As always – subject to change, etc etc.

I do not have a firm release date yet, but I will soon!

Enjoy!

“So… what is it you want from me?” I asked her.

“I want you to be safe. I want you to be whole.”

 “That ship has sailed. What else?”

Her eyes narrowed.  “What are you doing in Vegas?”

 “I told you, I like casinos. Then I made a few friends,” I shrugged. “Came for the slot machines, stayed for the brotherhood.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then shook her head. I could tell she wasn’t convinced, but I wasn’t sure I needed her to be.

“I’m not going to have anybody watch you, Nyx,” she said, after a moment had passed. “I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story, but… I don’t get the feeling you’re here for any trouble either. Well… any trouble with your former brotherhood that is.”

I scoffed. “We weren’t a family, Alicia. We were trauma bonded victims.”

“I choose to see it differently.” She pushed up from her seat, still staring at me. “I like the locs. And the earring,” she said, setting off a weird feeling in my chest. She tipped her head to one side, peering at me, then the other, then grinned. “You never did get the other side pierced, I see.”

 “Don’t read into it!” I called after her, as she flung the door open and headed out.

“I think I’m going to read everything into it,” she said, noticing that I’d hopped up too, and had followed her. “You’re free to go,” she told me. “Your bike was just brought up from the garage.”

 I frowned. “How the hell… never mind,” I said.

Honestly it would have been more of a surprise if they hadn’t identified my vehicle.

I stopped my exit to turn and look her in the face. “You never said what you did to Tati.”

Alicia smiled. “She’s beautiful, Nyx.”

“What the fuck does that have to do anything?” I grunted. “Where is she?”

She shrugged. “How the hell should I know? The bar, or home, or… wherever else the Predators hang out, I guess. Don’t take your mistake out on her.”

Funny.

Tati was too precious to Blue for me to fuck with her too bad.

“I won’t.” I breezed past her through the door.  The first place my gaze went was up, to the sky, finding my map in the stars.

 “There’s a tracker on my bike, isn’t there?” I asked.

“I don’t need to track you, Nyx. I trust you. And… I’ve got a feeling you’ll come back to me.”

I climbed on my bike, and shook my head before I took off, tossing one last statement over my shoulder.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

——————————-

———

—

“Last one, sweetheart.”

I eyeballed the shot of bourbon the bartender had slid across the glossy surface to me, then turned my gaze on him, glaring. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve gotta make sure not to over serve anybody,” he explained, with a halfhearted shrug. “That way everybody gets to bed safe.”

My eyes narrowed. “Do I seem drunk?”

“I know how much I’ve served you.”

“I can handle my liquor.”

He grinned at me – a little too lusty, enough to make me shift in my seat. “Everybody can handle it until it all catches up at once. You’ve had enough.”

I propped my elbows on the bar and leaned in, knowing exactly the kinda picture I’d created – tits and big brown eyes and pouty full lips. “What time do you get off?”

Surprise registered on his face, then he moved closer. “Why? Are you trying to be safe in my bed?”

I smiled at him, finally grabbing the glass and knocking it back, letting a little dribble down my chin so I could lick it off. “No. Just want to know when somebody with the balls to let me drink what the fuck I want can serve me.”

Instantly, his expression changed – he was all anger and annoyance and rejection. “Get the fuck outta here,” he said, pointing to the entrance – and exit –  of the restaurant. Not my first choice for getting drunk, but really the only option available.

I’d arrived in the sleepy, middle-of-nothing town of Sugar Valley past closing time for everything except a diner downtown and this place, Maple, up at the base of the mountain. The diner didn’t serve liquor – and even if it had, this was much more my vibe.

Not so many bright ass lights.

“I’ve been kicked out of better places,” I told him, winking as I pulled on my ridiculous fur. It wasn’t the most practical thing, but I wasn’t the most practical woman. And when I’d gotten on the road, practicality hadn’t exactly been of much concern.

I just needed to go.

So I had.

“You’re a guest at the lodges?” he called after me, and I flipped him off.

What the hell would he need to know that for? I patted my pockets, feeling for my keys and wallet as I approached the door.

It was time to move on.

Except… a strange feeling crept over me, pulling me to a stop and practically cementing my feet to the floor.

Something… was off. I loved around at the other people in the restaurant and bar, looking around for anything that felt out of place. But if anything, if something or someone didn’t belong there… it was me.

“Hey – you’re not planning on driving, are you?” Suddenly, the bartender was in my face, eyes wide. “You’re not in any shape for that.”

I sucked my teeth. “Duh. I’m just going to my room.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean cabin?”

“Whatever.” I turned to leave, and he caught me by the arm.

“Hold up – I’ll walk you.”

I frowned. “You’ll get off me, or I’ll start screaming, fucking creep,” I insisted, shaking him off me. “I don’t need you knowing where I’m staying.”

“I don’t really give a shit where you’re staying – but it would be irresponsible to put you on the road. We’ll comp the room – cause I know your ass doesn’t have one – but you need to dry off. Go through there, it connects to the front desk.”

It… wasn’t a request.

That was the very clear impression I got.

And because the liquor was catching up to me, I really didn’t feel like arguing with this man. I went through the door he’d pointed out, still feeling that odd feeling. He didn’t follow me, but the door did lead to the front desk, where the older woman behind it looked up from her crossword puzzle book with a smile.

“You need a room honey?” she asked, and I shook my head.

Not the right answer.

Immediate concern crossed her face, and I quickly adjusted.

“Well, yes – I just need to grab my purse from my car,” I lied, bringing the pleasantry back to her expression.

“I’ll be right here – you be careful on those steps, that snow is really coming down.”

