Kings of the Castle

by Naleighna Kai

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Mr. Germaine is in critical condition. You’re listed as one of his emergency contacts. Can you come?”

  Grant’s knees buckled, and he perched on the edge of his desk. Khalil was as much of a second father to him as his uncle had been. He fought back his fear and found his words. “Yes, of course.” He stood and grabbed a notepad from his desk. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.” After jotting down all the pertinent information, he disconnected the call, rounded his desk, and placed his things in his briefcase with one hand while he dialed his pilot with the other.

  Once he’d made flight arrangements and then contacted his uncle’s caregiver, Grant ended the call.

  In less than fifteen minutes, Grant had made it to his loft on the outskirts of downtown Houston. He owned the top floor of a historic warehouse that had been converted into loft-style living spaces. He loved the open concept and the Cathedral windows with a view of the city. Usually, it was a welcome sight. Tonight, he barely noticed the lights of the city illuminating his living room.

  Grant called the hospital as he made his way home to advise them that he would be arriving soon. He’d showered and changed. Besieged by concern and sadness, Grant stood in the middle of his living room, staring out the windows. The two most important people in his life were fighting for their lives, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  As he reached for the keys, his cell vibrated again.

  Grant checked the screen, and the number was blocked. “Grant Khambrel.”

  “Mr. Khambrel, we told you we’d be in touch.” The deep voice laughed. “See you in Chicago.”

  CHAPTER 10

  VIKKAS GERMAINE

  The moment Vikkas laid eyes on the bronze beauty, his heart started beating so fast he actually believed someone would question the sound.

  All the memories of their time together in high school came flooding back. The long talks about the differences in East Indian Culture and survival and strength of those in Black American culture, the ways they would change the world, spirituality versus religion—all the things that showed their depth of understanding the lessons Khalil imparted. He remembered walks around the grounds of his home, making plans to have their own one day, with children who would be loved and cherished. Even then, he had sensed a sadness she never allowed him to explore.

  “Can I help you?” A woman with an ebony complexion and bright purple hair more fitting for a punk-rocker, sidled up a little too close for his comfort.

  “No, but she can,” he said, raising his voice as he gestured to Milan, who had left a glass-encased office, rounded a set of desks and stood several feet away. People had left their desks and were crowding around to bear witness to whatever drama was about to ensue.

  “What if she’s not available?”

  “Cut it out, Toni,” Milan warned, positioning herself near the reception area and crossing her arms over an ample bosom. “What are you doing here?”

  “I love you. Always have. Never stopped.”

  “Oh,” Toni snapped. “It’s like that, huh? Let me take my happy ass back to my desk and get some popcorn.”

  Vikkas watched the woman’s slow progression before Milan laid eyes on him again.

  “You still love me? So what do you want ... a medal?” Milan moved backward until she perched on the edge of Toni’s desk and presented Vikkas her chin. “Do you think I spent the last fifteen years of my life waiting to hear you say those words?”

  While Milan appeared to be angry, she winced at his words and her breathing hitched the closer they came to each other.

  “Of course not. I think life just gave me a wake-up call that I need to live my life for me—and not by my family’s expectations.”

  Her lips parted as though to question him. Then she remained silent as though she was too shocked by his statement to say a word.

  “I was not going to let another minute pass without coming for you.” He touched her cheek, the skin as soft and supple as he remembered. “Is there some place, way deep down in your heart that has a little kernel, just a mustard seed of love that I can water and get to grow?”

  “Oh, it’s going to take a lot more than water,” she scoffed, dark brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “Try that white picket fence, the house with shutters, acres of land and—”

  “Done.”

  Milan flinched as though he had struck her. “I’m joking.”

  “I know,” he said, gesturing toward what he believed was her office. “Where’s that business plan that I know is stashed somewhere?”

  She hesitated a moment, then maneuvered past the curious co-workers, made it to her office, and reached into a leather tote. She pulled out a small leather planner, came back to him and flipped to the back pages where a full-on financial projection, profit and loss statement, and marketing strategy been reduced to fit into one small set of pages.

  Vikkas had to focus and push back thoughts of how good Milan’s silky skin felt under his fingers. He scanned the contents for several moments, trying to ascertain the bottom line to make her an offer he hoped she wouldn’t refuse. “Two hundred grand is all?”

  “Is all?” Toni piped in, ignoring Milan’s gesture for her to stay out of it. “What kind of stripper poles do you think we hit around here?”

  “I’ll cut you a check as a starter to get working on this,” he said passing the planner back. “As my wife, I don’t want you working for anyone but yourself.”

  Milan’s head tilted; her dark brown eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Wait a minute. Who said anything about becoming your wife?”

