Forever, Mr. Black (Tainted Black #3)

by Shanora Williams

  "Tell your mom I said hello."

  "I will," I murmured.

  He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder before I could get away. "I'm only a phone call away if you ever need me, little one. Just know you can talk to me whenever you need to."

  "I'll pass," I joked, and he put on a faint smile. I turned my back to him and walked away before he could notice how bothered I truly was deep inside. "Thanks for the late lunch," I called over my shoulder. "It was awesome."

  "Anytime, Kandy Cane."

  He said that silly nickname again, only this time, I didn't just feel it in the pit of my belly. I felt it between my legs, on my bare neck and my lips - everywhere I shouldn't have felt it. I reached the door and watched Cane drive away. I watched until I could no longer see him and then I went inside.

  Mom was on a call in the kitchen, so I kissed her cheek as she patted my head, and then I went up to my room, shutting the door behind me, tossing my bag on the recliner, and flopping face-down on my bed.

  I thought about Cane and Kelly--how he would greet her when he walked through her door. How he would probably kiss her, so passionately her toes would curl in her tall stilettos. How they would eat and he'd tell her it was a great meal, they'd hold hands and chat for a while, and then afterwards, they'd fuck on the table or in her kitchen.

  Thinking about it made my heart ache in indescribable ways. And before I could process what I was feeling, I realized I was crying. I cried softly, for less than five minutes, and then I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, realizing I didn't just have a crush on Mr. Cane anymore.

  I was in love with him now, and it hurt so much to be in love with a man I knew I couldn't have.

  THREE

  KANDY

  I wish I could say I kept my hands to myself when it came to Mr. Cane. It would have made things a hell of a lot easier down the road.

  But eventually, something was bound to happen. There was too much of a spark between us and we hit it off a little too well. The spark we shared was bright, risky, and tempting. All I wanted to do was touch it, see if it burned.

  I don't know why I wanted him so badly. There was just something about Quinton Cane—something that made the pit of my belly flutter with chaotic butterflies and made my body pump with too much desire.

  He was irresistible and I loved that he didn't treat me like a child.

  But the night when something did happen between us, he didn't dare look at me like a child ever again after it.

  That night was during a tragic point in my life.

  It was scary.

  Unexpected.

  I was eighteen and had slept over Frankie's house for one of our monthly sleepovers. I did the sleepovers with her when Mom had to work late—mainly because I didn't like being in the house alone.

  We were seniors that year. We didn't care about popularity or fitting again. We were a duo and we loved it. Frankie was boy crazy—she had a new boyfriend at least every other week. If I thought I was a rebel, she put me to shame. She'd dyed her hair a bright turquoise, even when her mother had told her not to. She didn't have her father in her life, and her mom was always traveling for work, which probably played a big role in why she wasn't very disciplined. She grew up on her own, and had set her own routine. She was still sweet. Still smart. And she still loved her mother to death. But, well to be frank, Frankie just didn't give a fuck.

  "So, tell me all about that little lunch adventure you had with that sexy inked beast again!" she said, flopping down beside me, belly flat on her twin-sized bed. I'd had lunch with Quinton a little over week ago, had told Frankie the story several times during lunch at school and even through text messages, but apparently it wasn't enough.

  I looked over at her. Her brown, almond-shaped eyes were focused on me, the softly tanned skin on her face covered with a green organic face mask. She was a beautiful girl, mixed with Black and Asian blood. She wanted to be a model. She was tall enough to become one.

  "It was just lunch, Jess," I laughed. "I've told you this story like a hundred times."

  "I know but there has to be more!" She bumped my arm. "You came to school the next day beaming, I mean legit glowing, K.J.!" She was the only one to call me K.J. She'd been calling me it ever since fifth grade. She claimed she didn't like the name Kandy, because it was too sweet for my bitchy personality, so K.J. it was.

  I stopped scrolling through my Facebook timeline on my phone and sat up, crossing my legs Indian-style. Frankie sat right up with me, looking me deep in the eyes with a grin, ready for the juicy details.

  "Okay. I'll tell you how I felt that day, but it could be no big deal."