“Yes ma’am,” I nodded, already out the door as she was speaking.

Shit.

She wasn’t lying.

What had been a light scattering of flurries when I arrived had evolved into a steady shower of fluffy white powder that likely wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, in the freezing temperature.

Even more reason to get my ass out of here.

It had been stupid to stop in the first place.

Well… not the stop, because I needed gas, but the gas station being closed was what had led me up here – the lodge had a small dedicated fueling station for their customers. Up here, I’d noticed the bar, and blah, blah, blah, but now I was on the verge of getting stuck.

Which was a mistake.

I had to keep moving, at least for now.

The parking lot was well-lit, but empty except the cars of the people tucked into the safety of the cabins and the main lodge – my bright coral Mercedes stuck out amongst a sea of deeper colors, which was a good thing for now.

Later — soon — I’d have to do something about it. I’d gotten rid of any GPS tracking, but it was too recognizable in its current state. I fished my keys from my pocket, cursing myself for thinking to use the push-button start before now, so it could start warming.

Not that it mattered.

I was pushed into the car from behind before I even reached for the door.

I wanted to scream – tried to scream – but there was already a hand over my mouth. I was all off balance, struggling to get away, to at least see my attacker. I wasn’t much of a fighter, but I wasn’t helpless either – I at least managed to turn around. My fingers were going wild, trying to get a good grip on the tiny, illegally powerful taser on my key tin, and I almost had it when a terrifying, unmistakable sound hit my ears.

The cocking of a gun.

“Cut. The. Bullshit.”

I went completely still, swallowing hard as the barrel of the gun pressed into my cheek. Now that the chaos of it all had come to a stop, I blinked, and then I was looking right into obsidian eyes filled with… death.

Okay.

Bullshit, cut.

“Your husband sends his regards,” the man informed me, with a slight shift of the weapon against my skin, making it dig in. The shift brought more of his face into the light.

Copper skin, those black ass eyes, and a jaw line carved from stone.

Not a bad final view.

“He sent you to kill me?” I asked, meeting his gaze. My speech was awkward – with a gun shoved in my face and all – but I had to know. “Or just take me back?”

“Either – but one pays more. Come on,” he said, suddenly removing the cold steel from my skin and grabbing me by the arm. “Don’t do anything stupid. Anything else stupid,” he corrected, practically dragging me across the parking lot.

“You’re a freelancer?” I called, raising my voice over the howling wind. “You know he kills those? Uses his full-time hires to get rid of the loose ends. That’s what he calls y’all – loose ends.”

It was true.

Not that it mattered.

He didn’t falter from his journey, hauling me full speed to wherever we were heading.

In the distance, sirens started up, and the doors of the lodge flung open. I could see emergency lights headed up the winding path from the town of Sugar Valley to the lodge, and wondered what it was about.

But not long.

The flurry of activity had distracted him too, and I took advantage of the moment to snatch away and take off through the woods.

Not that it made much difference.

I didn’t get very far, half drunk and half blind from the snow before I tripped and went hurtling to the ground, ending half buried in a snow bank.

I didn’t bother moving, not for a while. I laid there long enough to wonder if I actually had lost him in the confusion, and then slowly, cautiously, I turned my tender body over in the snow. We weren’t in the parking lot anymore, but between the light reflecting off the snow and a bright moon, visibility was good enough.

There he was.

Standing right at my feet.

I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his gaze burning into me, hot with annoyance. And I could see the gun peeking from his gloved hand.

“Get your ass up, and let’s go.”

I didn’t move.

“Just kill me.”

“You’re more valuable alive.”

“Then why the fuck should I cooperate?”

He lowered the gun, and crossed his arms. “Because it’s dead or alive. Nobody ever said shit about unharmed.”

Shit.

Damn my low pain tolerance – the very reason I’d decided I was done with my husband in the first place. I wasn’t the do whatever you want to me, I’ll never fold type.

Nope.

I got my ass up.

With some difficulty, but still.

“Do I need to tie you up?” he asked, once I was back on my feet, peering at him through the snow.

I smirked. “Do you want to?”

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” he snapped, grabbing my arm to guide me back up toward the parking lot. In just a short time, the flurry of activity had grown to a full-blown crowd, all standing in the cold chattering about something. He and I drifted along the outskirts with his gun pressed into my side, soaking the conversation up enough to piece together what was going on.

A small avalanche high on the mountain had caused enough of a chain reaction to take line of trees down – trees that were now blocking access off the mountain into town, which was the only way to get back to the main road.

At least until morning.

“Fuck,” my captor said, verbalizing my exact sentiments.

If I’d just left a little earlier, I could’ve been on the other side of this – or even better, in the middle of it, buried under too many feet of downed trees and snow.

It had to be better than this.

“Bring your ass on,” he muttered, snatching me back into the woods.

“I’m not dressed for this shit!” I argued, only to get dragged even faster, even further, around what I quickly realized was the back of the property, along the line of cabins until it split off into a set of smaller, scattered ones – one of which bore a sign that said closed for renovations.

That was the one he chose.

“We’re going to freeze to death, you know,” I complained, after he’d made quick work of breaking in with the light from his cell phone.

“I’ll take my chances in here versus the damn woods. Sit down somewhere,” he said, moving around to make sure the thick curtains on all the windows were closed before he started pulling wood from a box by the fireplace.

“You don’t think someone will notice a fire?”

“I don’t think anybody is going to notice it tonight, in the middle of a snowstorm, trapped on a damn mountain,” he countered. “They’re gonna eat and drink and fuck, and then by morning, we’ll be gone – if I have to knock your ass out and carry you down myself.”

Okay.

