An Embarr*ing Death



’ve always yearned for an honorable death. Let my chest be full of bullets. Let my corpse’s arm be locked around my enemy’s neck, dragging him with me to hell’s door.

And the only admirable death in bed would involve a hard * and a gorgeous woman. Extra points earned if there were more than one woman.

But let there be blood. Let there be explosions and cries of horror as I go. Let my name ride the cold chill of nightmares. Let my last words forever be written in gold and whispered among legends.

Due to this, I kept my two favorite guns close—Cain and Abel. This ensured that I would be ready for any enemy and would look good as I killed them.

But never

did I want to be discovered,

cold and dead,

while wearing a gown and wig.

It would be the biggest joke amongst gangsters.

Who did this to Romeo?

In a circle, Marcelo, Lei, Chanel, and I gathered around our dead friend.

Lost to us forever, Romeo stood cold and stiff in the brothel suite. The killer had propped him up like a mannequin with wooden stands, rope, and nails. Usually, Romeo’s long black dreadlocks fell around his face and hit his shoulders.

For some reason, the killer put a Marie Antoinette wig on him. The powder-white hair piece was stacked in layers of curls that reached a foot in the air.

Makeup covered Romeo’s brown face—pink cheeks, purple eye shadow, and candy red lips. He wore a shimmering silk gown that was cinched at the waist with a sheer golden sash. The gown’s bottom half flared out into an extreme egg-shaped skirt.

One would have thought my old friend was off to a ball to meet Prince Charming. Surely, he would have stolen the prince’s heart.

Romeo looked gorgeous. If one didn’t focus too much on the death and suffering, many would agree. His cheeks never looked rosier. His eyes came alive with beauty.

I’m thankful to the killer for cleaning up the blood.

Marcelo walked over to me. His green eyes watered, but I knew he would never let a tear drop. I also noted that his eyes were less dilated and there was no white powder on his nose.

He must have a fight coming up.

Long black curls fell over Marcelo’s forehead. The sides of his head were cut into a fade. At 6’4, I usually towered over most, but he met my height.

“Dimitri.” Marcelo lowered his voice. “Thoughts?”

“Romeo doesn’t look bad as a woman.” I shrugged. “The purple eye shadow really ties it all in with the golden sash.”

Marcelo glared at me. “Our friend is dead, and all you can think about is how some psycho made him look pretty?”

“I was trying to find the silver lining on a very dark cloud.”

He studied me like most did—with disgust, yet fascination.

Sighing, I pulled out my mini book and pen, flipped it open, and jotted down a new note.

Don’t compliment a dead friend’s dress. The people who are alive don’t like it.

That was the problem with Asperger’s syndrome. I never knew if I was providing the appropriate social response. Most of the time, I mimicked others and tried to blend in.

All my life, my mother thought it was best to keep my Asperger’s a secret.

The only spectrum that people knew in my world, was Spectrum Casino in the South.

When I slipped in behavior, most *umed I was a sociopath. My mother loved it. For her, it would be better if other gangsters thought I was psychotic verses handicaped.

Marcelo watched me. “What did you write down?”

I closed the little book and kept it near me. “Nothing.”

“Do you have anything else to say, Dimitri?” Marcelo folded his big arms over his chest.

Many called Marcelo the Paradise Playboy. It was false. I *ed more women than him.

Against my will, we shared a tailor. It made sense. We were both big men with broad shoulders and muscular builds. Plus, my tailor, London was the best in the city.

Today, Marcelo wore a leprechaun green suit to represent his crew’s colors. Marcelo led the Row Street Mob and ruled the southern part of Paradise City. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The only jewelry he wore was the Rolex wrapped around his wrist. Which was all diamonds and white gold.

I shook my head at his suit. “Why would you force London to make that for you?”

“My suit?” Marcelo sneered, “You’re lucky this is a tense moment. . .and the Syndicate doesn’t need another dead leader.”


“I would put a bullet in your head for these stupid comments.”

“You’re lucky.” I smirked. “I would have my gun out and a bullet in your head, before your small brain transmitted to your head the action of getting your gun.”

Marcelo remained silent as he watched me with a murderous glare. While he could be violent, he avoided conflict as much as possible and preferred to keep his fighting in the boxing ring.

Page 1 of

Kenya Wright

  • Chapter 1
  • Chapter 2
  • Chapter 3
  • Chapter 4
  • Chapter 5
  • Chapter 6
  • Chapter 7
  • Chapter 8
  • Chapter 9
  • Chapter 10
  • Chapter 11
  • Chapter 12
  • Chapter 13
  • Chapter 14
  • Chapter 15
  • Chapter 16
  • Chapter 17
  • Chapter 18
  • Chapter 19
  • Chapter 20
  • Chapter 21
  • Chapter 22
  • Chapter 23
  • Chapter 24
  • Chapter 25
  • Chapter 26
  • Chapter 27
  • Chapter 28
  • Chapter 29
  • Chapter 30
  • Chapter 31
  • Chapter 32
  • Chapter 33
  • Chapter 34
  • Chapter 35
  • Chapter 36
  • Chapter 37
  • Chapter 38
  • Chapter 39
  • Chapter 40
  • Chapter 41
  • Chapter 42
  • Chapter 43
  • Chapter 44
  • Chapter 45
  • Chapter 46
  • Chapter 47
  • Chapter 48
  • Chapter 49
  • Chapter 50
  • Chapter 51
  • Chapter 52
  • Chapter 53
  • Chapter 54
  • Chapter 55
  • Chapter 56
  • Chapter 57
  • Chapter 58
  • Chapter 59
  • Chapter 60
  • Chapter 61
  • Chapter 62
  • Chapter 63
  • Chapter 64
  • Chapter 65
  • Chapter 66
  • Chapter 67
  • Chapter 68
  • Chapter 69
  • Chapter 70
  • Chapter 71
  • Chapter 72
  • Chapter 73
  • Chapter 74
  • Chapter 75
  • Chapter 76
  • Chapter 77
  • Chapter 78
  • Chapter 79
  • Chapter 80
  • Chapter 81
  • Chapter 82
  • Chapter 83
  • Chapter 84
  • Chapter 85
  • Chapter 86
  • Chapter 87
  • Chapter 88
  • Chapter 89
  • Chapter 90
  • Chapter 91
  • Chapter 92
  • Chapter 93
  • Chapter 94
  • Chapter 95
  • Chapter 96
  • Chapter 97
  • Chapter 98
  • Chapter 99
  • Chapter 100
  • Chapter 101
  • Chapter 102
  • Chapter 103
  • Chapter 104
  • Chapter 105
  • Chapter 106
  • Chapter 107
  • Chapter 108
  • Chapter 109
  • Chapter 110
  • Chapter 111
  • Chapter 112
  • Chapter 113
  • Chapter 114
  • Chapter 115
  • Chapter 116
  • Chapter 117
  • Chapter 118
  • Chapter 119
  • Chapter 120
  • Chapter 121

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Lora Roboto
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