Cousins (Cousins #1)

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  "Morning Joseph," I say half-heartedly to my father as a I loosely shake a few of my favorite candies in my fist then pop them into my mouth one by one.

  "Morning? It's damn near the afternoon. Why are you late Roman? I believe you called this meeting."

  Standing tall with a stern look in his eyes, even at my age my father still intimidates me. His salt and pepper hair and impeccably tailored three piece suit makes him appear quite formidable, and of course I've seen first hand the rage that simmers behind that cool exterior of his. Jade quietly leaves the room as she always does when we have meetings, unless the old man requests her to stay.

  "Had some stuff come up," I say coolly.

  "Stuff." He repeats flatly as if he's annoyed. I'm used to his disapproval though. Joseph hates the fact that no matter how successful he is and how much money he makes, that I still sound like everyone from the old neighborhood. Full of excuses he says. Our old neighborhood and the people in it is a place he would very much like to forget. Me not so much. No matter how much money I make, I always want to remember where I come from. Unlike Joseph, I've never been ashamed of it.

  Camden keeps a close but quiet eye on the old man as he smoothes his tie and takes a seat at the conference table.

  "I called the meeting to discuss the MTV event, Johnson's DUI, and to also assure all of you that things went smoothly at the club last weekend. We've got Henson right where we want him," I say.

  "And where's that?" Camden asks sarcastically.

  I really wished what's her name had taken care of my Elizabeth problem, because I'm so fucking wound up by it, that I'm seriously considering beating the crap out of Camden just for being a smart ass. I don't need his attitude right now.

  "Ready to sign the shittiest ass deal ever and sign over the club like we agreed," I say.

  The tension is practically bouncing off the walls of our small conference room. Camden's mood sucks, Cutter is potentially a loose cannon, and I'm not in the mood for anybody's shit. I hope that Camden can see that without me having to spell it out all across his face. We used to wail on each other for fun when we were kids, but we're not those boys anymore. We're grown ass men.

  Camden smirks. "You mean the agreement to sign the club over to Joseph here?"

  My father rises smoothly to his feet. "Is there something you want to say to me Camden King?"

  I watch Cutter shift in his seat a little. He'll go ape shit if he thinks his brother is being threatened, although that doesn't bother Joseph in the least. He knows I won't let that happen. Regardless of my issues with the old man, he is my father as well as the boss. I won't let tempers get out of hand.

  "I just need it to be crystal clear who and what we're doing all this work for." Camden says.

  "You work for me. You have always worked for me. I AM this business, and if you don't want to work for me any longer, all you have to do is say the word. I have no interest in employing unhappy people."

  I have considered the fact that there is a small possibility that Camden and Cutter are speaking directly with someone at a competing agency behind my father's back. Not many can be trusted in this game, and not everyone can get things done like we can. We rarely fail at what we do, and that's a big commodity in this game. I can see how another agency might assume that the boss's son isn't going to go anywhere, but that perhaps the King brothers could be convinced to leave Masterson & Associates. I just hope that isn't the case. I have no interest in finding out that two of my oldest (and only) high school friends would be so willing to stab me in the back. I think I'd rather live in ignorance.

  "Is that right Joseph? You care about my happiness? About my brother's happiness?" Camden is leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. I feel like I'm missing something. I know Joseph gets under his skin sometimes, but now I'm starting to wonder if something else is going on between them.

  Joseph squints his eyes at both brothers. "I care as much as I should care about an employee."

  Cutter's fists are clenching. He's going to blow if I don't diffuse the situation.

  "I'm meeting with Henson in a few hours." I interject. "I need to run if I'm going to look half decent before I get there. We'll talk about the awards show and the DUI later. You're fine with the contract details right Joseph?"

