The house still smelled like bbq and shit and it made me sick to my fucking stomach. It made me wanna burn the whole shit down.
Yah-Yah hadn't stopped crying in seven days. Literally, she would just pass out from exhaustion, her face was swollen and wet every single day, even in her sleep she'd whimper. She'd wake up calling for Sontae, forgetting for just a split second that he wasn't here, and then reality would crash back in and she'd break all over again.
I watched her now, curled up on the other end of the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her hair was wild, her shit hadn't been done since it happened. She was holding one of Sontae's shirts, holding it to her face, breathing him in.
"Baby, you gotta eat something," I said, my voice rough from not using it much. She didn't respond, she just kept rocking.
My mama had tried earlier, bringing her some homemade soup and crackers, but Yah-Yah threw the shit across the room, screaming that she didn't want food, she wanted her baby. My moms just cleaned it up, she didn’t have a smart ass remark ornothing. Which was fucking rare for Shaunie. She knew Yah-Yah was hurting.
My crew had been hitting the streets hard, shaking down every snitch, every corner boy, every fucking person who might know something. Yatta had his ear to the ground. Draco and Mook was ready to burn the whole city down. But we had nothing. No leads. No witnesses.
Nobody knew shit, or if they did, they weren't talking.
Trigg was still recovering from getting shot. The bullet went clean through, but he was fucked up mentally. He blamed himself for not protecting Sontae. I told him it wasn't his fault, but I could see it eating him alive. Shit was eating all of us alive.
My phone buzzed and I snatched it up so fast I almost dropped it.
No Caller ID
My heart stopped. "Yah-Yah," I said, my voice tight.
She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, hope and terror both etched on her face.
I answered, putting it on speaker. "Who this?"
A voice came through, distorted and mechanical. They was using one of them voice changer apps.
"You know who this is, Sosa."
"Where the fuck is my son?" I said, my hand gripping the phone so hard it might crack.
"Relax. The boy is fine. For now."
Yah-Yah let out a sob, her hand covering her mouth.
"If you hurt my fucking son—"
"You ain't in no position to make threats, pussy ass nigga," the voice cut me off.
"If you want him back, it's gonna cost you."
"How much?" I said immediately. "Name the fucking price."
There was a pause, like they was enjoying this shit.
"Five million. Cash only pussy."
My jaw clenched. That was damn near everything I had liquid. The rest was tied up in product, property, shit I couldn't move fast. But I didn't give a fuck. They could have it all.
"I need proof of life," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I need to know he's alive and okay."
"You'll get your proof," the voice said. "But listen carefully. You got seventy-two hours to get the money together. No cops. No feds. No tricks. You try anything, and you'll get your son back in pieces. Understand?"
"I understand," I said, every word like swallowing glass.
"Good. We'll call you with the drop location. Keep your phone on."
The line went dead. I sat there, staring at the phone with my chest heaving. Five million. Seventy-two hours.