Preacher's Kid|MJ

Interlude II

The glare in his eyes was as sharp as a butcher knife; sharp enough to cut into anything other than human flesh. Rage is what he felt deep inside his soul.

The funeral home wasn't as packed, but it was full enough for those who knew Jerome well. The only family he was survived by was his younger brother who sat on the first row on a navy blue cushioned chair, eyes glued to his brother's embalmed corpse as people walked by the casket to pay their respects.

There weren't any tears left to shed; he was all cried out. He felt drained from the many sleepless nights consisting of nightmares of how Jerome's missing body was discovered from a landfill disposed like waste and nearly decomposed. He was unware of the perpetrator that claimed his brother's life when he called in grief.

Michael found out about the plan of Jerome wanting to build a warehouse for himself to start his own drug chain; he had become consumed with envy over the course of three years he worked for him. There was a purpose for stealing a quarter million dollars and to think he would get away with it without facing any consequences and repercussions had to be the most comical thing in the world. It was why Michael did what he did that night.

Armon's twenty-three years of life had been spared because he was unaware of the money Jerome told him about being stolen from his own boss. According to him, it was a hefty bonus earned for hard work and a promotion. He aspired to be one of Michael's workers alongside his brother. He wanted the fast money seeing the way Jerome's life was filled with luxury, women and more. But it was objected for many reasons. One of them being Jerome not wanting him under the wing of the very man who would have soon became the opposing side.

Blood was thicker than water, and he forbade his blood to turn against him for anything and anyone. He was his brother's keeper, and it's the way Jerome wanted it.

Michael was always known to be audacious—reckless in terms of his lifestyle. He gave no fucks about respect when respect and loyalty was never returned to him. How does one kill a man and still show up to his funeral? He had it coming, though. Jerome knew that any form of betrayal resulted in one of two ways: beaten to near death or death itself. That was street law. Code.

As Guap and Snupe followed him, he was the first to view Jerome's defunct body. He wore all black with a touch of red; the black symbolized the life he took and the red for the blood shed that will forever be attached to his name like all the others. He rarely ever killed, and if he did it was personal. Since being in the game all these years, he claimed the lives of four people with Jerome included. Those four lives were people he wanted to share a table and break bread with. It all backfired on him in the end. At this point of his life, that shit was for the birds.

Slowly, he removed the Aviators from the bridge of his nose, visage emotionless. He stared at the man he once thought was his rider, a loyal worker he could always count on and trust no matter what. Why would he steal from him and lie about it when all he had to do was ask? Michael would have sent him on his way with the money to have his own since it was what he desperately wanted. No beef or ill-will. It was enough room in the world for more people to match his caliber.

On the contrary, he had no desire to stick to this life much longer; he was ready to give it all up to someone worth leading the pack he worked day in and day out to have up to par. Now that his new girlfriend is in his life and wanting to have a legit future with her, dealing drugs was slowly but surely becoming a thing of the past. He was pushing thirty and settling down was on the agenda. However, unfinished business needed tending to before he could dust his hands clean permanently. It was never that easy to just up and walk away.

Turning toward the left of him, he sauntered over to Armon who rose to his feet. A brotherly handshake and embrace was shared followed with Snupe and Guap.

"I appreciate you comin' out, Meechie. It means a lot considerin' how you and my brother was. He fucked with you heavy, bruh," Armon spoke, taking a step back. "Real talk."

The truth was itching to roll off his tongue blunt and with fire, but to keep the peace for now he played along. "Yeah. He showed it very well through his work ethic." Michael discreetly glanced over at Guap, then at Snupe who knew exactly what he meant. "You take care of yourself out here."

Armon stopped him in his tracks as he prepared to leave. "Do you know who might've killed him? People sayin' it was Rizz across town."

Michael grazed his tongue between his lips, showing a glimpse of his piercing and slid his Aviators up the bridge of his nose. He thought, he who ask shall recieve. "Supposedly, Rome stole a huge lump of dough from somebody, so they capped his ass. That's what I was told. If you lookin' for 'em, don't look too hard. You just might miss their ass." He pat Armon's upper arm twice. "I'll see you 'round."

With that said, Armon stood there watching the suave and powerful man he looked up to walking away. Confusion was written all over his face as to what he meant by "don't look too hard".

Whatever it meant, he would surely find out the following year...