"You gotta be fucking kidding me," I growl and set my bag in the grass. Pulling my phone out, I shoot a quick text to Roman Gregory, who works for the ATF, telling him to send a squad car over here, and then I pull my gun and cock it.
At six-four and two hundred and thirty pounds, I'm a big son of a bitch, but the would-be burglar never sees me coming. Before he even knows what hit him, he's on his back on the ground with me straddling him.
"Surprise, motherfucker," I growl and snap my arm back, ignoring the way the stitches in my forearm pull taut. A gangbanger sliced it open a few days ago.
His nose breaks when I clock him, blood splattering all over me.
"Fuck!" he cries out, his voice a nasally whine.
I haven't even gotten a good look at him, but I already think he's a little bitch. He doesn't try to fight back when I hit him a second time. He lies beneath me, whimpering and crying. I quickly pat him down, removing a buck knife and a baggie of crack from his pocket.
"Well, well, well," I mutter, yanking him to his feet. "Looks like you're going to be catching all kinds of charges tonight, you dumb son of a bitch."
"I didn't do nothing," he says.
"Right." I shove him up against the side of the house. "What's your name, asshole?"
"L-leo Gemini," he stutters.
If the name wasn't a dead giveaway that he's bullshitting me, the stutter is. He's lying out of his ass.
"You want to try that again?" I ask, holding my arm across the back of his neck to keep him still while I finish patting him down. I find his wallet in his back pocket. "Seriously, dude? You brought your fucking wallet to an attempted burglary?"
"I wasn't trying to break in to nothing," he says, still whiny and petulant.
"How about you stop bullshitting me, tell me who sent you, and save us both a little time?" I ask, smacking him in the back of the head hard enough to push his face into the side of the house.
"I don't know anything," he says, trying to yank out of my hold. That shit's not happening though. He's maybe five-seven and one forty on a good day. He's not going anywhere I don't want him to go. I need to get him the fuck away from January's house before she hears him though. That drama is the last thing I need to deal with right now.
I shove all of his shit into my pocket and then press my gun into his ribcage. He immediately goes still and whimpers. He knows what's up. He's probably been down this same damn road often enough to leave ruts.
"Here's how this is going to go," I growl in his ear anyway. "You're going to walk real slow to the house next door. If you try to run, I shoot you. If you piss me off, I shoot you. If you don't stop whining, I shoot you. Got me?"
"W-who are you?" he asks me, his voice shaking with real fear now.
"Your worst fucking nightmare." I pop him in the back of the head once more…just a little love tap, really. "Now start stepping or I will shoot you."
"Okay, man," he says and holds his hands up. Surprisingly, he's actually smart enough to realize I'm not fucking around and I will shoot him. He just tried to break into January's house with a big-ass knife in his pocket. He'll be lucky if I don't kill him for that. All I need is a reason.
He doesn't give me one.
He shuffles toward the front of January's house before crossing into Ma Rose's yard, his hands in the air the whole time. Once we're on the porch, I kick his feet out from underneath him, making him land hard on his ass on the worn wood. He cries out and then immediately clamps his jaws shut.
I keep my gun trained on him while I fumble with my keys and unlock the front door. Once it's open, I reach in to flip on the porch light, and then curse loudly.
He looks about twelve or thirteen. His wide, dark eyes are full of genuine fear. Acne mars his sweaty face in bumps and scars. His nose is definitely broken. He's bleeding all over the place.
"How old are you?" I ask him.
"Fourteen."
"Jesus fucking Christ." I holster the gun before shoving a hand through my hair. "You realize I almost shot your stupid ass?" Reaching into my pocket, I grab the baggie of crack and toss it at him. "And what the fuck is this shit? You're using at fourteen?"
"Man, I ain't using that shit," he says, his lip curling in disgust.
"So you're dealing?" I cock a brow.
He shrugs, refusing to meet my gaze. That says all I need to know. I grew up in this neighborhood. I've spent my entire adult life dealing with gangs and their bullshit. I know exactly how the fuck they operate, pulling in kids too goddamn young to know better and involving them in heavy shit. The only reason I managed to keep my nose clean growing up around here was by starting my own gang. We ran this block and kept shit like drugs off our streets.
