CHASING
THE
DRAGON

Written by Tiana Laveen

Edited by Natalie G. Owens

Cover Design Layout by Travis Pennington

SYNOPSIS

Phoenix Hale is a hardnosed former DEA agent who now works as Director for the Office of National Drug Control Policy—the DCP—a position falling under direct authority of the POTUS. One day, his world is turned upside down: his best friend; a DEA agent, is murdered in cold blood. Phoenix sets out to exact his revenge. However, things become quickly complicated when he decides to take the murderer’s cousin, a well-known ruthless drug queen, from Chicago, Illinois, into private custody.

Tiffany McCall is one of two things: either your greatest dream or your worst nightmare. Raised in the elite suburbs of Chicago, she uses her traffic-stopping good looks, callousness, business acumen, and intelligence to rise as one of the most notorious drug dealers in the state of Illinois. But, Tiffany’s high rolling ways soon come to a screeching halt when a man on a mission gets his hooks into her and drags her away into the night. When she’s forced to face Mr. Phoenix Hale, she realizes that she has met her match and worst of all, she soon discovers that not only is Phoenix no fool or governmental puppet, but the man is determined to break her down.

Tiffany’s beauty, as well as her physical and emotional strength, intelligence, and die-hard will to survive impress Phoenix in ways he shouldn’t care to admit. Soon, he finds himself learning more about himself as he unravels all that is Tiffany…

The impossible comes crashing in during a pivotal moment of their lives. Love knocks on the door when the stakes are high, lives are laid on the line, and dangerous alliances are formed. As both are faced with truths they’d never known, they must choose between love, life, and loyalty. Which one will win?

WARNING

This novel is for adults only.

Grown folk content. Grown folk language. Grown folk sex and situations. Can you dig it?

This book contains the following content:

1.   Adult language/profanity

2.   Sexual content – physical intimacy, salacious sexual language, explicit sexual encounters with no detail spared.

3.   Drug Usage (legal and illegal) – Cigarette smoking, marijuana smoking, illegal narcotics: heroin, cocaine, etc., and alcohol usage.

4.   Occasional Racial and Ethnic slurs

5.   Extreme Poverty (by American standards) and Elitism/Greed

6.   Deviancy /criminal behavior

7.   Graphic Violence

8.   Discussions of neglect and emotional abuse

Please be advised.

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2017 by Tiana Laveen

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. PIRACY IS AGAINST THE LAW.

IN OTHER WORDS: If you do any of the above, the karma bus is waiting for you. If you steal this author’s work and illegally loan and/or share it, request illegal/free copies online and/or in printed version, you are no better than a burglar that breaks into someone’s house while you think they are away. You are a criminal. A thief. A cheat. You don’t work for free, so why should authors?! WE WORK HARD. SHOW SOME APPRECIATION.

A WORD FROM THE HERO

The day my best friend was murdered was the day I developed an insatiable thirst for revenge.

He was one of the good guys. He followed the golden rule and put his life on the line, until the moment his life was cut short.

No clues emerged. The case grew cold until I lit a match and heated it up. Destined to get to the bottom of things, I soon discovered who was digging tunnels out of the rabbit hole…

…And it was a savage.

A pure beast.

A beautiful monster with no conscience. Much like myself.

In my line of work, I’ve killed many men. In my line of work, chivalry is dead, and females catch the bullet, too.

I’ve never hesitated to blow someone to kingdom come, but when I looked into her eyes, I froze, for the first time in my career.

It wasn’t just her beauty, the silky mahogany skin, thick midnight black curls, or plush lips.

It was her entire presence. She lit my insides on fire with curiosity and desire.

I had chased her down until I found her, not realizing until after I had her cornered that I’d caught my likeness—a dragon.

And now that I have her, I could do one of two things:

Walk into her fire and be engulfed by the flames,

or become a knight in shining armor, forsaking myself and all that I stand for, in the name of love.

Maybe, in some messed-up way,

I’ll have to do both…

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the powerful and the powerless. To the people who have lived a million lives and to those that can barely handle one. This story is dedicated to those who have taken a wrong turn and are in need of a beam of light to help guide them back on the right path.

You’re at the end of the tunnel.

Welcome home.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

About this Book

Warning

Copyright

A Word from the Hero

Dedication

Love Letter to the Reader

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

About the Author

LOVE LETTER TO THE READER

My name is Tiana Laveen and I love a gritty love story.

This book, “Chasing the Dragon”, is a story that has been occupying my mind for quite some time now and finally, I put pen to paper to make it a reality. In this tale, we deal with a hero, Phoenix Hale, whose personal and vocational motives are fairly cut and dry, though beneath the surface, he hides a duality in his character. He is unassuming, disciplined, punishing, and detached, but beneath those layers is someone willing to step away from the protective armor and simply BE. When not hashing it out with the President of the United States over drug laws, he lives another life altogether, one he promised to leave behind.

The heroine, Tiffany McCall, breaks many stereotypes. She is a drug dealer who possesses beauty, intelligence, wit, and a penchant towards violence, which she uses for her personal survival. Tiffany wasn’t raised in an environment that would necessarily foster such behavior, but a series of events led her to where she is today.

The two meet under the worst circumstances, and things go downhill before they get better. This love story is about emotional and mental strength, about looking fear in the eye and doing what is necessary to make amends with oneself. It’s about accepting the real world in which one lives, while refusing to let go of dreams.

Phoenix and Tiffany definitely fit into the ‘opposites attract’ category, but perhaps once the reader delves deeper, a different conclusion will be reached. Perhaps neither is what they claim, and these two are merely reflections of one another.

This is up to you decide.

