Page 25 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

“If this is some kind of play for you to get access to Morgan’s father, I’m not your guy,” Ahmeek stated. Looks could be deceiving. His proximity to Morgan didn’t mean proximity to Ethic, and if that were Hak’s motive, he would end up disappointed. Ahmeek wanted to be clear from the beginning.

“I want partnership with you. My world meets yours. Can you imagine how vast our reach would be if we learn to collaborate fully? He is a part of your network. I won’t lie and say I don’t see the benefit of that. It isn’t my sole motivation for our business, however. I’m showing good faith. I’m helping you with your royal situation. Getting into that level of conflict required further research. I needed to know who this girl was who was worth such trouble.”

“We don’t discuss her. Ever. One rule I live by is that women and kids are off limits. I need to know you share those same values. Hold my feet to the fire. Send war my way, but civilians have no place in the middle of street shit.”

“I agree. In my culture, historically, women and children maintain the home while the men go to war. They nurture the land; they keep the village. I have no problem with that. I’ll take it a step further. You make an introduction to Ethic, and I’ll call the debt square. You can walk into this situation willingly, not by force,” Hak stated. “The choice will be yours.”

Ahmeek didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. Hak was too eager, and Ahmeek couldn’t vouch for his intentions. He didn’t have direct business with Ethic. He never had. Ethic was Messiah’s mentor. Broaching a conversation about business to Ethic could prove deadly.

“We’ll see,” Ahmeek replied, vaguely, brow furrowed as he looked around the massive compound. He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded toward the buildings. This was a far cry from traps on neighborhood blocks. This was a compound, consisting of multiple warehouses and a full distribution center. Ahmeek had never seen anything remotely close to this. He watched the semi-trucks pull into the warehouse. The advantage was that it was all protected by tribal land for as far as the eye could see. It was like a whole different world, and Ahmeek was slowly realizing that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. The compound hadn’t existed a month ago. Hak had carved out a space for Ahmeek to build, and it was massive. He had run blocks. He had run hoods. This shit was an enterprise. It was a new level, and although his hand felt forced initially, this partnership with Hak had the potential to change his life.

“Welcome back,” Hak stated. “Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“A lot of fucking money,” Ahmeek mumbled under his breath. It was almost unbelievable. Imposter syndrome was a real thing. He knew how to get money. He had taken to the streets like a duck to water at an early age, but the scale of this thing was incredible. Ambition could be blinding. He had seen niggas get sent away for life for a quarter brick; he wasn’t sure if the reward of this level was worth the risk. Not that it mattered. He was being roped in whether he liked it or not.

The play has to be flawless for me to make it out of this shit, Ahmeek thought. He was in over his head, but not in over his ability. He would have felt a lot better if he weren’t in the shit without his people. He was in a new land, and he was a new face in town. He would have to earn his respect out of the mud, which meant violence was to come. He was one man without soldiers, without a team. He would need to build one, but trust wasn’t for sale; it was earned. Messiah and Isa were his brothers. At odds or not, he knew them inside and out. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses. He knew their track record. Doing this without them felt strange, wrong even. The Crew had put in work for years to get to this point, and he was about to embark on this journey alone. It just didn’t settle right in his chest. Despite the rift between him and Messiah, there was still a sense of loyalty that remained. A large piece of his identity was entwined in the three-way brotherhood he had left behind.

“An empire,” Hak stated.

“Indeed, it is,” Ahmeek responded as he watched the semi-trucks and workers assemble around them. It was like they were reporting for a shift. The freedom the reservation granted made laws irrelevant. “I can’t focus on this until I tie the loose ends, though.”

“Of course. This way. We’ve moved her,” Hak stated.

Ahmeek followed Hak into one of the warehouses, and they bypassed teams of men, preparing his new kingdom.

“Much more sophisticated than the blocks in Flint, right?” Hak chortled.

“If only sophistication was enough to help you take hold of the city,” Ahmeek shot back. Ahmeek never wanted it to be misunderstood that he knew his value. Hak needed Ahmeek’s street savvy. He needed his abrasiveness. He needed someone from the mud to bring some order to this town.

“An empire needs political power and brute strength,” Hak replied.

“Politics, war, religion,” Ahmeek stated. “Politicians govern the land; warriors protect it; faith gives the people who follow it something to believe in.” An old head had taught him that a long time ago, and it had stuck with him over the years. Ahmeek said nothing more because saying too much could be detrimental, too.

He followed Hak to a deserted portion of the building and down a set of metal stairs.

“What’s down here?” Ahmeek asked.

“Bomb shelter, soundproof and empty. Nothing in there but a table, your devices of choice, and a wall with chains for restraints,” Hak responded. “You can have your way.”

“Good,” Ahmeek stated. “Has she eaten?”

“We’ve done what was asked,” Hak confirmed as he went into his pocket and handed Ahmeek the key to Christiana’s restraints. Ahmeek had given the order to withhold food and water. Christiana was likely starving by now. He needed her in a state of desperation. Hak removed the key and unlocked the door. Ahmeek entered the room, and Christiana sat, back against the wall, on the floor. He didn’t enjoy torture, especially the torment of a woman, but Christiana was no ordinary lady. She held power and had used that power to leverage Morgan’s freedom over the years.

He observed her as she stared harshly up at him, peering up through messy bangs. Her disheveled hair giving her a crazed look. She was starving. He could see the despair in her eyes.

“For the record, I don’t want to do this to you,” Ahmeek said as he pulled a chair from the corner of the room, its steel legs scraping the concrete, creating a nail-biting soundtrack to his impending trial. “I’m not a parent, so I don’t pretend to know the lengths one would go to protect their child. You raised a woman beater, a rapist. A killer. And you protected him. You enabled him. What kind of woman does that?” Ahmeek sat the chair directly across from Christiana.

Christiana looked up at him, and Ahmeek felt the hair lift on the back of his neck. Her aura was sinister, even at a disadvantage. He had to give it to her. She was a tough old bitch. He saw the fear in her, but he also saw the unyielding spirit of a woman who didn’t regret one thing.

“The same way your mother does it,” Christiana shot back. The comment ripped the judgment from Ahmeek’s psyche. “You’re a killer, too. You took my boy from me, didn’t you? Or was it the other one? The twins’ father? That Morgan sure does get around, doesn’t she?” Christiana stated. “Either way, a mother doesn’t choose what or who her child becomes. Still, it’s our job to protect what we birth.”

“He raped her. He beat her,” Ahmeek was seething at the comparison. “Me and your son will never be the same.”

“In every kingdom across every land, royal men have taken spoils and disciplined their women. It’s the price of admission. Morgan chose him. Once you choose to enter high society, there’s an etiquette. She didn’t follow it. In fact, she hasn’t followed it since the day you came to London. She was fine before you. Bash was smitten. She and her children were treated with reverence before you corrupted her. Her mistreatment is your fault, truly. Don’t you think?” Christiana asked.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Ahmeek said calmly. “I think you thought she was some little ghetto girl from the hood that you were saving, and that she would be so grateful that she would just go along. You thought she would be easily controlled. She never needed your name or your power. She comes with her own. Now, let’s talk facts. You can die down here, or we can get you a meal, get you cleaned up, and you can call off the search for your husband and son.”

“They’re coming after Morgan, aren’t they?” Christiana said, cackling. “Of course, they are. We’re royal. I’ll die down here in this hole before I save her.”