by Kiki Swinson
ALSO BY KIKI SWINSON
The Playing Dirty Series: Playing Dirty and Notorious
The Candy Shop
A Sticky Situation
The Wifey Series: Wifey, I’m Still Wifey, Life After Wifey,
Still Wifey Material
Wife Extraordinaire Series: Wife Extraordinaire and
Wife Extraordinaire Returns
Cheaper to Keep Her Series: Books 1–5
The Score Series: The Score and The Mark
Dead on Arrival
The Black Market Series: The Black Market, The Safe
House, Property of the State
ANTHOLOGIES
Sleeping with the Enemy (with Wahida Clark)
Heist and Heist 2 (with De’nesha Diamond)
Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless (with Noire)
A Gangster and a Gentleman (with De’nesha Diamond)
Most Wanted (with Nikki Turner)
Still Candy Shopping (with Amaleka McCall)
Fistful of Benjamins (with De’nesha Diamond)
Schemes and Dirty Tricks (with Saundra)
Bad Behavior (with Noire)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
the DEADLINE
KIKI SWINSON
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
PROLOGUE
1 - AMBITIONS
2 - STREET TIES
3 - DOWN AND DIRTY
4 - THE AFTERMATH
5 - MAKING THE RIGHT CHOICES
6 - CUTTHROAT GAMES
7 - REVELATIONS
8 - DANGEROUS LIAISONS
9 - ON A MISSION
10 - CASUALTIES
11 - EVIDENCE COLLECTION
12 - BREAKING NEWS
13 - PLAYING THE WAITING GAME
14 - ON TO THE NEXT
15 - BACK TO HAUNT ME
16 - THE FAÇADE OF HAPPINESS
17 - THE RECKONING
18 - THE VERDICT
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th St.
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Kiki Swinson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020935629
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2972-9
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2975-0 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2975-7 (ebook)
PROLOGUE
“And the nominees for Outstanding Coverage of a Breaking News Story are . . .”
I clenched my butt cheeks together and balled up my toes in my shoes so hard that they throbbed.
Kyle reached over and grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
I closed my eyes and waited to hear the results. My ears were ringing so loudly from my nerves that I didn’t hear anything until cheers erupted from the crowd.
“You won, twin! They just called your name! You won,” Kyle blurted loudly. He beamed with pride. It took me a few minutes to register what he was saying. He let go of my hand and helped me to my feet. My mouth hung open in a perfectly round O, and my legs were shaking so badly that my knees knocked together. I could barely catch my breath, and that instinctive right hand over my heart told the whole story.
“You have to go up there,” Kyle said, urging me into the aisle so I could walk onstage and get my award.
Kyle held on to me to make sure I could balance on my heels; I guess he could feel how hard I was trembling. He walked me up onto the stage. I stood frozen for a few seconds as I turned toward the spectators. Cheers arose. My cheeks flushed and the bones in my face ached from grinning. I deserved this Emmy Award. At least that was what the loud crowd was saying with their warm cheers.
I looked over at my brother and he wore a cool grin as I slowly unfolded the paper containing my speech. I wish I could’ve been as cool as he was in that moment. My hands shook, but I stuck out my chest and delivered the perfect speech to accept my award. The crowd clapped and cheered again as Kyle and I walked toward the stage exit.
“Wait right there . . . hold that pose!” a photographer called out. “Smile, you’re the winner,” he instructed, hoisting his camera to eye level to ensure he captured the exact moment. I was blushing and sure that my face would look like a cherry in every snapshot he took.
Kyle and I posed and turned to each other on cue. We capitalized on the opportunity to take this free twin-sister-and-brother photo shoot. The photographer’s flash exploded.
The bright lights sparkled in my eyes. It was truly the perfect day in my life.
“Walk slowly forward now,” the photographer instructed. When Kyle and I finally made it to the end of the picture area, I was bombarded with more photographers eager to snap photos with professional and personal cameras. Noticing the paparazzi, even Kyle waved like a star. I also flashed my best debutante smile.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the great reporter . . .” A tall man in a suit stepped into our path, clapping his hand on my shoulder. My smile faded and I bit down into my jaw.
“I didn’t think you’d go through with showing up here, all out in the public. We’re all proud of you back in Norfolk. You still got a lot of balls,” he said, smiling wickedly, the bright stage lights glinting off his one gold tooth.
He turned his attention to Kyle. “You can thank your sister for everything.”
I shivered.
“Ms. Mercer!” another photographer shouted, jutting his camera forward for a close-up. I twisted away from the man in the suit, happy for the distraction. Kyle and I hurried down the walkway, faking happiness so we didn’t make a scene. It didn’t last for long.
“Khloé! Khloé Mercer!” a male voice boomed.