Please join me on this journey in the reading of, “Chasing the Dragon”. Your adventure awaits…

CHAPTER ONE

Darkness called and Tiffany answered…

Tiffany leaned back in the parked black Bentley, her shoulder pressed into the soft depths of the cream leather car seat. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of “Tell Me” by Sabrina Claudio, which hummed on the satellite XM radio station at low volume. The car was slightly uneven, raised up on one side along the uneven curb. This gave her a sense of being paused in midair, a peculiar disorientation. The raindrops fell slow and steady against the roof of the car and plip-plopped in an off-kilter beat on the long, winding road.

The world around her could barely be seen, as if a veil of wispy smoke had wrapped up the wilderness in a faux peace blanket, but as she leaned slightly to the left, she could make out the high trees that touched each other with lanky black branches that stretched like a twisted arch of barbed wire across the path. She looked casually at her cousin, a tall, slender man with a cropped, faded haircut. Gable stretched long jeans-clad legs and swallowed his spit behind a series of coughs. The minutes marched on like ants, though he seemed unmoved, barely readable. One diamond earring in his left lobe glinted in the rich grays and muted earthy shades around them.

Gable’s voice broke their silence.

“They’ll be here any minute.” He cracked his knuckles. “You ready?” His thick, black brow arched as he regarded her behind hooded eyes.

“Of course I am.” She looked straight ahead and held on tight to the steering wheel, needing to squeeze the damn thing to relieve the mounting pressure in her gut. Pulling down the visor, she checked herself in the small mirror. The blunt cut bob with the China cut bangs looked natural enough, considering she’d paid a fortune for it in cash. Between that, the light grey contact lenses, and the super padded bra to enhance her already ample breast size by a couple of cups, she had no doubt the minimal disguise would work. Men were so predictable, after all, and women, on average, weren’t given much weight in some circles beyond the major selling points of bouncy tits and a bodacious ass.

“Just do as we planned, all right?” he added, sliding one arm behind his head as if to relax.

“And why would I deviate from the plan, Gable? I’m the one who found out this was going down in the first place. It was my idea. If anything, I suggest you do as I stated and follow my lead.”

At this, he gave her a glare, his lips twisted as if he smelled something foul.

“Tiffany, I been at this way longer than yo’ ass, all right? You need me, or I wouldn’t be sittin’ here, so don’t try to pull rank,” he stated gruffly before turning away and lazily closing his eyes.

Tiffany’s heart beat sped up as she fixated on the time in the car, the seconds trailing past—a countdown to the inevitable. They’d never tried to pull off something this huge before. Should anything go wrong, in the worst-case scenario she’d be lounging on a cold metal slate and wearing a toe tag by the following day. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear when in the far distance she spotted two headlights beaming like small, low-lying full moons.

“Gable, look.”

The man opened his eyes and scooted forward, then slid his black skullcap out of the glove compartment and grabbed his gun. Opening the door, he slipped out the car, closing it quietly before he disappeared completely from sight. She quickly shut the car off, the relaxing music disappeared too, which left her with dead silence, with the exception of her accelerated breathing. A sense of emptiness, dread, and exhilaration pulsed through her. Abruptly opening the door, she stepped one foot out, flaunting a black high heeled shoe that fastened at the ankle. Tugging on her tight black lacy skirt and matching lace gloves, she made her way to the middle of the road, her wig hair instantly becoming soaked, slicking to her face as the rain saturated the silky tresses. The raindrops hit her face, intent on destroying her impeccable makeup job. She stood there, long legs spread wide, her short camel trench coat hanging open to allow a peek at ample cleavage. As the car approached, she jumped about and began to wave her hands up and down.

“Stop! Help!”

The dark car drew to a slow crawl, then teetered forward as if it, too, were apprehensive. Suddenly, the driver’s side window rolled down part of the way. The man behind the wheel looked paler than fresh snow, especially in contrast with the dark spiky hair framing his wide forehead. He glared at her.

“Hi.” She quickly scanned the gray SUV as she stepped closer to it, taking note of the two white men in the front, and one in the back. “I was on my way to my friend’s party and my car is making a lot of noises and clanking. I’m afraid it’s going to stop completely on me. I knew I shouldn’t have cut through here, but it was a shorter route. Hindsight is 20/20, huh?” She offered a smile, but received nothing back. “Can you help me?”

The driver’s light blue gaze shifted to her car, then back to her. The man had a serious face, set like stone, and he showed no indication he’d be making a decision in her favor anytime soon.

“What seems to be the trouble with it?” A man from the back leaned forward, brandishing a crooked grin, light stubble on his jaw, and dark sunglasses atop his head. He traced her up and down with a lusty scan, and once he was finished, his grin grew exponentially broader. She inwardly sighed with relief to finally get a bite on her diamond-studded hook.

“Not sure.” She shrugged. “It just started shaking and clonked out on me a couple of times. I gave up and pulled over to the side of the road.” She pitched her thumb in the car’s direction.

“Is that your car or someone else’s?” The man in the back maintained his licentious grin, but his eyes grew darker with suspicion.

“It’s my mother’s car. She let me borrow it. She rarely drives it but I guess the maintenance wasn’t up to date.”

“Anyone with you?” The driver looked over at the car, his neck strained as he studied the windows and interior the best he could. His eyes seemed to be taking quick snapshots of her and the entire scene.

He’s going to be the one that I have to convince … but the other guy hasn’t said anything at all.

“No, just me.” She smiled and rocked back, wielding a lackluster smile.

“You said you were headed to a party?” The inquisition rope was tightening around her neck, but she refused to mess up and choke.

They’re not swallowing this damsel in distress role as easily as I wanted. Keep pushing, keep smiling…

“Yes.” She maintained a friendly grin. “Not too far from here by car, but entirely way too far to walk.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” The man in the back nodded. “Where?”

Tiffany pointed ahead. “She lives right up there off Clark Street, near the Willows Hotel.”