He had a point there.

“Is that what you’d rather be doing?” I asked, ignoring his instructions to sit in favor of looking around the cabin – I could see where some of the trim had been pulled down, light fixtures missing, stuff like that. “Drinking? Fucking?”

“I’m here for a job,” he countered, pulling off his hood, jacket, and gloves.

“A shitty one,” I said, propping my hands on my hips. I was in the same sweater dress, heeled boots, and fur I’d left my house in earlier, all of which probably looked a mess by now.

Fucked up package.

The product inside was still good, though.

“Money is money,” he shrugged, still brandishing the gun as he leaned against the wall next to the blazing fireplace.

“That’s all this is about for you? Money?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Oh. I’ve got money. How much is he paying you?”

“More than you can afford.”

“You don’t know what I can afford,” I told him. “You probably think I’m stupid – that I was just some vapid fucking trophy wife, but… you’d be wrong. You have no idea what I am.”

“I know exactly what you are – a kept woman who… shit, didn’t want to be kept anymore,” he shrugged. “I don’t really give a fuck about the details, as long as the check clears.”

“My check will clear just fine – with the bonus of you not ending up with a bullet in your head after.”

“The fact that you think I’m worried at all about that makes it clear to me – you have no idea what I am.”

I smirked. “You’re a hired gun – nothing special, which is why you’re freelancing instead of going into private security,” I guessed, shrugging off my fur. “But more than that – you’re a man, and I know exactly how fucking simple y’all are,” I said, strolling in his direction as I pulled the dress over my head. “So… I’ll make you a deal. Not only will I double what he’s paying you – I’ll show you why he’s so mad I ran away.”

I looked good as fuck.

Undoubtedly.

So it was no surprise that his eyes were glued to my body – it was actually the goal.

But what I didn’t expect was for him to push off the wall, sticking the barrel of the gun to the side of my head as he wrapped a hand around my throat and asked, “Where the fuck did you get that tattoo?”

I frowned, definitely not expecting that question. “What does it matter to you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Somewhere you wouldn’t know anything about.”

He removed his hand from throat, reaching to hike the sleeve of his thermal up to his shoulder. “Try me.”

My gaze followed the curve of musculature along his arm, the fire light illuminating his skin along the way, all the way down… to the ring of thorns decorating his bicep. Ink that declared him, in the most twisted of ways, my brother.

Which explained why he was so interested in my rose.

“What happened to you?” he asked, lowering the gun. “I shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you like this – not without a much bigger fight.”

“I’m not that kind of rose,” I informed him, backing away. “I’m… a lover.”

A smirk spread over my face as further understanding dawned on him, and he nodded. “Your rose is a different color…”

“We couldn’t all be trained killers, could we?” I asked, even though… it wasn’t quite true.

I’d done a bit of both.

“You say it like we were given a choice,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe not back then, but you have one now.”

He grunted. “It’s not that simple.”

“It definitely is,” I countered. “My husband is going to fucking kill you. You’re gonna deliver me back to him, and he’ll be so grateful, and he’ll pay you immediately – maybe even a bonus. And then, in a few days – maybe a week… he’s gonna send his guys in for clean up. And I promise you – they ain’t using fabuloso.”

“Why should I believe you?” he asked. “You’ll say anything to save your life.”

“You’re not wrong – but I’m not lying. Think about it – he didn’t even tell you what I was.”

He scoffed. “And you think that makes me want to take your word over his?”

“He bought me off his brother,” I snapped, shaking my head. “Before he got excommunicated from the Collective for being corrupt. Reynard Belrose, Etienne Belrose’s fucking brother. Do you know how fucked up you’ve gotta be for that to happen? Your own brother?”

He did.

I could see it in his eyes as he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“Do not tell him you have me,” I pleaded. “Don’t even tell him where you are. But… ask him about what assurances you’ll get when you bring me back. Tell him you want more. Listen for his reaction – listen for the lie – I know they taught you that. How did you even end up wrapped back up in this shit with scum like him?”

When he shrugged, I saw it – all over his face.

Desperation.

When the Garden fell – when Etienne went to prison for his myriad crimes – it was a hard time for most of us. I’d already been pulled away from the Garden – already at the mercy of Reynard – but I saw the disarray all the scattered roses and thorns found themselves in.

And with the way they’d programmed us… it really wasn’t hard to understand how some might end up back in range of the sick ass Belrose brothers.

He wasn’t just brainwashed though – or at least, he wasn’t “under” – he didn’t have that blank look in his eyes that told that story.

“How much did he offer you?” I asked, again.

“A million.”

I nodded. “Reynard paid ten. When I was twelve years old. If that tells you anything about the kind of person he is.”

I knew that number because he’d drilled it in my head like a mantra, making sure I knew. Any time I was disobedient, or bratty, or whatever the fuck, he made sure I knew.

And I was grateful.

Because it kept me lucid.

I wouldn’t lie – aside from the obvious, I’d enjoyed a vastly privileged life – it would have been easy to delude myself into thinking I should be grateful to him, or that any of it was out of kindness.

It wasn’t.

It was about maintaining a certain presentation, a certain status, for him.

And I never allowed myself to think it was anything more, anything better – staying coherent enough to put aside money, jewelry, other gifts. I paid attention.

If I played my cards right… it would save my life.

“I have eyes on her,” he said into the phone, and I knew Reynard was on the end. I watched him as intently as he watched me, while he listened to whatever was being said.

“What if the price has gone up?”

He waited.

Listened.

And I saw the tiny, subtle shift in his expression.

Then he raised a finger to his lips, and lowered the phone, switching it to speaker.

“— another million? That’s not a problem. But I want her alive,” Reynard insisted.

