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  WAR 4:

  SKULL ISLAND

  By

  T. Styles

  Copyright © 2019 by The Cartel Publications. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission

  from the author, except by reviewer who may quote passages

  to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,

  Organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the

  Author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance of

  Actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019908144

  ISBN 10: 1948373270

  ISBN 13: 978-1948373272

  Cover Design: Book Slut Girl

  First Edition

  Printed in the United States of America

  What Up Fam,

  Happy summer to you all! I hope this love note finds you well. I’m so excited with the new ventures we have coming for you! Starting with our Audio Books! We are finally converting our novels into Audio Book format. You guys have been asking and we heard you. So far we have eight of them up and running with more on the way so be on the lookout.

  Also, T. Styles will be hosting her, “BEST FRIEND IN A HANDBAG” PODCAST! They will be available via ITunes and Google so make sure you go subscribe. She will be dropping behind the scenes tea on her stories and SO MUCH MORE!

  Now, onto the book in hand, “WAR 4: SKULL ISLAND”...I ABSO-FUCKIN_LUTELY…ADORED this novel! To say this is my favorite part may not be fair to the rest of the series, however, it may be my truth! But I’ma stop right there before I say too much and just let you read for yourselves.

  With that being said, keeping in line with tradition, we want to give respect to a vet or new trailblazer paving the way. In this novel, we would like to recognize:

  JESSICA ‘LYRIC’ ROBINSON

  Jessica Robinson came to The Cartel Publications initially in 2007. She was one of our original Street Team members who was crucial in the launching of our publications company. Jessica went on to complete several novels of her own before becoming a nurse. Sadly, on May 21, 2019, we lost Jessica suddenly.

  We are forever grateful for the love and dedication we received from Lyric and are blessed to have shared a tiny part of her world. We will always love you Jessica! R.I.P.

  Aight, I’ve kept you longer than I should have…Goin’ and get to it. I’ll catch you in the next book.

  Be Easy!

  Charisse “C. Wash” Washington

  Vice President

  The Cartel Publications

  www.thecartelpublications.com

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  #War4

  Manipulation works well, until its power wears off and the captor becomes aware. My love, this is when the horror begins.

  -- Bethany Wales

  PROLOGUE

  JANUARY 1988

  It was frigid, but not enough to keep the bored from going outdoors.

  Wrapped in a Caucasian three quarter inch leather coat, fourteen-year-old Mason sat on the top step in front of his building. His portable radio blasted the hit song ‘How Ya Like Me Now’ by Kool Moe Dee.

  And yet Mason had no time for moving to the beat. He was intense. Besides, a firm eye was necessary in the moment.

  The firmest of eyes if anyone had asked.

  After all he had been afforded the highest responsibility in the free land.

  That of judge and jury.

  “How I look now?” Blakeslee asked after doing her best Mason impersonation. The two French braids she was known for ran down her back. Her body cocooned in Mason’s red and yellow 8 ball leather jacket, she was doing her best to keep warm.

  Mason crossed his arms over his chest making it obvious he wasn’t impressed. “Nah. That ain’t it.”

  “N…nah?” She repeated, feeling the swirling sen
sation of defeat in her gut. “But I…I mean…what am I doing wrong?” She wiped her cool forehead, forcing loose curls from the French braids, causing one hell of a tickle. At the same time, destroying any chance of looking boyish simply because she was so damn pretty.

  “I ‘on’t know,” Mason shrugged. “I mean, it’s something like me but nothing like me.”

  Blakeslee was perplexed. How could she began to win Nikki back if she couldn’t convince her that she wasn’t some weird bull dagger, as she heard the term thrown around the city, if she couldn’t walk like a real boy? How could she appeal to the inner most side of Nikki who was, well, straight?

  With no interest in being with another girl.

  Excluding those moments they shared in Blakeslee’s bedroom, when both assumed no one was watching. Only later learning that Mason had seen them kissing, and took to snitching to Blakeslee’s mother, resulting in Angie tossing Nikki out by her hair, ruining their bond.