After a few seconds, the man in the passenger seat leaned forward, his face now clear from the shadows. She took note of his rosy cheeks, as if he’d been recently pinched on each one by a doting grandmother. A small scar ran from his ear to his throat, giving his youthful face a more menacing shade of warning.

“Pop the hood and I’ll take a look.” His voice sounded like thunder, and she detected a watered down European accent. The man rubbed his big palms vigorously, as if relishing the idea of doing hard labor. Sliding her hand in her coat pocket, she grabbed the fob and took a couple of steps back. She turned away from them. Step by step, she steadied her breathing; raindrop by raindrop, her heart and nature became one, in tune with each other. Taking her time, she opened the car door and pressed the release for the hood. The moisture along her palms was nothing compared to the sweat collecting beneath her arms. After a deep breath, she returned to the men’s vehicle, this time her pace a bit faster as the wet chill that caught in her bones began to take full effect.

“Sit in the car while we take a look at it. You’re getting soaked and you’re shaking,” the passenger offered as he opened his car door and stepped out, standing to his full height. The driver craned his head in the guy’s direction, a look of deep concern across his face. Her chest burned with anticipation as the promise of victory was threatened; she hadn’t foreseen getting into their car. Not wishing to get their suspicions roaring, she made an executive decision and did as requested, feeling secure in the fact that she was packing a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver strapped to her thigh, beneath her skirt. The weapon had a body count of one, and she hoped to not have to add to this anytime soon.

Sliding into the passenger’s seat, she looked straight ahead though she could feel all three pairs of eyes on her as she played her role and timidly tucked her hair behind one ear. Glancing over at the car, she noted the man’s arms moving about as he swung the flashlight from his cellphone over the exposed engine.

“Looks like you have low oil … let me keep checking around,” he yelled out, then resumed his tinkering.

“It’s not safe to travel out here alone,” a deep voice from the backseat said. “Especially a woman.”

“Yeah?” she cracked a tilted smile, but didn’t make eye contact. “I suppose you’re right.” Just then, the man with the rosy cheeks closed the lid of her car. The sound cracked against the quiet making her heart beat a mile a minute. On cue, Gable came into view in a blur of frantic movement, wrapped his arm around the man, and gripped him in a full nelson while simultaneously holding a gun to the bastard’s head. In a flash, she snatched her skirt up, grabbed her gun, and shoved it hard into the driver’s temple.

“Don’t move!” she screamed. “You!” She turned towards the man in the back, “Empty all of your pockets and strip down to your underwear! If you even look like you’re thinkin’ about doing anything stupid, we’ll kill both of ’em!” The man’s eyes turned to slits as Gable approached with his collateral. The guy removed his jacket, shirt, pants, shoes and socks and slid two revolvers through the open back window into Gable’s hands.

“Fuck! I knew it!” the driver hissed.

Wrapping her arm around his neck, she drew him close to her in a vise grip, keeping the gun jammed against his skull. She shot a glance at the back of the car.

“Everybody be cool!” Gable screamed out. “Anybody do anything I ain’t tell you to do and I’m blasting his ass away, no questions asked!”

She pushed the barrel harder into the chauffeur’s cranium, making him moan in pain while applying even harder pressure to his neck. He struggled in her grip and tried to speak, but only choked and garbled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she took note of the fucker in the back slowly moving his arm.

“Final warning! Move again and you won’t move again.”

“Put yo’ mothafuckin’ hands up!” Gable barked until the guy placed his palms atop his head and interlocked his fingers. “Open the door and step out!” The guy reached towards the handle, then jerked back and rammed his hand into the back crease of the seat as if grabbing for something.

BAM!

“Shit!” Tiffany screamed out, her shrill voice echoing into the night. Still, she didn’t lessen her grip on the driver’s neck. The man slumped slowly back; the clean shot in the middle of his forehead glistened deep red before he fell back in a slump, mouth hanging open and death dancing in his hazy eyes.

“Ahh! Fuck!” Gable gritted his teeth as the rosy cheeked man in his clutches began to struggle violently in his grip.

BAM! BAM!

The man dropped fast to the ground from the two gunshots to the back of his head.

Her brain was buzzing from all of the commotion. Pure panic set in and wouldn’t turn her loose.

This is all wrong! This is all fucked up!

“Now, we got two of you gone. You’re the last white hope!” Gable yelled. “Tell me, mothafucka, where is the supply or you’re gettin’ popped, too!”

Tiffany slowly released her grip on the man’s throat, and he leaned slightly forward, coughing violently as he ran his fingers along his undoubtedly burning esophagus. She kept the gun pressed to the back of his head, in case he got any grandiose ideas.

“You’re Gable Johnson … Southside of Chicago’s finest.” Through the reflection of the window she could make out Gable’s tense grin. “I’m not telling you anything, Mr. Johnson. You know the dope is in a case and there’s a lock on it. You need me in order to get it open.”

Gable swung the driver’s side door open and snatched the man up by his collar. He shoved the gun hard against his ear, his teeth bared as he snarled. “Tell. Me. Where. The. Fuck. It. Is!”

“You’re going to kill me either way … so, that’ll never happen.” The man’s demeanor was eerily calm, as if he’d already accepted his fate.

“You have the code. Tell us where the heroin is and the code for the case. We won’t shoot you; just give us what we want!” Tiffany yelled out, not wanting a third body on their hands and more wasted time.

“There’s a tracker on this car and the police are already on their way.” She frantically turned away and looked here and there, practically tearing the car apart with her bare hands. Sweat broke out on her face. Gable pistol whipped the man, beating him into a bloody mess.

“The police are coming. Don’t believe me? Check my phone! It’s too late. You’re fucked!” he blurted behind hoarse chuckles.

