Beware

by Shanora Williams

  By

  Shanora Williams

  Edited by Erinn Giblin of Yours Truly, The Editor

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Formatting by Amanda Heath

  © Shanora Williams, 2014.

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights. You are not permitted to give or sell this book to anyone else. Any trademarks, product names, service marks, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. All rights are reserved.

  The names, events, and character depictions in this novel are not based on anyone or anything else, fictional or non-fictional.

  Dedicated to:

  My love. My bundle of pure joy. My peace of mind, yet the one I’m constantly worrying about. The reason my passion and motivation returned with full force. My everything.

  My baby,

  Julien Osias

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Note from the Author

  Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know before you read BEWARE that it’s nothing like the FireNine series or any other series I’ve put out there. This novel is categorized under Erotica, therefore there is a lot more steaminess than usual, but there is also a story and I hope you all enjoy it. Ace and London were hard characters to deal with, but I hope you love them just as much as I do and I hope you love this novel as much as you have the others. If this is your first time reading one of my books then disregard everything above and happy reading!

  Shanora

  Shattered glass everywhere.

  My fragile body lies lopsided as I blink slowly. I’m in a haze.

  Confused.

  Hurting.

  Aching.

  I try adjusting myself in my seat but notice I’m not sitting upright. I’m on my side, and something sharp stabs me every time I try and make a move.

  Sirens sound a distance away. I cry out as the pain grows harsher.

  Then, I see blood and hair. There’s a lot of blood in front of me. And a lot of brown hair.

  “Mama,” I call.

  No response.

  “Mama… please,” I beg, voice cracking. “Daddy!”

  Oh… God. I’m terrified. Thick tears stream down my cheeks. I push the button belonging to my seatbelt and hit the car door. The car is obviously flipped on its side; I can feel the rough pavement on my palms. The shards of broken glass.

  The sound of the sirens gets closer; the pain becomes unbearable.

  When the sirens finally reach me, I scream for help. They rush for me immediately. The car door opposite of mine flies open, and a tall man with a thick beard appears. He’s a sheriff. I remember Daddy having the same gold badge and telling me all about it, along with his duties.

  Then, I realize who the man is — Mr. Banks. He works with my dad and is also a good friend of his.

  Mr. Banks looks at me with nothing but sorrow and pain in his eyes. He catches sight of the blood, the panic on my face, and brings his long arms down to help me out. I cry and wince from the pain. He assures me everything will be alright, that he’ll get me to a hospital quickly to take care of my gash.

  But as he hands me over to a few men in blue suits, I can’t stop staring over their shoulders, watching the entire scene unfold.

  I can see everything.

  Mom’s head hanging out the driver’s window. Her spine stabbing through her neck. Blood… so much blood. Dripping down the car door. Her hand, dangling on the side, the other on the steering wheel. The dented fender of the truck that hit us sitting only a few feet away from our van.

  I shut my eyes and pray it’s all fake—that maybe that isn’t Mama in the driver’s seat and I’m just having a horrible, vivid nightmare.

  But deep down, at the mere, innocent age of seven, I know.

  I know my Mama and Daddy are dead.

  My brother always told me to take care of myself before taking care of anyone else. When he left, he basically scolded me. He told me no one in our family or in our lives is going to pave our way. We have to create our own goals. Our own future. I used to consider him crazy, silly even.

  But on this day, I know he was speaking nothing but the truth.

  I’m sitting in a crowded auditorium, cameras flashing and people hollering as students cross the stage. The voice calling the names is deep, and it’s making my head pound with each syllable. With gridlocked fingers, I point my gaze ahead, meeting bright blue eyes. Ver is looking right at me with her full, bouncy curls framing her face. She forces a wide, toothy smile across her lips and gives me a quick thumbs up.

  Nervously, I smile, and she looks away.

  Our row is called. The people beside me stand, but strangely, I remain seated. I’m nauseated. I can’t do this… I can’t.

  After all those years of wanting to accomplish something this big, I just can’t do it. I worked hard. I strove for it, but now, my nerves are all over the place. I want people to cheer for me, but who will? Besides Veronica and Garrett, nobody will. I’m a nobody. Always have been, always will be.

  I shut my eyes, inhaling deeply. I do what Jonah always taught me and count backwards from ten.

  Damn it, Jonah. Are you here?

  He was the only person I sent a graduation invitation to. I’m hoping he’s here. He said he’d be here, but with how busy he is, he might not have made it.

  My eyes pop open. I turn my head, and hopelessly scan the crowd, wishing to catch the hazel eyes that are nearly identical to mine.

  I look. Hard.

  I don’t see him where he said he’d be.

  I feel defeated.

  “London,” the girl beside me says. I look up, and she’s looking down at me, eyes full of concern. Her face is caked with makeup; her blonde hair as straight as an ironing board. She’s wearing too much perfume. It’s annoying really. I try and think of her name. During ceremony practice I remember her last name being Staten… Maria? Macy?