  There's a moment of silence in the room as each man is considering what they are going to say or possibly do next. Joseph smoothes his tie again and turns his head to look at me. I know him. He's giving me the Masterson once over. Observing my body language. Trying to assess if there's anything I'm hiding. I know it well, because I do the same thing to men everyday. Sometimes it's so fucking clear where I get my trust issues from. I'm not hiding anything though. I just want him to get the hell out of the room before somebody blows.

  "The details are fine. Of course if you can negotiate less, then do so, but make it look believable. It can't look like a shake down. We're not mafia or gangsters. We're businessmen."

  I know all of this already. He's drilled the art of our brand of business negotiation into my head a hundred times, but I still nod my head to him in understanding and respect.

  "Got it."

  Then I walk over to the safe and get my gun. A five year old Beretta that's never failed me yet. While I'm checking the chamber for bullets, Joseph walks up behind me.

  "I need to speak with you briefly about family business."

  "All right."

  I give Camden and Cutter a look that asks them to leave the room, and frankly I'm relieved because that means that I don't have to give Camden my "what the fuck" speech, because I don't feel like giving it, and I sure as shit don't feel like arguing with him. I already get it. What reason would a fixer like Joseph need to own several Philadelphia nightclubs? And why is it our job to make these deals happen for him? He hasn't been paying us extra.

  So yes I get it. Camden feels like we're getting dicked over and so do I. I'm just not sulking and pouting over it like a twelve-year-old kid. My father can run his business however he wants. It's up to us whether or not we are going to put up with the terms. That's why when the right opportunity presents itself, I'm going to stop working for him. Stop doing this shit period. I'm not stupid. I know that Joseph never has any intentions of passing the business on to me. All I am is a well-paid, glorified henchman. Muscle. The enforcer. Plus I think the crazy old man intends on living forever.

  "Your cousin is coming to live with Juliette and me for a while."

  "What cousin?" Joseph doesn't keep in touch with his only brother and my mother has no siblings.

  "Juliette's niece. The one you buried up to her eyeballs in dirt when she was just a little girl."

  This conversation was boring me to tears. Everything always comes back to Juliette. His sun, moon, and stars. It's nothing personal against her. I like her ... but enough already.

  "And?"

  "She's in trouble. I don't know the details because her parents refused to tell Juliette everything, but Juliette is worried sick."

  "She's pregnant?"

  "Not that type of trouble. Our type of trouble. I need you to find out what kind exactly, and then I need you to handle it. Nothing messy Roman. Just handle it. Come by the restaurant early tonight, and I'll introduce you to her."

  This is just fucking great. Another non-paying side job for Joseph.

  Babysitting my little cousin.

  Chapter Seven

  Roman

  WHEN I ARRIVE TO THE WORN metal door of Club Lotus, I double check the streets making sure that Henson doesn't have anyone watching the front of the club. This negotiation will only work if I catch him off guard. I make sure that my sidearm is securely concealed under my jacket, that I have the contract in my hands, and my phone is on vibrate. The door is open and so I immediately walk straight into the big jelly belly of security.

  "What do you want?"

  "Where's Henson?" I ask the four hundred pound, bald-headed man giving me the scre
w face.

  "He wasn't expecting you."

  "He'll want to talk to me. I'll be at the bar pouring myself a shot of something."

  Club Lotus looks like a bomb was set off inside. That's what happens when hundreds of people panic in a closed area. Expensive sound equipment is ruined. Chairs are broken. Tables are on their sides. The floor is littered with glass, napkins, and random things like shoes and lighters. Doesn't anybody clean up in here? It's been over seven damn days.

  I'm reminded of last week when I was sitting in this same corner and spotted Elizabeth as she entered the club. I'd been watching the door all night, because I was waiting for the women I hired to take their positions and begin our very much-orchestrated disruption. I'm not easily distracted from work, especially when it comes to tits and ass, but this was no normal woman.

  She didn't belong here.