  Cocky above all else, Mason thought it was best to show her how to properly move like a guy. After all, he had ulterior motives. Maybe if Blakeslee could see how cool he himself was…maybe if she got a full whiff of his bad boy swag, then maybe, just maybe she would abandon all hopes of being male and surrender to him once and for all.

  Rising off the cold step, he dusted his leather coat and took a few seconds to stare down at Blakeslee. He could feel her studying his every motion, hoping to not only emulate him but to become him.

  Slowly he bopped down the steps taking several breaths for effect. Fog puffs rolled from his nostrils and floated above his head, before disappearing in the air. “Now you gotta pay attention. ‘Cause for real, its like, like you not feeling me or somethin’.”

  “But I am feeling you,” she said with her whole heart. “I, I just gotta work harder.”

  Mason moved closer wanting nothing more than to kiss her like she let him do that one time in his bedroom. The time they had sex. “Nah. Like really pay attention. Because if I gotta keep showing you the same thing, then I’ma start feeling like you not gonna be able to do it. Like maybe you should just let her go and—”

  “I’ma get it,” Blakeslee said grabbing his hand. Letting Nikki go was not an option and the world knew it. “Trust me.”

  All the bluster and arrogance he possessed suddenly diminished when he felt the warmth of her touch.

  “I will prove to you that I can do it, Mason.” Her body trembled anxiously. She needed her friend if there was the slightest chance of getting Nikki back. “I just need a little more help that’s all. Can you show me again? Please?”

  Mason nodded and squeezed her hand softly.

  Feeling like Mason was reading her touch for more than desperation, she pulled away.

  Now embarrassed that he was doing a bit too much, Mason cleared his throat. “Okay, okay, you gotta focus, because if we gonna get her boyfriend out the way, you gotta do everything right. You gotta make her believe you are me.”

  And then, in a manner too silly to be taken seriously, he paraded up the sidewalk with wide arms and wide strides like George Jefferson. In fact, as Blakeslee paid attention, she couldn’t recall one time in her young life that she’d seen him walk so foolishly.

  Still, Blakeslee was smart.

  Much smarter than most gave her credit for.

  And she knew in her heart of hearts, if she was going to win over Nikki, Mason Louisville was the key.

  She only prayed he wouldn’t let her down.

  CHAPTER ONE

  You would have to see this splendid day on Wales Island to believe its beauty. The hue of the blue was definitive but for some reason the brilliance of the orange sun caused the sky to sparkle lightly. As if speckled with glitter dust.

  And still, down below, a mysterious man that the world knew as Whoyawanmetabe, threw a monkey dick into paradise.

  After all, why was he there?

  Banks certainly hadn’t invited him to the island. And sure Whoyawanmetabe had done jobs for Banks and Mason in America that placed them in his debt, but he assumed his payments would be of a monetary nature.

  So what did the stranger want in his private place?

  Eyes on the ocean, back faced Banks and Mason, he seemed to be transported somewhere else. Possibly the islands of Jamaica, far away from the tourist trap areas people liked to brag about when they visited the land.

  Nah.

  Deep on the island, where the sightseeing buses didn’t roam, lie the heart and the hell of the country all at once. And it was in this place, that Whoyawanmetabe was born. Weighed with secrets and atrocities packed in his memories that would never allow him a good night’s sleep.

  Although enemies, Whoyawanmetabe, Banks and Mason were uniformed in all white linen, typical for island life.

  “…But it was my aunt, who holds the most memories in my heart,” Whoyawanmetabe continued, eyes still on the ocean, back still toward men who wanted to slice his neck if they thought their efforts would be final and he would go away forever. Instead, since he had exited his plane with ten men armed to the guilds, they had to remain steady.

  “She used to make this coconut flavored sangria,” Whoyawanmetabe continued. “To this day I haven’t been able to find anyone who can come close to mastering the taste.” He laughed to himself, his accent rich and thick with culture, although he didn’t break sentences, traditional for some originating from Jamaica. His speech change perplexed Banks from the gate, because it showed that he moved as a man of many faces. “Would never give the…”

  As he continued to ramble, Mason turned to look at Banks in frustration. “Give the word, and on God its off with his head,” he whispered. “I mean look at the nigga. He got his back toward us and everything…begging us to kill him. Let me put him out his misery. Do it for Baltimore.”

