Blood Ties Read online

  Also by Shaun Sinclair

  The Crescent Crew Series

  Street Rap

  King Reece

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Blood Ties

  SHAUN SINCLAIR

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Part 1 - Innocence

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part 2 - The Making of a Murderer

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Teaser chapter

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Shaun Sinclair

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2105-1

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: February 2019

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2106-8

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-2106-3

  Prologue

  The man on the other side of the door did not know he was about to die.

  Unfortunately for him, he had crossed the wrong man. A man who took lives for his bread and butter. Sadly, this was not business. This was personal. If it were business, the man would have been dead already, for the assailant knew more ways to kill a man than there were stars in the sky. However, he wanted this victim to pay homage to his greatness as he gasped for his final breath.

  After all, wasn’t that the primary thrill?

  The assailant pressed his ear to the door. He could hear The Fugees’ new song “Killing Me Softly” playing on a stereo.

  Could he have company? Impossible! The assassin had staked his victim out all morning.

  The assassin attached his ear to the door once more, his mask impeding his hearing a bit. After quiet observation, he was satisfied that his victim was alone.

  He raised his silenced pistol to the door and squeezed. POP! The handle disintegrated under the powerful .45 round.

  The assassin kicked the door open and surveyed the room simultaneously. Immediately, he spotted his victim. His victim seemed to be anticipating his arrival as he pointed a weapon of his own and squeezed off a stray shot before sprinting towards another room.

  The assassin didn’t even flinch from the assault. In one smooth motion, he retrieved a dagger from his pouch, and flung it into his victim’s neck, dropping him on contact. The man yelped in pain, but his screams fell on deaf ears.

  The assassin calmly walked over to his victim, who had fallen clumsily onto one side with the knife lodged into his neck. Blood oozed around the blade and down his neck onto the thick black carpet. He bent to one knee to look at his victim eye-to-eye. For a while, he said nothing, just peered deeply into his mark’s eye as if trying to extract his soul with his penetrating gaze.

  The victim stared back just as deeply. If he could move, he would have been putting up one hell of a fight, but the dagger lodged in his neck paralyzed him. His only defense was an unflinching stare. So, two predators engaged in an intense mind game. One, a predator by nature. The other, a predator by trade. Eventually, the supreme warrior ended the battle.

  “I told you not to fuck with me,” the assassin reminded his victim. His victim recognized his voice at the exact moment he recalled his transgression.

  He began to panic. “P-please, man,” he begged as sincerely as a street soldier could, which wasn’t much. “I had to defend what’s mine. Ya understand dat, right?”

  His assailant cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, then nodded his agreement. “But you forget one thing,” he replied.

  “What’s dat?”

  “There is no protection from me. I am my only defense!”

  “B-but wait man. If I had known it was you, we could’ve worked something out. I-I- maybe would’ve h-handled it different,” he pleaded.

  The assassin smiled. There it was. Submission. They always bowed down in their final moments. Always. No matter the size, stature, reputation, or wealth . . . they all bowed down in the end.

  The assassin raised his silenced pistol to the man’s head and unloaded three rounds without even blinking.

  Then the killer stood to begin his meticulous cleaning process.

  Part 1

  Innocence

  Chapter 1

  “Jus, come on son! We’re gonna be late!” The voice echoed throughout the house taking Justus out of his trance. Justus was having a hard time deciding between the blue Levi’s or the black True Religion jeans to wear to his cousin’s party. He quickly chose the Levi’s and met his father in the basement.

  “Wassup Pop?” Justus greeted his father as he entered the basement.

  “What I tell you about calling me that? I ain’t no old man.”

  “A’ight, a’ight,” Justus conceded, throwing up his hands in mock defense. His father was quicker.

  Leader parried left, then swept Justus off his feet where he lay on the ground defeated.

  “You’re getting there, but you’re not ready yet,” his father scolded. “Now go get the car so we can ride out.”

  As they entered the garage, Leader stood by the passenger door of his cherished ’79 Eldorado, surprising Justus. Leader never let anyone drive his precious Cadillac. Not even his wife. He tossed Justus the keys and Justus started the car with a smirk, thoroughly pleased that his father finally trusted him. He pulled the car out of the garage very carefully and eased into the street headed for Topeka Heights.

  As they drifted down the highway, his father took the time to enlighten Justus to a few things.

  “Jus, listen, I want to make sure you keep a close eye on things while I’m gone. Look after your mom and li’l sister,” Leader instructed Justus. “Your sister’s big for her age, and these little R. Kelly’s running around here gon’ make somebody hurt ’em. So, you keep an eye out. A’ight?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You can stop the ‘yes sir’ shit now. You a man now. You turning eighteen in a few months.”

