Prison Throne (The Cartel Publications Presents) by T. Styles

Author:T. Styles [Styles, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780989790147
Amazon: 0989790142
Publisher: The Cartel Publications
Published: 2014-05-09T04:00:00+00:00

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Mr. and Mrs. Rasim Nami did not go out of town for their honeymoon and it wasn’t the last time people held him personally responsible for the 9/11 attacks with their ugly stares and sly remarks.

Even the FBI took jabs by coming to the house asking Rasim a million questions about his parents and the organization that he knew nothing of.

Before long, Rasim’s already hardened heart grew solid and only Snow possessed the recipe to make it soften.

In order to relieve stress, Rasim took to bodybuilding. He grew stronger and bigger and never spoke about the 9/11 attacks or the loss of his people again. Even though there were more Americans who didn’t hold Rasim accountable for what happened in the country, for some odd reason, he could only remember the faces of the many who did.

Things were bad but the devil made them worse the day Rasim received a frantic call from Chance. “You gotta come to the block, man! The nigga Levi set up shop and bragging to niggas that he killed Donald.”

Rage.

Strong, unfettered rage, gripped Rasim’s heart like a migraine headache. “Meet me at the liquor store,” Rasim responded, breathing slowly through his nostrils. “I’m on my way.”

From the kitchen, Snow heard the phone call and she could see the word “revenge” bling in both of Rasim’s eyes. He wanted somebody to pay for his parents’ suicide. He wanted somebody to pay for the racism he experienced as of late. And lastly he wanted the nigga responsible for Donald’s death to glisten in his own blood.

When Rasim hung up the phone he moved with the gait of a zombie to the bathroom. His body was tense as he stepped in front of the mirror.

From the opened doorway Snow witnessed Rasim eyeing himself as he transformed to something dark and sinister in the mirror.

Rasim removed the Kufi from his pocket and pressed it on his head. If they wanted to make him a monster for being Pakistani and Muslim, then he would feed on their fear and turn it into power. He observed his right eye, which was permanently closed in the corner. He observed his body, which was free of flaws and tattoos. He didn’t look like he felt inside but soon all that would change.

He knew what needed to be done and he was about to exit the bathroom when Snow stood in front of him. She knew what he was about to do; it was written all over his body as if she were reading a newspaper.

Her dear husband, her beautiful Rasim, was about to commit cold-blooded murder.

Rasim looked down at her, hoping that she wouldn’t ask him to do something he couldn’t…deny his friends help. Instead she touched the side of his face and said, “When you kill the nigga, make sure you’re sick with it.”

That was all that needed to be said.

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