  Banks glared at Mason. “Nah…he ain’t the type you can just blow off.” He focused on Whoyawanmetabe who was still talking, totally unbothered. “Something up with—“

  “How come you hesitate when we have him in our sights?” Mason asked, low voice, clenched teeth. “I get that careful shit back home, but he’s right here, Banks. The nigga’s right here. Alone…with us. On your island. Let’s dead him and be done with it once and for all.”

  Banks eyes narrowed into slits. “This man is connected,” he whispered moving closer, to keep their scheming away from Whoyawanmetabe’s eardrums. “To get rid of a bee infestation you don’t cut down the hive. You’ll get stung. You must—”

  “Are you listening?” Whoyawanmetabe asked, turning his head toward the men.

  Mason glared.

  Banks nodded.

  Whoyawanmetabe focused back on the ocean now that all the attention had been returned to its rightful place.

  On him.

  “It took me years to find out how she flavored the coconut. Some pieces were sweet and soft, others were rough but flavored to perfection.”

  “How she do it?” Banks asked, hoping the simplest of information would bring him closer to answers. No doubt, Mr. Wales was desperate beyond it all for the truth.

  “Skin.”

  Mason frowned.

  Banks shifted a little. “S…skin?”

  Whoyawanmetabe smiled. “Yes. Used shaved skin from her palms to merge into the coconut.” He turned around and walked up to the duo. “So that everyone drinking it would have a little bit of her soul. She was my first love. Truly. The first woman I wanted, but could never have. There was one other but she deserted me.” He glared into space.

  They were grossed the fuck out.

  Mason shrugged. “Okay?” He didn’t give a fuck. “What this got to do with us again?”

  “Can you believe she was fifty at the time?”

  “Your lady?” Banks asked.

  “My aunt.”

  Banks’ posture took on a rigid stance. Unlike the homie, he was willing to move slowly in an effort to discern what he didn’t understand. At the same time, he was screaming inside and it caused his bod
y to tense.

  Yesterday he flew to Wales Island, with Mason and his sons, all of which Banks had been beefing with, only to learn that Whoyawanmetabe was there also. Add to his struggles the fact that his son Harris was murdered in prison, via a knife wound that Banks had sanctioned, in an effort to have him taken out of the facility to a hospital. Where the plan was to help him escape and hit it to the island. So patience was few and far between for Banks Wales.

  “Did you…I mean, you said your aunt was your first love but did you…like…” Banks couldn’t release the words because he was so disgusted.

  “That’s my little secret now ain’t it?” Whoyawanmetabe said. “If I tell you I’d—”

  “Nigga, what do you want with us?” Mason snapped, hands clapping together for each word. “You show up with a gang of bitch boys to a place off the grid and then you rapping about a aunt you probably fucked. What part of this has to do with why you here fucking with us? We ain’t nothing but Bmore niggas.”

  Banks bit the inside of his lip. He wanted to go in on Mason on the spot, but Mason was a hair trigger, from day one. You had to be careful or it would be like throwing gasoline in the face of someone smoking a cigarette.

  “I know you’re anxious,” Whoyawanmetabe said turning around to face him. “Almost as anxious as you were when you called, begging for me to get you out of jail.”

  “I didn’t beg for—”

  “And I came through…didn’t I?” He continued cutting Mason off. “With no problems. As a result you’re a free man…still on the run from the police maybe but able to be in such a beautiful place with your good friend.” He looked at Banks.

  Mason wiped his hand down his face, giving his chin a light squeeze upon hearing the truth.

  “And what about you Banks? When you needed me to do the many things, which allowed you to go higher in the dope game. Was my presence an irritant then?”

  “It was Nidia who—”

  “Fuck that!” He beat his chest. “I was the one who parted the red streets for you, nigga…which allowed you power…” he stepped closer. “...To rise. You just didn’t know. I kept more men away from your head than you realize Mr. Wales…if only you knew.”