Tiffany stepped out of the passenger’s side, gun in hand, and marched up to the man. Sliding her hand in his right pocket, she retrieved his cellphone and looked down at it. Sure enough, there were several missed calls, back to back, from the same number.

“Anywhere this car goes, the government and CIA knows within a matter of seconds.” The man’s face parted in an unnerving smile as blood dripped down his chin. Rain soaked his hair and clothing until they were practically molded to his body. “You’ve shot and killed one DEA agent and a valuable informant that’s been with us for over ten years. Life sentences, consecutive. Guaranteed…” The man knew he was doomed; he wasn’t getting out of this alive, so he simply talked, spoke his mind with little to no regard for his survival.

“We’ll let you live. I can promise you that.” She looked the man in the eye, certain she appeared convincing with the rain webbing in her lashes, making her vision slightly blurry. “Just tell us where it is in the car, all right?! Just fucking tell us!” The damn DEA cars were like mazes when they prepared for some of their drug stings. They primed themselves exceptionally well for such an incidence as robbery, and Tiffany realized at that moment she’d been naïve in considering the efforts it would take to truly get what they needed.

This heist involved a little over twenty-five kilos of heroin that was to be used to gain trust and establish business with the notorious gang, the Gangster Disciples, so that the DEA could infiltrate. She’d found out all about the sting after establishing faux friendships with several of the Disciples. It had taken months of preparations to intervene in the drop, orchestrate it just right, and get her hands on the loot. This venture was going to easily bring in more than a million dollars, split only two ways. That was a damn good payday, and no one but she and Gable would be the wiser. Tiffany got back inside the car, her arms flailing about as the passing time threatened her with a prison sentence that would ensure she’d never see the light of day. She shoved and kicked the dead body in the back of the car to the side. Reaching out, she scanned the fabric with her fingers, searching for the bonanza. She felt a slight difference in the back of the passenger’s seat versus the same behind the driver’s seat.

Carefully, she ran gloved hands over the upholstery, looking for strange stitching along the thing. The odor of spilled blood permeated the air, but she pushed it out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. Popping out a knife from her jacket pocket, she sliced the damn thing open, and there was the black briefcase.

“Found it!” she hollered out as she feverishly wiggled and wrangled the thing, tearing the seat up. The number wheels of the lock looked tedious to figure out and she nearly bit her lower lip in frustration as she ran her gloved finger over the thing. She shook the bag and panicked. “It’s got a tracker on it, too! We have to get in this and dump the case!” She heard something sliding inside the thing, more than likely an electronic device that not only tracked the bag but the contents, as well.

“Give us the goddamn codes!” Gable demanded once more, but the man wouldn’t talk. He only stood there, shaking, bleeding and fading away before his time was officially up.

“Give me his wallet!” Gable looked at her with confusion, but did as told.

“You heard ’er. Give it to me!” The man reached into his pocket and placed it in Gable’s palm. He tossed it in the back seat next to her; the damn thing landed on the dead man’s body. Plucking it from his chest, she rifled through it. She tried the man’s birthdate, his social security number, but then smirked as something she’d heard came to mind. She’d read that sometimes the codes for the cases were a mixture of numbers from various sources but more times than not, they were something simple, so that in case of an emergency, the information could be relayed in code to another DEA.

Men love their cars…

“Yo’ Gable, read off the license plate to me!” The man dragged their victim to the back of the car and shouted out the numbers.

“FUCK YES! WE’RE IN!” she hollered when the gorgeous, perfectly wrapped packages poured out. Then, she put the license number in backwards and removed the smaller device from the bundles of heroin. Bingo … it worked.

A big smile on her face, she dug inside, the thin plastic feeling like melted sweet dreams as it slid against her skin. However, her jubilation was short-lived. She screamed out, then ducked down as shattered glass sprayed the dead body in the back seat and riddled through the vehicle. Barely able to breathe, she grabbed bountiful bags of heroin and held them close to her chest, then raced towards her car and tossed it inside. Gable did the same and within seconds, they were speeding down the road in the opposite direction.

Her euphoria soon morphed into horror when the reality of what had just happened seeped into the equation. She’d now become an accomplice to multiple murders, one of which was that of a top ranked agent…

She’d prided herself on her low body count record. She simply witnessed from afar, gave orders, but now, her hands were dirty, despite the fact she’d not directly pulled the trigger. Bodies, in her mind, were always a last resort. Not because she gave a shit about death, but because bodies meant a trail. The human form doesn’t lie. Forensic science was a motherfucker, and though she was skilled at her chosen field, no one could outsmart DNA. A trail meant Hell … and Hell had no bail.

“Gable … we weren’t supposed to kill anyone unless it was a last resort, and why the fuck didn’t you have your mask on?! No one in their organization knows who I am, but everyone knows who you are, he even called you by name!”

“It was too late! The motherfucker fixin’ the car saw me as I was tryna pull it over my head, so I knew at that point, I’d have to take all of ’em out. And since you’re in the mood to ask questions, I have one for your ass. You said there were only supposed to be two, but there were three! We were outnumbered. Who tha fuck was the guy in the back, huh? Tell me that, goddamn it!” On a heavy sigh, she shook her head, praying her nerves would settle as she monitored her speeding around the bends in the road.

“Apparently their runner. He was supposed to be escorted to another car,” she answered in almost a whisper. “These types of things change sometimes. They must’ve made a last-minute decision.”

Neither said another word for quite some time and she breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged from the wilderness, basking now in the lights of the city. The highway was eerily quiet and almost desolate. Chicago was up at all hours of the night, just like a colicky baby. She replayed the heist in her mind, the way she and her cousin had jumped through unplanned hoops; though there’d been some hiccups, they’d worked as a team and accomplished the impossible.

“We did it…” She smiled as she reached over and shook his shoulder. He smiled back, clearly unmoved by the blood that covered his jacket and stained his face.

