"Get out," I said,
"Yah-Yah—"
"GET OUT!" I screamed with everything left in me. "GET THE FUCK OUT! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED OUR BABY!"
Sosa stood there for a moment with tears running down his cheeks. Then he turned and left the house. I heard the door slam, then I heard his truck start and him peel out of the driveway.
Then it was just me and Mya, the silence and that tiny finger on the floor with Spider-Man smiling up at me like everything was okay. But nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.
I crawled over to the finger, picking it up with trembling hands,
"Sontae," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry, baby. Mommy's so sorry. I tried. I tried so hard to get you back."
But I didn't try hard enough, because my baby was gone. And I would never hold him again. Never hear his laugh again. Never kiss his forehead or tuck him in at night or tell him I loved him.
I laid on the kitchen floor, and I screamed until my voice gave out. I screamed until there was nothing left inside me but emptiness, rage and a pain so deep it felt like dying.
Maybe I was dying because the part of me that was a mother, the part of me that lived and breathed for Sontae, was gone with him.
And I knew, in that moment, I would never be whole again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Shaunie Maddox
The Miami heat hit me the second I stepped out the rental car. I slid my Chanel shades down my nose and grabbed my Louis bag from the passenger seat, my heels clicking against the stone pathway leading to the beach house.
This wasn't just any beach house. This wasthebeach house. The one Jerome kept off the books, the one nobody knew about except me and him. It was secluded, private, and right on the water with tall gates and security cameras he controlled personally. It was the kind of place where you could disappear, and nobody would ever find you.
I opened the front door, stepping into the cool air conditioning, and slid my shades up onto my head. The place was gorgeous, all white furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, modern and clean.
"GG!"
My heart swelled. I turned and there he was, my beautiful grandson, running toward me in his little swim trunks, his curls bouncing, his face lit up with that smile that could melt anybody's heart.
"There's my GG baby!" I said, dropping my bag and scooping him up, kissing his cheek over and over. He giggled, wrapping his little arms around my neck.
"GG, I swimming!" he said excitedly, pointing toward the pool.
"I see that, baby," I cooed, holding him close. "You having fun with Papa?"
He nodded, and I carried him through the house toward the back where the pool was.
Jerome was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, a cigar in one hand, a glass of cognac in the other. He looked every bit the powerful man he was. salt and pepper beard perfectly trimmed, linen shirt open showing his chest, designer shades covering his eyes. Even at fifty-eight, he was fine as hell.
"'Bout time you made it," he said, not even looking up.
"Traffic was hell coming from the airport," I said, setting Sontae down. He ran straight to the pool, splashing his feet in the shallow end where his floaties were.
I walked over to Jerome and leaned down, kissing him slow and deep. He tasted like expensive tobacco and cognac. When I pulled back, he finally looked at me.
"Everything go smooth?" he asked.
"Smooth as butter," I said, sitting in the chair next to him. "Sent the package two days ago. By now, they think he's dead."
He nodded, taking a pull from his cigar. "Good. Let 'em think that. Let 'em mourn. By the time they realize the truth, we'll be long gone."
I watched Sontae play in the water, laughing and splashing, completely oblivious to everything that had happened. Completely unaware that his daddy and mama thought he was dead. And I didn't feel bad. Not even a little bit.