Know My Name

Zion's Pov

I stepped out of the shower and took a towel, and wrapped it around my waist. I walked away and stood in front of the mirror by the sink. I rested my hands on the sink as I leaned forward and studied my face in the mirror. The blonde shoulder-length hair I used to gather in a tuft lay wet and slicked along with my head, and my clear blue eyes were stained red from yesterday's party.

My gaze quickly fixed on the long scar that runs from my right eye down over the bridge of my nose and ends on my left cheek. I raised my hand and let my fingers follow the scar, and the ugly healing is reminded me of its irregularities. With a deep sigh, I straighten my 6.5-Foot-long body and then reach for a tube of ointment and apply a thin layer on my new tattoo. This tattoo was the last addition to my art collection on my upper body. There was barely a millimeter of skin that was clean from ink between my neck and feet.

"West? Are you in there? Hurry up; we're late." I noticed the door to the bathroom opened slightly with a quick glance, and Joe's shaved head peeked in.

"If you wanted to see me naked, you could have just asked. I have nothing to be ashamed of."

I said in a mocking tone and winked at my reflection in the mirror. Joe just rolled his eyes and quickly closed the door. I chuckled and started to blow-dry my hair and brush through my short-trimmed beard before I grabbed my phone lying on the countertop and went at a fast pace into my wardrobe to get dressed.

My wardrobe was significant, more like a walk-in closet. I had my more delicate clothes hung on hangers in color coordination along one wall, and my other everyday clothes were folded on the shelves inside the sliding doors on the opposite side of the room. All furnishings were in matt dark, and black tones and the floor was of black marble. I put on my dark blue Levi's jeans and a grey shirt from Givenchy and pulled it over my head.

I went to the shelf where most of my shoes were lined up and took my favorite pair in white from Versace. Fine clothes and brands were an essential detail in my life. I come from a hard upbringing, and my poor attitude made it sometimes harder for me than necessary during my childhood.

My mom (or I prefer calling her the crackhead) left me at the hospital one hour after giving birth to me, and she never returned. She was a drug addict who took an overdose that killed her a few weeks after she birthed me. I was held at the hospital for some time after she left until I was adopted by an older childless couple. I had a decent upbringing in a friendly suburb lifestyle during the years, yet I always seemed to get into trouble.

I was off early age, aware of a wicked and dark side of myself. Seeing other people getting hurt was something I enjoyed. I often pushed the other kids to make them hurt themselves, and I enjoyed scaring them. My parents began to suspect that something was wrong with me as I repeatedly lied and never showed any empathy or guilt when I had done something wrong. They made an appointment to investigate me, but we only had time to go there for one session, because sadly, my adoptive parents died in a car accident when I was 6 years old.

They had been out on a date that night, and I was at home with the girl next door who was babysitting me. The police suddenly knocked on the door. They briefly told us that there had been an accident and that my parents had collided with a truck. It turned out that the car driver was drunk and had driven over on the wrong side of the road.

My parents died on the spot, and the other driver was slightly injured. I believed then and there, and I somehow understood that I was different from others; my lack of empathy and normal human feelings was a fact. I neither cried nor said a word after the message of their deaths. I may have been shocked, but I remembered that I had played the movie that the nanny had paused to open the door, and I continued to watch and eat my popcorn.

My parents did not have any relatives to take me in, so I was soon placed in the foster care system. Those years in the system were the ones that shaped me and made me who I am today. I became an angry child who was thrown around in different homes. No one wanted me or could not handle me when I had my angry outbursts.

I had quickly learned in school that you either bully the other Childs, or you will get bullied. I was a bully, and I was brilliant as a child. I did an IQ test at eighteen where I scored an IQ level of 150, which is way above the average level (100 IQ).

Having that intelligence and being the bully is not the best combination. I got away with so much shit. I always took it over the line with the taunting and humiliation. If I was caught (which rarely happened), I always charmed myself out of it. I always knew what to say, and I could read most people. I had my appearance to my advantage. I was 6.0 foot at thirteen, and I started to work out at fourteen, making me into a beast at fifteen. I was often on the run from my foster home and hung around like-minded people, but they were much older than me.

I started to scam people during my teenage years, and I got away with a lot. I started with fake ads and managed to get many people to pay before they reached the product, which was nothing or something manufactured. I soon earned enough money so I could rent my own apartment when I was seventeen. My foster home at that time agreed that I could move out, but only if they would continue to get the monthly check every month for having me listed there until I turned eighteen.

Money is the most powerful tool in the world, and it can really bring out the worst in people…

Money controls us; the lesser we have, the lesser power we have, reverse that, and you can own a whole damn city. And I do that; I control the undergrounds of New York City at the age of thirty-nine.

It has been a long journey to get here; many lives have been taken during my fight for taking the crown. Today, I, Zion West, am the crowned king of the underground of NYC.

I got my Rolex watch on and then put my hair up in a bun before heading out to the living room where Joe sat and waited for me.

"You sure took your time, boss," Joe utters in an annoyed tone before he stood up and walked towards the elevator.

"Do you like breathing, Joe?" I replied with a questionable look across my face and followed him out to the hallway, and grabbed my jacket on the way.

"We are heading straight to the restaurant to have a meeting. After that, we need to deal with a situation over at Rose." Joe continued and ducked my question like a pro. Since a few years back, Joe is my right hand; he is always next to my side when I am attending business meetings.

"What situation at Rose?" I asked, knowing it often was one of the "gentlemen" that have been assaulting the exotic dancers that worked there that caused the trouble I had to sort out over there sometimes.

Joe sighed before he answered my question, "One of the guests there had improbably harassed one of the girls, and it ended with him stabbing her in the shoulder with a knife." Ouch. "I am guessing that this "Gentleman" has connections to some important people, or he is just a total idiot that needs to learn how to treat my girls properly," I replied, and then we stepped into the elevator and rode down to the garage unit.