Bonded by Blood Page 12

  “He hasn’t been home or called in a week,” Rayne cried. “I’m worried something has happened to him.”

  “Let me hit the streets and see if I can find out something,” replied Q, concern in his tone.

  Rayne called Q every hour, on the hour, for two days, but each call brought the same reply.

  “No one has seen him,” he told her.

  When Rayne wasn’t calling Q, she was calling all the local hospitals, and all the jails. She didn’t know whether to be happy or more alarmed when she was told “no” by each hospital and jail she contacted.

  Rayne couldn’t eat or sleep. She could barely breathe; she was so worried about Khalil. All she did was cry, envisioning her boo dead somewhere in a gutter his body rotting. Please, God! Please, let him be alive. I don’t care if he’s maimed, crippled or gone crazy, just let him be alive, Rayne prayed.

  When she was on the edge of insanity her prayers were answered. She heard the door unlock; in stepped Khalil. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in all the time he’d been away. His hair, usually in perfectly neat circular brush-waves, was unkept, and he had on the same clothes he’d had on the night he’d left home. In short, he looked a mess. But he was a beautiful sight to Rayne’s sore eyes. She ran to him and hugged him so tight, had he been wearing the platinum chain he’d normally have on, Rayne’s desperate hug would’ve surely snapped the link chain.

  “Where have you been, Khalil?” I thought something bad had happened to you,” cried Rayne.

  Khalil disengaged himself from her arms and sat down on the couch, his head in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Rayne asked, taking his hands in hers.

  For a while Khalil didn’t respond, he just shook his head.

  Finally he said, “I fucked up bad, baby.”

  He again hung his head.

  Rayne kept pleading with him to explain, but all Khalil would say was, “I fucked up, baby. I fucked up bad.”

  “No matter how bad you messed up, Khalil, we have each other. Together we can get through anything,” pledged Rayne.

  Finally he said, “Can I get you to run me a bath? That might help me feel better about my predicament.”

  “It’s not your predicament, Khalil, it’s ours,” Rayne corrected him. “Whatever it is, we’re in it together. You stepped up to the plate for me when I got arrested and the whole deal; I’ll do the same for you.”

  While Khalil bathed in silence, Rayne sat on the edge of the bathtub rubbing shampoo into his hair and wondering what Khalil could’ve possibly done so terrible. She tried to imagine the absolute worst thing he could’ve done. Murder? She asked herself. If so, she would remain by his side through trial, prison time, or on the run. It didn’t matter, as long as they were together.

  If he’s been with another woman, I can forgive that. Love weathers any storm, Rayne was thinking as she helped Khalil rinse the shampoo out of his hair. Damn, I love this man so much! I’m so happy he’s home and in one piece. Anything else, anything, absolutely anything, I can deal with. I’ll stand by his side . . . no matter what.

  When Khalil was finished bathing, and shampooing his hair, he asked Rayne to cook him a quick meal. Like most country girls, Rayne could get down in the kitchen, but Khalil didn’t want her to spend a lot of time on the meal.

  “Microwave something for me, Baby Love. Anything at all; I just wanna put something in my stomach.

  After a quick dinner, they retired to bed. Khalil was still being unusually quiet, but Rayne didn’t want to press him to talk about whatever had happened. He’ll tell me what’s going on when he’s ready, she told herself. Wanting to help ease Khalil’s mind, Rayne molded her body to his; her tiny, neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair pressed against Khalil’s thigh. Rayne’s delicate hands caressed his chest then moved to his manhood, stroking.

  “Not right now,” Khalil rebuffed her, causing a pang of heartache to shoot through Rayne. He had never refused her before. It was so unlike him. Rayne worried that he may have lost desire for her.

  Of course he still desires me, she assured herself, it’s just that he has something on his mind. The thought made hella sense, yet the insecurity of new love made Rayne imagine all types of reasons for Khalil’s distraughtness. It was another sleepless night for her, though she thanked the angels in heaven for delivering her man home safely.

  For two days Khalil sat around the apartment in silence, seemingly weighed under by his troubles. After much prodding Rayne was finally able to convince him to open up to her.