"You working for Kaleo?" I demand, leaning up against the front of the house and crossing my arms.
He refuses to meet my gaze.
"Of course you are. Fuck. I'm guessing he sent you to January's tonight to try to scare her into leaving?"
The kid doesn't say anything.
"What's your name? Your real name this time, not some bullshit you think up on the fly. You suck at that, so don't bother pissing me off by trying," I warn him when he opens his mouth.
"Trey Goodson," he mumbles, holding the sleeve of his hoodie to his nose.
"Trey, you live around here?" I take pity on the kid and scoop my bag up before grabbing a t-shirt. I toss the shirt to him so he can deal with the blood pouring from his nose, and then throw my bag inside the house and pull the door closed.
"A few blocks over."
I grunt and drag my phone out of my pocket to call the kid an ambulance. They can deal with his nose before he goes to jail, because he's definitely still headed there tonight. I learned a long time ago that jail is the only thing that gets through to these kids. They think they're big and hard and untouchable, that guys like Kaleo will have their backs and no one will step to them. They learn quick that shit doesn't work that way in juvie and jail. There's always someone bigger, someone badder, willing to teach them that lesson.
Sometimes, it's enough to scare them straight.
Most of the time, it's not.
Too damn many kids like Trey get off on the fear they cause. They like the money the drugs bring in. There are a thousand reasons why kids like Trey turn into guys like Curtis Kaleo. I've seen them all, and at the end of the day, it's all bullshit. They're little boys playing at being men when they have no clue how to be either.
But it's not my job to save these fools. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. I stopped trying a long damn time ago. It's my job to keep people like January and Little Mama safe from those who don't get their heads out of their asses and wise up before they cross a line they can't come back from. No more and no less.
"Who are you?" Trey asks me once I put the phone away.
Who am I? Like I told him, I'm his worst fucking nightmare. I eat kids like him alive. For the last ten years, I've chewed up and spit out enough gangbangers to make guys like Kaleo shit their shorts. When I'm around, they walk softly and carry a really fucking big stick. Those who don't…well, they learn quickly that I'm not someone you mess with. They may think they rule the streets, but they all answer to me in the end.
"Why were you at January's?" I ask instead of telling the kid that.
"I wasn't going to do nothing," he says, same shit he's already told me. "I was just going to scare her a little."
"For Kaleo?"
He averts his gaze, which is all the answer I need.
"Why does he want this block?" I curse when he doesn't answer me. "You really going to take the fall for some dumb son of a bitch who won't spend two seconds thinking about you once you're hauled out of here? Kaleo doesn't give a fuck about you, Trey. You're just another kid for him to use. As soon as you're gone, he'll have someone else to take your place."
"He'll kill me if I talk," he mumbles.
"Not if he doesn't know. Do I look like I run my mouth?"
Trey thinks abou
t that for a minute and then answers my question. "Don't know what he wants," he says with a shrug. "Says the block should belong to him and it's time for him to take it."
"You believe him?"
He shrugs.
"He's wrong," I mutter as a squad car pulls up on the curb, take-down lights flashing through the dark. "I own this fucking block. When you get out, you tell him Michael Kincaid is coming for him. He better fucking pray I don't find any more of his people on my block. Tell him to stay away from January or I'll put a bullet between his eyes. You got that?"
Trey nods, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "You're Kincaid?"
"Yep," I confirm and then pin him with a hard glare. "Don't even think about moving from that spot."
"Okay," the kid whispers.
"Agent Kincaid?" the LAPD officer calls out, jogging up the sidewalk toward me.
"That's me." I fish my badge out of my pocket and flash it at him, meeting him halfway down the sidewalk.
"He's a cop?" Trey says behind me, his voice high pitched.
Yeah, you little shit. I'm a fucking cop and the girl next door belongs to me. Told you I was your worst goddamn nightmare.
"What do you have?" the officer asks, glancing between me and the kid.
