by Linda Verji
“Yeah.” She burrowed deeper into him, taking in his masculine scent. She loved how protected and loved she felt when she was in his arms. It was like she was the most precious thing in his world and he had no intentions of ever letting her go. Every part of her was aware of the hard chest against hers, achingly conscious of his muscular thighs and his hands caressing her back in slow circular strokes.
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “You?”
“I’m good.” His mouth swooped down to take hers in a possessive kiss. Her arms tightened around his neck when he lifted her off the ground so they were closer in height. His lips were firm against her soft ones, consuming her and his arms spun her waist tightly as if he had no plans of ever letting her go.
His kiss was like stevia; sweet, intoxicating and so addictive. She never wanted it to end. He slanted his lips over her, pushing his tongue in to tangle with hers. She met him without restraint, giving her everything to that kiss, trusting that he would treasure and protect whatever she gave.
It’d always been like this for them. From the first time they’d reached for the same cut of brisket in the grocery’s meat section those three years ago, the zing between them had been undeniable. Passion and want were the chain that drew them to each other while love and understanding were the padlock binding irrevocably together.
He pulled on her lower lip, teasing it. She ran her palm over his short soft as silk hair as she suckled his lips then dipped her tongue in for another taste of him. Everything disappeared in the wake of that kiss and for a moment they two stood there, lost in their world of passion.
“Get a room, you two,” someone yanked them from that world.
They pulled apart, staring into each other’s eyes as the present slowly closed in around them again; cops rushing past them, the ringing of telephones, the stench of an arrested drunkard passing by , a prostitute yelling to be released. And with it came the memories of the last couple of hours. Her interrogation, the arrest, Marcus…
Marcus!
Her anxiety returned full force. “They have Marcus, don’t they? That’s why they let us go.”
“No, they don’t have Marcus,” Nic reassured her.
Melanie didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared. There was every chance that Marcus was still with RayRay and Vance. In that case, police custody was probably much safer for him. But maybe he’d decided to use his common sense and gone home. God, she hoped so.
She said, “We need to find him.”
The first light of dawn welcomed them as they stepped out of the precinct, its chilly air laced with a healthy dose of freedom. She gulped a relieved breath as they descended the steps. But still something didn’t seem right, and the question niggled at her.
She turned to Nic. “I wonder why they let us go.”
Looking straight ahead, Nic shrugged. “Dunno.”
But there was something in the way he studiously avoided her gaze as he pulled his earlobe. That earlobe pull was his tell – whenever he was hiding something, he pulled.
Melanie stopped walking and turned fully to face him. “You know something.”
“I don’t know anything.” He took determined steps down the stairs even as he reached for his earlobe again.
“You’re lying.” She grabbed his arm to stop his movement. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know anything, Lanie.” He turned to face her. His eyes were a blank slate that revealed nothing. “Can we just go make sure your brother is at home?”
She wanted to ask more question, but he was right. The first priority was to make sure Marcus was okay. There would be plenty of time later to get the truth out of Nic.
Or so she thought.
The next day Nic was gone. Just like that. Without a word!
CHAPTER 1
Nine Years Later
The wedding dress would look lovely on her.
Melanie could see the wedding in her mind’s eye.
A nice summer day… no…. autumn day. Definitely autumn! A light breeze cooling the air, the soothing thrums of the orchestra crooning in symphony with the sound of waves crashing against the beach as she strolls down the aisle towards him. Him. His anticipatory smile drops and his eyes widen at her beauty…
“Oh God! It’s horrible, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve gone zombie on me,” Cece Scott wailed as she stared at her best friend. “I should’ve gone with the A-line design. I should’ve listened to Aunt Honey when she told me I’m too thick to be wearing these tight dresses.”
“Calm down, Miss Thang.” Melanie laughed as she straightened out the hem of the white strapless trumpet gown. “The dress looks amazing on you.”
She wasn’t pulling Cece’s leg. The dress looked lovely on her friend. Its stark white contrasted dramatically with the woman’s dark, smooth coffee complexion and its satin smoothed lovingly over her voluptuous curves adorably.