“What if I have to fuck her? Would that be a problem?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Have to?” Reynard asked.

“If you want her back alive, quietly, I need to get her alone. Get her to trust me. If I fuck her right she’ll do anything I say.”

Reynard coughed – a whole coughing fit that made me cringe, disgusted. “Just get her back to me, Dale. I don’t care about the details.”

I shook my head.

That was a lie.

“Understood. And what assurances do I have that I won’t become a casualty of your quest for some sort of… peace… after I’ve returned your wife to your possession?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

There was silence, for a long moment. “Where did you say you were, that you’d found Anaia?”

“I didn’t.”

“You should.”

“But I won’t, until you answer the question – but obviously, you have answered it.”

“Bring me my fucking wife.”

A slow, dangerous smirk spread over Dale’s lips. “Come get her.”

With that, he hit the button on the screen to end the call, then turned the phone off.

“Told you.”

“You did,” he nodded.

“So… how long before they find us?”

He shook his head. “They won’t. You did a good job disabling all your tracking – I checked it while you were drinking.”

“Then how did you find me?”

“I watched you disable the tracking, five hundred miles ago,” he answered. “And they could never track me.”

“Why did you ask him if you could fuck me?”

“Because I want to fuck you. And now… I don’t have a reason not to.”

Suddenly, I was very conscious of the fact that I was in just my – skimpy – underwear and boots, and heavy earrings – the only ones in my immediate possession. Everything else was stashed. Not self-conscious… just conscious.

“Do you only want to do that because it would get under his skin if he knew?” I asked, taking a seat on the couch and spreading my legs apart – the barely-there lace wasn’t doing much to hide my pussy anyway. “The last few men I fucked… he had them killed. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else having touched me – even though he’d given his permission.”

“I wanted to fuck you five hundred miles ago,” Dale said, sauntering across the room. “But this new information… it’s definitely a bonus. Pussy to kill over…”

I reached between my breasts, unclipping my bra and pulling the cups apart to let them spill free. “He hasn’t been able to get it up in months – even with pills,” I grinned. “It infuriates him – that’s why he’s so pissed, and that’s why he’s been so sloppy. How I finally got my opening… to leave.”

Dale was right in front of me now, and already hard, bulging against the front of his jeans. I reached up, unbelting, unbuttoning, unzipping… letting him free.

The smell of him made my mouth water.

“Do I still have to pay you the bounty?” I asked, cupping his balls in one hand, his shaft in the other. I didn’t wait for an answer before I took him in my mouth, sucking hard. His hands went to the thick coils of my hair, fisting and holding tight as his hips bucked, pushing his dick down my throat, making me move my hand.

I put it between my legs instead, giving my pussy the attention it was begging for as he held his dick in my throat as I swallowed, contracting around him. I gagged but didn’t choke, humming against his flesh as I pulled back, then took him deep like that again. And he wasn’t shy about fucking my mouth – he leaned into it, literally, holding my head in place as my face turned into a mess of saliva and tears, and then, finally, cum.

I swallowed his seed and then licked him off my lips and chin, never tearing my gaze from his. My hand was still between my legs, and I was soaking wet, my useless panties pushed aside. Dale dropped to his knees in front of me, his mouth joining my hand, working with me. My head fell back, eyes closed as he ate my pussy, eventually moving my fingers out of the way so he could do all the work. I gave the attention to my nipples instead, pinching them the point of pain as Dale’s head bobbed between my legs until he made me cum and then licked me clean.

I watched, breathless, as he stripped all the way out of his clothes and then took the seat beside me, motioning for me to climb on.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Don’t kill me, okay?” he teased as I sank onto him, and I wanted to laugh, but you needed breath for that – breath I didn’t have.

His hands and dick were both big, and thick, just like I yearned for, making it easy to put on a real show – it was always easier when the pleasure didn’t have to be faked. His head between my legs had already primed me up, and this was the bonus round.

I learned from Jill Scott to always try to beat the high score.

I rode his dick like my life depended on it, because it just might, for as much as I knew. His fingers dug into my hips as he met me with upward strokes, fucking me just as hard as I was fucking him. He moved a hand to between my legs, pinching my clit between his forefinger and thumb, and the very next thing I knew, I was cumming again.

That didn’t stop him.

He kept on until he found his nut too, surging into me with the kind of stroke you reserved for a place you wanted to get stuck in, cursing the whole time.

I agreed with every word.

Once we’d caught our breath, we separated, using bottled water from a bag labeled for emergency use to clean ourselves up, and hydrate.

“You never answered my question,” I told him, once I was dressed again. “Are you going to fuck me like that and then still make me pay you?”

He stared at me a while, then shook his head. “You know… I remembered something. The roses like you… you don’t get trained for fighting, but… you get defense training. Survival.”

“What about it?”

“Where are the blades?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked, peering at me. “Your earrings… spiked, right? Some kinda toxin?”

I smirked. “You said it yourself. If you fucked me right, I’d do whatever you said.”

The end.

What do you gift a woman who already has everything?

Or, the ability – and desire – to get it all for herself?

That dilemma bounced around in my head, plaguing me for the better part of my day after starting a morning with a text from my mother to her kids – “Don’t bring me no more perfume, appliances, bags, none of that shit. Get creative or something, damn.”

Other people might get a little offended at the language choices, but I wasn’t sweating that – none of us were. If they knew like we did, that aging had actually calmed my mother, they’d understand that text was nothing but love.

Love that didn’t make her any less deadass serious.

