!” Janette warned. That was their mother. She was only 30 with five kids but had held together well. Her waist was small, hips wide, and her breasts had only begun to sag ever so slightly. Even with a gang of kids, Janette had no shortage of men looking to get with her, but she only had eyes for one.

Slick, who had been their live-in stepdad for the last two years, was lingering behind the photographer with a look on his face that said he would rather be anywhere but there with his girlfriend and her tribe of kids. He was a pretty boy; high yellow with good hair and two gold caps in his mouth. Women swooned over Slick like he was an R&B star.

“If he’s having trouble keeping his ass still, I can offer him some encouragement.” Slick tapped a manicured finger against the buckle of his Gucci belt. Slick was easy on the eyes but hard on the soul. This was a fact the Rafferty kids knew all too well.

Jonas gave Slick a dirty look. None of the kids liked their mother’s man, but he had a harder time hiding it than the others.

“Something you wanna get off your chest?” Slick asked, hoping the boy would open his mouth so he could slap him.

“Leave him be, Slick. Jonas is only doing what young men do, which is make things difficult for women,” Janette joked to try to ease some of the tension.

“That’s his problem. He thinks he’s too much of a man,” Slick said.

“More of a man than you,” Jonas mumbled.

“Say it again so I can knock your fucking teeth out!” Slick challenged. Jonas wisely remained silent.

“Come sit by me, Jonas.” Jonas’s other sister tugged at his shirt and motioned for him to occupy the space beside her. This was Claudette, but they called her Sweets because of her affection for sugar. “You keep yourself still so we can get through this, and there might be a candy bar in it for you,” she winked. Sweets was fair skinned and kind of on the chubby side, with a motherly nature.

“I don’t see why we have to sit through this and Yvette doesn’t.” Anette sucked her teeth.

“Because your sister wasn’t feeling good,” Janette said.

“More like she was smart enough to lie her way out of it,” Jonas mumbled.

“You hush that smart mouth of yours, Jonas Rafferty, or we’re going to have a problem!” Janette warned him.

“Um, guys . . . if we could just get this done. Other families are waiting,” the thin, white kid behind the camera said. He was growing frustrated with the unruly black family.

“Then let they asses wait! We paid our thirty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents same as they did! Now, get your nose out of our shit and back behind that camera before you piss me off, cracker!” Slick barked. Not wanting any problems, the photographer did as he was told. Within ten minutes, he was able to get the shots he needed, much to everyone’s relief, especially Slick’s. “About damn time. I got shit to do. Let’s go.”

“Are we going to go to McDonald’s now like you promised?” This was 8-year-old Josette, the baby of the family.

“McDonald’s? You better thaw out some chopped meat when you get in the house,” Slick dashed the little girl’s dream.

“But Mama promised.” Josette looked to Janette with watery eyes.

Seeing the look of disappointment on her baby girl’s face made Janette feel bad. “I don’t see why not since it’s on the way home.”

“We ain’t got time. We got people waiting on us, remember?” Slick gave her a look. Everyone now wore long faces, so he came up with a compromise. He took out his bankroll and peeled off a twenty which he shoved into Sweets’ hand. “Make sure these kids eat. We’ll see y’all at the house later.”

“Wait, you’re not going to drive us back? It’s snowing, and the walk is a fifteen-block walk from here.” Sweets looked from the crumpled bill to her mother and Slick who were hustling out of the department store.

“Ain’t like you can’t use the exercise!” Slick called over his shoulder, and they were gone.

“I hate him!” Jonas remarked, ravenously biting into his McDonald’s cheeseburger. He had to be mindful not to nick his fingers when he did. The ten blocks they had walked from Woolworths to get there had intensified his already-mounting hunger.

“What did I tell you about that word, Jonas? There is power in words,” Sweets scolded him, plucking Josette from Anette’s arms. She had been carrying her the last three blocks and looked like she needed a break. Josette had been complaining of her legs hurting, so the siblings took turns carrying her home.

“Sorry, I mean I don’t like him,” Jonas sheepishly corrected himself. “Why does he have to be so mean all the time?”

“Some people just have the devil in them, is all,” Sweets said. She had a way of trying to see the good in people even if there was none.

“The devil isn’t all he’s going to have in him,” Jonas said, trying to sound tough.

“Boy, stop talking like you about to do something,” Anette teased him, squeezing a ketchup packet over her fries.

“What? You don’t think I will?” Jonas rose to the challenge.

“Only thing you will do is get your head knocked off for getting in Mama’s business. Slick is a grown man, and you ain’t but a boy. Leave it be,” Sweets warned.

