Page 22 of The Millionaire Mortician

O ut of all fucking barbers in big ass New York, that nigga Frost had to pick my lady? I was so confused about how that connection had even happened. Did he know who she was, or was it really an innocent coincidence? The universe had a funny way of fucking with me.

The whole situation wasn’t sitting right with me.

At that point, I honestly didn’t know what to believe or who to trust besides Maverick.

Granted, I loved Daija, but she was disposable to me.

We’ve only been rocking for a little over a year, so she still didn’t have my full trust. We’d never gone through anything for her to prove her absolute loyalty.

“Milly... Milly...” I heard Mav’s voice pulling me from deep in my thoughts.

“Yo.” I looked at him.

We were chilling in my office at the funeral home, chopping it up. Although my mind was messed up, business had to continue as usual.

“What’s good, nigga?”

I hung my head and shook it slow. “I ain’t gon’ hold you, bro. This shit’s fuckin’ wit’ me. Like, how did that shit really happen? I need answers ASAP,” I ranted.

“Shorty said it was from a referral from another barber. The only other way to find out is to ask the nigga flat out.”

I looked at Mav with the quickness because he put an idea in my head. “Say less. Let’s pull up on him.”

Mav stood to his feet and motioned his hands as if he were saying, pump your brakes . “Aye, chill, man. We got other pressing matters to handle, and then we can circle back. Fuck that nigga, and if she on some shiesty shit, fuck her too.”

“Aight, ease up on Daija for now until we know for sure. Now what if she’s really innocent in all this? You already put a gun to her head, and I done choked her to death.” I shook my head.

If Daija was indeed not guilty of anything, I was going to have to try to forgive myself for how Maverick and I treated her. All we knew was to act or shoot first, then ask questions later. She was no different under the circumstances.

Mav looked at me blankly and just shrugged.

“Guilty until proven innocent,” he asserted in a serious tone.

“On another note, Reese received his sample, and he’s locked in with us.

So, you know the cold breeze will blow our way once he finds out,” he informed me, referring to Frost as the cold breeze.

“Word? That’s wassup. And right now, fuck him and everything he’s got going on.”

Mav looked at me with wild eyes. I was usually the calm, laid-back one trying to find ways to be rational, but since my girl was somewhat involved, I was on whatever timing niggas wanted to be on.

“Any word on what that nigga Dave’s been up to?” I wanted to make sure we covered everything.

“Mmmhmm. Same ol’. Reem said he was still plotting and shit.”

I nodded. “He’s gon’ be outta here soon, too.”

With how I was feeling, a whole war could’ve broken out. I was ready for smoke with any and everybody.

Maverick and I wrapped up our meeting and said our goodbyes for the time being. When he left, I made my way back downstairs to help with some of the bodies. We had a full house and a lot of services coming up.

As soon as I walked into the prep room, a body was on the metal table waiting for me.

Walking around, I took my time and observed her while reviewing her paperwork.

She was young, only twenty-four. Her face told a story, or at least what was left of it.

She was shot in the right side of her forehead, with the wound jagged. It fucked up her pretty face.

“What happened shorty?” I whispered as I shook my head.

I stood over her for a moment, letting the silence settle. Death didn’t shock me after a while, but the way people went out left a weight on me sometimes.

“Alexia, put on work playlist,” I instructed the machine.

Once the music spilled from the speakers with the hard bass, I prepped myself to start. I pulled on gloves, my mask, and an apron, then laid out my tools and got to work.

First, it was the embalming process. I got to her veins to drain the blood and bodily fluids.

I then pushed the embalming fluid into her.

Her skin took color again. It didn’t look like she had life, but she looked as if she was resting instead of meeting a violent end.

Once I was finished with the fluids, I started to stitch her up, making sure every incision was closed.

When that was finished, I shifted to the more challenging part — the restoration.

Washing her body again, I made sure to get everywhere that was obviously noticeable and any fluid off her, so there was no smell.

I then cleaned the bullet wound, packed and filled it, and then smoothed it out.

It took a lot of patience, more patience than most men had.

Still, I wasn’t about to send her out looking anything less than whole.

Before I tackled her hair and makeup, I grabbed the clothes her family had brought for her to wear. Taking my time, I got her dressed from head to toe. Next was the beauty part of it and the hard part, where I had to make sure her wound wasn’t showing.

Since her hair was matted from where she fell, I washed it, gently combed it out, and then styled it simply yet neatly.

It was then time to apply her makeup. I pulled the kit from the shelf.

I began mixing the foundation to accurately match her skin tone.

I worked carefully over the bullet hole, layering and blending until the jagged mark disappeared beneath shades and texture.

I then moved the swoop I made to cover most of the wound.

It wasn’t perfect — nothing ever was — but she looked like herself again when I stepped back, like a woman sleeping, not a victim.

I set the brush down and leaned on the counter for a moment, admiring my work.

Most people didn’t know this about me, but years back, I made sure to get certified in hair and makeup.

Mortuary science provided the basics, but I further developed my skills through classes, practice, and whatever it took to learn how to do every single thing for myself.

I never wanted to be assed out waiting on somebody else to show up to handle something for me.

Relying on people could cost time and trust. And in the funeral business, you didn’t get to tell a grieving mother or father, “ Sorry, we couldn’t fix her face today. ”

I peeled the gloves off, tossed them in the bin, and stood over her one last time. “Rest easy,” I murmured under my breath before sliding the sheet over her.

After washing my hands and face, I dried them, then turned off the music until it was time to return to tackle another person. I returned to my office for some me time, but I just knew a whole lot of shit was going to plague my mind.

It wasn’t even two minutes into my break when a knock sounded at my door. I sighed out loud. “Come in!” I yelled.