  “Please talk to me. We’ll handle it together,” she kept promising until he gave in.

  “I fucked up, baby,” Khalil began. “I wanted to win enough money gambling to be able to take care of you and buy you all the fly shit you deserve. I—“

  “Khalil, I don’t care about the material things,” interrupted Rayne. “As long as I have you, nothing else matters.”

  “But it matters to me,” Khalil said with emphasis as he held his head in his hands as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  “I’m a street nigga,” he continued. “I never had much, that’s why I want so much now. I don’t feel like a man if I can’t give my girl the world on a silver platter.”

  “All you have to give me is your love.”

  “Nah, Baby Love. I wanna give you that and much more, and I almost had it right in my hands. I was at the skin house, tryna stack my chips, come home and dump a quarter mil in ya lap . . . show you that your man is a winner. I was only a hundred stacks short of my goal . . . then the cards turned on me,” he sighed. “Over a two day period I lost everything, plus I owe a hundred fifty.”

  Rayne’s eyes got big; she couldn’t comprehend men gambling for such large sums. When she was a CO at the prison she had seen inmates “skinning”, so she was familiar with the fast paced card game and its addictiveness. More than a few inmates had bottomed-out playing Georgia Skin.

  “I lost everything, baby; my jewelry included. And I had to pawn the Yukon.” Khalil went on, shaking his head in disbelief. “The niggas I owe the hundred fifty stacks . . . they held me hostage, threatening to kill me if someone didn’t bring them the money that I owe. I called Q, but he wouldn’t fuck with me.”

  “Why not? Has he forgotten that you went to prison for him?”

  “That nigga just dirty like that.”

  “Well, what about B-Man or your father?” asked Rayne.

  “Nah, they not caked like that.”

  “Baby, I have fifteen thousand dollars saved in an account, will that help?” Rayne offered.

  Khalil shook his head.

  “It would help, but I’m not taking your savings. I’ll go out and rob a bank or body a muthafucka before I’ll accept your savings. Nah, baby. I got myself in this shit. I’ma get myself out of it,” he declared, getting up out of bed and going to the closet.

  “No, Khalil!” Rayne shrieked when he turned around with a Glock in his hands. “What are you about to do with that?”

  “Go lay some niggas down.”

  Rayne jumped up and threw her body in front of Khalil. He tried to push past her but she would not move out of the way to allow him to leave.

  Rayne withdrew her savings and gave it all to Khalil.

  “They’re giving me one month to come up with the rest,” he said. “I still don’t know how I let you talk me out of bodying those niggas.”

  “Please, Khalil, don’t talk like that,” Rayne pleaded.

  They were rolling in a rental returning from the bank and Khalil was counting the $15,000 withdrawal Rayne had just made.

  Later, while Khalil was out in the streets trying to get up some more cake, Rayne placed a desperate call to Q.

  “Quantavious? Uh, this is Khalil’s girl, Rayne.”

  “What it do, shawdy?”

  “I’m calling to ask if you will you please loan Khalil the rest of money that he owes. We have no one else to turn to.”

  “Hell no! I ain’t loaning that
nigga shit. I done broke bread with him when he first came home. He shouldna fucked that up. Them niggas can kill him for all I care!”

  “How can you just turn your back on him like that? I know what Khalil did for you. You owe him!” she cried.

  “Shawdy, you got it twisted. Don’t nobody owe a nigga shit! Nigga gotta stand on his own two,” Q replied coldheartedly.

  “But he’s your freakin’ brother!” she screamed in his ear.

  “So! You’re his girl. You help him pay off his debt! Shid, you’re the reason he went broke gambling, tryna get his bank up to take care of you. Fuck no! I’m not givin’ him a damn thing.”

  “Wait one minute! I never asked Khalil for anything, but his heart and I’ve given him all of my savings to help him out of this. What else can I do?”

  “Ask Khalil. He knows what you can do to help him get the money up,” said Q and ended the call, leaving Rayne wondering what he was talking about.

