Page 10 of The Fire We Make

“Stingy ass motherfucka’,” Von mumbled watching the man fill up the glass.

Von snatched it from him then took a long swig, smacking his lips obnoxiously as he savored the flavor of the spirit.

After a moment, he nodded in agreement. “Hell yeah. This motherfucka hit,” he co-signed.

Ace chuckled. If he couldn’t count on anyone else to indulge him in his theatrics, he could always count on his little brother. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, they were two sides of the same coin. Whereas Ace’s violence was calculated and refined into stoicism after years of training, Von’s was manic and reckless, but between the two of them, they were missing more than a few screws.

Ace pulled his pistol from where it was holstered in the back of his dress pants and kicked his feet back up, setting it on his lap as he took another swig.

“Now Tyrell. Explain to me how the fuck you have the bread to be out here entertaining hoes, renting out sections, and buying thousand dollar bottles of champagne but you still owe us $80,000,” Ace said calmly. “Break it down to me like I’m five cause I don’t understand that shit.”

“Man Ace, look I-”

Hearing the name of the man who’d interrupted their evening made the men with Tyrell sit up straighter. Ace was well known by name, but rarely seen in the streets. His reputation preceded him though, and having to come deal with you personally was an inconvenience that you would pay for.

Ace held a finger up, cutting him off. “Until that debt is reconciled, you owe me money. Ain’t nothing worse than seeing a motherfucka that owe you money out having a good time. What, you thought we wasn’t gon’ notice?”

“I didn’t know man,” Tyrell shook his head. “My bad, I’ll fix it.”

Ace chuckled feeling his temper flare. “You didn’t know? That’s yo final answer?”

Tyrell’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water but no words exited for much longer than Ace could tolerate. He felt his anger multiply with each passing second he didn’t hear anything convincing enough to let the man in front of him continue breathing. After a full 30 seconds of silence, Ace drained the contents of the champagne flute and slammed it down roughly, causing the glass to shatter.

Ace reached across the table and gripped Tyrell by the collar of his designer shirt, then snatched him over the table. Shards of glass scraped him and his clothing as Ace dragged him over it. Ace reared his arm back and sent two blows to his nose, satisfied when he heard the crack of the bone and saw the blood begin to flow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ace saw movement from Tyrell’s associates but they were quickly halted when Von cocked and aimed his gun.

“It’s enough bullets in this bitch to go around if that’s what y’all want but I suggest you sit the fuck down,” he warned. Slowly, they all reclaimed their seats, resigned to watching their friend face his consequences without them.

Though he was outnumbered, Von was surgical with his shit and between him and Ray — who’d been standing guard silently until then — they’d be able to take them all down without so much as a graze.

“You didn’t know huh? You know how to count right?” Ace growled, towering above Tyrell who kneeled in front of him with a bloody nose.

“Yes,” Tyrell whimpered.

“You sure? Math ain’t everyone’s strong suit.”

“They lost me when they started adding letters to the shit but I had no issues with addition and subtraction,” Von chimed in.

Ace turned his attention eyes on Tyrell. “What about you? You good at math?”

“Y-yes,” Tyrell answered. The terror glistening in his eyes only spurred Ace on further.

“Yeah? Let’s see. You seem like the kind of nigga who still counts on his fingers.”

Ace gripped one of Tyrell’s hands and bent the index finger back until the finger was at a 90 degree angle and the bone protruded from the skin.

An agonizing scream flew from Tyrell’s mouth and Ace punched him in the face to quiet him. “Go ahead nigga, count.”

“O-o-one,” Tyrell barely breathed out.

“Good shit,” Ace said then did the same to the middle finger, this time slapping a hand over Tyrell’s mouth to quiet his screams. Ace removed his hand once the vibration of Tyrell’s scream ceased and waited but nothing came from Tyrell but sobs.

“I can’t hear you nigga,” Ace barked.

“Two,” Tyrell wailed, his eyes barely staying open.

On his ring finger Ace did the same and glared down at Tyrell waiting for the next number.