  "Fucking spill, bitch," she said, waving her hands.

  I huffed a laugh, bundling my hair up into a loose bun, a nervous habit. "Okay, well, we had lunch at this fancy seafood restaurant and he let me order whatever I wanted, didn't care how expensive it was. And . . . I don't know. We talked and laughed and things just clicked. I kind of got over my frustrations with him, and about the whole Kelly thing, and enjoyed the evening. We talked a lot, he looked me in the eyes and actually listened to me." I bit the corner of my bottom lip. "It might be nothing but—"

  "What?" she demanded when I abruptly stopped talking, her brown eyes nearly bulging out of her head. "Tell me!"

  "It was nice, Frankie. I mean, he still made his smart-ass comments here and there, but . . . it felt like he was flirting with me in a way—or maybe I'm just really fucking delusional. Oh, and he asked me if I was dating anyone at school—but not in a creepy way. It was more of a protective, possessive way."

  "Ohhh, possessive." She shimmied her shoulders to the word. "You think he might have been hitting on you?"

  "I never said that!" I pointed a finger at her, wagging it.

  "But you're basically implying it—well, to me you are. He was totally hitting on you. I mean how could he not, K.J. You're so pretty. I hate you 'cause you're so pretty," she said with a playful eye roll.

  I giggled. "I think he was just trying to really get to know me, one-on-one. He kept telling me to make sure Carl treats me right. I've never really been around Cane without my parents so it felt strange at first . . . but I'm glad it happened." I refused to tell her that I cried that same night, and that I may or may not have fallen a tad bit more in love with him. That was between me, myself, and I. I didn't want to appear too desperate.

  "You should have told him to kiss you," she said nonchalantly, shrugging and climbing off the bed. She walked to her bathroom and turned on the faucet.

  "Yeah, right!" I followed her, pressing a hand to the frame of the door. "I don't know why I can't get him out of my head, Frank. It's been like this ever since I was a little girl. I've always been attracted to him. It's fucking weird because he's supposed to be like family to me."

  "He's sex on a stick, K.J. He's super successful and handsome and he gives you chocolate and notebooks. That is any woman's dream. There's nothing weird about liking someone like him."

  Hmm...she had a point.

  Someone pounded on the door and Frankie turned quickly when her brother, Clay, barged in. Clay was tall, well built, and shirtless. His blond hair was damp, like he'd just gotten out of the shower. If Clay wasn't such an asshole and always grabbing his crotch to show off, I would have found him hot.

  He wasn't really Frankie's brother. They were adopted siblings and had been ever since she was six and he was eight. She was the adoptee.

  "Where the hell is the charger to my Beats Pill, Frank? Don't fuck with me," he snapped, barging inside and tossing her pillows off the bed. He turned for the stuffed animals on her recliner next, snatching them off and tossing them on the floor.

  "I don't have your stupid charger, Clay, now get the hell out of my room!"

  "You do have it! I know you do. It goes missing every time I have a girl over and then it magically appears in my room the next morning. I'm not stupid. I know you keep taking it."

  Frankie marched his way, pressing h
er hands to his chest and shoving him backwards until he was out of the door, slamming it in his face right after. Of course, she struggled—she was half his size—but she managed. I could tell she'd done this one too many times before. They always fought and bickered. It was hilarious sometimes.

  I broke out in laughter. "You guys are nuts, you know that?"

  She locked the door and rolled her eyes, huffing as she went back to the bathroom to finish washing her face.

  While she did, I sat on the middle of her bed and picked up my phone. A whisper crossed my mind and I went to the search engine browser on my iPhone and typed in Quinton Cane. The first page to show up was Tempt's homepage and I clicked it.

  There were many pictures of new wines, more awards the company had won, and even Instagram images of people eating the chocolate, but then one image appeared as I scrolled further down that stopped me.

  It was Cane holding one of his bottles of wine in the air. It was typical Quinton Cane fashion not to smile, but nonetheless he still looked breathtakingly amazing. He wore a navy blue suit with a silver tie. His beard was trimmed neatly, the lengthier part of his tapered hair combed in perfect, smooth waves.