  Rayne sat quietly, with her legs folded under her on the bed next to Khalil as he counted up the money he’d been able to bum and beg off of everybody he knew. Counting over his shoulder, Rayne had totaled it up to exactly eight thousand dollars, well short of what he needed.

  She knew that her man was stressing because he’d suddenly taken up the bad habit of smoking cigarettes. Rayne couldn’t stand cigarette smoke. She covered her nose and mouth with a hand.

  “Khalil, baby please don’t smoke,” she said gently from behind her hand.

  Khalil took another two puffs on the Newport then smashed it out on the nightstand.

  Rayne said, “Baby, if I tell you something will you promise not to be angry at me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I called Q today,” she blurted. Khalil had told her not to call his brother begging him to do shit for him.

  “You did what?”

  “I was desperate, Khalil, please don’t be upset,” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “It’s okay, Baby Love.”

  He kissed her tears.

  “Why won’t he help you?” she sobbed in frustration.

  “Fuck him, Rayne. It’s dog eat dog out here in these streets. A nigga can’t depend on nobody, but his damn self. Even fam will sell you out. You see how Q do it.”

  “I’ll never sell you out, baby,” she sobbed into his chest.

  “I know you won’t, Baby Love.”

  “Khalil?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “What did Q mean when he said I can help you come up with the money?”

  Khalil took a minute to contemplate her words. Finally, he told her to forget about it.

  “I’m not asking you to do that.”

  “Do what, Khalil?”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” he said but it was obvious to Rayne that the question bothered him.

  He unwrapped their arms from around each other, stood up and went to the window to look up into the sky for a solution to his dilemma.

  Rayne came up behind him and put her arms around him. Her head rested in the center of his back as she spoke.

  “Baby, just tell me what it is Q was referring to. Baby, I love you. I’ll do whatever I have to if it will help us out of this situation.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Well, how bad can it be? I won’t have to kill anyone, will I?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  Rayne breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Then I’ll do anything else,” she proclaimed.

  Khalil kept repeating that he couldn’t ask her to put herself out there like that for him, while she kept professing her unconditional love and her willingness to do whatever it was going to take. After much prodding from Rayne, Khalil explained that he knew some major ballers who’d hit females off with stacks, jewels, and gear for “dating” them. “That’s what Q was talkin’ about but I’m not asking you to do that bullshit.” His voice was heavy with disgust at the thought of her sleeping with other men.

  “Dating them?” Rayne asked.

  “All night dates,” Khalil clarified. “In other words, sleeping with them.”

  Rayne was silent. She almost gagged at the idea of it, but she knew that she’d do anything to help him out of the predicament he was in.

  After a while she asked, “Two questions, Khalil; One, will it get you out of debt if do? Two, will you still love me?”

  He turned to look into her eyes.

  “Baby Love, I’ll forever love you, no matter what you do. So that’s not even relative. And, yes it could pay off my debt and get us back on our feet.”

  “I’ll do it then,” she cut him off “But, Khalil, please don’t stop loving me.”

  Tears slid down her face. Khalil pulled her into his arms. For a woman with her morals she was making the ultimate sacrifice for him.

  “I love you, baby.”

  He kissed away her tears.

  “I pray that you mean that.”

  “I do, baby,” he swore.

  Rayne asked how long she’d have to “date” these men, and how many? Khalil estimated she’d have to do it for six months. “Just a couple dates a month,” he said, dropping his head in shame at having to put her out there like that.

  “You’ll have this girl named Sinnamon with you,” he said.

  “Who is she?” Rayne inquired.

  “Someone I used to kick it with,” he lied. “She’s gonna help me out, too. Just remember it’s all about you, Rayne, and you won’t have to do it for long.”

  “Khalil, will I have to kiss these men? I can’t do that. It would be too personal.”

  “Never, Baby Love. Save your kisses for me.”

  “Khalil?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Make love to me, please,” Rayne cried.

  Chapter Sixteen

  B-Man was on those woo-woos hard today; he’d been blowin’ ‘em since rolling out of bed this morning. Gwen had woke him up with a face full of smoke. Lately, he didn’t even want a blunt or joint unless it was laced with crack.

