“Oh, my god. Azmir, are you okay? I know he’s no longer in your life, but he used to be your mentor. I don’t know why you two ended your relationship, but this has to be killing you inside.” Rayna speaks low, and with wide eyes filled with great concerned.
If only she knew how arrogant his ass was when he’d met with Yazmine for the first time after her release from prison. She said pompousness dripped from him as he all but told her that my father was a distant memory and the details of his death were no more important than his 1986 income tax filings. Yazmine was really shaken up about that. I’d never asked her about her agreement with the FBI because I wanted no parts of them. So, Big D’s arrest came at a surprise to me. I’d had another way of dealing with him about his order to burn my place in Pasadena, but the FEDs had caught up to him before I’d been able to confront him.
“I’m fine with it.” I give an expectant pause to prepare myself for the next detail I need to share with her. “I’m fine with it because it’s my father that he’s been accused of murdering,” Her beautiful lips parts. “He arranged to have him murdered.”
Rayna then cups her mouth. She looks as though she’s sick. After a moment, she whispers, “This is crazy! Azmir, I’m so sorry.” She then takes one hand and goes for mine.
“It was a shocking discovery, but after some time…I’m dealing with it.” Morally, that’s the best answer I can give. I observe her eyebrows narrowing under the dim lights of the room. “Before you ask, I first heard about the alleged murder a few months back, just after my birthday. I didn’t want to believe it at first—shit, I didn’t believe it at first.” I swallow back the memory of the sensation I felt when I learned of it. “But since then the evidence has mounted.”
Rayna gasps, “Azmir!” she whispers. “What does Yazmine have to say about all of this? I’m sure she’s sick all over again from losing her husband.”
“She knows. Her early release from prison was contingent on helping with his arrest, though I’m not sure how much she has. She’s how I found out.” Rayna’s eyes grow bigger. “Listen, baby, I really hate hitting you with this shit. And in all honesty, I’ve waited to tell you, not wanting to worry you. But I had to make you aware because of the level of complexity of my relationship with Daryl.”
“What does that mean?” she asks, aghast.
“It means that although he committed the most reprehensible offense against me, there is still this debris of obligation I have to him.”
“And what is that?”
“His estate,” is the easiest way I can term this. “There is money left aside, privately for his…family in the event of an untimely death or, in this case, an emergency. This is something he’s shared with only me or I’d fucking walk away without giving two shits about anything concerning him.”
I fucking hate having to explain this shit to my lady on behalf of D’s fucked up ass, but there’s a degree of loyalty I have to keep with. Something that will be the last act of devotion I’ll give to this depraved fucker. Something I know will not sit well with Rayna, which is why I’ve been mindful of what I share with her.
Rayna’s eyelashes flutter. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, anticipating what’s coming next. “What do you have to do?” She clears her throat nervously. “What’s your obligation to him…to them?”
“It’s just instructions and distribution, something I’ve been dragging my feet on and will continue to do until—”
“Until?” she asks anxiously. I know this pushes her to the edge. But she’s asked that I not keep things from her, especially regarding Tara.
“Until his family makes it clear that the money is needed. At that time I will instruct, distribute, and say goodbye…forever.” I watch raptly as Rayna processes my words. She understands this ultimately means Tara.
Her eyelids that are clad in gold and bronze eye shadow slowly close and her luscious nude lips collapse. I grow gravely concerned. Rayna, historically, hasn’t done very well with adversity in our relationship—or outsiders to our bubble, as she’s termed it. I want to know what she’s thinking. I wish I had a mole inside that incommunicado mind of hers that’s constantly overworked where I’m concerned. She’s always doubted me. Questioned my devotion to her. Challenged my exclusive commitment to her. I don’t want another flight attempt. I need her flexibility on this. Her lips make infinitesimal movements as if she’s already firing off her opposition of what I’m presenting.
My anxiety begins to skyrocket. I have to say something; I need to intercept her dissension. To offset her rebellion. I know it’s coming, I just hope I can effectively block it. Shit! This is going to be a long night. A cold and lonely night for me. My mouth opens to speak, only I have no fucking clue what I’m going to say.
But before I can align my brain with my voice, she blurts, “Okay.”