My mother kept her promise and kept me a secret. The only person who knew about me was the housekeeper, Neffy, who was around my mother’s age. My mother even purchased a second home for me to live in with Neffy. She told me the resemblance between Smooth and me was too uncanny. One look at my red hair and the connection would be made.

  Growing up, I never understood why I had to be kept a secret. I never understood why I couldn’t play with the other kids or why my school was almost an hour away. But as I grew, my mother put me up on game. I was always a smart kid. I knew my mother didn’t work an ordinary job, and we were rich. I was driven around in a limo whenever I left home to go somewhere, and I had the best of everything.

  The day I opened her bedroom door without knocking and saw her loading a pistol and saw a whole brick of cocaine on the table in front of her was the day she broke everything down to me. I was 16. She told me that I had to be kept a secret because nobody knew what happened the night my father was killed, and she promised him that no one would ever know about his only child. She also told me how we got all our money and that one day, the entire empire my father had built would be mine. She then gave me the pistol, instructed me to go on the balcony outside her room, and empty the clip in the sky. Intrigued, I grabbed the gun and did as I was told. When the deed was done, I looked back at her with a grin, only to be surprised by the grim look in her hazel eyes.

  “What goes up must come down, Fire.” She called me by my nickname and averted her eyes to the sky. “You just took your first life.”

  Her words mortified me, but I understood the meaning behind them. I dropped the smoking gun and stared at my mother, knowing she had just initiated me without my knowledge. The next day on the news, a woman was reported dead in the street beside her car. The newscaster said the angle that the bullet was lodged in her head proved that it had come from the sky. My mother had been right . . . I’d just taken my first life. When guilt began to plague my 16-year-old mind, my mother ended it quickly. She told me innocent people died every day and that there would be many more bodies to follow in my world. She told me that I must feel nothing. She took me under her wing and taught me everything Smooth taught her before me.

  At first, she gave me small tasks like counting money. Next was learning how to tell good product from bad product, and learning the values. I was given my first pistol as a graduation gift when I graduated high school. That summer, I didn’t do the things that most girls my age were doing. I wasn’t preparing for college because that was the last thing on my mind. I practiced my aim all summer by shooting at still or moving targets. My mother also taught me to move silently by becoming one with the shadows. She said that a boss has control of her environment, and by becoming a part of it, she can never be caught slipping. Smooth’s military training was instilled in my mother, making her the ultimate killing machine.

  “Your daddy could have given me all his secret information he wanted to,” my mother would tell me whenever I got frustrated with her teachings. “But if he hadn’t worked me and taught me everything I’m teaching you, I would either be dead or on the arm of some motherfucka who could never hold a candle to your father. Understand? I’m not just teaching you how to run the business, Fire. I’m teaching you how to survive. You are a beautiful young woman, and you can get any man with your looks. But with what I’m instilling inside you, you can control them. Despite these goons we have patrolling around us wherever we go, realize you are your own army. They are just an extension of you. Remember that.”

  I replayed those words in my mind quite often. I thought of the last time I ever saw my mother alive . . .

  “Fire, if you leave and go anywhere today, let me know where you are going, and don’t forget to wear your wig. You have a hair appointment for your sew-in tomorrow.”

  “OK, Mama,” I replied as I sat at our huge dining room table, eating Cheerios and watching music videos. I glanced up at her and smirked.

  She was dressed in a cream Burberry two-button pants suit with her hair pulled up on her head. Her accessories were minimal, just diamond square-cut earrings and her favorite diamond charm bracelet. It had a charm with the first letter of her name, my name, and Smooth’s. Her shape resembled that of a pear, and her makeup was on point, as usual. My mother had seen millions and always walked out of the house looking like it.

  Another day at the office, I thought to myself and ate the rest of my cereal.

  “I love you, Mama,” I told her when she grabbed her Burberry handbag off the marble counter. “When will you be home, or are you staying at the other house?”