  “You didn’t say anything about not loving me either,” he countered. “One thing happens after the other. Basic math.”

  She chuckled. “Still a smart ass. You can’t just come in here, sweep me off my feet with all these lofty promises and expect me to upend my entire life for you.”

  Vikkas angled toward a tall woman who had an air of authority about her.

  “I’m DaniMari Conchita Raye Alonzo,” the woman said, extending her hand, her complexion flushing with a bit of color.

  “Your whoooooole name,” Vikkas teased.

  “Long story,” she shot back. “Dani for short.”

  “How much notice does she need to give?” he asked, placing his hand over hers.

  “Can we have a week?”

  Milan’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. “Traitor,” she said to a woman he had correctly presumed was her boss, then focused on Vikkas again. She bit her bottom lip and held his gaze. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “That makes two of us.” He glanced at the digital clock on the far end of Toni’s desk. “I’ll come back for you as soon as I resolve this family emergency.”

  “Come back?” Milan said, her voice laced with worry. “What happened? What emergency?”

  “Getting shot can change a whole lot of perspectives,” he confessed. “Someone tried to take my father’s life and I was caught in the crossfire. The only thing I thought was that I spent all this time helping my father to change the dynamics of world progress and missed out on the best woman there is.”

  “Girl, you’d better quit playing and give him some before I drop both pairs of drawers and give him a slice of Heaven,” Toni teased, placing a hand on Milan’s shoulder.

  She glared at Toni before Vikkas said, “She lost me at both pairs of drawers.”

  “Trust me,” Milan said, holding up a hand to ward off any further query. “You don’t want to know.”

  “And the only Heaven I need in my life is right here in my arms.” Vikkas picked Milan up, carried her over the threshold of the exit as she struggled in his arms, did an about-face, then brought her back to reception, and set her upright.

  “What was that for?” she asked, peering up at him as though he had lost his mind.

  “Your favorite movie,” he replied in reference to An Officer and a Gentleman. “You said back then, th
at if a man can’t come for you like that, he shouldn’t bother.”

  “You remembered,” she whispered, and the tenderness of her expression felled him.

  “There’s a lot I won’t ever forget.” He gave Toni the stink-eye, hoping she’d back up a little. “Personally …” He shifted his gaze to Milan. “I thought you’d be giving me a hard time.”

  “I would’ve if it wasn’t for this,” she said, sliding a folded, worn-out sheet of yellow paper from a side pocket of the planner. She handed it to him and he glanced at the hand-written words…

  I intend that I am experiencing a relationship with love, compassion, respect, joy, peace, purpose, passion, contentment …

  “Intentions?” he said, scanning the rest of the list detailing the type of relationship she desired, and ones for her home, business, self-care—a range of things about a page long.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve said these words every day, without fail, for two whole years.”

  “So, what makes today so different?”

  Milan exhaled, then put her focus on him. “Last night, I got a little angry at God that it’s taken so long on the relationship end of things and I said ‘If it’s going to be a minute, could you send me a placeholder until the real number comes along?” She cupped his face in her hands. “Today, you walked back into my life.”

  “Awwwww,” Toni crooned, and he could swear he saw several women wipe away tears as they whispered their own brand of appreciation.

  “So, am I the placeholder or the real number?”

  “Time will tell, Vikkas Germaine,” she whispered, placing her hand on his. “Time will tell.”

  “Awwwww. Our very own Coming to America.” Toni snapped her fingers and whipped her arm in a wide loop. “Sexual chocolate!”

  “He is not chocolate,” Milan protested, groaning her frustration.

  “Okay, then.” She repeated the movement, adding, “Sexual caramel.”

  “Doesn’t have the same ring,” Vikkas teased without taking his eyes off Milan. “I have to get back to the hospital.”

  “Hospital?”

  “My father’s in surgery right now.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?” Milan nearly screeched.

  “Before the specialist made it in from D.C., he practically demanded I go and find that smart, pretty brown-skinned girl. He said, ‘I always liked her.’”

  “I liked him, too,” she said, and there was a warmth emanating from her that brightened those words.

  “Hey, give me a second, I’m going to call and check in on things,” he said and Dani pointed toward her office.

  “It’ll give you some privacy.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The moment he was out of earshot, Dani whispered to Milan, “So what’s the deal with you two. Why didn’t you all make a run for it back then?”

  “Too much had happened. A lot of it Vikkas knew nothing about. I never wanted him to know how cruel my family had been.”

  * * *

  “Don’t you bring none of them pale folks to this house,” Pearline warned. “Got that White man after you, sniffing around like a dog in heat. All he wants is what’s between your legs.”