“Yeah, we did … we’re set.” He leaned back in the seat, removed a clean duffle bag from the floor of the car, and tossed the sacks of dope inside.

“We’ll repackage them tonight, get them out to the guys tomorrow morning. It’s a brand-new day, Gable … a brand new motherfuckin’ day…”

CHAPTER TWO

His clapping hands made a thunderous boom, the kind that rounded up Zeppelin and Metallica, Phoenix’s two pit bulls, in an instant. They galloped across the lush, freshly cut yard, their tongues flapping out of their mouths and jiggling with each hearty sprint in his direction. They landed before him, playfully tumbling over one another, breaths mingling as they roused each other up.

“Settle down.” He smiled at them and drew quiet, enjoying the cool breeze. The blades of grass tickled his bare ankles. Phoenix sniffed the air, peered up at the sky to see the dark clouds gathering around the sun like some lynch mob. “Yeah, it’s definitely about to rain. So much for that park visit. Sorry guys, let’s head inside.” The furry duo got to their feet, Metallica on one side of him and Zeppelin on the other. Metallica raced ahead towards the side door of the Spring Valley, Washington D.C. house. She was the smaller of the two, a female with at least twenty pounds less than her brother, Zeppelin, but her strength proved that size didn’t matter. A raindrop pitter pattered against the top of his ear, and then another as he drew closer to the door where the two canine companions awaited. He swiped his palm against his lobe and made haste as the precipitation increased within a matter of seconds.

With a swoosh, the door swung open and the scent of the fresh coffee he’d just made permeated the air. Closing and locking the thing behind him, he walked towards his study while Metallica and Zeppelin made a beeline for the kitchen, certain to demolish their fresh bowls of food and spring water. As soon as Phoenix sat down to go over some work files, his phone rang. Snatching the cell phone off the expansive, cherry wood desk, he propped it under his chin and typed in the password on his computer.

“Phoenix, it’s Rick. I … I can’t believe this. I’ve got some bad news.” Phoenix smirked, knowing Rick all too well. The guy was a habitual prankster, playing practical jokes on him and the rest of their colleagues every chance he got.

“What? The H-Street Festival ran out of pretzels and beer, you lousy son of a bitch?” He placed his thumb on the identification placement of the computer to get into a sealed, highly confidential document.

“No, Phoenix. I’m serious.”

“Yeah?” Phoenix chuckled. “This is the part where you tell me to hold on and then play a bunch of farting noises loudly into the phone, right?”

“This isn’t a joke. Price is dead … he’s gone.”

Phoenix felt an instant tightness in his chest and fell back against his chair in shock.

“What did you just say?” He bunched the material of his shirt in a tight fist.

“John is dead, Phoenix. You know that sting they went out to in Chicago? They got ambushed and he, Dennis, and Vlad are all dead.”

“Who did this?!” He sat straight in his chair and ran his fingers roughly through his hair, teeth gritted.

“So far, there are no concrete leads but it’s highly probable it was some members of the Disciples gang. That was their target with the operation. They’ve been under investigation for the past two years by Price. He just got close enough to run a deal with them.”

“I’m flying to Chicago on the first plane out of here.” Phoenix slammed his computer shut and got to his feet.

“You know you can’t do that, Phoenix. You’re not a part of the DEA any longer and your involvement could hamper the investigation. Not to mention we’re knee deep in the Recovery Acts Program. We have to meet with the President tomorrow and then—”

“Jesus Christ!” He slammed his fist against the wall, causing his dogs to erupt in deafening barking and come racing towards his study. “Not John, no! Damn it! What the hell happened? He came over with his family as immigrants from Ireland, survived the war in Iraq, countless undercover shakedowns … This wasn’t supposed to happen. I can’t believe this…” His chest rose and fell as he slid back down into his chair, his face dangerously close to the desk.

And he broke to pieces.

“I’m sorry, Phoenix…”

“Where?” he asked, swiping his hand across his brow. “How long ago did this happen? I need to speak to Krystal. Does she know? For God’s sake…” Waves of fresh grief merged with the soupy concoction of disbelief and anger.

“It happened about two to three hours ago, they estimate. They are flying his body back here. His wife has been notified.”

“Send me the photos…” Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his arms and dropped his chin to his chest.

“Phoenix, there’s no point in—”

“Send me the photos, now. I want every single one of them, you hear me? I want video. I want aerial views, I want any audio that’s been obtained and I want interview transcripts, and I want them before the end of the goddamn night.” He disconnected the call and pivoted back and forth in his chair. The study was swallowed by darkness and all that could be heard was the panting of the dogs. The large brick colonial style home felt cold and empty now, the residual life and colorful memories sucked from it like a vacuum.

The house boasted seven bedrooms, an indoor swimming pool, and a full bar, all of which dearly departed John and his host of old colleagues enjoyed parties, summer barbecues, winter football revelries, and the occasional good game of cards. He’d known the man for over ten years; once he and John Price had met, they’d become thicker than thieves. Now, the man’s life had been stolen…

In fact, everything Phoenix knew had been turned upside down and inside out. He was left alone. His divorce had been finalized two years ago, and he and Lillian had no children. She’d drawn a line in the sand, making him choose between her and work. She’d grown tired of his gallivanting around the country, talking to the press about the latest substance abuse findings, and being the fall guy for when the latest drug hit the streets and no one had a damn clue as to what it was.

When he’d worked as a DEA agent, the harassment and death threats never ceased. Now that he held such an important position for the country, things had gotten remarkably worse. But, he couldn’t let go; his work meant too much to him, and everything he did on the job went so much deeper than what appeared on the surface…

Phoenix slid open his desk drawer and pulled out a cigar from a box. Tilting his head to the side, he lit the thing and lounged back in his chair, his eyes narrowed to slits. Fresh anger emerged from his core, a kind he hadn’t felt in a mighty long time.