“I ain’t gonna be a boy forever,” Jonas replied.

“I know, little brother . . . I know.” Sweets adjusted Josette on her hip to get a better grip. She felt a wince of pain, followed by the hollowed sound of her stomach growling. The twenty dollars hadn’t been enough to get all of them meals, so she just made sure her siblings ate.

“You can share my food if you want.” Josette offered one of her four chicken nuggets to her big sister.

“I’m fine, Jo-Jo. You eat.” Sweets kissed her frozen little cheek. It was the purest act of kindness she’d seen in so long that she had to stop herself from tearing up. Times like those she found comfort in telling herself struggle don’t last forever, but it sure felt like it would.

McDonald’s was only a few blocks from where lived, but the journey felt like a mile. The snow had come down hard over the last two days. The city’s idea of removal was pushing all the snow from the streets onto the curb creating giant mounts of piss and exhaust fumes that the pedestrians were forced to either navigate or take their chances walking in the street.

Josette’s legs were feeling better, so Sweets let her down, much to the relief of her back. Her sister may have been small, but she was quite solid. Josette’s feet had barely touched the ground before she took off running in the direction of one of the filthy mounds. Sweets thought about stopping her for fear of what kinds of germs the girl might pick up but decided against it. Whatever she happened to pick up would be nothing that a trip to the laundry and a good alcohol bath wouldn’t cure.

Josette had been complaining about her legs cramping off and on for weeks now. Sweets suggested to her mother that they take her to the doctor, but Janette chalked it up to laziness. She didn’t have time to be running back and forth to the clinic for something she insisted a little exercise would cure. Sweets had thought about taking Josette to the doctor on her own, but she was underage, and her showing up at the hospital to try to get Josette treated without a parent might’ve attracted Social Services.

Sweets rounded the corner of their block, mentally ticking off the list of things she had to do: gifts to wrap, dinner to prepare, the bathroom needed cleaning, etc. As usual, the strip was buzzing. Kids were out running around and playing in the filthy snow with no care for the cold. The dope boys were in their usual spot, huddled in front of the chicken shack slinging poison and drinking. They worked for a dude named Eight-Ball who supplied the neighborhood with cocaine and crack. He had been a running buddy of their father Zeke back in the days. Zeke only dabbled in drug dealing, but Eight-Ball was all in. Over the years, he had managed to build quite the operation.

Sweets shook her head sadly as one of them sold some rocks to a pregnant woman. The dealers never bothered her. She had grown up with them, and some were okay guys under the surface. She just didn’t agree with their lifestyle. Sweets understood that there weren’t many opportunities for kids in the hood, and you did what you had to do to put food on the table, but she couldn’t see the logic in risking years in prison over a few pennies, which is exactly what they were doing. The suppliers made the real money, while the hand-to-hand soldiers fought over scraps. She’d even tried to point this logic out to them once, but they laughed at her and dismissed her as a church girl who didn’t know anything, but Sweets had a better understanding of the game than most gave her credit for. She may have been a good girl, but a hustler had also raised her. It was only natural that she picked up a few tricks along the way.

As Sweets was passing with the kids, one of the youngsters made a transaction. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but he did it right in front of Josette. Usually, they tried to put at least a little shade on their doings when the smaller children were about, but this young man had no such shame. Sweets tilted her head and gave him a questioning look. Where’s the respect? He shrugged his shoulders in the way of a weak apology and went back to what he was doing. Sweets was about to check him, but thankfully, she didn’t have to.

“Since when do we do that?” Drew appeared in the doorway of the chicken shack holding a snack box. Eight-Ball supplied the drugs on the block, but it was Drew who ran it. This was 139th, his strip. He was wearing a baggy gray Nike sweat suit with a white bandanna wrapped around his starter-kit cornrows. Drew was on the short side, but handsome with a smooth, brown face and the first signs of a beard beginning to sprout on his chin. His keen eyes rested on the boy who had made the sale, waiting for an explanation.

“Doing what?” the boy asked as if he had no clue what he was talking about.

“Not show the proper respect when it’s due.” Drew’s eyes went to Sweets and her siblings.

“I didn’t mean no disrespect,” the boy said, now realizing the error of his ways.

“Yet no respect was shown.” It was more of an observation than an accusation, but the weight of the statement was felt, nonetheless. “Now might be a good time to make a store run. That goes for all y’all.” The young men gathered in front of the chicken spot wasted no time doing as he’d suggested. “Sorry about that,” he apologized to Sweets and the kids when the boys had gone.

“No need to be. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s seen something like that.” Sweets downplayed it.

