by Nicole York
“Of course,” Keesha said.
Great. Here we go.
Renee had two best friends from high school. The first was Mary Millwright. She’d become a realtor after college and had done fairly well for herself. She was the one who found Renee’s apartment and Robert’s townhouse. When—or if—the time ever came for Keesha to buy a place, she knew her mother would pressure her into giving her business to Mary.
Mary also had a daughter. The girl was an over-achiever and now worked as a marine biologist in a marine-life sanctuary in Australia. She flew home often because she had a hefty salary, and every time her name came up, Keesha internally cringed at the comparison game she knew was coming.
Abigail, Keesha thought sourly.
The second friend was Jada Ling. She traveled back and forth between New York City and Hong Kong for work at a fancy marketing firm. She was childless and husbandless by choice and Keesha had always admired the woman’s tenacity and steadfast commitment to ignoring social norms. Of all Renee’s friends, Jada was Keesha’s favorite.
“Abigail is spearheading a new project at her work to build an offsite sanctuary for sea turtles. Isn’t that amazing?”
“So amazing.”
“Jada and Mary asked about you, too.”
Keesha nodded knowingly. “Did you tell them I’m still shaking my ass for money?”
“Keesha.”
“What? It’s true.”
“Watch your language in front of Beth.”
Keesha shot her daughter a side-eyed look. Beth’s lips were still pursed around the straw, which she’d gnawed into a tooth-bite-punctured and flattened piece of plastic. “I don’t think she’s paying us any attention.”
Renee shook her head disapprovingly. “No, I did not tell them you were shaking your ass for a living. I told them about Bloom and how much you like it there and how there is room for you to climb the ladder there. Your manager likes you and you get on well with the other stylists. It’s a great place. Mary said Abigail used to get her hair done there before she moved to Australia.”
And that’s what makes it good? The fact that the Amazing Abigail used to get her hair done there?
Keesha felt second-hand embarrassment at the conversation her mother must have had about her with her friends. Had Renee tried to boast about her wayward daughter? Had she tried to sway her friends into believing that Keesha was no longer a royal fuck-up?
Better yet, had her friends believed her?
Not likely.
“Speaking about Bloom.” Renee started looking around the restaurant again and Keesha knew the window of her not saying something about the service was getting tight. “If you’re thinking about other things and work, I have a friend who owns a luxurious design firm downtown. Residential design, I should clarify.”
Keesha blinked in surprise. “I don’t have any design experience.”
“You don’t need it. But they’re willing to give you an interview. They’re hiring a receptionist, and with your experience at the salon, she says it might be enough to get you placed.”
Keesha wanted to squirm out of her skin. Another reception job? Really? She had no interest in hopping from one gig answering phones to another, especially not when Kadia was her main source of income. Why go through all the time and effort of learning new systems, new procedures, and new colleagues?
“I don’t know, Mom,” Keesha said slowly. “It seems like I’d just be trading one job for another instead of moving into something better.”
Renee opened her mouth to speak but promptly closed it again when a waitress with red plastic baskets arrived at the table. She placed the salad down in front of Renee, who immediately double checked that her dressing was in a separate container on the side, not already poured on the salad. Keesha drooled over the wrap that was set down in front of her. After the waitress made sure they had everything they needed, she hurried away from the table to help other guests and Keesha thanked her lucky stars that her mother was clearly too ravenous to bother critiquing the restaurant.
Renee spoke as she poured dressing on her salad. “It’s not trading one thing for another. Think of the type of clientele you could be exposed to working at a firm like this. You’d be handling consultation bookings and dealing with suppliers and distributors. I think you’d be good at it.”
Keesha took a bite of her wrap and shrugged. “Cown eh ink uhbout eh?”
Renee’s tinted eyebrows pulled together. “Keesha. Don’t talk with your mouth full. I couldn’t hear a word you said.”
Keesha washed her bite down with a sip of water. “I said, can I think about it?”
“The pay isn’t ideal, but we can make things work for your first six months,” Renee carried on like Keesha hadn’t even spoken. “You get two raises a year. Once you put in a few years, you’ll be on your feet. Just like Robert did.”
Keesha sighed.
This didn’t sound like a solution to her. In fact, it felt like this opposite. This had all the markings of a trap written all over it. This might be the perfect gig for someone else who was champing at the bit to break into the design industry. Taking the job felt wrong. Not only did she not want it, but she’d be taking it from someone who did, and who would undoubtedly be better at the work than Keesha herself.
“I’ve never wanted to work in design,” Keesha said. “I have no concept of what colors go well together or textures or—”
“All things you can learn as you go, sweetheart.”
Beth squealed and thrust her empty apple juice cup forward. It rolled off the tray of her highchair and across the table. Keesha picked up the cup and pulled the tray forward to let a squirmy Beth out of the chair. She picked her up and sat her down on the bench beside her. The little girl went to her knees and watched as Keesha pulled a coloring mat and crayons close to the edge of the table.
“Do you want to color, sweetheart?” Keesha asked.