One of my security guards walked in. “There’s a man by the name of Frost here to see you. I saw he wasn’t an approved visitor, but he insisted,” he informed me.

God had dropped a gift right at my doorstep. Although it was just a thought, I no longer had to go to him. He came right to me.

“Search him properly, and only he is allowed in,” I instructed.

Not wasting another minute, he nodded and disappeared.

I pulled my drawer open, grabbed my Glock, and placed the silencer on it before returning it to the top drawer, leaving it open for easy access.

If Frost showed up at my place of business, I knew it had to be some shit.

It was about Mav and me taking one of his highest-earning clients, or he was coming to tell me what the fuck he was doing at my girl’s salon.

A few minutes later, there was another knock. That time, I knew exactly who it was.

“Yo,” I answered.

My guard opened the door wide, then stepped aside for the heavyset muthafucker to walk in.

“So, this is where you burn your bodies, huh?” Frost looked around the office.

I chuckled. “You wanna be next?” I shot at him.

He laughed it off. “I thought we were going to have an understanding. What happened to that?”

Sitting up, I placed my elbows on my desk. “When the fuck did we ever agree to anything? You thought your threats were supposed to change our minds or some shit?”

“Don’t say I didn’t try, my boy,” he stated, then turned to leave.

I stood to my feet. “Let me ask you this. What the fuck were you doing going to my girl’s salon?” I came right out and asked.

He turned back around. “Who the fuck is yo’ girl, nigga?”

That’s when I knew it was literally all a coincidence, and I was wrong for acting the way I did toward Daija.

“Daija.”

“What Daija, the celebrity barber?” he asked, scrunching up his face.

I nodded. “Mmmhmm.”

He started to chuckle. “That can’t be yo’ bitch.”

“It is, though,” I assured him.

He went into his pocket, grabbed his phone, and started browsing through it.

My patience started to run thin until he turned the screen to me.

My whole heart dropped when I saw Daija dressed pretty ass fuck sitting across from him at a dinner table.

Then he swiped again and showed a picture of her lying down, undressed, on his chest.

“Well, get a new one. I been fuckin’ that,” he taunted, then turned to leave.

In one swift motion, I grabbed my gun and sent a single bullet his way. It hit the wall right by his head as he was trying to leave, but it halted his steps. I wasn’t going to kill him, not yet, at least. I just wanted to send a message to never turn his back on me ever again.

He turned and looked at me with fire in his eyes.

“Get the fuck out,” I gritted as I clenched my jaw.

My guard guided him out of my sight, closing my door behind them. Once I was alone, I had to regain control of my breathing. Frost didn’t put an ounce of fear in my heart, but he definitely got to me with the revelation of him and Daija.

I’m gon’ kill that bitch.

I disregarded the rest of my evening schedule and sped home. When I got there, Nadia was still there, almost finished with her day’s work.

“Nadia, I need you to go and pack all of Daija’s shit. Everything has to go. Use her suitcases or use trash bags, I don’t give a fuck. Just pack it all,” I demanded in a loud tone.

Nadia looked confused and frightened at the same time, but she didn’t ask questions.

She just did what she was told. While she started packing, I helped her.

All I knew was that when Daija pulled up, I wanted those fucking keys for the Benz truck.

I wasn’t no pussy ass nigga. I didn’t know what the fuck possessed her to do some wild shit like that.

Cheat on a nigga like me? Yeah, the bitch had to be mentally insane.

In the midst of the chaos, Maverick called my phone. At first, I wasn’t going to answer because I wanted to hurry and get Daija’s shit out, but then I had to make sure he was good.

“Yo, bro,” I answered quickly.

“Fuck you doing? Why you sound like that?” he questioned.

“I’m packing all Daija’s shit. That smut’s gotta go.”

“Wait, what? I’m coming, man.” He hung up.

Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I continued throwing shit into black garbage bags. I probably looked like a madman, but I didn’t give no fucks.

“Pack this too?” Nadia asked, holding up Daija’s Rolex collection that I bought her.

“Yeah, everything she can take. I don’t care. I just want her the fuck out and the keys to that truck.”

I heard the bell ring, and I knew it was Mav since he only lived two blocks down. Grabbing as many bags as I could, I took them downstairs and rested them by the door as I opened it for him.

Maverick walked in, looking lost as a muthafucker. “Fuck happened that quick?” he inquired.

I went and leaned up on the couch arm, taking deep breaths in and letting them out. Finally, when I settled, I told Mav everything that had happened. His jaw was on the fucking ground in disbelief.

“You positive, bro?” he asked.

“I saw the shit with my own two eyes, nigga,” I assured him.

Nadia came damn near tumbling down the stairs with a bunch of bags. Mav rushed over to lend her a hand.

A few seconds later, the front door opened, and we all turned to see Daija walking in. She froze in her steps when she looked around and saw all her things at the door.

Before she could ask a question, I charged at her, grabbing her hair with one hand and choking her with the other. Maverick and Nadia stood back and just watched.

“Yous a nasty little smut bitch,” I hissed.

Tears came rushing down her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered with what air she had.

I didn’t mention any details, and she was already apologizing. That made the shit even worse. She couldn’t deny it anyway. Tapping my forearm, she begged me to let go with her eyes, but I squeezed tighter. Once I saw her eyes were closing, I tossed her ass to the ground and spat on her.

“Give me the keys to the truck and get all your shit and get the fuck out,” I gritted.

I didn’t even wait for her to catch her breath. I saw the keys along with the house keys on the ground. Snatching them up, I then walked into my office. No one followed, which I was grateful for. I needed to be alone. A nigga was hurt.