And so, with her birthday fast approaching, and Christmas right behind it… I was at a loss. My recent move to the Heights was supposed to be working in my favor – small, Black-owned businesses were abundant around here, and everybody was gearing up for the winter – gift-giving – season, with window displays and sales, all that.

Lots of options.

Exactly the problem.

I shook my head, muttering to myself about just hiring a personal shopper or something to do this for me.

Would my siblings swear I’d cheated the system?

Yes, probably.

Did I care?

As long as my favorite girl- my mother – was happy?

Hell no.

I looked up as I passed by a shop I’d never stopped inside before – I didn’t really have a sweet tooth.  But… I knew Guilty Pleasures specialized in gourmet confectionaries… which could make a bomb ass gift. One I hadn’t really considered before – I wasn’t the target audience, so a chocolate shop didn’t really hold much appeal for me.

Something I saw through the window though… that definitely did.

She definitely did.

Olivia.

All I knew was her first name, and really I only knew that in passing, even though she was my next-door neighbor. Our schedules rarely overlapped in a way that caused us to bump into each other often when there was time for conversation, but damn if I didn’t always spot her when she was anywhere in range.

And… there she was now, behind the glass, polishing the glass display case. I’d never run into her around the neighborhood before – a singularity I’d sworn to myself would be the impetus I needed to approach and actually talk to her.

“Stop being a bitch,” I could practically hear my brother’s voice in my head, encouraging me to say something.

Not that I was on any introvert shit – that really wasn’t my personality. There was just… something about this damn girl that hit me a little different.

I wasn’t a bitch though.

Never that.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself to force my steps to the door of the shop. After a deep breath and a quick five-second mental pep talk – You is a gentleman, you is smart, you is gainfully employed, and you is a handsome nigga – I grabbed the handle and pulled.

And… nothing happened.

Well… not nothing.

The damn door didn’t budge, is what happened, because it was locked, and I was so focused that my dumb ass had already started moving, and almost walked into it, and… yeah.

Embarrassing.

Especially when I realized my awkwardness at the door had gotten Olivia’s attention, and those big, immersive brown eyes of her were on me.

So… I smiled.

What else was I supposed to do?

Luckily, she must not have clocked me as some creep, because she smiled back, coming around the counter to the door. She unlocked it, pushing it open to speak to me without having to raise her voice.

“Neighbor or not… we’re actually closed, Landon.”

My eyebrows went up. “You know my name?”

A smirk spread across her full, pretty ass lips. “You live next door to me dude, I know a lot about you.”

“And here I was, thinking I don’t know nearly enough about you,” I countered, turning her smirk into a full-blown smile as she playfully rolled her eyes.

“Don’t think flattery is going to get you any after-hours service from me.”

I grinned. “Not here or not anywhere?”

No.

Nope.

Not the right thing to say to a damn near stranger.

I knew that as soon as it left my mouth, and was already on the verge of a cringe waiting for her rightfully offended response.

“You’re a flirt – I knew it,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Make yourself useful – walk me home?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Not a problem.”

“Thanks. Give me like… five minutes. I need to finish up.”

With that said, she breezed off, locking the door behind her again.

And I stood there in the cold, waiting… maybe looking stupid, because what even was this?

Was I just walking her home, or…?

Nigga why would you even think it was more than that?

Because, damn.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it wasn’t.

The point was, I didn’t know.

More like ten minutes later, she came back to the door, this time with a fluffy orange knit hat covering her wild curls, and a matching coat.

It was very… her.

That hint of quirkiness was part of what had caught my attention – aside from the fact that she was bad as fuck. She’d worn a lot of this same orange all year – halters in the summer, oversized cropped sweaters in the fall, always blessing the neighborhood with some vivid contrast against her pecan-toned skin.

“You ready?” she asked, once she’d set the alarm and then stepped out, locking the exterior door.

“Shit, you tell me,” I countered, maintaining the flirtatious energy from before on the chance I’d read this situation correctly.

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Probably not. But… I think you’ll do fine.”

Oh.

Oh.

Instead of letting her know she’d staggered me a little with that one, I offered my arm, and once she’d taken it, I replied, “Don’t underestimate me, neighbor.”

“I’m not. I’ve heard your… company.”

Damn.

“Like… through the walls?” I asked. I didn’t know if I was proud of myself or embarrassed.

“Mmmhmm,” she answered. “It sounded like you sent that last one to the moon and back.”

I shook my head, chuckling. “My bad?”

“No, don’t apologize – I was happy for her. For both of you, I guess,” she laughed. “Although, you do make my toy feel a little inadequate sometimes.”

My eyes went wide. “Do you… want an apology for that?” I asked, helping her up the stairs as we approached our building.

“Nope,” she shook her head. “I’m just trying to see what it’s like.”

The end.

****

This was taking longer than it was supposed to.

Maybe.

I think?

How did Lauren say to do this?

“You’re not doing that right.”

Frustrated, I looked up from where I was poking at the frozen bag of breast milk in a bowl of hot water, trying to make thaw faster.

“What?” I asked Harper, who had somehow snuck up on me without me hearing.

“You’re gonna ruin it if it gets hot too fast,” she said, very matter of fact, like she wasn’t a whole ass ten years old.

“How you know?” I fully turned towards her now, and found her standing even closer, her little hands propped on her hips.

“I watched my mom do it for Boop all the time,” she answered, referring to her baby brother. “She got super mad at Ty, cause he ruined a bunch from her stash. I’m just trying to help you out bro.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Wow. I’m not Uncle Shad anymore, I’m bro?”

“You’re still Uncle Shad,” she laughed. “It’s just a figure of speech. Oh — RJ is awake, doing that little whiny thing. You want me to go get him?”

Shit.

So much for giving B a break.