  She snaps her fingers in my face, and it’s now when I realize every person surrounding us is staring right at me.

  “Hello? Aren’t you going to the stage?” She points to my right, and with a slight nod, I shoot up to my feet, wobbling on Ver’s six-inch heels. Maria, Macy, or whatever her name is, laughs behind me and calls me an idiot, but I ignore her. Right now, I have bigger things to worry about, like whether my brother is here or how the hell I’m going to cross this auditorium and walk across that stage with these high-ass heels on. I knew I shouldn’t have let Ver talk me into wearing them. I’m a complete klutz. The last time I wore heels was at my senior prom.

  That night was an epic fail.

  Starting my walk toward the stage, I dig my fingernails into my palms, feeling like a disaster is imminent.

  “Hey
bitch!” a familiar voice hisses at me.

  I quickly look to my left, spotting Garrett waving wildly at me. He cheeses like a child with his bright red hair and perfect teeth, but I don’t smile back. I can’t. If I do I’ll probably fuck up my walk. I swear my high school graduation wasn’t like this. It was easier to do. Less people. Smaller stage. Smaller arena.

  When the walk stops, I fidget behind the Asian guy in front of me. The man at the podium calls each of us one-by-one, and with each person going—with the line before me minimizing—a chill shoots straight through my spine.

  Damn it! Where the hell is Jonah!?

  For the final time, I scan the crowd ahead of me, starting from the first row and going up. I look from left to right, hoping he’s on row four.

  And then, finally, I think I see him.

  I squint my eyes, moving as the man at the podium continues calling names. When my eyes focus on the familiar man in the black suit, relief swirls through me. My mouth loses its dryness; the fingernails in my palms no longer stab me. He’s looking right at me, smiling.

  I beam at him, so thankful he’s here.

  You’d think, at twenty-four years old, I’d have myself under control. Have a little independence. But no, that’s far from the truth. Jonah has been with me every step of the way, sending money for school whenever I didn’t have it, calling whenever he’s free. Sometimes, he would send Valentine’s Day gifts when I was single, lonely, and didn’t know what to do with myself. He’s a good big brother. He knows how to keep me happy. He knows how to take care of me. He’s the only person that’s taken care of me.

  The line shortens before me, and I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I look toward Jonah again, and his smile is light. He lifts a hand and crosses two fingers, praying I don’t bust my ass as I cross that stage. I talked to him about that repeatedly. It’s my biggest fear of the day.

  When the guy in front of me gets called, a mixture of anxiety, fear, and elation flows through my veins. I’m a bottle of emotions, and I need to be uncorked. I’m not sure how to feel. I’m still nervous, but I’m glad I have someone to look forward to seeing afterwards.

  Meeting Jonah’s eyes for the final time before I cross the stage, I tilt my chin. When my name is called, I march across as confidently as possible. I look at Jonah the whole time, but to his left, someone taps his shoulder. I take a look at the man briefly, and he’s looking right at me. He’s asking Jonah something. Jonah nods but still claps for me.

  The man nods, and then a cool smile snakes across his lips. His eyes are hard. Dangerous. I can’t tell what color they are from here, but they look dark. He has on a black suit and a blood-red tie. He’s dressed to impress, that’s for damn sure. There’s a tattoo of a bird on his neck, not too big or too small but very noticeable under his suit. I figure he’s one of Jonah’s co-workers.

  As I stagger across the stage, I can’t stop staring at him, and it doesn’t help that he’s staring right at me. Into my eyes. Our gazes are bolted. I can feel my mouth slowly falling to my chin. I take note of his firm, chiseled jaw, his perfectly tipped nose, and full, plump lips. His hair is an inky black with no trace of color. His face is clear of any facial hair. He’s clean. All over. And so, so handsome. By the way his hair curls in the front and by how firm his features are, I’d say he’s mixed with African-American blood.

  Who the hell is this man?

  When laughter erupts all over the stadium, I’m able to snatch my gaze off of his and take a look around. A few students in the front rows are laughing.

  “Miss Stallone?” the man at the podium calls with his hand over the microphone.

  Swiveling my body, I meet his wrinkled face. His eyes are wide beneath his magnified glasses. “Congratulations,” he says. “Please take your diploma from Mr. Sneet.”

  “Oh,” I breathe. “Thank you so much.” My face fills with piping hot blood. I can feel my ears getting warmer by the second. I’m embarrassed. It’s not as bad as tripping over a cord and busting my ass, but it’s damn near close.

  Shaking Mr. Sneet’s hand and grabbing my diploma, I rush across the stage and down the stairs. I follow the rest of the students back to our row of seats, but not without looking up to find that beautiful man with my brother.

  I look up, spotting Jonah. He’s smiling hard at me, clapping for me. He pulls out his phone to take pictures, and I smile for the camera, but when he puts it away, I take a quick look to his left.

  He’s gone.

  Damn.

  Just my luck.