“It still doesn’t make it right,” Drew insisted. “So, where y’all coming from all dressed up?”

“Church and taking pictures,” Josette volunteered.

“Most people go to church on New Year’s Eve.”

Sweets shrugged. “We’re just different.”

“Yo, those joints are fly!” Jonas said, admiring the gray suede Timbs on Drew’s feet.

“Good looking out,” Drew said proudly, turning his foot over so that the boy could get a better look. “If you were a good boy this year, maybe Santa will drop a pair under the tree for you tonight. And what about you, Sweets?” he shifted his attention. “You been a good girl this year?”

“She’s always good,” Anette said spitefully.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Bad boys like good girls,” Drew replied, giving Sweets the once-over.

Sweets couldn’t help but blush, as she always did whenever Drew gave her the time of day. He was popular in the neighborhood and could have any girl he wanted, so she never took him seriously when he flirted. Still, it made her feel good to be noticed.

Drew’s eyes shifted to something just beyond Sweets. She turned and found a fiend standing a few feet away. From the pleading look in her eyes, Sweets knew what time it was. “Duty calls,” she said, taking Josette by the hand.

“And so, it does.” Drew frowned. The crackhead had terrible timing, but he still had a quota to meet. “See y’all later.” He started toward the fiend but stopped short. “Y’all selling Christmas dinners again this year?”

“Maybe for a select few people,” Sweets teased. “You need your usual?”

“Yeah, but make it two dinners this time.”

“You having company?” Sweets asked.

“I hope so.” Drew winked at her and walked off with the fiend.

“Looks like Mama’s good girl is looking to pick up some bad habits,” Anette said slyly.

Sweets was about to walk the kids into the building when she spotted her other sister, Yvette, up on the corner. At first glance, she didn’t even recognize her. Yvette’s face was made up to an even shade of bronze with gold shadow covering the lids of her sleepy brown eyes. She was also wearing one of their mother’s skirts, a tight denim number that showed off her budding curves. She looked more like a grown woman than a 16-year-old girl.

Occupying her space was a much-older Puerto Rican man named Juan. Juan owned the grocery store that everyone in the neighborhood shopped in. At Juan’s store, you could get just about anything, including items that weren’t necessarily advertised for sale. Juan was one of those cats that you could come to in a pinch, and he’d float you whatever you needed until your food stamps or Social Security checks came in, but, of course, he was going to charge you a ridiculous interest rate. His store made him quite popular in the neighborhood, especially among the ladies. Many of them were struggling single mothers who couldn’t make it through the end of the month without Juan’s mercies. Word had it that he traded as much in favors as he did goods.

The young girls in the neighborhood loved Juan too because he was always giving them free candy and snacks. Sweets steered clear of him. There was something about the way he looked at Sweets that gave her the creeps. She had thought about mentioning it to her mother but reasoned it wouldn’t do any good. If it didn’t involve her beloved Slick, she couldn’t be bothered with it. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know why Juan was hanging all over her sister. Whatever evil he had planned wouldn’t happen on her watch. She left Josette in the care of her siblings and plotted an intercept course.

“If you come outside and forget to put your clothes on, no wonder you got sick.” Sweets crashed their conversation. “Ain’t you supposed to be in bed?”

“I just came to the store to get some juice.” Yvette rolled her eyes.

“We got juice in the house,” Sweets reminded her.

“Not the kind I like.” She gave Sweets her back, hoping she would get the hint and leave, but had no such luck.

“Don’t you look nice today, Sweets,” Juan remarked, ogling the little yellow dress she had worn to church.

“Thanks,” Sweets said dryly, tugging her coat tighter around her.

“Say, we got in some more of those Entenmann’s cakes . . . the ones like the white stores downtown carry. I put one to the side for you because I know how much you like them,” Juan told her.

“No, thank you. Mama says I need to cut back on the sugar. She don’t want me getting fat,” Sweets told him. Her mother was always on her about her weight.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a thick woman.” Juan licked his lips.

“Yvette, Mama said you need to help me get dinner started before she gets home.” Sweets ignored Juan.

“Let Anette help you. I’ll be upstairs in a few.” Yvette tried to brush her off.

“You know that girl doesn’t know how to clean chicken. I’d just have to go behind her and do it again. I need you to do it,” Sweets insisted.

Seeing that her sister wasn’t going to let it go, she relented. “I gotta go, Juan. I’ll be back down to get the juice later on.”

“Yeah, the juice will be waiting on you as soon as you’re ready for it. As soon as you’re ready,” Juan said suggestively.

“I don’t like him,” Sweets said when they were out of earshot of Juan.

