The Brothers Keeper : Karma's Revenge: The Brothers Keeper, #1

By Omar Reid

Two brothers with sinister pasts, both longing for a new beginning. With optimism for the future, their former lives quickly catches up to them when they are most hopeful. Conflict surrounds the brothers as they fight to survive each other and persevere against old and new enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BUBBLE MEDIA ENTERTAINMENT & HOSPITALITY
• Release date: Dec 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215467046

Omar Reid

Dr. Omar Reid, who’s also known by his stage name Chénna is an author, songwriter, singer, music, and film producer from Atlanta, Georgia. His approach to writing, music and film actively embraces the extremes of human emotions and provokes his audience to consider his themes and messages in comparison to relatable life stories and experiences, " I want my audience to feel it somewhere deep in their soul, and see me in themselves as I tell a story." This expressive, unrestrained, and raw style echoes many of the most popular authors, cinematographers, producers, and his peers. Dr. Reid style and themes repeats his philosophy and artistic motives as his work does not shy away from expressions and themes that could be considered taboo or out of the mainstream.

Book preview

Cover Photo

The

Brothers

Keeper

Karma’s Revenge

Dr. Omar Reid

Loyalty! It’s not who do right in your face, it’s who got your back.

Omar Reid

thebrotherkeeper.com

Copyright © Bubble Media Entertainment & Hospitality

2022 All rights reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION, PLEASE EMAIL

[e-mail]

thebrotherkeeper.com

Thanks to my loving wife Shantell Reid who encourages and supports my every venture.

Special thanks to my muse for this story, The Original cast for our TV Series project.

This fictional story is inspired by the universe I created for the story and screenplay called,

The Brother’s Keeper.

The universe of this story is also related to events covered in the series of books called

Silencia The Mute Assassin

This story depicts brutal violence, racial slurs, sexual content, and homophobic themes. It is not meant to offend people who have suffered, been victimized, discriminated against, or marginalized.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

In memory of my brother who’s alive, but is dead to me.

Omar Reid

Prologue

Maybe it would have been better if we had had anyone to call father. Not that I hate this lifestyle, but, maybe, Alex and I would have turned out a little, or a lot better than we are.

Wait! What the hell am I even saying?

Not having a father has nothing to do with what anyone becomes, their ability to subconsciously pick up shards of behavior from their environment would rather tell. In my case, the environment told. I grew up with a single mother, and, according to her, I was The New Year Boy, because I was born on New Year’s Day in 1988. I stayed with my mother in Jamaica for thirteen or so years, enduring the gossip and rumors continually passed around the neighborhood by the so-called neighbors.

Some had called her, Amoi, the ManIpulator, and, looking back now, I think they had been saying Man-nipple-later or, they'd meant that she enjoyed manipulating men. And, some had taken pleasure in regarding her as The Community Whore— I mean, what type of woman lives alone with her less-than-ten-years old son, in a community of black couples. Sure, there'd always be foul words. A lot of them, at that.

Amidst all these, I only got angry at my mother on two basis— the fact that she knew these people spoke ill of her and never did anything to them, and, the fact that, no matter how much I try to extract the information of her, she never tells me who my father was. To date, I still don’t know who he is.

When I was thirteen or so, we relocated from Kingston and settled in Atlanta. At first, I thought mother had moved because of the noise in the neighborhood. I was left in surprise when I saw my mother hanging out with two different men in the neighborhood. A year after our settling down, mom grew pregnant. And, I think it was at this moment when the men realized she hadn't been faithful to them— or, maybe they had run off. Anyways, mom gave birth to another boy, and, like myself, his fate turned out to be void of a father.

Now, I subconsciously assumed the position of fathering my brother. A fourteen-year-old boy sure knows some things, now. Since his birth, I knew I had been assigned to be Alex's protector. His companion. His father. His shield. And, I gave him all that, and more.

I remember when he was five. Some of the boys in the neighborhood had tried to bully one another, and Alex stood up against the boys. Then, I had thought it was his sense of uprightness, but, now that I think about it, I can see it was his thirst for violence. Though he managed to throw a few punches at the larger boys, they still overpowered him, and, gave him the beating of his life. Coincidentally, I came into the sight and ensured the kids kissed their own feet, soaked in tears and blood.

I had thought everything was going to end there, but, I should have known better. When Alex and I got home, he stayed in the sitting room while I attended to my homework. Mother had already left the building to God-knows-where. I could still remember how my eyes widened when I saw Alex barging into the room, breathing heavily.

Kedon, he called, silently. They are here.

I knew what he meant, immediately. I ran to the window and saw six young boys standing outside the apartment, with their arms folded around the batons they each had to their chest and their eyes sternly on the door. The five young boys I'd brutalized stood beside them, still crying. I bit my lips and rubbed my fist against my palm.

I knew it was time to get some shit down, and, I wasn't ready to run from it. Why else had I been training so hard if not to protect my family and myself? And, this seemed like the very moment my training needed implementation.

Alex, stay in the room, I said, making it toward the door. Whatever happens, don't come out of the building.

Where are you going? he asked, with his thin voice, his small creepy eyes staring into mine.

Where else? I'm going out there to beat some sense into them, of course.

Then, let's go together, he said.

I looked into his eyes and knew he meant what he had said. I pulled his hand and we made it to the main entrance. Alex let go of my hand and ran into the kitchen.

'What a place to hide,' I had thought.

I got out of the building and stood before the hexad. Their eyes read terror, and, I knew they meant business. I did, too.

Yo! What do you want? I asked, with a Jamaican strong voice.

You, of course, asshole! one of the boys, who looked like the leader, retorted, pointing into my face. He was light-skinned, with a chubby five feet height. He had brown bushy hair.

What do you want from me?

Come over here and see!

I climbed down the verandah, and, dipped my hands in my pockets, playing with the penknives I had in each pocket.

I'm giving you just ten seconds to get the fuck out of here! I shouted.

Or, what will happen?

You gwaan' find out? I shouted. Come then pussyhole!

Just as the boys made towards me, Alex ran out of nowhere and stood before me. He held a pepper spray in each hand and wielded it against the boys. He hadn't gone to hide, after all.

Get away from us batty boys! he thundered, spraying some portion of pepper in the air. The boys stood their ground, staring at Alex.

This is nice, the gang leader said. The two of you in one piece. Nothing betters this. Guys, give it to them!

The boys charged at us, and, that was the first time I saw this side of Alex, which I later realized to be his real side. He sprayed pepper into the eyes of two of the boys, and, before the rest could pounce on him, he swung the spray around, turning around along it. That was my cue. I kept my hands off the knives and swung at the boys. I followed with a leap then twist with a kick into the chest of one of the boys as he struggled to get the pepper out of his eyes. I grabbed his baton that fell and smashed his butts, muffing his loud yell with my hand. I ran to another boy and swung the baton into his left shoulder.

With Alex rendering them vulnerable with his pepper spray, and, with me giving them the beating of their lives, the boys were less of a challenge to us. With watery eyes and weakened body parts, they made away one after another. I looked into Alex's eyes and I saw terror. And, I loved it. We both grinned at ourselves and slapped our palms together. I piggybacked him as we went back in.

That was when we both created a protective bond. I became his protector, and, he always watched my back, too.

I doubt anyone in the neighborhood knew who our mother had been until she died a year later. That night, she was coming back from nowhere, and, according to rumors, she got caught up in stray shots from the local gangs’ gunfire exchange. For the past few days before her death, there had been continuous threats and tension in the neighborhood. Two rival gangs had left the neighborhood in terror, and, coincidentally, their violence found my mother while she was returning home.