I stick my neck out for these sons of bitches … these slimeballs … I tell the President and Vice President of the United States of America that we need to police treatment, not the addict, to make rehabilitation more effective and not criminalize the dependence. My father was a functional alcoholic. Great man, but struggled most of his adult life. He was hardworking, kind, but had a dark side many seldom saw. My youngest brother became addicted to cocaine and meth, and he ended up dead and buried. And now, those people that I loved, those addicts, small time dope sellers and gang bangers … those same types of people I’ve vouched for, lost my marriage for, worked my ass off for, put my neck on the fucking line for, have killed my best friend…

His lips curved in a crooked grin as he blew out a puff of smoke and crossed his leg, falling deep into something dark and slippery. A few quiet moments passed with him contemplating things. Placing the cigar down onto a glass ashtray, he reached for his shirt and undid the buttons, letting it fall loose and expose his chest. He’d grown entirely too warm as he sat there stewing in hatred. It was downright balmy. On a sigh, he reached forward and grabbed his phone.

“Hello, Krystal. This is … Phoenix. I’m leaving a voicemail to uh … to say how sorry I am about John. I’ll let Lillian know. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’ll … well, I’ll be in touch. I really am sorry…” He disconnected the call and rested his chin against folded hands. He remained that way for quite some time, until his cell phone rang and a trail of emails from Rick arrived containing photos and everything else he’d requested. He rose from his chair and poured himself a glass of brandy, then returned to his seat to begin the process of combing through the countless files and reports.

Photos were zoomed up to their maximum size; audio clips were played countless times. He looked up names, possible leads, studied the entire Chicago gang drug trade in detail, refreshing his memories of time spent in the windy city. And he did all that for hours, until he couldn’t anymore and had fallen asleep only to awake the following morning. When he came to, the sun had come out and a new day shined through the vast windows.

A new day for me, but not for John. he’ll never see another day again. It’s been a while since I had to do this, but it looks like the time has come…

He rose from his seat and marched out of his office, up the steps and into his master suite. Pressing his fingers against a glass panel, the wall pivoted and exposed shelves of arsenal. To the left hung several bullet proof vests. To the right he had stored various boxes filled with various ammunition and in the middle, his many metal sources of pride and joy. He ran his hand over his coveted CZ 75 revolver.

Looks like I’m back out of retirement. I don’t care how long it takes and who has to go down, but trust and believe, they are going, and I won’t be satisfied until I’m the reason why they’ve taken their last breath…

CHAPTER THREE

Three weeks later…

Oak Creek, Illinois was a far cry from the Southside of Chicago where she’d spent most of her summers as a youth. Tiffany lounged on her silver and white studded chaise in her parlor, holding a chilled glass of Corpse Reviver No. 2 and contemplating calling her contact in Miami to ensure the scheduled cocaine delivery would happen on time. Her music store, “Spring String”, was also owed a visit. She ran it from afar, making sure the books were in check; it did quite well with the sales of string instruments, classic jazz LPs, and vintage, signed, one-of-a kind posters of rock and rhythm and blues pioneers. She checked the time on her phone: two in the afternoon. She’d just enjoyed a long shower but was in no hurry to get out and about just yet.

The evening prior had been long at her friend Trisha’s townhome, where she’d attended a low-key party where she supplied bountiful lines of cocaine, blaring jazz fusion and neo-soul music, and some of the finest male specimens to be born on planet Earth. Tiffany had enjoyed those hours of celebrating her life, her thirty-seven years on the planet, and the level of success she’d finally reached. What an accomplishment; she’d outlived so many of her predecessors in a male dominated field. All night she’d vibed to great tunes, even put Trisha’s old guitar to good use. Sitting cross-legged, she’d played a couple of melodies for the crowd in between dancing the night away. As a cherry on top of a perfect night, she’d fucked a motherfucker by the name of Nash in the upstairs guestroom, a man so damn gorgeous, he should’ve been in a magazine.

This was her life; she’d earned it. No commitments, obligations of motherhood, or marriage vows—her husband was the dope game and her children were the days she had left on Mother Earth, for no tomorrow was promised, especially in her line of work. She kept herself busy, stayed on top of her business, and made certain she was never caught slipping. She damn sure didn’t smoke any crack, snort any cocaine, or shoot up heroin.

Tiffany didn’t dare dabble in sampling her product; it wasn’t even a temptation. In fact, her ‘Just Say No’ motto extended to her trusted and properly vetted employees who sold the goods in droves in the heart of the city, the suburbs, and every crevice in between. She ordered random drug tests at the drop of a dime and anyone who came up dirty was dismissed without so much as a formal ‘goodbye’. But, she’d said ‘hello’ to an opportunity of the lifetime.

The heroin and cocaine from the DEA undercover heist had been primo and sold within a matter of days. Regardless, it proved mostly hard to keep happy and engage in festivities with such a heavy weight looming overhead. Gable had been missing in action for the past week…

After several unanswered phone calls, panic set in until he finally contacted her and assured her that he was okay, just lying low. She suggested he take a little trip, put some space between him and Chicago, just in case things heated up, and he let her know he was one step ahead of her, already packing with a full tank of gas in his Bentley. He never mentioned what destination he had in mind and she didn’t ask, but she knew whatever he told their family and friends would be a lie, something to throw the hunting dogs off his trail.

The Gangster Disciples were under a huge FBI investigation after it all went down. Several had been arrested. There was one problem though, a few people started asking Gable questions—strange questions such as, what was he doing that night? Why did he show up late at the party?