Melanie would’ve given anything to have Cece’s tall and evenly proportioned body. In the last few years, Melanie had gained one, two, maybe twenty pounds in weight. All of them had gone straight to her hips. However, her boobs were still embarrassing bee-stings and there was nothing to be done for her height short of walking around with her own chair to stand on.
“You look great,” Melanie reassured. “This is your dress.”
“Really?” Cece stared anxiously at her own image in the mirror, twirl to and fro.
“Really.” Melanie straightened and stepped to the side. “Now walk for me. Let me see you work that dress.”
Cece’s first step was reluctant but soon she was striding across the room like she owned the runway. She even managed a quick three sixty spin at the end that got Melanie catcalling, “Girl, yes. Work. It. Out.”
By the time Cece made her way back to Melanie’s side she was beaming. Her grin widened when the boy standing by the door piped up, “Aunty, will you marry me?”
Both women laughed and Cece said, “Boy, you are too late. Your Uncle Jeff already got there first.”
“We still got time. You’re not married yet.” Sly returned earning himself another round of chuckles. Maybe if he was taller, or older, they’d have taken him more seriously. Unfortunately he’d inherited the family height. At nine years-old, he looked more like a diminutive seven.
“You done with your homework, Player?” Melanie asked.
He nodded. “Can I play with your computer now?”
“Yeah. But only games. No internet.”
“But-”
“No. Internet.” Melanie’s insistent tone brooked no argument. Sly opened his mouth to protest further, but catching the warning in her eyes he reconsidered. He shrugged then turned on his sneakered heels and strode towards her office.
“Girl, why are you cramping that boy’s style,” Cece asked as she turned so that Melanie could help her unzip the dress. “All his little friends are messing around on Instagram or whatever right now.”
“You wouldn’t be advocating for him if you knew the nonsense he’s been up to.” Melanie clicked in irritation. “Yesterday, I caught him on bigboobs.net.”
Cece’s widened eyes met hers in the mirror. “Noooo.”
“Uh huh.” Melanie nodded. “That little boy isn’t getting back into the internet until he’s thirty. No -fifty.”
“Mm Mm Mm. I feel for you, girlfriend.” Cece ducked into the curtained dressing cubicle. Despite the orange fabric barrier, her voice was clear enough when she said, “I’m so glad Jeff doesn’t want any rug-rats.”
“Don’t call them that. They’re not that bad.” Melanie picked one of the earlier wedding dresses Cece had discarded on the gold brocade bench and pushed a wooden hanger through its sleeves. She added, “And you’re forgetting that babies aren’t just about you and Jeff. He may say he doesn’t want babies but one year from now his mama will be asking what’s up with your oven.”
“She got her an oven too, don’t she?” Cece retorted. “She can pop some kids if she wants them so bad.”
&
nbsp; “I want to be there when you tell her that.” Melanie chuckled. As a veteran of both marriage and divorce, she knew all too well the pressures that came with in-laws. “And what about Aunt Honey. You think she’s just gon’ stop dropping those hints?”
“Gah! Don’t remind me,” Cece complained. “I swear if she leaves another pregnancy test on top of my bed, I’m gon’-”
A rap on the door cut Cece’s words short and Jo, Melanie’s sales-assistant poked her head into the room. “Mel, Kimber Lee’s asking for you. Something about her dress.”
Melanie groaned then said, “Gimme a minute and I’ll be with her.”
After making her excuses to Cece, Melanie emerged from the private fitting room, and out to the main floor of the store.
By most standards, Darlene’s was small. But it was Melanie’s pride and joy and all the clothes hanging from those circular racks were her own designs. When she’d dropped out of college to raise Sly, she’d never imagined that someday she’d move from mending dresses at the back of Honey’s Tailoring to owning her own store.