  ***

  After the ceremony, I push through the crowded hallway with my phone glued to my ear. “I can’t hear you, Jonah. Where are you?” I ask. I glance back as someone brushes my elbow to get by.

  “By… the… water… near… see… me… flowers… door.”

  “Shit,” I hiss, snatching my phone down. I end the call, and drop it in my bag, hoping for the best. I go to the clearest section of the hallway. Standing on my toes, I look for nearly five minutes, but eventually, my patience starts to wear thin. Turning around, I start for the glass doors with a plan to wait for him to come outside, but before I can make it there, someone grabs my elbow and turns me in their direction.

  My first thought is that it’s Jonah, but when I realize how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are, and how beautiful his honey-brown eyes are as they lock with mine, I know I’m wrong.

  It’s not Jonah.

  It’s the guy that was standing beside him.

  The one wearing the blood-red tie.

  “Looking for Jonah?” he asks. A smile curls at his lips as he lowers his head. The heat of his fingers flows through my skin. It feels nice. The guy angles his head. I can’t speak, so I nod. “This way.”

  He releases my arm and turns the other way. I follow after him, watching as each person in the crowd disperses as he walks by. Not a single person brushes against him. It’s like a movie in action, the kind of scene when the whole crowd backs away as the most beautiful man walks by. They all stare with wide eyes, hoping he’ll look their way.

  He doesn’t look at any of them, just continues his walk.

  A few girls look from him to me, curious as to what he’s doing with me. I’m curious myself. How does he know my brother? And how did he spot me out of all the people in this busy area.

  “Hey,” I call, meeting at his side. He looks down through the corner of his eye. His head is still up. Not one part of him moved to look at me. Only his eyes. “How do you know Jonah?”

  “Co-worker.”

  “I knew it.”

  An amused smile snakes across his lips. “Did the tie and suit give it away?”

  “Pretty much. What do you do with him?”

  His smile evaporates; his face straightens. “Business.”

  “Do you sell watches, too?” A smile twitches at the corner of his lips as he fights a laugh. I remain confused.

  “He’s right there,” the guy says, ignoring my question. The right corner of his lips is still turned up. What does he find so funny?

  Instead of questioning his amused smirk, I look forward and spot Jonah who’s holding up his cell phone, trying to get some reception. I rush away from his co-worker, and luckily, I don’t end up falling on my knees as I rush to him. Jonah sees me coming but doesn’t have any time to prepare himself. I clash into him, locking my arms around his neck and squeezing.

  “Lonnie,” he wheezes.

  I laugh and release him.

  He looks down at me, pulling me in for a tight hug. After kissing my cheek, he hands me the flowers I just crumpled between us. “Frail, but I hope you don’t mind.” He winks.

  I laugh. “Thanks, Jonah.” I take the begonias, bringing them to my nose to sniff. “I thought you weren’t gonna show today,” I say.

  Jonah’s eyes broaden. “You kidding me?” He knuckles my chin. “Wouldn’t miss it, kid. You know that. I took the whole weekend off so we can hang.”

  “Really?” I
question, elated.

  “Really.”

  I squeal, and he laughs, shaking his head. He then looks over my shoulder, and I look with him, watching the guy in the blood-red tie walk toward us. “Who is he?” I whisper.

  “Friend of mine. Also a co-worker. I’ll allow him to introduce himself.”

  The co-worker meets up to us, one hand in his pocket. “So this is London?” he asks.

  “In the flesh,” Jonah says, wrapping an arm across my shoulders.

  The guy takes his hands out of his front pockets then extends one long arm my way. “Donovan Crow. Most call me Ace,” he says this with confidence. I look down at his hand briefly before taking it. I don’t want to come off as rude.

  “London Stallone,” I return.

  “Heard many things. Nice to meet you, London.”

  I quiver. He just rolled my name off his tongue. Damn.

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” I say as confidently as possible. Donovan releases my hand, and I take a quick step back, standing at Jonah’s side again.

  “So, how about we go to your favorite pancake house,” Jonah offers, pointing his thumb back at the doors.

  “Oh, that’d be great. I didn’t eat this morning. I’m starving.”

  “Great.” Jonah starts the walk toward the door, and as he walks ahead of me, I take a quick look back at Donovan. He scans the length of my body, mainly the cleavage poking out of my black blouse. He then observes my legs, eyes hard and heavy. I’m not sure whether he’s admiring them or not.

  I turn forward again as he starts to follow after us. I’m not sure if it’s in my head or for real, but a throaty laugh sounds behind me, and I pause in my tracks. I take one more glance back. He’s looking me right in the eyes. Intensely. That same smirk is still on his lips. When he walks past me, he says, “Come, London. Don’t wanna keep big brother waiting.”

  “I suppose not,” I murmur, following after him.

  He walks out, and again, all the people rush out of his way. His strides are confident, his eyes forward. There’s some sort of swagger in him; there’s a lean in his step.