It wasn’t that I was incompetent – not completely, at least I didn’t think. I was just… trying to do too damn much at once, compounded by the fact that all this was new.

Very new.

RJ was only a couple weeks old.

We’d taken the classes and watched the videos, read the books, listened to the elders, all that, and still… none of that shit had come close to what it was actually like having a real life baby here.

I was supposed to have the bottle ready before RJ woke up from his nap, but had gotten distracted, and hadn’t taken the milk out like I’d been told. Now he was awake, and Lauren — Harper’s mom, Bianca’s sister — was out running errands, so I couldn’t lean on her for help. Bianca was supposed to be resting up, healing from pushing out the Martin family head —not tending to a crying baby newborn.

Emotionally, mentally, she was good, which we were all grateful for, knowing how different it could’ve been. Physically though, she was hurting, which is why I was supposed to be on top of this shit.

“I’ll get him!”

“Harper, wait!” I tried to call after her, but she was already gone.

Shit.

Not even thirty minutes since B laid down, and this was already shot to hell. This was Lauren’s week to stay with us after the baby, and I already felt like she been much more of a help to Bianca than I was. They’d both been on some heavy reassurance shit, trying to convince me I wasn’t as useless as I felt.

But I’d read the damn articles, all up in Sugar&Spice, about how niggas weren’t pulling their weight anymore at home.

Or never really had been like they should.

That’s not what my father was on with my mother though – he stepped all the way up when she needed him, and never stepped back.

That’s the kind of man I wanted to be, too.

I just had to… shit, I don’t know.

Get organized.

There was just so damned much to think about.

This morning, I found myself immersed in open internet browser tabs, making sure the bills would be paid, the investment accounts funded, the retirement accounts… being there. Never mind that we had savings, and residual income coming in, I had outstanding invoices and shit due, so business had to be handled. I’d taken a sabbatical to be more present with my family, so I needed that shit paid.

On time.

So I hadn’t had a problem sending a few stern emails off.

Which is what I was caught up in while I was supposed to be taking milk out to feed the baby.

I shook my head, and was still lost in thought when Harper appeared at the door again, this time with my son in her arms.

“Here,” she said, still in that wise-beyond-her-years tone. “You take him, and watch me do the bottle.”

“I’ve watched plenty of bottle get done,” I said. “And I’ve done the bottle before.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “Then… why isn’t the bottle done?”

I scoffed, holding my arms out. “Man, give me my son.”

She laughed at me, then handed him to me, and I… watched her do the bottle.

“You’re supposed to just run it under warm water,” she told me, taking one from the fridge. “Why were you using a frozen one? These were already thawed, Auntie B took them out this morning.”

I shrugged. “She… told me to get a milk out, and I guess I just assumed freezer.”

Why?

Who the hell knew?

“If you try to thaw it with water that’s too hot, you might get it too hot for the baby to drink, and then you have to wait for it to cool off again,” Harper said. Plus, getting it too hot messes with the nutritional stuff that’s in it.”

I nodded, remembering all that from talking with the lactation consultant that the doula had brought by, when RJ was first born. “How do youknow all this?” I asked her, and she grinned.

“ I told you, from watching mommy and Ty with Boop.”

Boop, as she affectionately called her little brother, was two years old now, and was back home with Lauren’s husband — Harper’s stepdad — Ty.

Two years from now, would I be able to stay at home with my son for a week while his mother was gone?

Shit.

Based on the fact that I needed a ten-year-old’s help with a newborn…

Maybe not.

As I watched her transfer the breast milk from the little bag where it had been stored into RJ’s bottle, he started to fuss.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I told him in what I hoped was a soothing tone, patting his butt through his swaddle the way Lauren had showed us.

It seemed to work.

He opened his eyes, turning them on me with a curious, the who the hell put you in charge question clear in on his face.

His mother’s face.

Two faces I loved.

“I’m gonna get it together,” I told him, making Harper giggle as she handed me the bottle.

This was the part I had down. He seemed grateful for the sustenance, easily latching onto the specialty bottle he’d been using since birth, to dissuade something the doula had called nipple confusion.

B had been so worried, when he’d been here a full 24 hours and her milk still hadn’t come in. She’d sobbed, heartbroken, when we’d had to give him formula.

Not because she thought it was poison or any of that weirdo shit a lot of people on the internet seem to be on. It was more that… she felt like she was failing him, which was bonkers to me.

She carried him.

She talked him, sang to him.

She pushed him out in a kiddie pool in our living room, no meds.

The most badass shit I’d ever seen before in my life.

And she thought she’d failed?

That fucked me up.

There wasn’t anything I could say to make it better though— all I could do was set up a delivery of a cocktail supplements with the midwife, do some internet research, bake something called lactation cookies with a whole bunch of weird ass ingredients.

Whatever I could to help, since words didn’t seem to be enough.

It all felt silly the very next day, when she woke up with the whole front of her shirt wet, literally overflowing with what she needed for our baby.

She was relieved, so I was relieved, and it had been smooth since then.

As smooth as a very hungry, very needy, very emotional, newborn could make your life.

B was happy though.

Happy, but exhausted.

Everybody— or at least it felt like it — had pulled me aside to talk about looking out for her, making sure that as much as the baby was good, mama was good too.

Especially my mom, who was dying to be the one in the role Lauren was filling right now. But Bianca understandably have wanted her sister there first, and since we didn’t want a bunch of people around all the time, creating an energy that felt overwhelming, we were doing one extended visitor at a time.

My mom was patient though. Even in her patience she was in my ear every day, having suffered with baby blues herself. She was on me about the signs, on me about making sure “her B” was okay.

Which was why I’d insisted this morning on her taking a damn break.