  “Yes—I mean—a’ight.”

  Leader turned on the radio and the sounds from Scarface’s The Fix album filled the car. Justus was not shocked at all. He knew his father loved that raw gangsta music. Tupac, Geto Boys, Kool G. Rap. All the real music got repeated burn when Leader was in the ’Lac.

  After nodding his head a few times, Leader turned the music down to address
Justus some more, “Hey you still not worried about getting kicked off the team, are you?”

  Justus shook his head.

  “Good. Don’t worry about it. It’s good that you held on to your principles. The world needs more principled men.”

  Leader was referring to Justus not being allowed to play in his high school basketball championship game. He was suspended indefinitely for refusing to stand for the national anthem. In the past, when the national anthem was performed, he had found a convenient way to excuse himself. Unfortunately, in the game before the championship game the bathroom was full so he had no such luck. Unable to leave, he chose to remain seated amidst a gym full of people, sticking out like a grade-school erection. After much prodding from his coaches, Justus remained defiant. In a city like Fayetteville, home of Fort Bragg—home of the 82nd Airborne Division— refusing to stand for the national anthem was blasphemous. When Justus took the court to play ball, the crowd let their disapproval be known by salting the court with debris. Coach decided it would be best if Justus sat the game out, hence causing him to miss the most important game of his life. Justus, being a senior, would never get a chance to lace up for the hardwood and scorch a team for 21 and 10 again. Justus appeared unfazed, but only Leader, who sat in the audience observing the whole incident like an owl, knew the true extent of Justus’s pain. Inwardly, Leader smiled. The incident could only be a catalyst to Justus becoming the person Leader was already training him to be.

  Leader continued with the conversation. “When you graduate in a few weeks—”

  “Six.”

  “Okay. In six weeks, you won’t have to worry about any of that shit, because you’ll be working with me in the family business.”

  Justus noted Leader was using profanity, which was something he seldom did in the presence of others. Leader was very articulate and extremely intelligent. Only a few people knew how gully he truly was. Justus was one of those people.

  “Pop, what is our family business?” Justus asked, as he continued to smoothly maneuver the ’Lac down the highway.

  Justus never knew exactly what his father did for a living. All he knew was his father’s title on his business card read: John Moore, Security Consultant. Justus did know his father’s job required him going out of town a lot. He also knew his father was well respected in the streets due to his reputation from back in the day. Again, Justus had no idea what exactly his father was known for. What he did know was that it wasn’t drugs. Leader despised the fact that drug dealers got all the props.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Leader assured him, to which Justus chuckled. “What’s so funny, son?”

  “You. You remind me of Tommy on Martin. He always talking about his job, but nobody knew where he worked at. So, the joke was that he didn’t have one.”

  Leader mulled this over for a second, then responded, “Oh, it’s a job alright. Fact, it’s more than a job; it’s an adventure!” he joked.

  “I won’t have to cut my beard off, will I?” Justus asked, stroking his peach fuzz.

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “ ’Cause I notice every time you go out of town on business you cut off all your hair and trim your eyebrows.”

  This was true, of course. In fact, Leader trimmed the hair from his entire body. Ass crack and all. His eyebrows, he would shave completely off, then sketch new ones. He especially cut the hairs in his nose. This was an occupational precaution.

  “Yeah, I know,” Leader admitted, then added, “You’re pretty observant.”

  Justus laughed. “It’s obvious! You be looking like a black Mr. Clean!”

  Leader nudged him. “Shut up. Laugh now, get laughed at later,” Leader warned, before turning the music back up. Justus settled into a more comfortable position and drove on to their destination.

  Topeka Heights was one of the many neighborhoods in Fayetteville that caused the city to be known as Fayettenam. The residents of Topeka Heights reveled in their status. To them, ghetto wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Ghetto produced strength. Ghetto produced camaraderie. After all, everyone knew that within the confines of the ghetto were some of the richest people. Some rich in heart, others in spirit. Some in actual monetary wealth. The latter were the people who were savvy and ambitious enough to hustle hope into something tangible. People like Terry “Pug” Daniels, Justus’s maternal cousin.

  Pug was just returning home from a three-year state bid. At just twenty-two, Pug was a major player in Fayettenam’s comparatively small heroin trade. Prior to his incarceration at the age of nineteen, Pug had a few dope spots sprinkled all over the city. Pug was a dropout to the nth degree, leaving junior high at thirteen to provide for his sick mother, whose main ailment was being broke. He started out selling weed, then made the natural transition up the ladder to crack cocaine. However, through trial and error, he later found that nothing sold like that “P-Funk,” as heroin was called in the streets. An old-head from the neighboring city of Lumberton, plugged Pug in with a sweet connect, and Pug never looked back. Riches and street fame came, followed by the requisite hate that bred drama.