  After blowing three or four woos with Gwen he left the crib, smoked another on the drive over to Bed-Stuy’s crib. Then, he and Bed-Stuy got rawed and burned purp all day. With B-Man on those woos and Bed-Stuy on the raw, they both were borderline junkies.

  “We gon’ do this shit tonight or what, B?” Bed-Stuy asked, looking geeked.

  His big, thick lips were chapped the fuck up. He looked like JJ from the old black sitcom Good Times.

  “It’s goin’ down, shawdy,” confirmed B-Man, locking one in the chamber of his burner.

  “Q gon’ lace a nigga’s pockets proper for this, ain’t he? I know he ya fam’ but I ain’t slumpin’ niggas fo’ sneaker money, yo.”

  “He gon’ break bread,” B-Man assured him. “Plus, I’m hoping this lil’ stuntin’-ass nigga, Lamar, got some bread and some work where we touchin’ him at.”

  “Word,” cosigned Bed-Stuy.

  Q had finally grown tired of Lamar shittin’ on him about those twelve stacks. The fool was stuntin’ all over the “A”, like he was daring Q to bust his gun.

  Q wasn’t the violent type of drug dealer who was out to turn the city into a cowboy movie; he finessed the game. Niggaz all wanted to be Scarface, but how did the movie end? Q repeatedly pointed out to B-Man. Bodies brought heat and that was something a nigga didn’t need.

  Had Lamar stayed out of sight, he would’ve been out of mind. But the fool was putting his come up on display, which irked B-Man more than it did Q. I’m my brother’s keepa, B-Man would say when Q told him not to trip Lamar.

  B-Man was on some murder shit, though. Woo-woos had him crazy in the head. Tonight, he and Bed-Stuy were geeked up and ready to put in work. Bed-Stuy kept checking his cell phone to make sure that he hadn’t missed Adina’s call.

  Adina was a shady chick from Hollywood Court whom Bed-Stuy gutted from time to time. At the moment, she was at a club on Memorial Drive where Lamar liked to han
g out. Bed-Stuy had pointed Lamar out to Adina last weekend in the parking lot of the same club. He hadn’t smashed Lamar that night because Q had been wavering on whether or not he wanted Lamar bodied. But, tonight it was going down.

  Adina had been told to play the parking lot and to hit Bed-Stuy on the hip when she spotted Lamar. The call seemed to take hours to come through, but then Bed-Stuy’s phone vibrated.

  “Speak,” he answered.

  “He’s here,” said Adina.

  “You sure, Ma?”

  “Yep, I just got done hollering at him. He showed me the new tat on his stomach. It’s nice; it says STREET SOLDIER,” she blabbed on.

  “Fuck all that! What that nigga rollin’ in? His 5.0?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “He dolo?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bed-Stuy nodded to B-Man, who was sitting on an ottoman in Bed-Stuy’s living room, and they both strapped up.

  “Where son at now, yo?” Bed-Stuy asked Adina as B-Man followed him outside where they hopped into a plain black old school Cutliss.

  “He’s here in the parking lot parlayin’ and shit.”

  “Keep your eye on that nigga, I’m on my way. I’ma keep choppin’ it up with you while I drive so you can let me know if he leaves. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes; don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “I won’t,” promised Adina, whispering into the phone from the back seat of another niggaz whip.

  “Shawdy, get off the phone and come holla at my people,” a voice called from the background.

  “Tell him I’ll holla at him in a few,” she called back.

  “Who dat, Ma?” asked Bed-Stuy.

  “Nobody. Just this dude from N.O. tryna get me to holla at his boy,” Adina replied with a tssk!

  “You doing it like that?”

  “What you mean?”

  “Hollerin’ at other niggaz. I thought I had that pussy on lock?”

  “You do,” she giggled.

  In the passenger seat of the Cutliss, B-Man sparked up a woo-woo while half-listening to his man kick the bo-bo with Adina. Him and Bed-Stuy had tag-teamed that pussy on numerous occasions so he knew his man hadn’t caught feelings for the ho.