  She stopped in her tracks, turned, and came to where I sat at the table. She pulled me in her arms tight and kissed my forehead.

  “I love you too, baby,” she said and assured me she would be home. “I won’t be too long. I just need to tie up a few loose ends with Jah. Close out a business deal.”

  “Jah? I don’t like him, Mama,” I told her like I always told her.

  “You don’t even know him, Fire,” my mother said like always. “He was loyal to your daddy and is good to me.”

  “All right, Mama, whatever. I’ll see you later,” I told her and blew her a kiss.

  She caught it and pressed her balled fist to her chest.

  “I love you, baby,” she said again, and with that, she swished out of the kitchen and was gone.

  When she left, I felt myself nod off at the table until Neffy woke me up, telling me it was time to go to the library. I got up from the table, ran to my room, threw on a yellow sundress, and put on some simple flip-flops. My driver, Paul, dropped me off at the library. He told me he would be back to get me in two hours, and as soon as he pulled off, I ran back outside to the street to the black Dodge Charger that had just pulled up.

  “Hey, baby,” I exclaimed once inside.

  I hugged the boy I had secretly seen for the past few months. Tommy was sexy as hell, and he was a few years older than me. He was a typical dough boy, but he made good money. He was muscular with tattoos and curly hair pulled back into a ponytail with a baby face. I wouldn’t say we were together. The only thing we did when we were together was having sex. That’s all that I could make time for. He would try to take me on dates, but I could never sneak away for them. His eyes smiled at me before his mouth did.

  “Wassup, babe?” he said and kissed me.

  He drove away from the library, already knowing the drill. We talked briefly until he pulled into the empty parking garage for a company a few blocks from the library. As soon as the shadows shielded us, we went at each other. His lips met mine passionately, and our tongues explored each other’s mouths. His hands fondled my breasts before pulling my dress down in the front and tenderly kissing my nipples. His tongue circled each nipple before he sucked and bit down on them, and a tingly feeling shot through my body down to where my pussy was purring.

  “Mmm,” I moaned, reaching for the bulge in his denim jeans. I unzipped them and pulled out his thick eight inches. Reaching into his pocket, I pulled out a condom he had there and slid it on for him. “Can I have it?”

  As I asked him, I kicked off my flip-flops, leaned against the door, and opened my legs to him, revealing that I wasn’t wearing any panties. I used my middle finger to circle my clit and touch my wetness. I was pleasing myself so well my head fell backward, and I relished the feeling. Tommy’s answer was to lift me over the armrest and set me down on his dick. I moaned loudly as his dick rammed inside of me. He knew I liked it rough and didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath before he began pounding upwardly. My vaginal walls were tight around his shaft, and my hands rested on his shoulders. My body was relaxed as he had his way with me. Tommy loved doing all the work.

  “Sierra . . . fuck,” Tommy said, burying his face in my neck. His large hands palmed my round behind while he used his muscles to bounce me up and down.

  The car was rocking and filled with my squeals of pleasure. I felt my nut building up, and I began to grind into him until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Oooh, shiiit,” I exclaimed as my body bucked. I threw my head back and felt his body jerking as well.

  “Damn, baby,” Tommy said, catching his breath, and we smiled at each other. “You have the best puss—”

  He stopped midsentence with a look on his face like he was confused. His eyes were on my hair. My hands shot to my head, and I felt the wig was no longer there.

  “Shit,” I said and hoisted myself off him. I quickly grabbed the wig, placing it back on my head.

  It was too late, however. He’d already seen that my hair was as red as fire.

  “Can you take me back to the library, please?” I casually said like nothing had just happened.

  Tommy just looked at me with the same funny look on his face. He didn’t say anything, though. He did as I asked. When we pulled in front of the library, I saw that I still had a lot of time to kill, so I fixed myself and made sure my wig was in place. I didn’t bother to kiss him farewell. I knew he was on funny time, and I was not in the mood for any questions.