  She didn't seem polished or pretentious, as most of the women here, although she was definitely classy. It was also obvious that she wasn't on the hunt for some dick for the night, like many of the overworked and high-strung young career women who frequented the club. She was new, it was clearly her first time, and it irked me a little that her friend left her by herself. Men have radar when it comes to that type of shit. I could already see a half dozen men plotting on her spectacular ass by the time she took the dance floor. Did I mention that I am an ass man?

  And then when she closed her eyes and started swaying those hips of hers to the rhythm of the music, I nearly lost my shit. I thought to myself, that if I wasn't on a job, how I'd walk up behind her and slide my hand down the front of her jeans inside her panties. Or maybe she wasn't wearing any panties? Hell, that would be even better. I'd rub her out right on the dance floor and just wish a motherfucker would say something about it. She'd begin to moan out a plea for me to stop or to not stop right as she climaxed, but that's when I'd turn her around and put my mouth over hers to swallow that orgasm for her and keep it only between us.

  I had been way deep inside my fantasy when I noticed some punk kid come up behind her on the dance floor. Dancing behind her ass a little too closely for my taste. It was almost as if he was in my head and was beginning to act out all the things I wanted to do to her myself. I swallowed another shot of Jack and gritted my teeth when he placed his palm on the side of her waist. The deep seated anger that I've been able to carefully keep in check and bring forward only on command was threatening to rise up. That new thing snaking in my chest was constricting my airways. Challenging me to do something about the kid. I tightened my fists as I silently dared the little man-child to touch her just one more time. If he did I was going to have to come out of the shadows and wring his fucking neck.

  It wasn't part of the night's plan though, so I forced myself to calm down. I gave things another minute to play out and relaxed a little when I noticed that the object of my fantasies had it handled. She whispered something in the kid's ear, and he left with his tail between his legs; and fuck if she didn't look sexy as hell when she did it. I had to keep reminding myself that I was there for business, while I silently gawked at the first woman to ever hold my rapt attention.

  Ever.

  ***

  "Masterson."

  "Henson."

  Henson was a man in his late forties who had probably spent every dime he had on purchasing and promoting Club Lotus into what it is today. We already knew of each other somewhat because of my presence in other events around the city, and we didn't exactly like each other. Unfortunately for him, my father had his eyes set on acquiring Club Lotus and there wasn't much a man like Henson could do about it. He didn't have enough money, and he didn't have enough clout to deal with the likes of Joseph Masterson.

  "What do you need?" He asks me stiffly. "As you can see the club is closed until I can clean this shit up."

  "With three women in the hospital due to injuries they sustained here last week, I'd assume you were closed indefinitely. Don't you have Philly PD and every other agency in this city breathing down your neck right now?" I ask smugly.

  "You seem to know a lot about my business. Matter of fact I heard you were in the club that night. I wouldn't be surprised if it was you who set off the goddamn pepper spray."

  "Watch your mouth asshole."

  "Then what the hell do you want?"

  "I want to help you solve your problem."

  "And how would you do that?"

  "I have a buyer for the Lotus."

  "A buyer?" He asks as if he's insulted. "I'm not selling."

  "You are selling and you know why?"

  He's glaring at me, but he lets me continue without interruption.

  "Because you have no choice. You're going to get sued for what happened in here last week, and I know you don't have the money to pay those women. Your liability insurance has lapsed, and you are barely paying the mortgage on this place as it is. You're also about to lose your liquor license, which as you know will kill your bottom line faster than anything else. My buyer is willing to take on all your debt and all the risk. All you need to do is walk away."

  "Walk away with WHAT cocksucker!"

  "Debt free. Lawsuit free."

  Henson sneers. "I need more than my debt cleared to give someone all of this."

  "All of what? Look around. Really look Henson. What do you actually have now? Bills. Expenses. Headaches."

  Henson looks around the club that he's built over the last five years with sad eyes. In my work there's no room for compassion or pity, so even though his eyes are getting glassy, I don't feel even the smallest pang of guilt for basically robbing him blind. We'd be getting a prime piece of center city real estate for essentially nothing, which is good business 101. Of course we'd have to deal with the inevitable lawsuits headed our way, but Joseph can handle all of that with a phone call. Politicians in this town are notoriously crooked and can easily be bought.