My head jerked at the voice. Still smiling and faking like I wasn’t about to faint from fear, I turned to my right.
“You should’ve stayed the fuck out of the way! You fucked with the wrong people!” the voice boomed again. The source barreled through the crowd, heading straight toward Kyle and me.
“Gun! He’s got a gun!” a lady photographer screamed first.
“Oh, shit!” Kyle’s eyes went round as he faced the long metal nose of the weapon. Frantically he unhooked his arm from mine and stepped in front of me. Before he could make another move, the sound of rapid-fire explosions cut through the air.
The entire place went crazy. The hired security seemed to materialize out of the walls and began running at full speed, guns drawn. Things were going crazy. Photographers, cameramen, backstage staff . . . everyone was running in a million directions. Two of the security guards were picked off, falling to the floor like knocked-over bowling pins. Screams pierced the air from every direction.
Kyle’s body jerked from being hit with bullets. He was snatched from my side in an instant. I turned and watched as my brother’s arms flew up, bent at the elbow and flailing like a
puppet on a string. His body crumpled like a rag doll and fell into an awkward heap on the floor, right at my feet. It was all too familiar.
There was no way I could lose my brother in this way. Not after everything. I stood frozen; my feet were seemingly rooted into the floor under me. This was just a bad dream. It wasn’t real. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to breathe.
“Kyle!” I shrieked, finally finding my voice.
“Help!” someone yelled. “Call the police! Help!” More screams erupted around us.
The sounds of people screaming and loud booms exploded around me. I coughed as the grainy, metallic grit of gunpowder settled at the back of my throat. I inched forward on the floor next to Kyle. The floor around him had pooled into a deep red pond of blood. Everything was happening so fast. I blinked my eyes to make sure this was real.
“Kyle!” I screamed so loud that my throat burned. I grabbed his shoulders and shook them, hoping for a response.
“No!” I sobbed, throwing my body on top of his. I just knew I wasn’t out of danger. I knew who it was they wanted, and it was me.
More deafening booms blasted through the air.
I couldn’t think as I lay on the floor. The thundering footfalls of fleeing guests left me feeling abandoned and adrift. I lay next to Kyle, listening to his labored breathing.
“Why? How did we let this happen? How did we get here?” I sobbed. “How did this all happen?”
“Hey! You’ve got to get out of here,” a security guard huffed, pulling me up onto my feet. I was shocked to see that I hadn’t been hit. “Get out of here. Run as fast as you can and hide,” he instructed. He hurled demands as fast as his lips could spew them out.
“I . . . can’t . . . leave . . . ”
“I’ll take care of him as best I can, but it doesn’t make sense for you both to die,” the guard told me. “Now run!”
1
AMBITIONS
Four months earlier
I stood in the WXOT-TV evening news executive producer’s office and wrung my hands. My boss, Christian Aniston, had called me into her office like there was an actual fire burning under her desk. She’d told me to sit down, but I told her I preferred to stand. I was of the mind-set that I’d rather die on my feet than live on my knees. My father had taught me that. Give me my verbal punches standing up. Everyone in the station knew about my boss’s reputation. In my mind it was more ruthless than Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada. In fact, that character had nothing on the mean-mouthed, cruel, heartless, power-drunk, ratings-whore Christian Aniston. But I hadn’t gotten this far by chance . . .
* * *
I had always worked hard all of my life. I didn’t have anything given to me on a silver platter. I was a girl from the hood who was no stranger to the street life. I had grown up in a poor and eventual single-parent household in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city. My father had been murdered right in front of me and my twin brother, Kyle. We were six when my dad was shot dead at my feet. I can still see how his body jerked and spun while his eyes bulged out of their sockets from the powerful shots.
I was always a daddy’s girl before then. I had been standing so close to him when the man shot him, the tinny smell of his blood shot up my nose until I had been able to taste it on my tongue. To this day I remember the smell and taste every time I think about it . . .
“Daddy!” I remember emitting an earthshaking scream. Tears had burst from my eyes like a geyser. Even in the face of danger, I had thrown myself down at my father’s side.
“Shut the fuck up!” the man who’d shot my father screamed, grabbing me by my hair and tossing me aside like a rag doll. I felt something crack in my back as I hit a wall inside our small town house.
“Khloé!” Kyle had called out to me. I was still on the floor when I saw Kyle charging at our father’s killer. At that age Kyle was a bit smaller than I was, but his size was not indicative of his fury in that moment. Kyle growled and his small fists flew out in front of him. Swinging wildly, Kyle had tried his best to connect with any part of the man who had assaulted me and killed our father. The other man, the one with one eye, grabbed Kyle around his throat and hoisted him off his feet like he was a toy. Both men laughed, making the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Kyle’s little legs had pumped feverishly, like he was pedaling a bike or running an invisible race. His arms had swung like the blades of a windmill too.
