Page 13 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

He rises from his knees, his hair slick and straight and hanging in an awkward line like a cartoon character.

Before he passes Nan, he hugs her legs, letting her know he forgives her. Her hard exterior cracks as she pats his shoulder, then shoos him out of the bathroom.

“If you don’t help her tonight, I will. After I kill you.”

I heave myself up and begin to clean up the bathroom. “I die, and he is still sent away. Them niggas answer to me, Nan. Even in death.”

She bares her teeth again, but the old bat refuses to speak English.

“Why must you torment her? What has she done to you? You cannot stand him, but you’re just like–”

“Quit while you’re fucking ahead,” I seethe, dropping the brush into the sink. I meet her unflinching gaze in the mirror and nearly dent the counter with how tight I’m holding it.

She smirks back at me victoriously. It’s not often she can compare me to my sperm donor, but any time she can, she jumps on it for her own manipulative gains.

And I hate that I’m such a slave to not being like that bitch ass nigga, that I play into her hand each and every time.

I turn around and face my grandmother. “She is not Ayani. She is not Areeanna. You think these strays we pick up can be molded into the daughters you wish you had, but they can’t. That’s why Mars is growing up without his mother, or did you forget?”

Her eyes stretch with hatred, and I keep the smirk I want to show at bay.

“Snow is mine. I find out you’re anywhere near her, for any reason, and I mean it, Nan. I’m taking Mars back to Kenton, and you’ll never see him again.”

Her eyes narrow as she smiles at me. I think she’s going to call my bluff, until she just shakes her head. “Identical.”

With that, she leaves me alone.

The house is asleep by the time I make my way to Snow. The syringe is heavy in my pocket, but deep down, I know this is the right thing to do.

If only so she can be healthy when I put a bullet between her eyes.

A healthy Snow means endless possibilities of ending her. Watching her waste away isn’t as fun as I’d hoped, especially with Mars now asking questions about the wailing woman on the other side of the villa.

Punching in the code on the new lock of her wing, I enter, closing and locking both doors behind me until I’m in her room.

The padded cuffs are new.

As is the pajama set Snow is sweating through.

She’s lost even more weight, and can barely keep water down.

Her hair hasn’t grown either, probably from the stress her body is under.

Shallow breaths fill the room as the moonlight bathes her gaunt form. It smells like death in here.

Miele, another distant cousin, bathed her, changed her, and the sheets. She reported that she didn’t even need help, that the fight has left her.

Snow is dying.

I creep to the side of her bed and take out the alcohol wipe, cleansing her other arm. The track mark in the other is slow healing, but at least it’s not infected.

Her eyes flutter when I tighten my grip on her arm.

“Rico,” she whispers, her lips so chapped they’re bleeding.

I don’t answer her. My eyes stay on her arm as I take out the syringe and pop the safety cap off.

I’ve read up on ibogaine. One dose will have her fucked up for ninety-six hours. Most of them she’ll be hallucinating, going through her life and watching it unfold like a spectator as her body rewires itself.