AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I jolt out of bed, hurry into my ensuite, and check my appearance. I need a shower in the worst way. But I don’t have time if I want to figure out what's going on. I brush my teeth, run my fingers through my black hair, then glance to the mirror. My shoulders sag. I don't fit in here. No amount of primping will ever change that.
Letting out a long breath, I pop a few Xanax into my mouth, then head out of my room. Lemon and bleach invade my nostrils as soon as I swing open my door. The scent, thick like chlorine in an indoor pool, swirls around the hallway, seeping into my brain and choking out all of my thoughts.
Two maids huddle on the floor next to buckets of sudsy water. Blue booties cover their feet, standing out against their simple black dresses as they scrub the baseboards. At the far end of the hall, Damien's door stands shut, so clean it practically sparkles.
Guilt tugs at my chest. It's my fault for the extra chores, my handprint. I should be the one cleaning.
“Why are you here? You're supposed to be in school.” Damien's voice rings down the hallway.
“Fuck dat. Dey no can teach me, shit.”
“You need school.”
“What? Like you? I tink dis life good enough for you, den it mo beddah for me.”
“No!”
The two young women jump. Huddling together, they scrub faster.
“You don’t belong here!”
I force a breath of the saturated air, then turn and follow the voices.
“You no tell me how foa do!” the second voice yells back.
As the hallway opens to the stark white great room, my feet falter. Standing in front of the vast wall of windows, I gape open-mouthed at the scene before me.
Damien stands in the doorway, tall, muscular, and menacing in his solid black suit. All of his tattoos have disappeared behind the tailored attire, leaving him appearing somehow even more dangerous. Half a dozen men stand with arms crossed in a circle around him, a wall of muscles in their black pants and T-shirts.
Damien clenches his jaw. “I'm your ohana. You will do what I say.”
I blink, staring at the odd man out as he laughs.
“So, now you my braddah?” Dressed in baggy shorts and a red tank top, like he's a young moke, the teenager’s a spitting image of Damien from when we met three years ago. He laughs again. “Ohana. You want talk ohana?” He shakes his head. “You, who trew our dad in Halawa to die. You, who let our mom burn and no save her. You want talk ohana? Nah, you no git foa say 'dass one junk' and trow me out, too, den tink you can foa tell me what do when my pockets git big.”
“You are not selling, Dorian. That’s an order.”
The young teen shrugs. “Der oddah ways foa make bank.”
Damien runs his hands through his curly, black hair, then points at his younger brother. “You are not joining UPO. Find a different job.”
Dorian laughs. It's dark, as menacing as Damien looks. “It one free world, braddah. I can, can.”
“This world is not for you,” Damien snarls.
“You tink you mo bettah dan me? You tink you da only one who akamai? Da only one who can do da numbahs?” He takes a step closer, raising his eyebrows. “I know da kine . . . I tink you sked . . . You got one big home . . . Wen talk like one haole . . . Forget what it means to be 'G' . . . But I no forget. It my turn now.”
Damien tilts his head up toward the ceiling, his strained words whispered to the white, industrial pipes. “Can't you see, I'm doing this all for us? For you. So you don't have to.”
“Den step down, braddah.”
The other men stay motionless, waiting for a signal from their boss.
“You don't want this.”
Dorian spreads his arms wide. “One big house. All da money. I know what I want.”
“Is that what this is about?” Damien shakes his head, his words rushed and spewed like venom. “You want to live here? Fine. Pick a room. You want your own place? Choose one, anywhere on the island. It's yours. You want money?” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a thin black card before flicking it at his younger brother's chest. “Spend away. But you are not a part of this.”