I quickly fill him in on the situation and then pull Trey's shit out of my pocket. By the time I'm finished talking, another squad car and an ambulance roll up the street. The patrol officer takes all of the kid's stuff from me and then shakes his head.
"I knew Kaleo was up to something," he mutters, narrowing his eyes on the boy. "We've been keeping an eye on Miss James for a while now. His people keep showing up around here, causing trouble."
"You know January?" I practically snarl at him, not liking the way he talks about her like she's his to watch over.
He glances up at me and smiles, too slow to realize he's walking into a no-go zone. I don't give a fuck if he does have a badge too, I'll rip his throat out if he tries anything with her. "Everyone around here knows Miss James," he says, emphasizing her name like I'm being disrespectful or some shit by calling her January. "She was my son's kindergarten teacher."
Shit. I forgot she's a teacher. Well, that's not true. I refused to think about her for so goddamn long, I blocked that shit out. But I knew she teaches kindergarten. It's what she's wanted to do since she was barely out of grade school herself. She's so good with kids. She always wanted a bunch of her own.
It hasn't gone unnoticed that she still lives in her old house, alone.
What? So maybe I think about her more than I should. More than is good for me. Sue me.
"Kaleo won't be a problem for her much longer," I mutter to the officer as he hooks Trey up and pulls him to his feet.
"Good," he says, rubbing a hand over his crewcut hair. He pegs me with a considering stare. "You're the kid who used to live with Ma Rose, aren't you?"
I think about telling him no, but shrug instead.
He shoots me a speculative glance and then nods…whatever that means. He marches Trey down to the ambulance waiting on the curb and then helps him inside so the paramedics can deal with his nose.
I should probably feel bad for breaking it, but I didn't know he was just a kid when I clocked him. And it's not like he didn't earn that shit by running around with Kaleo and trying to break into January's house to scare her. Who knows what the fuck he was actually going to do with that knife he had in his pocket? He's lucky all he got was a broken nose and a few smacks. Just thinking about what might have happened has my blood boiling all over again.
"What's going on out here?"
I freeze as soon as I hear that dulcet voice. I don't even have to turn around to know it's her. She hasn't spoken a word to me in a little over ten years, but the cadence of her voice is ingrained in my memory, embedded so deeply I don't think I'll ever forget it. I remember the exact resonance of her giggle and the sweet melody of her laugh. I know how that angelic voice turns sultry when she's begging me to fuck her…and how she growls and hisses like a little lioness when she's pissed off. I also know that her voice shakes when she's scared. It's shaking now.
"Nothing. Go back inside, January," I say, planting my feet to keep myself from turning around to look at her. If I see her, if I look into those bright emerald eyes…it's going to tear me apart. All those still festering wounds are going to break wide open, and I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it this time. It's been a decade since she ripped my heart out and I'm barely surviving as it is.
"Cade?" she gasps.
Fuck. She shouldn't have said that. She's the only person who has ever called me Cade. I never let anyone else use the nickname she gave me. It was just for her. Hearing her say it now is like a goddamn dare, taunting me to turn around and face her. And I want to do exactly that. I want to turn around and look my fill, ease the pain that's been riding me every single day since she kicked my ass to the curb, but I don't have that right anymore. I lost it ten years ago when I destroyed her life.
Like the bastard I am, I turn around anyway.
She's still the prettiest little thing I've ever seen in my life. She's tiny, her little body barely big enough to hold up those luscious tits pressing against her tank top so hard her nipples are visible. Her red shorts cover nothing. They're so goddamn short every inch of those tanned legs are on display.
With one glimpse at her, I'm rock hard, my dick pressing into my zipper so insistently he's about to split the seams. It's been ten years—ten long, torturous years—and he still knows who he belongs to. January.
"Cade," she whispers this time, her bright green eyes roving all over my body. She hasn't changed at all. She's still tiny and perfect.
But I'm bigger, harder, comprised of muscle and aggression. I'm also covered in tattoos that hurt to look at more than my scars do. With small gauges in my ears, a piercing in my nose, and a decade of ruthless decisions weighing on me, I look a hell of a lot like the thug I so often portray.
