Release Date – 9.19.19
Available Now for Pre`Order – $7.49
The Salton Sea, CA
The first thing that flashed before SHANE SAMUEL DIAMOND’S eyes other than the shock of DiamonD’s presumable death was his life in the form of pain, anguish, depression; sheer psychosis accompanied by drugs, alcohol, prescription pills, slashed wrists, shrinks and suicide, and he couldn’t take it. . .not living without her. But there was so much blood that for a minute there he couldn’t distinguish whose blood was whose only that he knew that they had both been shot. He had felt her bullet go through him then escape him and that was when DiamonD’s breathing became short and labored while the beating of her heart – so dangerously close to his – was just seconds away from flatlining.
“Please,” Shane then pleaded to the God responsible for shaping both he and DiamonD’s paths as he rocked DiamonD in his arms beneath a state of desperation. “Please,” he then agonized, slapping DiamonD around her face and cheeks trying to get her to wake up. “Please, baby, please, wake up. Wake up! Wake up, DiamonD!”
“Brother,” JAE-JOON stressed, kneeling to one knee and squeezing Shane’s arm gently. “Please, brother.” He then shook his head as if to say ‘let her go’.
“No!” Shane argued with angered tears clouding his eyes. “NO!” he then cried out, shifting his anguish back onto DiamonD who continued to remain unresponsive in his arms. “Baby, please wake up! Wake up! Wake up, DiamonD! Now! Now!” he yelled.
“Shane, man, please,” ANGELO SYNTINO also stressed, as he, too, knelt to one knee and squeezed Shane’s arm only it wasn’t as gentle, it was stern and in agreement with Jae who continued to press Shane into accepting the fact that DiamonD was gone.
“I can’t, Angelo,” Shane sobbed pulling DiamonD possessively to him, at the same time, staring at Angelo as if he were crazy for even suggesting such a callous thing when DiamonD was the one who had forged all their lives up to this critical moment, and to just let her go like that. . .with God felt like an insult. And despite how Angelo and Jae felt, Shane vowed to continue on fighting for DiamonD even if it would take fighting for her all the way to his grave.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s. . .okay,” Shane said sniffling back tears and kissing DiamonD on her forehead as he continued to rock her listless body in his arms. “We’re gonna get through this once you wake up,” he then assured as he nodded into nothing and sniffed back more tears. “You’ll see,” he whispered tirelessly, “you’ll see. . .” Shane’s voice then trailed off into the thinnest of air.
“Shane, c’mon, you can’t – ” Angelo started to say but then stopped as his own voice had abruptly trailed off once he realized that there would be no amount of words to sway and sympathize and encourage Shane to understand the situation at hand; a situation Angelo felt – if Shane weren’t careful – would be the death of him. And instead of continuing to stress over Shane, Angelo instead shook his head and sighed out in a heady state of frustration. He then shifted his gaze from Shane to Jae to grasp his thoughts on the matter but Jae just lowered his gaze and continued to comfort Shane’s arm.
Angelo slowly rose to his stance just as the whir of sand and salt had breezed past him – like tumbleweeds rolling across long stretches of highways and onto the barren lands that created them – and cast his gaze across a broken sea of abandoned buildings and dust coated roads and the fossil of the fishes that once thrived in the Salton in search of the caravan of pimped SUV’s, five-figure suits, and customize Glocks just like the one he was holding now but found nothing except for the prides that first brought he and Shane here after they both had come to the conclusion that their prides had to be dealt with for personal reasons and the intent of finishing what DiamonD had started with Sonny before it had trickled down to him, trickled down to Shane then to both him and Shane. And never for once did Angelo think that pulling the trigger would end the life of the woman they all loved.
I took a seat at the edge of the unmade bed and caught a glimpse of someone resembling me through the mirror suspended over a three tier dresser sitting directly to my left, at the same time, noticing her tired reflection; nowhere near the vicinity of nineteen but more along the lines of an aging angst teen: drugged out, partied out, and fucked out of her mind. It was an unnerving sight the more and more I slipped into her reflection and shattered the windows to her soul with my fists further destroying whatever underlying beauty remained.
Just then Carlos stepped into the mirror thus choking my reflection with his in which I took as a sign of intimidation; intimidation to forcing me back on the level of our organization’s thinking.
“You do remember what we’re after here right, esa?” I lowered my gaze from the mirror and merely nodded; not in regards to Carlos’s intimidation but to the fact that this was about Bree; about my father; about controlling Hollywood and perhaps all of L.A. “Good,” Carlos applauded verbally, stepping back from me. “So. . .Tammy,” he then probed casually, yet curiously. “Did you make her understand?”
“Somewhat. . .but I’m not sure I did,” I retorted honestly, yet there was doubt clinging to my response.
“You can’t be second guessing yourself in this business, esa. Either you’re right or you’re right; there’s no in between or reasons for conscience. As a Jefe, it’s up to you to set rules, to discipline, to have total control of every aspect of their life. If they have habits, you support them, and only by giving them enough that way their forced to stay loyal. If they need food, clothes, a place to live, then it’s you who provides. Pimping rucas is like a game of chess, esa, it’s all strategic. The only thing you have to worry about is either losing your rucas to drugas, the law or another pimp. Now Tammy,” Carlos said abruptly switching the conversation back to her. “She’s gotta be dealt with, and severely.”
“C’mon, Carlos,” I began to argue.
“Nah-ah, esa!” Carlos interjected brusquely, shaking his head unsympathetically. “It’s one thing to get high to motivate you; it’s another when you become addicted. Then stealing to support that habit. . .that shit can get bitches killed. Knowing that, you can’t have a conscience. You wanted this remember. . .back at the chante, in your room? You said you wanted to take care of it. So now, take care of it,” Carlos said comically, calling my bluff.
Suddenly the room started to spin with my emotions being swept up in its current thus fucking with my insides, my gut, my fear. I mean, I genuinely did not have the heart to discipline any of these Hollywood hos but I did realize that I had the drive which was pretty fucked-up to admit. It was like having the Devil occupying one shoulder with the Angel occupying the other; both whispering to my conscience; both weighing my options when all along I felt like Lady Liberty bounded in her blind scales of justice: I had to make a choice to choosing the most logical form of discipline.
And what went through my head was not a pretty sight considering there was theft and a habit to break.
I got up from the edge of the bed and crossed to the dresser and studied my reflection in the mirror with my eyes slowly trailing that valley crafted from my throat down to my cleavage then down toward the center of my jeans where the bulge of my gun protruded like the erection of a man aching to escape and conquer the whole-fucking-world with a simple blow of his cock. It was quite exhilarating and disturbing to think of my gun in that explicit and vile sense. But I guess one just had to be there to understand such power.
“Listo?” Carlos said pulling me from my thoughts. I nodded with Carlos opening the bedroom door and me walking on ahead of him.