chapter
one
Naasson’s breathingrefused to steady and his heartrate was incapable of slowing down until he made it out of London City Airport. For the almost eight hours that he was in the air, Naasson imagined every scenario possible that could occur once he landed, and none of them were good. The majority of them included him being detained at the airport because the fake ID on his passport had been flagged in the system. Three years ago, Naasson didn’t hesitate to pay top dollar for fake documents including birth certificate, passport, and social security card. Back then it seemed like a good idea, but when he was actually on the run, the idea seemed kind of stupid. The entire time he was in the airport, his airway felt constricted, and breathing was uncomfortable. The way his heart was racing, Naasson just knew he’d have a heart attack and drop dead at any moment. But he’d made it. He had made it outside the airport and was approaching a taxi or what they called a black cab in London, to take him to The Waldorf Hilton.
Between his wallet, his pockets, and the one bag he’d brought with him, Naasson had $10,000 cash on him. He also had $55,000 back in the states that he’d given to his best friend, Josias, to send to him via Cash App and Apple pay in smallincrements. Naasson didn’t have a bank account, and trying to bring $65,000 through the airport would get him flagged for real. In the back of the taxi, Naasson closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He’d gotten himself into a fine ass mess thanks to his quick temper. He clenched his teeth together and rested his head on the seat. Life would never be the same after this, and he had nobody to blame but himself.
Naasson didn’t even have a cell phone. He’d written down every important number in his phone before breaking his iPhone into pieces. He was on ten. A ball of nerves, and he needed to come down before he lost his shit. Naasson opened his eyes and glanced at the cell phone that the driver had mounted on the dash. They had five more miles to go before they were at Deen’s hotel. It was three in the morning, and he was more than likely asleep. Naasson’s cousin had only been in London for three days, and he was about to get the surprise of a lifetime. He was set to be in London for the next eight weeks shooting a movie. He had a production company that Naasson had invested in, and the first project was being filmed. Naasson wasn’t in London to check on his investment, however. He was in London because he needed to get the fuck out of the states ASAP. He was a wanted man, and jail wasn’t in his plans. Not now.
When the taxi driver finally arrived at the hotel, Naasson paid him and offered a generous tip. He hadn’t had the chance to buy a burner phone, so he had to stop by the front desk. There was a blonde-haired white girl working check-in, and she didn’t look any older than eighteen.
“Hey,” Naasson started. “I just got off a nine-hour flight, and my cellphone battery is dead. My cousin, Deen Mills is staying at this hotel. You don’t have to give me his room number but if you could, could you call his room and let him know that his cousin, Naasson Jericho is in the lobby?” He eyed the woman’s name tag and saw that her name was Elsie.
“I can absolutely do that for you. Let me just locate the room number.”
Naasson looked around the grand lobby as Elise’s fingers tapped the computer keys swiftly. After a few moments, she picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. Naasson was exhausted. He wanted a shower and a bed. He was sure that Deen only had one bed in his room and for as tired as his body was, he didn’t want to sleep on a couch or a pullout bed. Naasson listened as Elise repeated the words that he’d instructed her to say.
“Very well. Thank you, sir.” She ended the call and looked at Naasson. “Your cousin is in room, 1237.”
“Thank you, but I just thought about the fact that he probably only has one bed in his room, and I’m tired. Do you have any rooms available?”
Elise’s fingers pecked away at the keys. “We do have one queen suite available. Would you like to book?”
Naasson hadn’t had a chance to convert any of his money to British Pounds, but he knew the room was $343 a night in American dollars. He booked the room and got his key. He was in room 1112, but he decided to stop by Deen’s room first since he’d already announced his presence. When the elevator doors slid open, Naasson was so tired, and his head was reeling to the point that he swayed slightly as if he was drunk. With a sigh, he located Deen’s room and tapped on the door with his knuckles. The door opened immediately, and Deen’s brows were furrowed with confusion.
“Fuck is you doing in London?” he asked in a raspy voice still filled with sleep.
“It’s a long ass muhfuckin’ story,” Naasson shook his head as he crossed the threshold of the room. “I did some shit that’s probably going to get me a lot of years in prison if I get caught.I didn’t know what else to do besides get the fuck out of the country.”
Deen pushed out a deep sigh as he leaned against the wall. He was no stranger to adversity. He caught a charge at the age of twenty and spent fifteen years in prison. He came home at thirty-five determined to turn his life around. When he got the idea to start a production company and had a script in his hand that he felt confident in, it was Naasson that gave him money for the project, but it wasn’t enough to fund the entire project. Deen shot music videos for wannabe rappers and edited YouTube videos for vloggers. He worked 9-5’s and did what he had to do to get enough money to be able to travel to London to shoot this movie. Naasson knew it would take a minute for him to get his money back with interest, but he wasn’t worried. As long as Deen owed him, he’d never be broke. Deen peered at his thirty-year-old cousin and wondered what the man had gotten himself into.
“You gon’ tell me what’s good?” Deen asked.
Naasson’s eyes darted across the room. “I need some liquor. I know there has to be a mini bar in this expensive ass room. I just paid for my own room for four nights, and that shit is expensive as fuck. It should come with free meals or something,” he mumbled.
Deen knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so he pushed up off the wall and headed over to the minibar. After passing Naasson a shot bottle of Jack Daniels, he sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for the information that he was fiending for. Naasson was too tired to even scowl at the bottle that he’d taken from Deen. Never in his life had he ever drunk Jack Daniels, but he was about to throw that shit back like water. Naasson twisted the cap off and took a huge gulp that almost emptied the small bottle. After clearing his throat and wincing through the burn in his chest, he finished it off.
“I got into it with Brandon. He popped off and got real disrespectful, and before that he put his hands on my sister. I beat his ass, and he went to his car and got a gun, and I fired that ass up. He’s dead.”
Deen’s eyes slowly closed as he mouthed,fuck. His eyes opened, and he peered into Naasson’s weary face. “Got damn, Naasson.”
“I know. I know. Shit was stupid, but it’s done now. Kamryn called me from the hospital and told me that his cousin told the police I did it.”
“He had a gun though. You can’t say it was self-defense?” Deen attempted to reason.
“You think my black ass was gon’ stick around and find out? You know the rules always seem to be different for us. I didn’t actuallyseethe gun. From the way he was talking, I assumed he had one, and I wasn’t going to wait to find out.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Deen hated this for Naasson because it was his hopes that this movie would make them enough money that he could keep going with his production company and that Naasson would get out of the streets. Deen was only six years older than Naasson, but he wanted the best for him, and prison wasn’t it.
“I have enough money to lay low over here for a bit. By the time that starts getting low, maybe your movie will be doing what it needs to do, and I can get the bread from that.”
“Okay but Naa, that money won’t last forever. You can’t stay in London forever without some money coming in. What do you do besides sling dope?”
“I invest in other people, nigga. If I invested in your shit once, I can do it again. My name isn’t Naasson over here. It’s Sadiq. I have a fake passport, social, and birth certificate. They’re looking for me back in North Carolina. No one will ever be looking formy black ass in London. If I have to stay over here until the day I die, I will.”
Deen didn’t see that happening. London was a lovely place, but Naasson was a street nigga through and through. He’d be over London in a week tops. Once he got homesick, he may rethink that reasoning. Whatever the case may be, there was nothing they could do about it now. Deen looked at the clock on the nightstand.
“I have to be on set in six more hours. I need some sleep. Tomorrow is a ten-hour day. You’re here now, and you’re safe. We both might as well get some sleep.”