“Who? Juan? Girl, he’s harmless,” Yvette downplayed it.

“He’s a pervert, and if you know like I do, you’ll stay away from him . . . or else,” Sweets insisted.

Yvette stopped and folded her arms defiantly. “Or what? You’ll beat my ass? Don’t forget who the older sister is, Claudette.”

“I’ll remember who the older sister is when you start acting like it,” Sweets shot back. “Would it kill you to help out once in a while instead of running the streets all the time?”

“Why should I? Ain’t nothing for me in that house but a bunch of stress and some crying-ass kids that I didn’t lay up and have,” Yvette snaked her neck.

“They’re still our brother and sisters. We’re supposed to look out for them.”

“Sweets, you can spend the rest of your life cleaning up Janette’s messes, but I got other plans. In a year and some change, I’ll be 18. That means I can get the fuck out of that nuthouse we live in, and when I leave, I ain’t looking back,” Yvette said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You’re so freaking selfish.” Sweets shook her head sadly.

“I got it honest. Look who my mama is!” Yvette capped and sashayed toward the building.

“You should’ve punched her,” Jonas said, startling Sweets. She hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

“Family don’t fight with family. Our true enemies live beyond our walls, not within them,” Sweets told her little brother.

“I guess sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.” Jonas shrugged before heading toward the building.

The Raffertys lived on the fifth floor of a walk-up tenement building on 139th and Lenox Avenue. It was one of the oldest buildings in the neighborhood and one of the few that hadn’t yet been touched by the hand of renovation, but its time was coming. Already, most of the low-income tenants in the neighboring buildings had been pushed out and replaced by residents who could pay triple the rate. The landscape was changing.

As soon as they got inside the apartment, Yvette stormed off to the room she shared with her sisters and slammed the door. She was still angry with Sweets for butting in when she was talking to Juan, but it was for her own good. Though Yvette talked tough and could handle herself in the streets, she was still just a child. Juan was a predator, and Sweets had no illusions about what his plans for her sister were. Whether or not Yvette saw it, Sweets was only trying to protect her. Sweets would try to talk to her again once she had cooled off, but right then, she had work to do.

“Y’all take them good clothes off and let’s start getting this house ready for Santa,” Sweet instructed the rest of her siblings.

“I hope he brings me my Barbie Dream House this year. I’ve asked for it three times in a row and still haven’t gotten it,” Josette pouted.

“I think this year will be different,” Sweets winked. She knew this to be true because she had put one on layaway at the department store. It had taken her three months of scraping together money from doing odd jobs around the neighborhood and braiding hair to pay for it, but it would be worth it to see the smile on Josette’s face when she opened it. “Now, go get changed so you can help me in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know why you still pump that girl’s head full of fantasy,” Jonas said once Josette had gone.

“Because it makes her happy. Don’t act like you didn’t just stop believing in Santa last year,” Sweets reminded him.

“He’d probably still believe if it hadn’t been for Slick,” Anette added.

This was a sour memory for Jonas. That Christmas there was nothing Jonas wanted more than a BMX bike with the wheel pegs. He didn’t care about anything else on his Christmas list but that, and he went out of his way to make sure he’d get it. He stopped mouthing off in school, did his homework, and even helped out with chores around the house. He was a lock to make Santa’s Nice List! When Jonas got up on Christmas morning and found that Santa had finally honored his request and gifted him the bike, he was over the moon with joy. He hadn’t even bothered to open any of his other gifts before he was out the door to take the bike for a test ride.

Jonas was on top of the world riding the bike up and down the block. Even his mother had roused herself to sit on the stoop and watch him enjoy his gift, which was a feat in itself because Janette rarely rose before noon unless she had to go to court. It was the happiest day of Jonas’s life . . . until Slick showed up and ruined it.

It was obvious from the scowl on Slick’s face that he was in a pissy mood. He’d probably been out all night gambling and gotten himself trimmed again. Still, it was Christmas, and Jonas wanted him to share in the cheer. “Yo, Slick, check out what Santa brought me!” He showed off the bike proudly.

His mother’s boyfriend’s drunken eyes glared at the bike as if it were something vile. When he spoke, there was an unmistakable cruelty to his tone. “Li’l nigga, you’re too old to still be so naïve. Only white people who come around here are police, and they damn sure don’t give a fuck about yo’ Christmas.”

“But Santa—”

“Ain’t real,” Slick cut him off. “The only reason you got that stupid bike is because your mama stayed out all night hustling.”