  Milan couldn’t even protest that Vikkas Germaine wasn’t White, because in her mother’s eyes, anyone who wasn’t Black was painted with the same broad stroke.

  “What’s he see in you?” she snarled, her voice dripping with contempt. “Black girl from Englewood. Already got them folks gassing you up, making you think you smarter than the rest of us.” She cackled. “Yeah, go on off to that fancy school. You’ll be right back here with the common folk before too long.” She put her dark-eyed gaze out the window on a group of men huddled near the curb, handling some type of transaction that no one in the neighborhood would tell the police they had witnessed. “Better get you one of them dope boys, worry about schooling later.”

  Laughter from her siblings, aunts, and uncles made Milan bristle with embarrassment.

  “Wasn’t Daddy one of those dope boys?”

  The laughter came to an abrupt halt.

  Pearline did a swivel that nearly made her land on the tattered carpet. “So whatcha trying to say, heifer?”

  “When does he get out of prison? Next … what? Ten, fifteen years? What’s him being in prison done for you?” Milan locked a steely gaze on her mother. “And you still had to make it on your own, struggling to raise all of us. Is that what you want for me?”

  Pearline’s eyes narrowed to slits. She crossed the distance until only a few inches existed between them. “Are you sassing me?”

  “Just stating facts. Grandma said the minute a woman puts her faith solely in a man to take care of her is when she gives up every ounce of her power.”

  “So, you think you’re the one with the power, huh?” Pearline taunted with a low throaty chuckle that sent a shiver of alarm up Milan’s spine. “All that book learnin’ done went to your head.” She inhaled, swept a look at all of the expectant faces in the room, and smiled. “Well, Wonder Woman, lasso your little brown ass upstairs and pack your shit. How’s that for power?”

  Aunt Ruthie was on her wide feet in a split second. “You’re taking this too far, Pearl.”

  “Go on, girl. Git.”

  Milan slid past her mother, then the sisters lounging on the sofa and floor who didn’t bother to hide their sneers. She trudged up the stairs, went to the tiny bedroom she shared with three others, grabbed her birth certificate, learner’s permit, social security card, and the cash hidden on the underside of the dresser that her late grandmother had given for emergency purposes. She tucked that into her bra, slid her schoolbooks into her backpack, retraced her steps while struggling not to cry. She would not let her mother see those tears. Though inside, sadness and fear had taken root. Only two more years and she would’ve been out of this place for good. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut and absorb the verbal blows as well as she had the physical ones?

  At the foot of the stairs, Milan found her voice. “One day, Mama, you’re going to need me. When they”—she gestured toward her drug-dealing brothers—“land in jail. And these four,” she said, looking at her sisters, who glared back at her. “Have a few more babies running around here.” She took in a breath, and hoisted the backpack on her shoulders. “When no one can help you and you’re unable to help yourself, I want you to think about the day you turned me out into the street simply to prove a point. Remember it, Mama. Because you’re going to have to forgive me in advance for one reason alone. I can’t say what I’ll be able to do for you when you’ve made it your business to make my life hell.”

  That being said, she swept out the door with nothing more than essentials and a prayer that she would land on her feet.

  * * *

  “I haven’t seen any of my family since that day.” She focused on the guardian angel on Toni’s desk, trying not to let her gaze wander to Vikkas. “That crew in high school,” Milan said to Dani. “They were the best. Not because they were the most intelligent by academic standards. There was something about them. I mean, all the students there were smart. But that Khalil crew, they were focused and intense, had that extra something that made them charismatic. Without question, you knew they were going to be somebody. They were going to succeed at all costs. All of their goals in life were set early on—they didn’t date around because getting a girl pregnant was not part of the plan— marriage and family when they were ready was. They . . .” She lost her train of thought the moment Vikkas’ gaze locked with hers through the glass while he was still engaged in a phone call. A jolt of desire shot through her body. “Mr. Khalil put them and nine girls on a learning track that was different than everyone else.”

  “Then why didn’t you walk down that aisle after you graduated?”

  Milan would never admit it, but marrying Vikkas would have been one of her greatest joys. Honestly, it still would be.

  “Mr. Khalil didn’t have a problem with Vikkas being wit
h me, but his mother certainly did.” She frowned at the memories of that ugly exchange that nearly caused Vikkas and one of his uncles to come to blows. “He would’ve lost the rest of his family if he had married me instead of one of the Indian girls they had picked for him. I couldn’t do that to him. My mother was a piece of work, but I still loved her. I …. No, I made the right choice.”

  “So, you gave up your happiness for his?” Dani said, her focus drifting from Vikkas to Milan. “Suppose his happiness is all wrapped up in yours?”

  “Why are you so sure about us?”