  One night while returning from the movies with his girl, some young enterprising jack-boys attempted to rob him. Pug, no stranger to gunplay, blazed one of them quicker than a California forest fire. He fled the scene in his girlfriend’s Audi, but was captured by authorities a few days later. Turned out, one of the jack-boys moonlit as a rat. Pug dropped ten racks on a lawyer and managed to finagle a three-year plea for weapons possession. Now he was home to reclaim the streets that embraced him.

  When Justus wheeled the Eldorado into the courtyard amidst a rambunctious crowd, all eyes were on him. He was smiling from ear to ear, happy to be seen whipping his father around. He quickly found a vacant spot and he and his father exited the vehicle. They walked side-by-side up to the apartment where everyone was gathered out front enjoying the sounds that emanated from inside. While Leader dipped inside to find his wife, Justus lingered outside to mingle with the crowd.

  “What up, Jus?” Some of the older dudes greeted Justus. Most of them were Pug’s partners. Justus was five years younger than Pug, but no one seemed to care because ever since Justus was able to walk, he hung with Pug. Pug was the big brother Justus never had, and everyone who was anyone knew it. Besides, with Justus standing a stout six-feet tall, no one paid attention to the age disparity. Justus was one of their own as far as they were concerned.

  “Chillin’,” Justus responded coolly. “What’s the bidness?”

  “Ain’t shit,” replied Kenny. “Wanna hit the blunt?” He offered Justus the burning blunt.

  “Hell naw. You know I don’t smoke!” Justus reminded him.

  “Ha-ha, I know. Your pops’ll kick your ass. I was just fucking wit’ cha. A, ah, pardon self, I need to holla at this broad real quick.” Kenny passed the blunt to a comrade, then ran off across the courtyard to meet a thick, chocolate sista carrying a baby in her arms.

  Justus took survey of the courtyard, observing all the goings-on. Five different smoke ciphers. Beautiful women, so jaded they didn’t realize their worth. Numerous young hustlers still trying to grind during the festivities. A part of him envied them. A part of him pitied them.

  Justus noticed that Pug was still a no-show so he asked the crew about his whereabouts.

  “He’ll be here soon,” answered Rico, Pug’s right-hand man. “You know he like to make an entrance. Him and Jackie ’posed to go shopping ’fo they come here.”

  Just then, Pug’s Suburban crept into the neighborhood. “There he go right there,” A short, pudgy dude named Greg stated. The truck didn’t come to where the crowd was assembled. Instead, it bent the corner toward the adjacent complex. It was evident he didn’t leave the neighborhood because the steady thump from the Digital Design subwoofers rumbled from a block over. As soon as the truck was out of sight, conversation resumed.

  “Aye dawg, you know Nikki moving out the hood, right?” Rico informed everyone.

  “Wo
rd?” Justus piped up a little too eagerly.

  “Yep. She got kicked out when ole’ boy got caught up in there with that dope on ’im,” Rico explained. “Housing Authority people say she gotta go ’cause she had a convicted felon with dope up in her spot.”

  “Damn, that’s fucked up,” Justus whispered, unable to disguise his disappointment.

  “Don’t matter though,” Rico stated matter-of-factly. “She already got a place ’cross town off Cliffdale road. Plushed out too. Bitch on da lake an’ shit,” Rico let them know. He stayed up on the happenings.

  “Damn, she making money like that at that hospital? I thought she was a dietician or something?” Greg wondered.

  Rico answered, “I believe her dad got it for her. Since she not fucking with ole’ boy no more, I guess he gon’ take care of her. Either that or he don’t want to see his daughter out in the street,” he reasoned. All Justus heard was one thing.

  “When she stopped messing with that dude?” Justus asked.

  “Sheeit, nigga, when he got her spot ran up in! You know Nikki don’t play that shit!”

  “So when she moving?” Rico asked, looking at his phone. “That might be where Pug and Jackie went at.”

  “Her and dude broke up?” Justus insisted.

  “Aye nigga, you can stop dreaming. You too young for Nikki, and you don’t pump, so your pockets too short.”

  Before Justus could respond to Rico’s character assassination, he was snatched up into a yoke from behind. A sharp blade appeared under his neck.

  “Money or your life?!” The voice offered. Justus noticed everyone remained cool, so he figured it could only be one person.

  “Pug, stop playing, cousin.”

  Pug released him. “Ah nigga, you still too cool to be scared, huh? I thought you was gonna try some of that Bruce Lee shit.” Pug laughed, then hugged Justus. “What’s the bidness, li’l cuz?!”