Expired by Evie Rhodes Read Free Book Online Page A

The smoke swelled inside his lungs. A feeling of peace stole over him. Hell, the only time he felt peace was when he bought it in a vial or a blunt.
    â€œRandi, I’m sorry,” he said in the empty darkness.
    There was no answer.
    â€œI’m telling you, man, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean a lot of things.”
    Rashod was a highly gifted and talented sketch artist. His fingers flew across the pad, drawing in the eeriness of his surroundings. The charcoal seemed to take flight in his fingers, and magically they weaved the heartbreaking scene, capturing the essence of one having died.
    Of one having been left alone, as Randi was in his patch of ground. His mind soared through the tragic, final event of death. To kill a man was a profound act.
    He stopped sketching. His eyes scanned the grave site. He took another toke on the blunt. Then he stubbed it out in the ground. He’d need to save some for later, especially since he had spent some of his money on flowers for Randi.
    He’d needed to come back that night, once the crowds were gone, because he couldn’t talk to Randi with them there. He couldn’t explain things. Besides, he was tired of looking at that Tracie with her fake face of grief pasted in place.
    Sometimes her phoniness made him want to heave. The witch was a money lover and nothing else. Money was like a religion to Tracie. All she ever thought about was how to get more of it. She was a sleek clotheshorse, so glamorous on the outside and gluttonous on the inside. She made him sick.
    He stood up. Thinking about her felt as if he had summoned her spirit to the place. He definitely could do without that. But he needed to say good-bye. He needed to say it in his own time and in his own way. Tracie didn’t deserve Randi. He was good. Talented. He was too good for her to own. They were all just trophies to her.
    Well, now he was dead. Tracie didn’t own him anymore. She couldn’t own Randi anymore, because now he was gone. That was good. It was over. It was one less son for her to hurt and hide things from.
    Maybe it would be good if they were all gone. If they were all dead, then there wouldn’t be anybody left for her to show off or play with. Bitterness welled up inside Rashod. He spat on the ground.
    Not wanting to say good-bye, because it was too final, he thought for a moment. Finally, he said, “So long, Randi. So long, baby brother. Rest in peace. See ya.”
    He walked out of the growing darkness of the cemetery. Out on the street he relit his blunt and inhaled deeply. The eyes watched him, absorbed him, and swallowed the ghost of his spirit whole.
    Though Randi Burlingame was dead, he had escaped the absorbing of his spirit. He had been spared this particular fate.
    But there was a new kid on the block, and thus the rules of the game had changed. It was now time.

9
    T he day after Randi’s funeral, Tracie was reigning queen at the helm of her empire. Her main place of business was her salon on the corner of 135 th Street and Seventh Avenue. Although it was located in an old, worn-out-looking building, the inside of the salon was in stark contrast to its outside.
    The inside was elegantly decorated. It possessed an air of sleek sophistication. It was one of many salons Tracie owned around Harlem. A sign above the door read, “Tracie’s Place.”
    The salon was full-service. Hairstylists as well as braid stylists, makeup artists, pedicurists, and manicurists filled the place. The other salons Tracie owned were braiding stations only. They were purely cash businesses, where she hired the African girls to run the places and braid hair.
    The African girls were the best in the business, hands down. Some of them had come over directly from Africa. They had skills when it came to braiding hair. The art of braiding was a strictly cash-and-carry business. Tracie had been smart enough to recognize the trend at the right time. It was one of her