Gable had never told her of any party the Gangster Disciples were throwing, but several of the members were his friends, dating back to grade school. He was far closer to them than she was. That little detail he forgot to mention made shit complicated; Gable just didn’t not show up for a good time, and they’d noticed his absence. One thing on their side was a lack of evidence. The weather, which had almost aided in ruining their scheme, appeared to have helped do wonders in the long run.

The power had gone out on several nearby roads that evening. Surveillance cameras were not working or on the fritz and much of the evidence had been washed away. They’d left the SUV doors open, allowing the crime scene to be cleaned by good ol’ Mother Nature, and though the authorities arrived soon after their departure according to the evening news the following day, tire marks and the like had been practically scrubbed out and hung to dry due to the torrential rain. No one, not even her closest friends, suspected anything about the feat she and Gable had pulled off, and neither one was saying a word.

She and Gable had been close since they were small children, merely six months apart in age. Their mothers were sisters with one year age difference, but both had lived entirely different lives. Mama had married up, got herself a Civil Engineer for the State of Illinois. Dad was a proud, educated Black man. Although considered quite handsome, he was blind as a bat, so he wore thick bifocals. The man had possessed a pleasant smile, a quick-fire temper, and worked a lot. Although he was barely home, the bills were paid, the house was nice, the neighborhood top notch, and the school district she lived in stellar. Aunt Shirley, on the other hand, had dated down, bringing five hard-headed boys and two sassy daughters into the world, all sired by three separate convicts, one of whom had landed in prison for armed robbery and a triple murder. When Tiffany would hear her mother gossiping on the phone about her sister Shirley, she couldn’t help but be intrigued.

It was a lifestyle so vastly different from hers. Tiffany had enjoyed wholesome meals for dinner with all four food groups, pretty outfits purchased from elegant boutiques, possessed things that would titillate little girls from all walks of life, yet, the Sunday school lessons did little to hold and keep her interest. At the same time, she’d never fully understood the pull, at least not at the time, to the darker side of the moon. But the thought was intriguing. Perhaps it was because Aunt Shirley had lived her life as if she had no tomorrow. The woman had a booming laugh, her makeup and hair always eye-catching, and she cooked delicious dishes with abundant oil, sugar, and butter.

Aunt Shirley loved her children, and she loved Tiffany, too. Mama didn’t want her only child influenced by such things, but as Tiffany got older, her attitude changed. She’d gone from being an obedient child to one who daydreamed about plunging knives into anyone who told her, “No.” The struggle was deep and real but as a child, all Tiffany could latch onto was the frenzied street life energy, the fast living and excitement that existed at Aunt Shirley’s house. The boys in the hood were finer there, the girls faster and the adventures boundless. The summers became her lifeline, the times she’d spent with her cousins in the southwest side of Chicago, West Englewood.

Scantily clad dressed women with soft weaves hanging down to the crack of their ass, glittery eye shadow, and high heels that made them appear six feet tall would parade in and out of Aunt Shirley’s house. Little white mountains of snow sat on a long, faux marble table and tiny Statue of Liberty scales. Aunt Shirley told her that was flour to make cakes; and she’d believed her until one day, her naiveté completely died. There were many things happening at Aunt Shirley’s house that fascinated and excited Tiffany, such as the assortment of freshly rolled joints, all neatly lined up like sleeping soldiers, and a certain tall, dark complexioned man with snow white teeth and large diamond rings. He smelled strong of cologne and dressed in one of the finest candy apple colored suits Tiffany had ever seen.

Not until years later did she realize that “Uncle Steve” was a revered Southside Chicago pimp. He also sold cocaine and ran paid parties out of Shirley’s house, offering a cornucopia of gambling, whoring, and occasionally, dog fighting, after which he gave her a percentage of the earnings. He’d taken a liking to pretty Aunt Shirley and well … wasn’t nothing going on but the rent.

Tiffany surmised, based on all those years of dipping in on conversations, Mama knew her sister smoked weed every now and again, but had no idea the woman was involved in much heavier criminal activities. And after a short while, it became convenient to drop her one and only child off for the summers, get her out of her hair. Tiffany didn’t question this; in fact, she understood that Mama had been at her wit’s end. With Dad barely there to lend support, the woman was stuck with a precocious, rebellious child, one who craved to be around others, so who else to better tend to this need than family? Besides, Aunt Shirley was good with her; she listened to the woman, hung on to her every word, and secretly wished her aunt to be her mama. Her reality though was that her real mother felt more like some stranger off the street.

“Tiffany, are you here?” Her front door slammed, forcing her out of her deliberations of childhood. Placing her glass down on the coffee table, she quickly wrapped her bright red silk robe around herself and flipped her wet hair over one shoulder.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to tell you something important,” the lady said, out of breath, as she walked to her. “Gable is in Michigan.”

“Michigan? What for?” She got to her feet and looked across the room at Gable’s sister, Cora, determined to play it cool.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged as she held a cigarette in one hand and a knock-off Coach bag in the other. I gave the bitch a real one for her birthday but she smoked it up. “But he wanted me to let you know.”

“You came all this way to tell me that?” Tiffany grimaced as she made her way past the woman and entered the kitchen. Cora was by all means harmless, but her annoying factor was high up the totem pole. “What do you want, Cora?”

“I need to borrow some money.” The woman bounced behind her, her eyes red and glossy like marbles, her hair a rat’s nest. She ran her hands over one another, the rough scrape of dryness starkly audible. Tiffany looked at her cousin and shook her head in disgust. Cora had been a pretty young lady years ago, garnering plentiful male attention but had gotten involved with a hoodlum a few years prior. She’d lost her mind over the fool, and instead of finding her a new piece of candy to lick, she fell into the sickness of addiction, self-medicating a broken heart all over a fuckboy named Bruce. Everything after that went downhill, including a raging crack cocaine addiction.