Jonas wanted to curse Slick and call him a liar, but the horrified look on his mother’s face confirmed it. Jonas was devastated, much to Slick’s pleasure.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Slick laughed and shambled into the building. A few weeks later, Slick took the bike out for a ride and never brought it back. He claimed that someone had stolen it while he was inside the store, but the more likely scenario was that he had sold it. It didn’t matter. The magic that had once surrounded the bike was gone, along with Jonas’s Christmas spirit.

“Evil bastard,” Jonas recalled. “I don’t know what Mama sees in him.”

“You know all the Rafferty women have a thing for bad boys,” Anette said slyly, cutting her eyes at Sweets.

“What?” Sweets asked as if she didn’t know what Anette was implying.

“I see the way you and Drew look at each other,” Anette accused.

“Girl, stop. Ain’t nobody thinking about Drew,” Sweets lied.

“Drew got mad girls. Why would he be interested in Sweets?” Jonas asked, which stung Sweets a bit. He hadn’t said it to be cruel; he was just pointing out the obvious. Drew did mess with quite a few girls in the neighborhood, but it still made Sweets feel good when he flirted with her. She knew nothing would ever come of it, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

“As much energy as I put into looking after y’all, I don’t have time for Drew, or anybody else, for that matter!” Sweets said and stormed off into the kitchen.

Jonas stood there, dumbfounded, wondering what he had done wrong.

Jonas walked into his bedroom and hung his coat on the hook on the back of the door. He was the only one, besides his mother, who had his own room. It was hardly bigger than a closet, but it was still his—the only place where he could go to find peace in the house.

His bedroom walls, like bedrooms of most teenagers, were papered with posters. Some he had torn out of magazines, while others he boosted from stores. Some were posters of rappers Jonas liked, but most were of football players. Hanging in a place of honor over his bed was a large poster of Deion “Prime Time” Sanders from back in his Atlanta Falcons days. He looked menacing, arms folded across his chest in his black uniform and a red bandanna tied snugly about his Jeri curl. Deion’s career was on the decline by the time Jonas had gotten a chance to see him play, but he would sit for hours watching his old highlights on the internet. He had it all: the flash, the charisma, and the skill. Jonas wanted to be just like him. His school didn’t have a team, but he played tackle football on the streets with the older kids whenever they organized a game and played defensive back in a peewee league out in Queens when his mother could afford to pay the fees. He wasn’t half bad either. Though Deion Sanders was who he molded his game after, it was from a local talent where he drew his motivation.

Hanging beside the poster of Sanders was a picture Jonas had clipped from a magazine. It was of a relatively unknown pro named Willie Green Jr. Jonas had had the pleasure of seeing him record his first and only NFL interception one Thanksgiving while watching the game at his uncle’s place. Willie’s was a face Jonas recognized from the neighborhood. He wasn’t a player in the game, nor was he a spectator. Willie was just a kid from the hood who was good at football. Willie was hardly the superstar that Deion was. In fact, his NFL career was an unremarkable one that lasted only two and a half seasons before he faded into obscurity, but he had made it out! Willie was that one-in-a-million shot that got to see what was behind the curtain of success, even if it was only a brief glance. Willie’s story gave Jonas something that was in short supply in the ghetto . . . hope.

Jonas fished around under his bed and slid out a dusty wooden box. He flipped the lid and revealed that it was a record player, once owned by his father. His name had been Ezekiel, but everyone called him Zeke. Someone put a bullet in his head when Jonas was younger. Outside of a few faded memories and some pictures, it was the only connection that remained between Jonas and Zeke.

He’d inherited the record player in a most unusual way. A few months after Zeke’s body was found, a woman showed up at their apartment. She was pulling a shopping cart of things that had belonged to Zeke. Initially, they thought the woman had been another one of Zeke’s mistresses coming out of the woodwork, but as it turned out, she had been his landlady. Unbeknownst to Janette, her man had been renting a room across town for the last few years. It was where he kept his secrets. The landlady had found Janette’s address on some mail while cleaning out the room and figured she might want to claim the few things he had left behind. Janette wanted nothing that reminded her of Zeke’s infidelities and was going to burn everything, including the record player, but Jonas had pleaded with her not to. He wasn’t sure why he wanted the record player, other than be something to remember the man who had given him life.

Reluctantly, Janette had allowed the boy to keep the record player. Most of the records that had been packed in with it were either cracked or scratched so badly that they wouldn’t play without skipping, but there was one that had been kept in relatively good condition: King of the Delta Blues Singers. It had been recorded by a musician named Robert Leroy Johnson who had died in 1938 under questionable circumstances. Rumor had it that as a young man, Johnson had sold his soul to a demon in exchange for success. At the height o. . .