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"You are all crazy," the man hissed, fear threading his words. "You cannot just take my organs!"
Ghazi leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "We ain’t takin’ nothin’ that ain’t owed. You run with Aaqil, you know the score. In your next life, choose to be a real nigga and come to women correctly. Stealing them ain’t it. Now, be a good boy and let Mona do her job."
Mona injected the sedative with practiced ease, and within moments, the man's struggles ceased, his eyes drooping as he slipped into unconsciousness. She stripped him down, then bathed him with an antiseptic solution before ordering us to move him into the operating room. There was a flurry of movement as Mona hooked him up to various machines and administered drugs that would sink him further into oblivion. Minutes later, the room settled into a focused silence, the only sound the rhythmic beep of monitors. This work was dirty, no doubt about it, but it served a purpose. We didn’t just pick anyone. People who trespassed, who brought darkness into the world—those were our targets. In the language of the streets, this was our way of evening the scales.
The room was alive with a quiet intensity, the air thick with anticipation as we scrubbed and suited up. Cairo moved with the grace of someone who had spent countless hours doing this shit, each movement deliberate and precise. He glanced up, scalpel in hand, ready to begin.
"Alright, folks, let's get to business. First up, we’re goin’ for the liver. We have a buyer down in Mexico who’s been waitin’ on one. Pray for a match."
“You ‘bout to kill this fool and talking about pray. Y’all sick for real,” Targen muttered.
Cairo made the initial incision with a steady hand, the scalpel slicing cleanly through the skin. The soft hiss of the ventilator was the only sound as we collectively held our breaths. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching intently.
"How’s it lookin’, Cai?"
"Pristine," Cairo replied, carefully navigating through the layers of tissue. "Looks like he never even smelled a drink. We ‘bout to make a buyer real happy. A quarter mil ticket coming right up!”
He continued with his meticulous work, each removal orchestrated like a symphony, the instruments glinting under the harsh lights. Ghazi and Targen watched from the sidelines, but even the procedure’s gravity couldn’t stop Ghazi’s usual silliness.
"Cairo Hamilton: genius by day, terror by night," he mumbled. "He removing that fool’s organs like he playing the game Operation. That’s diabolical work.”
“Kidneys are beautiful. Hopefully perfect for that young mama who had to start dialysis,” Cairo pronounced lowly, caught up in the macabre surgery.
“Maybe this is the Lord’s work,” Targen joked.
I didn’t know if the shit was diabolical or divine. But beneath the Texan earth, far from the prying eyes of the world above, the work would continue.
Tuesday evening,Real came over a little earlier than usual. I guess our earlier conversation had him ready to go, too. I had just enough time to shower after work and make an experiential pasta dish. I made him wait while I did a light beat and slid into a sleek lounging set. The bouquet of purple and pink lilies he brought made me smile. I accepted them and stood on my tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek. He had been aware enough to notice the colorful lilies I kept around the house and brought me flowers at the most random times. But I knew what these were for.
"Sorry about Sunday," he said, voice rough as he dragged a hand over his hair.
"It's okay. You really helped me relax earlier,” I teased. “I cooked for you."
Real and I ate together while we talked about our day. I had a feeling that what happened Sunday was deeper than a simple beef. After hearing the disruption of our conversation earlier, it was obvious that he was into more than he’d led me to believe before. Not wanting to ruin the mood, I decided my questions could wait until later and continued to enjoy our meal.
We cleared the table just for him to bend me over it and have me for dessert. Afterward, we chilled in my bed, his back against the headboard as I lay across his lap. He rubbed my back and ass as he toked on a blunt. I waited for him to finish.
"Tell me about Aaqil," I murmured, then watched him tense again.
He scoffed. "That nigga."
I rose, then gestured for him to lie down. I straddled his waist, working at the sudden knots in his shoulders and back. I worried about the toll stress took on him. So many times he came to me, tight and tired. Relaxing him was a job I took seriously. Finally, he opened his mouth. I felt tension leave him as he told me some of the twisted story of his hated half-brother.
“But why come to my neighborhood?”
“He thinks you’re my weakness,” Real explained. “I don’t want you worried. I have people looking out for you.”
I wasn't worried. Prime had reinstalled a heavier detail after I called.
“Am I?” The question was up and out before I could stop it.
He looked over his shoulder, a half smile curving his lips. “Aren’t you?”
Heart racing, I fell silent. I had no idea how to answer that.
And now, here it was Friday, and I was staring down at a text that announced he was about to be on his way to pick me up. Sighing, I dropped my head. I only planned to chill tonight because I’d be celebrating my upcoming birthday for the rest of the weekend. His new fascination with taking me places needed to stop.
Me: