Shanice Wilson, born and raised in Harlem, moves to Atlanta for her new job. The company sets her up in a lovely cul-de-sac in an almost deserted part of the suburbs.
Nate Dylan is the president of the Dead-Eye Angels MC. He rides with his buddies...
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Song: Gangsta's Paradise - Coolio
The few yards to Anthony's diner feel like a march towards judgment day. Each heavy thud of my boots echoing my apprehension. But it's not the impending sense of doom that gnaws at me. It's the sight of the boarded-up windows that sends a shiver down my spine.
"Whoa, what the hell happened here?" I shoot a glance at Kade, expecting an answer, but he offers none, still pissed about his phone call. Maddox merely rolls his eyes like I should know what the fuck goes on in the neighborhood 24/7.
With a firm grip, I twist the door handle and brush aside faint memories of instructing the boys to get me some grub from Anthony. No sense wasting time on something I barely remember.
The well-worn linoleum floor beneath my boots greets me with its familiar thud. The place ain't no highfalutin' establishment, that's for sure. But the smashed mirrors and torn-up seats weren't part of the décor the last time I was here. Even so, nothing can replace the warm aroma of grease and coffee, seasoned with a hint of stale cigarettes that hang heavy in the air. The wall of fame, decorated with pictures of Atlanta-based celebrities, is no longer there. Only a few frames dangle loosely to the wallpapered walls.
To the rear, the battered jukebox that we used to load with quarters lies smashed into pieces. But what strikes most are Black and Chinese men standing sentry in their designer suits. Their face betray nothing, but I know if I had to pull out my Desert Eagle, I would be riddled with bullets. These cold motherfuckers won't care if we are in the heart of downtown or the depths of hell. They do what they have to, and it's apparent in their pompous faces.
And there, at the back, stands the most smug of them all, Jin. That cocksucking motherfucker, I'd love nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. How Shanice ever got tangled up with a guy like that is beyond me. He's too pretty, too dainty, too full of himself to be with a woman like her.
Jin sticks his hand out, directing us toward the red vinyl booth lining the windows. Tables with chipped Formica tops are scattered around, each one telling tales of countless cups of joe and late-night scheming by the old Dead-Eye Angels. The place has seen its share of action, but today, it's the stage for a different kind of showdown.
Kade and Maddox flank me as we follow Jin's direction. The atmosphere thickens, much like the imminent thunderstorm, with each step we take. We inch closer to the impending confrontation. I slide into the booth, Kade following suit. Maddox remains vigilant at our side.
The two people across from us are not who I expect. The Black woman strikes a resemblance to a certain former neighbor of mine. But instead of loose flowing hair, this woman sports a tight bun held together with two massive needles. And the biggest difference: she's smiling, something that Shanice, even on her best days, wouldn't offer me. Still, there's something lurking behind that upturned grin.
Yet, the real danger, I feel it deep in my gut, comes from the old Chinese man beside her. His lips form a thin line, and his eyes bore into me as if he wants to slit my throat. He's a killer, no doubt about it. I try to make eye contact with Kade, but the guy's too busy fuming, huffing like he's enduring a never-ending ordeal. Luckily, Maddox is here. Much good that would do we are clearly outnumbered.