The man holding Kyle by the neck had begun to squeeze harder and harder, choking off Kyle’s oxygen, until his little legs finally slowed to a halt and his arms dropped at his sides. The color had faded from his face and his eyes rolled up until all I could see were the whites. Fear had put a stronghold on me, and my stomach muscles had clenched so hard I wanted to faint, but I scrambled to my feet instead, and ran into the man holding my brother.
“Let him go!” I had hollered, and bulldozed into the man’s legs. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and chomped down on his inner thigh, the only thing I had been tall enough to reach back then. I was like an attack dog. I sank my teeth into the man’s leg and used every bit of strength in my little jaws to latch on like a steel-jaw trap.
“Agh!” the killer screamed. “You little bitch! Get off of me!”
With that, the one-eyed man had no choice but to let go of Kyle’s limp body and they both dropped to the floor. I finally released my jaw and freed him. I watched in horror as Kyle jackknifed onto his side, wheezing and coughing until the color started returning to his face. But because of the bite, the other man turned his attention to me. Suddenly I felt the cold kiss of a pistol against my temple.
“Shoot the little bitch!” the one-eyed man had growled, still writhing on the floor. I closed my eyes, and my bladder released all over my feet as I sobbed.
My mother bursting in with the cops was what had saved our lives.
After my father’s murder, we moved a lot. My mother couldn’t cope and she started using drugs heavy. She could no longer care for me and Kyle in the way she had before my father’s death. The state stepped in and took us. That forced my mother to finally go to rehab.
Unfortunately, there would be several stints of drug rehab before she stopped relapsing, and while she struggled, Kyle and I lived in many different foster homes. If that shit did nothing else, it had toughened me up. Tragedy has a way of making clear what you want for your life. I knew then that being poor and dealing with the dangers of living in the hood wasn’t the life for me, so I fought to stay a straight-A student all through my schooling.
* * *
I completed graduate school and earned my master’s degree in journalism. I wasn’t going to just stop there. I had big dreams of being an on-air news anchor, so I’d taken this job as a news research aide here at ABB affiliate WXOT-TV in Norfolk, Virginia.
I was working my ass off too. Unlike all of the other little flunkies around here, I was one of the only ones bringing in interesting stories. I had done all sorts of shit to get good stories. One time I took a job as a bartender in a strip club to blow the lid off a story about someone who was setting up and robbing strippers. I was there the night the damn robbers decided they were going to step up their game and not just rob the strippers when they left at night, but the whole damn club. Just my luck. I had been behind the bar with my back turned when I heard the first scream a short distance from where the bar was located. The noise had caused me to almost drop the bottle I was holding, and before I could turn around, another echo of screams reverberated through my ears.
Silver, one of the newest strippers at the club, belted out another guttural scream that threatened to burst my eardrums. She had been the first one to notice the dudes filing in with their guns out in front of them like they needed them for direction. I had whirled around on the balls of my feet just in time to come face-to-face with the barrel of a black pistol.
“Where’s the fucking money, bitch? And don’t try nothing funny,” one of the masked men had snarled. All
I could see was the fire flashing in his eyes. I had actually seen the pupils of his eyes and they were devil red. I knew then that nothing but sheer evil resided in that man. Silver would not stop screaming.
“Shut her the fuck up or I’ma blast both of y’all bitches!” the masked man growled at me. I turned on her so damn quick.
“Shh,” I warned her harshly. “Be quiet or we are dead.”
Silver quickly clamped her left hand over her mouth to stifle her own screams. I could see that her body was trembling like a leaf in a wild storm.
My head was swimming with fear. I didn’t think going undercover for a story would have ended up like this. It made me ask myself, how far was I willing to sell my soul for the perfect story?
“Y’all bitches better get down right now before I lay y’all down. This ain’t no bullshit!” the masked gun-waving robber had barked. It was traumatic, to say the least. To have his gun leveled at my face had put me back to my childhood, for sure. I couldn’t help but think that there must’ve been a reason God kept putting me in these situations.
“Please, please, I . . . I . . . can’t die . . . please,” Silver had started begging.
“Just do what he says and be quiet,” I instructed Silver. Just then, two more strippers, Blaze and Billie, were herded out of the dressing room in the back into the main club area where we were. The other robbers put them down on the floor facedown. Both were begging and pleading for their lives too. They were crying, but I just couldn’t bring myself to cry. Maybe I was numb. Maybe I was ready to die. When the robber holding Silver and me had turned, it gave me a few seconds to sneak my cell phone and hit the record button. I hadn’t done all of this not to get the story. If I was going to die, at least there would be something left behind.