“You know what we haven’t done?” she said to me just the night before. “We said we’d make sure to take photos, but we don’t have a really good picture yet with all of us,” she’d muttered to me just before she fell asleep.

My eyebrows had raised, because although she was upbeat and seemed to have a lot of energy, I hadn’t gotten the impression she wanted a camera in her face like that. I had plenty of candid shots from my cell phone of her, watching RJ sleep, nursing RJ, both of them passed out.

She was right though, I hadn’t gotten one all of us since the day he was born.

Another thing that had my head all over the place this morning.

In the back of my mind, I was composing the shot, wanted to get it all perfect, for when we looked back on it. Which camera would I use, what would the backdrop be, what we’d wear, all that.

I was going to frame it for her.

Yeah, she’d love that.

But it had to be perfect.

B started her career as an influencer before it was a big thing, which made her kind of an OG now. No matter how much she gave, people always wanted more, and she would give it in measures… until we found out she was pregnant.

She was immediately off all of that.

She hadn’t kept it a secret exactly, and quite a bit of her content through this time had been about her pregnancy experience, preparing for the baby all of that.

But it was curated.

Only giving the public a little, because she didn’t want them to have a lot.

Our relationship, our child, our family… it was precious to her. If we let it, social media, gossip blogs, all those vultures would chew us up and spit us out, and move right along to the next big name like it was nothing.

We refused.

But this picture though… it was probably going to be the first one offered to the public since the birth.

Well, the first with his face.

We’d done the customary thing with our fingers in his hands, his little toes, stuff like that.

But now that he was approaching a month, and soon enough we’d have him out and about with us, it was only a matter of time. We would have to control whatever narrative on our own.

I mean… I was Rashad Martin, so the picture had to be bomb.

Just like Bianca’s maternity shoot had been.

Lots to think about.

So I did.

For a while.

Harper got bored and went off to do something on her tablet, Lauren was back from her grocery run, RJ was asleep on my chest, in the nursery, and I was still thinking through potential scenes.

“Do I even wanna know what’s on your mind, Shad?” Bianca asked from the doorway.

I looked up to find her looking cozy as hell in matching sweats.

Pretty as hell.

“Just thinking through what we’re going to do for this picture you wanted,” I said, yielding to her nonverbal request for me to give her the baby.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she cuddled him to her chest, pressing her lips to his head. “Picture?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s got to be something hot, cause I know how you do, and you know how I do. Gotta break the internet, right?”

Playfully, she rolled her eyes. “Babe… you are wayoverthinking this.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I am?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Where’s your phone?”

“Right here,” I pulled it from my pocket, and held it up.

“Okay,” she moved in close to me, tucking herself right against my chest before she looked up to meet my gaze. “Turn it on, and take our picture.”

“Like a… selfie?” I frowned.

“Like an ussie,” she corrected with a smile. “And then send it to me so I can post it.”

“B, I’ve got a whole wall full of cameras in the next room, and you want the first picture we put on the internet of our baby to be taken with a cell phone? That’s borderline blasphemous,” I chuckled.

“You don’t get your perfect bokeh background, and I don’t have any lashes on,” she giggled. “And yet… I bet it’ll be bomb. Pull it up,” she insisted.

I groaned, but… I turned the phone on.

Opened my camera, flipped it so that it showed us on the screen.

And… I had to admit, we did look pretty damn good.

“Aiight… can we at least just… hold on,” I said, earning a groan as I stepped away from her to open the blinds and let in some sun. “We gotta look toward the window. And can you shift a bit so we can—”

“Shad, your big head baby literally ripped me to my ass – take the picture, bruh.”

“All right, my bad,” I laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before I moved next to her again, holding up the phone. “Okay here goes. You ready?”

She looked into the camera and smiled, and so did I, and then I pressed the button, lingering so that it would take a few.

And then… just like that… It was done.

“Let me see,” she said peeking at the screen as I pulled the photos we’d just taken up. “That one,” she said. “Where my eyes are actually open.”

I frowned. “You don’t like the one where it looks like you’re staring into a high-powered fan?”

“Don’t play with me,” she laughed. “You gonna send it?”

“Sending it right now,” I told her, attaching it to a message to send to her number. “Well… that’s done,” I shrugged.

“Thank you babe,” she said, starting out of the room. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Always freaking hungry,” she muttered.

“I’ll feed you, woman. Just go sit down. Aye, bring that ass back here first though,” I called after her, making her stop before we parted ways in the hall.

“What?” she smirked as I sidled up to her, wrapping my arms around her waist.

“I know you’re not walking out of here without giving me those lips,” I murmured right in her ear, making her giggle.

She turned her face toward mine, tipping her head up for a kiss that I eagerly granted.

“Hey,” she said, after I’d pulled back. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She shrugged, peeking down at RJ’s face before she smiled. “For always making sure we’re good. That I’m good.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that B,” I told her, shaking my head. “There is literally nowhere I’d rather be.”

“I know,” she nodded. “But still.”

Some notes –

I don’t have a release date yet!

If you have not read Deuces Wild and the Roses books, your experience with this one will not be as robust.

My Patreon Peeps got to name the hero in this one!

The image attached is not the cover (or even a cover at all!) – you’ll see the cover next week (it’s actually in the trailer too)

Okay I think that’s all. Other than the usuals – this hasn’t been edited, is subject to change, etc etc.

Make sure to drop a comment here or on socials with your first impressions!

“If you scowl at me any harder, you might ruin that pretty face.”

I blinked, hard, and my hand instinctively moved to the Glock at my waist.

“Damn,” Onyx chuckled, “You shoot niggas just for talking to you?”