A short woman, with strikingly purple, waist-length hair and wearing enough fur to give PETA a seizure, was holding court right in the middle of the store. Kimber laughed boisterously at something Jo said, then catching sight of Melanie, she trilled, “Melly.”
“Hello Kimber.” Melanie met Kimber’s air kisses with her own. “It’s nice to see you. What’s this about the dress?”
“Okay, so I know you’ve like designed it and everything…” Kimber’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “… but last night I had like an out of body experience. The Dalai Lama was there, and he said ‘Kimber, if you want Mr. K to leave that ho he calls a wife and finally marry you, you need to do better’. Then he showed me a new design.”
“Oh.” For a moment Melanie was lost for words.
‘Designed it and everything’ had involved three weeks of sketching, patterning, sewing and negotiating over a design that met Kimber’s qualifications for a nice cocktail dress. The woman wanted something, shiny, tight, short and clinging to every inch of her body, yet conveyed classy instead of slutty. Somehow, after days of practically pulling out her hair, Melanie had come up with something that worked. And here the lady was acting like designing were something you could do in your dreams.
It took everything in Melanie not to berate the woman. Instead, she gave Kimber her warmest smile. “I’m sure it’s an amazing design. Why don’t you show me the sketches?”
Of course Kimber had no sketches. It took two hours to convince the woman that the former design was just the thing to break a home. By the time, Kimber exited the store, armed with a pair of five hundred dollar shoes, Cece had already left and Melanie was ready to close shop. Heaving a sigh of relief, Melanie release Jo then went to her office to get Sly so they could go home.
“Can we have subs for dinner?” he asked as he shrugged into his jacket.
“No subs until the weekend.” Melanie grabbed his backpack then led the way out of the office. Once he was outside, she handed him the bag and locked the door. “I’m gon’ make us a healthy spinach and mushroom casserole.”
Sly fake retched. “Yuck!”
“Hey, my casseroles are awesome,” She muffed his head playfully. “Don’t play like you didn’t lick your plate when I made the last time.”
“Yuck!” His fake-retch was overshadowed by the dinging of the bell the store’s main door. They both turned towards the sound. The moment Melanie saw the late walk-in her heart dropped to her stomach and instant fear eclipsed her.
“Well, well, well. If it ain’t Melaaanie from the hood,” Vance drawled as he strolled into Darlene’s. He wasn’t alone. RayRay flunked his left side while a tall, a svelte redhead stood to his right, and two thuggish muscular men loomed behind him.
But Vance held all of Melanie’s attention.
“Melaaanie, Melaaanie, Melaaanie.”He let out a high whistle that reverberated in the store and sent fright skittering through her.
The years had changed him. He still had those deep-set blank eyes the color of dark gold that sent frightened chills through everyone he set them on. But he’d since abandoned the oversized chains, muscle-shirts, oversized denim pants and sneakers for a more upscale look. His terrifyingly muscular and tall frame was ensconced in a stripped three piece suit and a Rolex dangled from his wrist.
He looked almost civilized. Tame even! Melanie wasn’t fooled. If ever there was a case of a wolf taking on sheep’s clothing and still looking a wolf, then this was it.
Melanie’s whole body clenched in frightened response at this unwelcome blast from the past. She drew Sly closer to her, with a protective arm around his shoulders. “What do you want, Vance?”
“That the way you holler at your old friends, Melaaanie?” He swaggered towards her.
Melanie didn’t answer. She moved Sly in front of her and crossed her arms over his chest defensively. The rise and fall of Sly’s chest sped up under her palm indicating his own terror. She wanted nothing more than to carry him and run, but Vance’s cohorts were blocking the door. And even if they weren’t there, Melanie doubted she could outrun Vance and her past.
Vance stopped in front of Melanie and Sly. His vacant gaze flickered over the little boy then upwards to Melanie. “Been a minute, ain’t it?”
Melanie kept silent. A minute was not long enough. She thought she’d escaped him and The Runners after moving away from The Section to start afresh in Berkeley. But apparently she hadn’t run far enough. What was he doing here? What did he want?