  “I’ll see you later, Tommy,” I told him. “I’ll call you, OK?”

  “A’ight,” was all he said, and with that, I exited the vehicle and ran back into the library.

  I thought it would be like any Thursday when I got home that evening. I took a shower and changed my clothes as soon as I arrived. I thought that I would chill out for the rest of the day, go out in the woods behind our house to practice my aim, and Neffy would make spaghetti like she did every Thursday. But when my mother came home that night, she didn’t look at all like the way she left. I was upstairs in my room when I heard the doorbell ring, and shortly after, I heard Neffy’s spine-chilling scream. I threw aside the book I was reading and jumped off my bed as fast as possible, worried about Neffy’s well-being. I ran out of my room and down the stairs to the foyer, tripping over my own feet. When I reached her, I saw Neffy slowly backing away from the open front door with her hand clutching her heart. Her whole body was visibly trembling when I went and grabbed her shoulders.

  “Neffy, what’s wrong?” I asked, concerned, searching her face.

  She didn’t answer me; instead, she stared outside past the open front door at something on the stoop. I stepped slowly to the door to see what had shaken her up so badly. An unbearable odor crept into my nostrils before I saw the large cardboard box on the front stoop. The closer I got to the door, the stronger the smell got. The bottom of the box was soaked, and a red liquid was seeping onto the concrete stoop. My breathing slowed as I used one hand to cover my nose and reached the other to pull back one of the top flaps on the box. When I saw the contents of the box, my heart instantly stopped, and I screamed louder than Neffy had. What I stared at was a severed body, and on top was an arm . . . an arm with my mother’s charm bracelet on it. I dropped to the ground and scooted back into the house as fast as possible, hysterical.

  “No,” I screamed. “No, no, no, no!”

  My sobs filled the whole house. My mother was dead. She was inside the box. The liquid on the stoop was blood—my mother’s blood. Neffy must have snapped to her senses because she ran and slammed the door shut. She then tried to get me off the ground, but I kept wriggling from her grasp, screaming and crying.

  “We must go, Sierra!” she said urgently, calling me by my first name. “Hurry. We must go now!”

  Everything was a blur to me. I felt like my heart had been ripped out and used as target practice. My whole body was numb. Neffy shoved three duffle bags in my arms and rushed me to the back, where a car was already waiting. She then hurried back into the house and returned holding a metal briefcase. When she finally got into the car, I smelled gasoline on her. I looked back at the house . . . into my home . . . and saw a fire growing inside it.

  “Go, Paul,” Neffy instructed our driver, who had been with us for years. “Get us far away from here.”

  Three days later, I had made it my personal assignment to find out who was responsible for my mother’s death. And I did. That was a week ago. I waited patiently and devised a plan for how I was going to kill each and every one of them.

  Chapter 2

  My mom must have known that the way she lived would take her life one day. Long before she died, she gave Neffy access to all her accounts and all the information about her underground business. She even told her the name of the connect and how to contact him. She made Neffy take an oath to protect me no matter what, and that was exactly what she did. Neffy explained why she had to burn down my home and why we couldn’t stay there. Nobody knew about that house, or so we had thought. If my mother’s body was delivered there, Neffy realized they knew of the location and were making a statement. Neffy told me she didn’t think anybody knew about me, but if they ran up in the house, they would clearly see three rooms being used, all our pictures, and she couldn’t risk that.

  I was lost. I had never been without my mother. The reality of the matter hadn’t hit me yet. She always told me the day would come when she would be taken from me, and I would have to be strong just like she had to be when Smooth was killed. I just never assumed it would be so soon. Neffy handled business. Within two days, we had another roof over our heads, tucked off in the suburbs with furniture and new wardrobes.