No.

Just for noticing me when I didn’t want to be.

Usually, I was quite good at slipping into places undetected – Sketch’s studio here at the bar should’ve been prime. She kept it like a vignette, dark on the edges, light focused only where she needed it.

She looked up, frowning at Onyx, before she pulled an earbud out. “Are you talking to me?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Her.”

I blew out a sigh, stepping out of the shadows as Sketch peered around, her eyes going wide when she saw me.

“I’d need a much better reason than general idiocy to shoot you,” I told Onyx, crossing my arms. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He smirked. “Am I, though?”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t answer.

But… yes, he was.

If I did shoot him, nobody except my president had the authority to address me about it, and I didn’t want Brandon on my damn neck about it.

I hated explaining myself.

As such, I stayed where I was and kept scowling, and let my gun stay holstered, for now.

Only for now.

My eyes drifted to that ring of thorns on his bicep – the perceived symbol of that offending duality that wouldn’t let me relax. He was immersed in ink, actually. Dozens of colorful pictures decorating the landscape of his deep caramel skin. They told the story of a life filled to the brim with experiences, with travel, of loss grieved and instigated.

Those thorns, though…

That was some other shit.

I sauntered across the room, feigning interest in the images Sketch had used to line the walls.

I could feel his eyes tracking me.

His eyes were always tracking me, whenever we were in the same space – and not because he was attracted to me. Maybe he was, but it was inconsequential.

He kept his eyes on me because he needed to.

Because he’d been… trained to.

Find the largest threat in the room, and don’t let it out of your sight.

Spy craft.

“You’re not about to try to slit my throat or anything, are you?” he asked, as I purposely stepped beyond his peripheral.

“Try? No.”

“Wh—Hey!” Sketch sputtered, outraged, as he pushed up from his prone position in her tattoo chair, turning to lock eyes with me. “Can y’all cut the shit so I can work?”

Ignoring her, he locked eyes with me. “I’m not fond of this game.”

The gravity of his tone made me raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I give a fuck what you’re fond of?”

He shrugged. “I doubt you do. But I do think you give a shit if I walk out of here and you never fucking see me again, which is what’s about to happen. Would Blue be good with that?”

I kept my expression stony.

“Right,” he nodded. “So you bring your ass back where I can see you while she’s doing this shit.”

“You watch your goddamn tone with me,” I snapped, stepping right in his face, staring him down.

Until he smirked.

“I accept those terms,” he replied, his words tinged with mischief in a way that made me roll my eyes as he relaxed again– once I’d stepped back into his sight line— letting Sketch go back to what she was doing.

She was almost done, thank God.

Definitely weird. 

 At this point, I felt like that was truly the best way to describe it— the word that encompassed it all. Not necessarily negative, but good enough to fit the perplexing nature of my absolute comfort stretched across Hailey’s bed. 

 Especially considering that she wasn’t even in it.

It was either late or early, depending on your point of view— two or three in the morning.

We’d fucked, we’d slept, and now, after graduating from her notebook, pen, and a book light over by the wall of plants, Hailey was at the acrylic desk across the room, her nails making a soft click-clack against the keys as her fingers flew, the glow from her screen providing the only bit of light.

She hadn’t woken me up— the nightmare had.

Indistinguishable voices calling to me for help through layer after layer of rubble and debris I couldn’t seem to dig through, though I ripped through my gloves, through my flesh, down to the bone, desperately trying.

Honestly… her fingers flying over the keys had grounded me back in reality, giving me something to focus on as I transitioned through that veil between awake and asleep, into full consciousness.

Now I was tired of watching.

I needed to engage. 

“How are things coming along with the house?” I asked her, breaking the relative silence.

I half expected the sound of my voice to startle her, since she was so keenly in tune with whatever words she was pulling from her head to leave on the screen. But she didn’t even flinch, just turned in my direction to peer at me. I doubted she could see me that well with most of the room shrouded in darkness, but somehow she managed to look me right in the eyes.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Well damn,” I chuckled, grunting a bit as I pulled myself into a position to sit up. “I take it that’s your way of telling me to leave?”

“If I wanted you to leave, I would have just said that,” she countered. “It’s an honest question. I just… would have expected you to go back to your own bed after we were done. Instead, you fell asleep.”

“What if I just like this bed?”

 She smirked. “Have at it. But, you can’t talk to me while I’m trying to work.” 

 Okay. 

 Cool.

I could respect that.

I spent the next couple hours dozing, messing around on my phone, watching her. 

Studying her.

Damn near ethereal in beauty, draped in that same soft robe from the last time. The artificial light cast a bluish radiance over her dark skin, contributing even more to that other-worldly quality, making it easy to wonder if this whole thing – meeting her at all – was just some sort of long, fucked-up dream.

An illusion.

My head went to, left, and revisited myriad places and possibilities between then and when the sun finally started coming up, replacing the light from her computer with the muted luster of daylight through the shades.

I used the room phone to order breakfast when I heard her stomach rumble.

I didn’t even try to be quiet about it, just looked her dead in the face while I ordered us avocado toast and breakfast potatoes from the onsite restaurant.

“So are you going to answer my question?” I asked her, once she’d had an opportunity to get some food down.

She met my eyes with a smirk. “Why are you so interested?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked her. “It’s the entire basis for how we met. Allegedly.”

 Shaking her head, she laughed. “Here you go with that again. Why do you think I’m keeping some secret first meeting from you or something?”

“I didn’t say all of that,” I chuckled. “It’s just.. you know…”

“You think I’m a witch or something – obviously.”

I chuckled. “Your pussy is quite hypnotic, so shit… you tell me.”