  He looked amazing.

  So handsome.

  Rugged and manly, like he had an edge of caveman mentality to him, a dash of gentleman, and beyond sexy in a suit.

  The look fit him well.

  I looked through more pictures as Frankie went on about how annoying Clay had been lately, and how she had to break it off with a guy because Clay kept making threats to him. Her voice was mostly a buzz though. I was stuck on stalking Cane, loving how clean and handsome he looked in a suit. Loving the times he rarely smiled, and how he took photos with his employees, like he truly cared and appreciated them.

  Later on that night, I thought about Cane before falling asleep. I kept going through my phone, scrolling to his name in my contacts.

  "I'm only a phone call away if you ever need me, little one."

  I knew it, and had the urge to call, especially when Frankie fell asleep with reruns of the Kardashians on . . . but I didn't do it. I wasn't that bold. Plus, what was I going to talk to him about? My pajamas?

  FOUR

  KANDY

  Around 3:00 a.m., there was a buzz beside my head. My phone was ringing. My mind was foggy, but I grabbed it with a groan. Mom was calling.

  "Mom?" My voice was groggy and thick with sleep as I answered.

  "Kandy, honey," she said. I was so tired I didn't even realize her voice was laced with worry and thick with emotion. "Baby, I need you to wake up and listen to me."

  I rolled onto my back, running a hand over my face. "What's going on, Mom?"

  "Y-your father has been shot, Kandy."

  With those words alone, my back was off the bed. I sat up right away, eyes wide.

  "What! Shot! How?"

  "He was on duty. H-he's being taken to the hospital. One bullet hit his thigh and the other pierced his neck. He bled a lot. I'm on my way to the hospital right now so I can't get you but I called Cane. He's on his way to pick you up now. Just remain calm and stay with him, okay?"

  I climbed off the bed and Frankie groaned, popping one eye open to look at me. "Okay. I'll get ready," I said quickly.

  Frankie sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

  I grabbed my sweatpants and tugged them on with haste, grabbing my bag next. "My mom just called. My dad was just shot on duty."

  "Oh shit!" Her eyes stretched wider. She climbed off the bed too. "Shit, is he okay?"

  "I-I don't know. My mom said one bullet his thigh and the other pierced his neck. She sounded worried." I don't know how I was still so calm. My heart was pounding down, beating in my chest. My chest felt heavy and all oxygen seemed to have been sucked from my lungs, but I still kept moving.

  My phone vibrated in hand. I looked at the screen and it was Cane calling.

  I rushed to the window and saw his white Chrysler parked at the curb.

  "I'll come back for my things later," I told her.

  "Yeah, babe. It's fine. Go," she insisted, watching me rush to her door. I hurried down the hall and hustled down the stairs, reaching the door and bursting out. I don't remember if I closed it behind me or not. I just remember Cane standing by the passenger door of his car, holding the door open for me, his face pale, eyes wide. No words were spoken on his behalf.

  I jumped in and the door was immediately shut behind me.

  He was behind the wheel before I could even give myself a moment to think. He pulled off, gripping his face with his free hand and dragging his palm down.

  "Damn it," I heard him groan.

  "Why are you driving so slow?" I demanded, frowning at him, and then looking at his speedometer. The speed limit was 45 but he was going 35.

  He was quiet, not looking at me.

  "Cane!" I shouted. "Hurry and get me to the hospital! I need to make sure my dad is okay!"

  He stopped at a light.

  "Drive through the light! This is an emergency and he's a cop! If you get pulled over you can tell them who my dad is! I know most of the cops! Just go!" Tears burned my eyes and my throat was scratchy. I wasn't in the mood for his asshole-ish ways that night. I wasn't in the mood to argue or bicker or do anything with him right now. I just wanted to see my dad.

  He was shot. Twice. He needed me right now. His only child. His little girl.

  "I'm not taking you to the hospital, Kandy. Your mother told me not to."