  When I brought up the other house my mother stayed in, she told me that was where my mom kept all her work. In the basement was a cellar with a trap door. Neffy said that only me, my mother, and my father could open it. The morning I saw my mother, she said she had some business to attend to. I assumed that she had re-upped. But even the mention of going to that house was out of the question to Neffy. She almost had a heart attack the day I decided I was going. I was already dressed in an all-black hoodie and cargos, ready to go. I had my hair pulled back with a bandanna and wore running shoes. The only thing I didn’t have was my pistol, and I regretted not grabbing it from my room. I wasn’t too upset, however. Getting a throwaway in the streets was nothing.

  “Hell no! So whoever got your mother can get you too?” Neffy said to me on our third night in the new house. She waved her hands in the air. “No. Absolutely not. I promised your mother—”

  “I know what you promised her,” I exclaimed, sitting on our new couch. “But I have to go to that house. It’s been two days since she—People know, the streets talk, and I know people are getting in position to take her place already. I’m going, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. You’re not my mother, Neffy.”

  Neffy stared at me for a moment. She sat before me in jeans and a T-shir, looking like she didn’t know what to say. Her long hair was down, making her chocolate face look like a heart. Her full lips were pursed, and her almond-brown eyes looked lost. What she didn’t know was that I had already made up my mind. I didn’t have any more guidance. I was going based on instinct. I was going to the house, and it would be only my second trip there. My first was earlier that day when I cased the place.

  The way Neffy stared back at me, I knew she understood there was no stopping me. She stood up and left the small country-style living room for a few minutes. When she returned, she had the same metal briefcase she’d had when she exited our old house. She sat on the couch across from me and slid the briefcase across the table. She said nothing; she didn’t need to. I grabbed the briefcase by the handle, pulling it closer to me. When I opened it, I saw two things that meant the world to me: my pistol and my mother’s bracelet.

  Neffy had to have gotten the bracelet from my mother’s severed arm, I knew that was probably a hard task, but I was very thankful at that moment for her. Suddenly, the thought of my mother’s body in that cardboard box burning down with our home was too much to bear. Instantly, I shook the thought out of my head. I refused to think about it. I placed the bracelet on my arm and went over to the couch to hug Neffy tight. When we broke our embrace, she kissed my cheek.

  “Paul will take you,” she told me. “Tell him to make sure he uses the back streets. Be careful, Sierra. You are like your mother in many ways. Being fearless is a strength, but it was also her biggest weakness.”

  With that, she left the living room, leaving me by myself. When she was gone, I grabbed my pistol, checked the clip, and left. I was determined to get to where I knew I needed to be. Paul was already in the front of the house, waiting for me. Walking down the sidewalk toward the street where the Maybach was parked, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned my head just in time to see a boy around my age sitting on the porch of the house next to the one Neffy and I were staying in. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white T-shirt with a black Nike sign. On his feet he wore Nike flip-flops and high Nike ankle socks.

  “Damn, girl,” he said, smiling and showing off his all-white perfect smile. “Who you finna go at?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. Dude was beyond handsome, I would give him that. His waves were so deep I could get seasick, but right then was definitely not the time to try to speak to me.

  “You, if you don’t shut the fuck up talking to me,” I told him and glared at him. Then I kept walking.

  I had reached the car by then. Paul opened my door, and I climbed in the back.

  “If the boys come looking for you, I got you. I ain’t see nothin’,” the boy joked, and I gave him the middle finger.

  “Bitch,” I said under my breath.

  Paul got into the car and pulled off.

  The Maybach’s tinted windows shielded me from the boy’s continued stare, but I paid him no mind. I was only focused on the task at hand. Next to me was a duffle bag I would need to stuff the cocaine in.

  In and out, I thought to myself.

  Although my mother’s job in life was to keep me a secret and introduce me to the world when the time was right, I don’t think she understood that no time would ever be right. There would always be a hungry nigga trying to come up. She learned the hard way. Paul pulled slowly into the neighborhood on the next block from the house.