The Prada Plan 2. Ashley Antoinette
YaYa. If we report Sky missing, this place will be crawling with the feds within the hour, and they’ll want to know everything. Everyone will be a suspect, including me. What I do and how I get my money will come under scrutiny.”
YaYa shook her head in total disbelief as she stormed toward Indie, her eyes ablaze with anger. “I don’t give a fuck, Indie! She’s our daughter. They can take both of our asses to prison as long as they get her back. Give me the phone!” she demanded as she lunged to grab it from his hand.
Indie held the phone away from YaYa’s reach, which only made her cry harder as she wrestled him for it. With a lack of someone to blame, she began to turn on him. He became her enemy.
“Give me the fucking phone! I hate you!” she screamed. Inside, she knew that she could never mean those words, not when it came to Indie, but at the moment, he was making her feel so helpless that they just slipped out. Her love for her daughter surpassed that of any man, including Indie, and she was reacting the only way she knew how.
She pushed Indie with all of her might, taking her frustrations out on him as she hit him repeatedly in the chest. “Somebody took her! How can you just stand there? I need that phone!” she yelled as snot and tears mixed on her face.
Indie grabbed her wrists and turned her around so that her back was facing him, and he restrained her gently as he hugged her to his body. “Shhh…. Everything is going to be okay. Calm down for me, ma. Just breathe,” he whispered in her ear as sobs caused her to tremble.
She gasped for air as she began to hyperventilate, but Indie continued to hold onto her. For the past half hour, she had been falling into despair and fear had taken over her, but Indie had caught her. He was her rock, and he was slowly soothing her nerves and bringing her back to sanity. His baritone was like therapy to her as she closed her eyes and let her tears fall.
Indie was glad that he was holding her from behind. If she were facing him, she would have seen the tears forming in his own eyes and the uncertainty that lingered in his heart. He loved his family more than anything, and seeing the love of his life so broken was crushing. He could feel the tension leaving YaYa’s body as she stopped fighting him.
“What am I going to do?” she asked.
Indie slid the phone into her hands and said, “You’re her mother, YaYa, but she’s my daughter too. They’re going to have to put me in the ground to stop me from finding her. I need you to trust me, ma. I’m going to handle this, but if you feel like you need to call the police, go ahead. Do what’s in your heart, I won’t be mad. But if you trust in me, ma, put down the phone. I’ll bring her home.”
YaYa’s mind spun as she contemplated her options. If she called the police, then she would feel peace of mind, but could they really help her? She had seen all of those news specials about children who had been abducted only to never be heard from again. There was a good possibility that even law enforcement would not be able to bring her baby home. Indie, on the other hand, had never let her down. She trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone else in her life, and she knew that there was no one safer to put her faith in than him. She didn’t know shit about Houston, but she knew that Indie ran the city. Her daughter’s chances were better if she allowed Indie to hold court in the streets.
YaYa dropped the phone at her side and turned to face her man. “I’m scared,” she said as she stared at him through glistening, tear-filled eyes. “But I trust you. Please, Indie, bring our daughter back. If something happens to her, I don’t know what I would do.”
Indie kissed the top of her head and then put both of his hands on the sides of her face. “I have to go out for a minute, ma. Will you be okay here by yourself?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
She nodded as he released her. He raced up the stairs and disappeared into their bedroom and dressed quickly.
“What are you going to do?” she asked as he came back into view.
“I’m going to handle it, ma. Try not to worry yourself sick,” he said as he pecked her cheek quickly. He was trying to play it cool and keep it calm in front of YaYa. The last thing he wanted her to see was his panic, but if she could see inside of him, she would know his true fear. His insides were boiling, and his heart was beating so quickly that it felt as if he were having a heart attack. “I’m going to make everything okay,” he assured with opaque confidence.
She wanted to believe in him, but the feeling that gripped her when he walked out of the door was haunting. Chills of doubt crawled up her spine, and the little bit of hope that Indie had left her with quickly abandoned her as soon as she heard the lock click behind him. She hoped that she had made the right choice, because her entire existence depended on it. Even in her darkest hour she had never felt so lost. To be responsible for the protection of such an innocent life was a daunting task.
I’m her mother. I was supposed to keep her safe, she thought dismally as she allowed the blame to fall on her shoulders. Her spirit was heavy with burden as she closed her eyes and imagined her infant’s face in her mind.
Placing her hand against her chest, she gasped for air as she began to pray. Please, God, protect my baby. Just don’t let them hurt her.
This blow weakened her, but there was one thing that she knew for sure—if anything happened to her daughter, there would be hell to pay.
The cocaine-colored Maybach ripped through the streets of Houston leaving burnt rubber on the pavement as Indie raced to Mekhi’s house. He didn’t even waste time parking the car when he pulled up to his partner’s crib. He pulled his vehicle directly onto the grass all the way up to the front porch and then hopped out. His hand was fixed and ready on his waistline as he knocked the hinges off the front door. He could smell the aroma of the pungent weed smoke that was filtering out of the house as soon as the door opened.
Indie was viewing the world through a murder-filled haze, and when Mekhi opened the door, he immediately became the focus of Indie’s wrath. Mekhi’s smile of welcome was instantly replaced by confusion as Indie placed a pistol in the center of his forehead and grabbed Mekhi’s neck with his free hand. Indie didn’t give a fuck that they were on the same team. In the past there had been shade between them—a hood rivalry, a street beef—and Indie wasn’t playing games.
He had just acquired the townhome that he had put YaYa in. Only a select few people knew its location, and amongst those who knew, Mekhi aka Khi-P was the only nigga he had ever had beef with. It was loyalty or death, and he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Khi-P was content with his current position in the game.
“Nigga, where the fuck is my shorty?” Indie asked through clenched teeth as he backed Khi-P into his own home. It wasn’t until he was fully inside that he noticed his young gunner, Chase, was present, along with his li’l cook-up crew, Trina, Miesha, and Sydney.
“Whoa, my dude! Fuck is up, my nigga?” Khi-P protested with wide eyes as his hands shot up in his own defense.
“You still got beef with me? Huh, Khi? After all the money I’ve helped you get. After putting you on, you come into my home…what? You ain’t seen me put my murder game down so you think it’s a game, nigga?” Indie stated.
“Indie…fam, let’s put the gun down and talk about this shit like brothers. I don’t know what the fuck you on, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect. We on the same team, fam. Where you coming from with this shit?” Khi-P asked, his eyebrows raised in concern from the fear of the unknown.
Nothing about Khi-P was soft. He didn’t have a sweet bone in his body, but real recognized real, and the look of passion in Indie’s eyes let him know that this was not the time for macho games. Safety off and hell-bent on revenge, Indie would not hesitate to pop a nigga. From one killer to another, Khi-P conceded respectfully.
“You on some foul shit right now,” he stated with displeasure. He made sure that his tone was diplomatic, but still stern. They were both men, and gun or no gun, Indie was out of order. They should never be a target in each other’s crosshairs.
“They came into my