She seems to like what she sees now as much as she did back then. She pushes her long blonde hair away from her heart-shaped face and licks her lips. Her nipples get harder. The pulse in her throat flutters.
I take a step toward her, unable to stop myself from moving in her direction. She's like gravity…a natural phenomenon I'm not strong enough to withstand. I never have been. My every instinct clamors for attention, screaming at me that I need her to survive.
She throws a hand up and takes a step back.
My heart cracks, but I stop moving toward her. Of course I do. My body is hers to command as much now as it ever has been.
"Don't," she says. Her gaze flickers past me to the squad cars and ambulance parked on the curb. Fear slides through her expression, tearing at my insides. I know what she's thinking about, what she's remembering. It fucking kills me to know she's still bleeding over it too.
"It's okay, baby girl," I whisper to her, willing to say or do anything to ease the haunted look on her face. "Everything is okay."
"It's not," she snaps, glowering at me. And there it is. The look that annihilates me. The one that haunts every goddamn nightmare I have.
Hate.
I'd sell my soul to take back what I did to earn her hatred, but I can't. I did the crime. I'll do the time. Every excruciating second of it until someone puts me out of my misery. Even then, it won't be enough to redeem me. Some souls are so dirty, so black, there is no redemption. No salvation. There's nothing but blood and pain. Mine is covered in so goddamn much of it I'll never wash clean.
"What happened?" she asks, glancing from me to the roadway.
"Caught a kid trying to break into your place," I tell her, shoving my hands into my pockets to hide the way they shake. "I took care of it."
"How? By beating him up?"
I hate that that's what she thinks of me…and I hate that she's right. I don't even try to defend myself. What's the point? Her opinion of me was confirmed long ago. Nothing I say now will change it.
"What are
you doing here, Michael?" she asks, weary and wary and so goddamn sad, it kills me.
It kills me even more that she's calling me Michael like she doesn't know me at all. Like she doesn't own me. I've been Cade to her since she was four years old. I've belonged to her for just about as long. She was my first everything, but she's not mine anymore. That ship sailed right into an abyss a long time ago.
"Taking care of a few things," I say, not elaborating any further. If I tell her the ATF asked me to convince her to let Kaleo have this block before she gets herself killed, she'll fight me. I don't have it in me to fight her right now. I need to get the hell out of here. Now. Because the longer I stand here not touching her, the more it hurts.
"Agent Kincaid!" the LAPD officer calls from behind me.
January gasps.
Yeah, baby girl, I'm a cop. Too damned bad it doesn't change a fucking thing. I'm still the monster at the end of this book. Only this one doesn't end happy like the storybook I used to read you, sweetheart. Not for me and not for you either.
"Go inside, January," I mutter over my shoulder…and then I walk away.
Chapter Two
January
Age Ten
"You're not coming with us!" Titan yells, crossing his arms over his chest to glare at me. He looks so dumb with his hair all spiked up, wearing his baggie Adidas shirt and his jeans with pre-made holes in them.
"Mom said you can't leave me home alone!" I yell back, stomping my foot. He's always trying to leave me alone when she's working late so he can go flirt with Mandy Wright at the park at the end of the street. I don't like to stay home by myself. I'm not brave like he is. I'm ten, but I'm really small. I get scared when I'm home alone.
"Dammit," he curses and kicks one of the plants on the front porch.
"It's fine, Titan," Cade says, trying to calm him down. He shoots me a wink that makes my stomach feel like there are butterflies in it.
Mom says I'm too young to have a crush on him, but I can't help it. He's nice and always talks to me. Even when Titan's being mean to me, Cade never is. He watches out for me and even plays with me. He's like my own guardian angel, only he's handsome. He reminds me of a movie star. He's got messy blond hair that gets gold pieces in it during the summer, dimples, and these real pretty eyes. When he's sad, they're blue. Other times, like when he's happy, they're a stormy gray color. Usually they're a mix of both colors though.
Fight for You: A Second Chance Romance (A Warrior for Her Book 1) Page 2