“I see you got yourself a nice place here. Darlene’s. And you named it after your mama too.” His gaze skimmed the store and its racks of clothes. He nodded. “Nice place, ain’t it, RayRay?”
“Bitch’s a’ight. Bitch’s a’ight.” RayRay sniffed and ran his hand beneath his nose before tucking his hands further into the pockets of his oversized denim pants. His movements drew Melanie’s attention to the red leather bandana around his wrist.
“Melaaanie, got her own li’l shop n everything. Making her paper.” Vance fingered one of the dresses hanging from the rack closest to him.
If Melanie could, she would’ve snatched the fabric away. She didn’t want his hands crawling over anything of hers. He’d already done enough damage as it was.
He slapped his hand over his forehead. “Look at me forgetting the introductions. My bad. You know RayRay, don’t you? And this…” He strode towards the red head, stopping beside her to pat her ass. “…This is Iona. She…” Vance smiled. “… is your new business partner.”
Somewhere in Paris, Nic was preparing to meet an enemy of his own.
His fingers slid over the screen of the tablet as he read through the intel he had on his target one last time. He’d already memorized everything, but it never hurt to make sure. It was only when the limousine slowed down that he looked up to meet the eyes of the two men who made up his protection detail, Diego and Rafael.
Both men were olive-skinned, well built, tall and had the hard-eyed look of men who’d seen too much depravity to be fazed by anything. But that was where their similarities ended. Diego sported a crew-cut and, as Rafaél liked to tease, a face that only a mother could love. His features were marred by knots on his forehead and a scar running all the way from one ear to the side of his mouth.
Rafaél was the pretty boy of the two. He’d grown his midnight black hair to his shoulders and held it back from his face with a thin black band. The only thing saving his long lashes and broad lips from being completely girly was his square jaw-line. His prettiness didn’t mean he was any less of lethal than Diego. Just that people were more likely to underestimate him. An unfortunate mistake, as anyone who’d crossed the wrong side of him would testify.
Nic ordered, “No fire unless necessary.”
They nodded curtly just as the vehicle slowed to a halt. Rafaél stepped out of the car first and stood by the door, followed by Diego. After straightening his white trench coa
t over his navy blue, custom-made suit, Nic exited the limo to find them waiting for him.
Chez Homme sat smack in the middle of Paris, yet few people were aware of its existence. The restaurant was tucked besides a building much taller and more imposing than it. There was no decorous sign advertising it, only a blank silver door with a small black sign with the word ‘eat’ typed in lower case on it. So innocuous was the eatery that it disappeared into the crowd easily and only people looking for it found it.
Diego pushed open the door and the three men stepped into the dimly lit hovel. The moment they did, all heads lifted and eyes turned to them. Whisperings in the hidden corner booths stopped as the restaurant’s shady clientele, observed its new entrants. Their eyes followed Nic and his men as they made their way between tables to the deepest corner of the room.
Though it didn’t show in his expression, Nic noted every single person in the room, memorized them and cataloged them according to their potential for violence. In case things went south he needed to know who to shoot first.
He stopped right at a table where a blond man sat alone. Timo Kuhn.
Timo was sipping a dirty brown fluid that looked like coffee and reading the day’s copy of Le Figaro. Nic didn’t wait for an invitation to share his table. Diego pulled out a chair for him and he settled himself comfortably in it waiting for Timo to acknowledge him.
His eyes still on his newspaper, Timo said in German, “I hate when people interrupt my coffee.”
“Then you should drink it in your own house,” Nic retorted in equally perfect German.
The table fell into silence again as Timo continued – or pretended – to read his paper. Nic raised his hand, gesturing for a waiter to come over. When the waiter appeared at his side, he ordered, “Thé glace pour moi, et un autre café pour mon ami.”
“Oui Monsieur.” The waiter walked off and came back minutes later with a glass of iced tea for Nic and another coffee for Timo.
It wasn’t until the waiter placed the coffee in front of Timo that the blond man spoke again, “Who are you?”