  "Who's the buyer?" He asks me what's basically a rhetorical question. He already knows who my father is and what he's been up to in the real estate scene around the city, but I'll play his game. I down the rest of my shot and slam the shot glass on the counter.

  "I'm the buyer's proxy and the offer is up in twenty-four hours. Call me when you're ready. By the way, who was working the door that night?"

  Before he answers, he stares at me for a moment, and gives me a look that seems to imply how dare I ask him anything after the shit I just pulled.

  "Puma."

  He points to the big dude that let me in tonight.

  "Remember, twenty-four hours." I say.

  "I heard you asshole."

  That's when I know I've got him. He's definitely going to call within the hour.

  Puma watches me with great disinterest as I walk towards his direction, but I don't give a fuck. I've decided. If I can't get Elizabeth off my mind, then I need to find her. I made a mistake by letting her get in that cab without tasting her at least once. I need to remedy that shit right now.

  "What do you want?" Puma asks in an extra deep voice.

  Fat dudes always have to act tough. It's amusing to me.

  "Last Saturday. I need someone's info."

  "A member or a guest?" He looks over to Henson for some sort of sign that it's okay to give me the information I'm asking for.

  "A guest."

  "I don't have that."

  "Why?"

  "The members are in a database on the computer in the office. The guests that night were all written in the red book. That book has been long gone. It's missing or destroyed. Can't find it in this mess."

  "Wait–she came with a member."

  "You know the member's name?"

  Damn ... what did she call the skinny chick that night?

  "No."

  "Then you're shit out of luck homie."

  Oh for fuck's sake.

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth

  I STAND NERVOUSLY WITH an awestruck look on my face in front of a massive, pristine, red brick townhouse, whil
e firmly gripping the extended handles of my two oversized candy-red rolling suitcases. The broad limestone steps and perfectly painted black shutters frame each window and add an additional element of rich original detail to the house. There are two wooden window boxes located on each side of an elegant mahogany front door and each holds an assortment of live begonias–which add a pop of pink color and give the effect of a place that's more lived in instead of one that is simply camera ready. The house has obviously been expensively restored, but it still feels like it's brimming with rich history.

  Before I can even place my hand on the brass knocker to announce my arrival, the door jerks open, and there stands a slightly out-of-breath aged version of myself. It's absolutely eerie to see a reflection of yourself in another human being whom you've only briefly talked to on the phone over the holidays. I haven't seen her since I was very young, so in a way, it's like we've never met. I know that I'm suppose to feel some sort of strong connection to her because she's my dad's sister, but the only feeling I can muster up at the moment is reluctant gratitude.

  "You're here." She breathlessly declares with one hand on her hip and the other leaning on the doorframe.

  "I'm here." I respond with a small smile on my face.

  "Please come in Elizabeth. Welcome home."

  My Aunt Juliette is short and curvy with pear shaped hips just like me. Her skin is flawless and flushed, and her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She is dressed in a pair of black cropped yoga pants and a multi-colored athletic bra. Based on her sweaty appearance she has obviously been working out, which I find an interesting activity for her to be doing, considering that she knew I would be arriving at this time. I don't know if I should be offended or impressed at her dedication.

  I'm originally from Penn-Washington, Pennsylvania. A small suburb outside Philadelphia with tree-lined streets, low taxes, and blue ribbon schools. I've lived in Philly ever since I moved here to attend the University of Pennsylvania as a freshman, but have never visited my aunt the entire time I've lived here. We don't really know each other, except for the occasional Christmas card or phone call, and this temporary arrangement for me to stay with her has been several phone conversations and countless emails in the making between her and my mother. Not my ideal solution, but I was quickly running out of options. Sloan's place just isn't big enough for the two of us, plus I didn't want to impose myself on her any longer.