  "What!" I snapped. "Why the hell not! I deserve to be there! He's my dad—"

  "Which is exactly why you shouldn't go," he stated, voice hard, cold. "You can't handle seeing him like that. She can't even handle it, but she has to be there for him. You'll wait at my place until we hear from her. It's what she wants."

  I scoffed with blazing hot tears sliding down my cheeks. "This is so fucking stupid. I need to be there with him!"

  Cane kept driving, not even responding, and when he went past the exit for the hospital, I wanted to fucking wail. My chest ached and I bit hard on my bottom lip until I tasted blood. The tears continued falling, landing in my lap, my heart still drumming.

  "You can hate me and be made at me all you want, Kandy. I'm doing what's best for you right now," he mumbled.

  "You don't even know me. How would you know what's best for me?"

  "I know more about you than you think I do."

  The speed of his car decreased and he took a left turn, pulling into a gated community. He said something to the security guard at the box, something I didn't care to listen to, and the gates pulled apart.

  He drove until we pulled up to a creamy white home with a black roof. Gold lights flashed on the house and the rose bushes in the front. I counsel hear the ocean through the cracked windows and figured it was a home on the beach. If I weren't so distressed, I would have soaked it all in and admired how elegant yet simple it was.

  But at this moment, I didn't care about any of it. I didn't care that I was being selfish. I didn't even care about the fact that Cane and I were alone again. I needed to be there.

  Cane shut the engine of the car off. "Coming?"

  "No."

  He breathed heavily through his nostrils. "You can't sit out here all night, Kandy," he muttered, agitated.

  "Then take me to the hospital! I don't care what she wants! This is what I want!"

  "You know I can't do that."

  "Well screw you, then," I seethed.

  "Derek wouldn't want it, Kandy!" He bellowed, like he was truly fed up. "Your mother doesn't want it either, now stop being a fucking brat, get out of the goddamn car, and come into the house already!"

  My eyes stretched wide as I turned my head to focus on him. He'd never spoken to me this way before. Yes, he was arrogant and yes, he cursed, but not at me. Not like this.

  Frustrated and honestly embarrassed, I gripped the door handle and pushed out of the car, rushing for his front door with tears burning the
rims of my eyes. He followed right behind me, unlocking the door and opening it.

  Pressing a hand on my shoulder, he ushered me inside his home, guiding me down a long corridor until a room appeared.

  Creamy leather furniture was set up, the room neat and clean, like a home out of an interior design magazine. The electric fireplace was burning, and a glass with ice in it was on the coffee table along with some papers, like he'd been sitting in this very room when he got the call and had dropped everything to come for me. The lights were dim enough to be considered relaxing, but not relaxing enough. I was still on edge.

  "Sit, Kandy. Please." He extended an arm, gesturing to the biggest sofa. I noticed his voice was softer, like he felt bad about his sudden outburst in the car. But Cane wouldn't apologize. Not for speaking his mind and telling the truth.

  I avoided his eyes, walking past him and sitting down. I kicked off my shoes and drew my knees to my chest, burying my face in my lap.

  I tried to fight the wave of emotion that hit me, but it was impossible.

  My body shuddered. The tears clogged and thickened in my throat. The saltiness of my agonizing tears ran over my lips.

  The whimpers and cries I'd made that night, just thinking about my dad in pain, were foreign noises. I'd never heard myself cry like this before. So hard. So desperately.

  "Damn it, Kandy." The couch dipped beside me and I felt a hand run through my hair. "He'll be okay. Stop crying. You know he wouldn't want you crying."

  "I don't care what he wants right now," I sobbed. "I just want to see him. I want to know he's okay."

  Cane's fingers stroked the back of my neck, the pads of them feathery-light, caressing my skin. "He'll be okay."

  His touch electrocuted me, awakening my soul, even through the thick layers of emotion. I picked my head up and looked over my shoulder at him, lashes damp now. "You don't know that," I whispered.

  "Yes, I do." His eyes latched on mine. He sighed softly, like he wanted to say more to make me feel better. He obviously didn't have much else to say because he clamped his mouth shut instead and pulled away, standing up. "Can I get you something to drink?"