It was all the encouragement little Beth needed. Soon, she was poring over the page, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration. Keesha rubbed her daughter’s back with one hand and manhandled her wrap into her mouth with the other.
“I’d like you to take the interview, Keesha.”
Keesha glanced up at her mother. Was she really going to push it this hard? Was she that ashamed of Keesha’s job?
Yes.
“Look, Mom.” Keesha wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I love working at Kadia.”
Renee started shaking her head.
“No, listen to me,” Keesha insisted. “I love working there. I know you don’t understand it and I’m not asking you to. I also know it’s not something you can be proud of as a mother. I know you won’t tell your friends what I do because it embarrasses you. I get it. But it makes me happy. It gives me the freedom I was so desperate for when I was with Brett and I’m not ready to let go of that yet. There’s a time limit on this gig. I won’t be young forever. Besides, my boss looks out for me at Kadia.”
Renee shook her head. “Robert told me about this boss of yours.”
Keesha rolled her eyes. “And you believed a word he had to say? He stormed into my place of work like a crazy person and started telling my boss what to do. Let me just say he’s not the kind of guy who responds well to strangers bossing him around.”
“Robert simply had your best interests in mind.”
“Mom.” Keesha’s voice was sharp. Beth looked up from her piece of paper with concern. Keesha offered her daughter an apologetic smile. “It’s okay, honey. Keep drawing.” Her attention shifted back to her mother, who looked a little startled by the stern tone her daughter took with her. “Can you imagine if he’d come in and done that to me while I was working at the design firm? It’s inappropriate regardless of whether the job fits your definition of respectable.”
Renee was still shaking her head. She skewered salad, cucumber, red pepper, and dried cranberries on the end of her fork. “You can’t trust a man w
ho runs a club like Kadia. He has his hands in all the wrong pockets. He’s scum, Keesha. You must be able to see that.”
Keesha’s brain skidded to a stop in her skull.
How could her mother speak so callously about him?
Keesha pushed up to her feet and gathered Beth’s diaper bag and car seat.
Renee blinked. “Keesha, what are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
“I drove.”
“We’ll take the bus.” Keesha called her daughter’s name. “Come here, sweetheart. Take Mommy’s hand.”
Beth slid off the booth and walked around the table to join her mother. She reached up, took her hand, and started asking for Keesha to pick her up.
“My boss that you’re so willing to bash is Marcus, Mom.” Keesha stared at her mother as her anger prickled. “You remember Marcus, don’t you? The man who was there when you were serial dating assholes and he protected you from the fallout? The man who was there when we all needed him?”
Renee’s eyes widened in surprise. “Keesha, I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I tell you? The last thing you ever want to hear about is my job. Besides, all you do is make assumptions. I messed up with Brett. I know that. But I won’t make that mistake again. It cost me too much. And Mom, I need you to trust me again.”
“I do trust you.”
Keesha sighed and bent at the knees. She managed to scoop Beth up off the floor. The little girl wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and nestled her chin into Keesha’s shoulder.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” Keesha said.
15
Marcus
The engine of the sleek black muscle car rumbled in Marcus’s ears as he left the crowded streets near Kadia and headed north toward the location of the underground rave.
The unease he’d felt just days before had reached its highest peak last night as he lay in bed thinking about what lay ahead of him this evening. But now with a cool breeze blowing through his open windows, the roar of the car, and the vibrations of the wheel beneath his palms, he was calm.
Steady.
Like he used to be.
It bothered him how easily Adam Cooper had shaken him up. Thinking about going head to head with the asshole had left Marcus feeling unsettled. Now the thought of ending this brought Marcus nothing but peace. He wouldn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder. He would be at the top of the food chain in New York City, and with his Syndicate looking over him, Marcus would be more powerful than ever.
And that was saying something.
He’d been after this his entire life. Since before Kate, who used to roll her eyes at his greed and willingness to do whatever it took to hit that next level.
Whatever it took.
He wasn’t proud of all the things he’d done. In a life like this, it was impossible for a man to look back at his past and feel like he made all the right choices. There were a few people who were six feet under that he wished he’d been able to spare.
Like the pretty blonde police officer.
She got herself in over her head. I was just doing what I was told to do.
Still, it bothered him.
Marcus took a right and pulled to a stop at a red light. The car beside him was a pearl-white Porsche. Behind the wheel sat a regal-looking middle-aged woman. She had a slender neck wrapped up in a red and black silk scarf. Her windows were down, her lips were red, and her eyes were hidden behind large-framed black sunglasses.
Music poured out of her open windows and she turned her head slightly to the side. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but he tipped his head anyway.
She pulled the sunglasses down and let them rest on the bridge of her nose as she peered over the top of the frames at him. She had blue eyes rimmed in thick dark liner. She was an attractive yet severe-looking woman with sharp features that seemed like they didn’t belong on one face.
The woman smiled.
Despite himself, Marcus smiled back.
The woman slid her glasses back over her eyes and revved her engine.
Marcus shook his head. “Oh, honey, this is a game you don’t want to play.”
He matched her boldness and revved his, too. His car roared like a lion, drowning out the modern hum of her Porsche. She knew she had the better performance car. Hell, everyone backed up behind them at the light surely knew that too. But did she have the nerve it would take to win in a quick little race like this?
Doubt it.
The light turned green.
Marcus dropped the clutch. His car lurched forward, and as soon as he had traction, he launched off the line. His back tires fishtailed and screamed as the Porsche shot forward into the intersection. In half a second, he was after her.
He shifted.
Second.
Third.
Fourth.
The brake lights of cars loomed three blocks ahead of them. Enough road space for him to overtake the Porsche easily. She would back off the speed. He knew she would.
He came flying up behind her. She definitely didn’t have her foot down on the gas. She was all smoke and mirrors as he suspected. But Marcus was not.
He slammed into fifth and then sixth and caught up with her. They were neck and neck. She was laughing in the front seat of her car. A wild grin of excitement stretched her cheeks and she spared a quick glance in his direction.
Marcus pinched the front of his shirt in one hand and pulled it away and back to his chest repeatedly, as if fanning himself. She giggled.
Then he pressed the gas pedal to the floor, dropped two gears, and rode the kick of speed as he shot out in front of her. He barely heard her crying out in dismay over her loss.
If he didn’t have important places to be, he might have pulled over and got her number. Perhaps her address, too. She seemed like she’d be a fun person to sleep around with behind her husband’s back.
Marcus got off the main drag just in case anyone had called the brief street race into the cops and took a more roundabout way toward the tunnels. When the tunnels were only fifteen or so minutes away, he decided to call Dimitri and let him know what was going down tonight.
Dimitri answered almost right away. “Marcus. Talk to me.”
“Cole pulled this one out of his ass, boss.”
Dimitri chuckled softly. “Where are you right now?”
“On my way to meet Adam Cooper in an underground rave just outside the city.”
Dimitri was quiet for about fifteen seconds. “I seriously hope you don’t leave this rave in a body bag, Marcus. Who’s your backup?”
“Cole and one of his cop friends.”
“Have you met him?”
“No,” Marcus said sourly. “I was supposed to at the beginning of the week but the bastard didn’t show. Cole is confident in him. Keeps telling me to trust them.”
“Do you?”
Marcus shrugged more to himself than anything else. “I trust Cole. But the other guy? Can’t be sure until shit hits the fan.”
“I don’t like it.”
Marcus barked out a laugh. “Me neither, boss. But this is Cooper we’re talking about. And if Cole thinks we can take him down like this? I say let’s go for it.”
Dimitri made an uneasy sound. “Don’t get yourself killed, Marcus. I have big plans for you in this syndicate. Don’t fuck up your future, even if it is in an attempt to rid this world of Adam Cooper. He’s not worth your neck.”
Dimitri’s words surprised Marcus. He knew there was trust between them, real unbreakable trust. They’d been through a lot together, and in all of Marcus’s time in this life, he’d never worked for a man who practiced such impressive communication. Dimitri was ruthless when he needed to be but he had a big heart when it came to his people. He wanted the best for them. Perhaps that was because the best for them also meant the best for him and, in turn, his woman, Isabella, and their child.
Marcus didn’t care if Dimitri’s motiva
tions were self-centered. Most of Marcus’s were, too.
What he cared about was knowing where he stood, and with Dimitri, he was always in the know. In a world as dark and dangerous as this one, there was nothing worse than questioning if you could trust the people who promised to have your back.
That was a worry Marcus hadn’t had ever since he started working with Dimitri.
“I’ll keep you posted, boss,” Marcus said.
“Good luck. If things go sour and you have a chance to put an unlawful bullet in Cooper’s skull, do it.”
“Understood.”
Dimitri hung up the phone, leaving Marcus to drive the rest of the way in solitude. He didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to clear his mind.
Steady hands and clear thoughts were crucial for a night like this.
Marcus killed the engine in the gravel lot between the entrance to an abandoned subway tunnel and a rundown fire hall that had been closed for over a decade. He put his gun in the back of his jeans and double checked that his knife was still in the strap around his ankle before he turned toward the dark entrance to the tunnel.
It was boarded up with half a dozen wooden signs that read things like:
Keep Out.
Danger.
Do Not Enter.
Biohazard.
None of the warnings seemed good enough to keep people out, however, because as Marcus ducked through the small opening between the wooden boards and plunged into the inky darkness of the tunnel, food wrappers crunched under his boots. A place like this probably offered solace to those who had no other place to go.
It smelled like urine and wet dog.
Marcus pushed on and used the flashlight on his phone to see his way down the winding passages. He shone his light on the smooth tunnel walls and found fresh spray-painted blue arrows on the concrete. He followed, knowing someone had been here earlier this afternoon to direct people to the underground rave.
Cole had told Marcus of three points of entry. This one seemed the least likely to be used by others because of how out of the way it was and how unsavory the surrounding area around the tunnels was. The homeless population around there was thick, so Marcus doubted any of the high-society criminal folk that would be attending this thing would opt for this entrance.