“Cora, you need to go back into rehab,” Tiffany stated casually as she opened her stainless-steel refrigerator door and pulled out a glass bowl of freshly washed lettuce. Her robe flopped open, exposing her breasts and a pair of matching silk red panties that featured a diamond studded sash. Cora’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the silver chain and jewels wrapped around her waist and dangling over her hip.

Cora, family or not, don’t get any ideas. You know me better than that. Don’t get fucked up.

Tiffany shut her robe, stopping the show once and for all. Cora slid her tongue across her lower lip then stepped closer, bouncing nervously from foot to foot.

“I will go back to rehab, Tiffany. I will. But I really need—”

“You said that last time. And the time before that. You know I hate junkies.” She looked at the woman with scorn. “You wasted my goddamn money. I spent thousands of dollars to get you into New Hope and you pissed it away. Gable wasn’t going to take a chance on you again. You’ve fucked over just about everyone in the family,” Tiffany spat before slamming the refrigerator door closed and pulling out a fork from a drawer.

“All I need is fifty dollars, Tiffany, damn! That ain’t nothing to you. Look at all this shit you got!” The woman looked about the place as if it sickened her. “You live by yourself, ain’t got no kids, no man, no nothin’! You can help your family out. Without us, you’d be nothin’.”

“If by nothing you mean a college graduate, then I guess you’re right. I should have listened to my mother and kept my ass in Oak Creek where I had it good, right?” Tiffany smirked. Grabbing a bottle of Lite Ranch dressing, she headed to the table.

“I’m not talking about college. You know damn well you couldn’t have made so much as ten percent of what you have now, even if you were a damn doctor. My brother showed you the ropes, got you into the game!” The woman spun around, glaring at the walls, furniture, and accessories. “All of this shit is name brand! Not even the trashcan is from Walmart. Your clothes are designer stuff, your jewelry is all real, you have a brand-new Mercedes and yet, half of your family is still in the projects. You owe us, Tiffany. Instead, you walk around like you better than everybody else, make me beg you for a little cash. Like I ain’t ever did shit for you.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes and plopped down in a chair. She unscrewed the top on the dressing bottle.

“Half the family isn’t in the projects, just you and Tony. You’re a crackhead and Tony is on some bullshit and won’t get in where he fits in. Secondly, I can sleep just fine on my 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets—the jade green set is my favorite. Thirdly, I’m not your damn personal bank.” She grabbed a long cigarette out of a silver case, lit it, and blew smoke out of the side of her mouth. “You come sniffing around me now because Gable is not paying you any attention, and you’re scared because now he has taken off, made a trip to Michigan, which means you won’t have any money coming in whatsoever … indefinitely. You don’t give a damn about me, you never have, and you’ve not done shit for me besides be a thorn in my side.”

“That ain’t true and you know it, Tiffany.”

“Oh, it’s not? The only family I have, besides my parents, is Gable and Aunt Shirley. Your brother and mama are the only ones who gave a damn about me. All you’d do when we were kids is stand around and make fun of me, tellin’ me I talked like a white girl, that I was a nerd and was dark and ugly. How ya like me now?” Tiffany cackled as she casually tapped her cigarette into the black ashtray beside her.

“We were kids, Tiffany!” Cora threw up her hands. “Kids do dumb shit and say dumb shit, too, all right? What’s that got to do with right now?”

“Everything.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked the woman up and down. “Men drop to their motherfuckin’ knees to get a whiff of my ass while you stand on a street corner sellin’ yours to get that next kite ride … fuck you.”

“You feel better now, Tiffany?” The woman’s hatred poured out in those four simple words.

“Not yet. I’m just getting started.” She grinned. “This little heart to heart between you and me has been a long time coming. I’ve given you too many passes.”

“And my brother should’ve passed you by and put me in charge instead.”

“Ha! Girl, you are so funny.” Tiffany clicked her tongue against her inner jaw. “You don’t know shit about money, about growing wealth, about using what you got to get what you want. You never come around unless you want something, and I don’t appreciate you walking up in here anytime you please.”

“You gave me the key.”

Tiffany fumed. Years of pent up rage oozed out of every pore as she laid into Cora, telling her once and for all what she thought of her.

“I think you better turn around, walk out the front door and not come back, Cora. All we have between us is blood … bad blood. The family ties are officially cut.”

“What about you using us as some type of experiment, huh? Comin’ down and slummin’ it over the summers for fun? You want to talk about us as kids? Let’s talk about that, Tiffany McCall … wit’ your fancy little dresses, trying to talk like us and soundin’ so stupid. Had the nerve to ask my mother if you could move in and stay all year. I would have gladly traded lives with you. No amount of money in the world would make me throw away the safety and love you had—none!” The woman’s voice trembled as her eyes sheened over.

Tiffany crossed her legs; the robe fell open once again but this time, she didn’t care. She rocked her leg back and forth, grinned from ear to ear as she blew out copious rings of thick smoke.

“You really don’t know shit about me and you’ve always resented me, Cora. You hated that my parents loved me, and that I was smart, too. You hated the fact Gable saw I had the brains to be a good business partner, and couldn’t use you for shit. You’re unreliable, emotional, scatterbrained, and only would have slowed him down. Now look at you … add strung out to the list.”

“You ain’t shit, Tiffany.” The woman laughed mirthlessly and inched closer, fire burning in her eyes. Tiffany gave her the once over then smashed her cigarette in an ashtray.

“Cora, I only speak the truth. I’m not trying to hurt you, but…” She shrugged. “You’re just so easy to infuriate. You’re five years older than me. You want to talk about taking care of family—well, baby, I’m done taking care of grown people. You said it yourself. I don’t have any children so why would I continue to—”

The woman suddenly lunged at her, grabbed her waist, and attempted to snatch the sash of diamonds from the side of her panties, causing a ripping sound. They barely hung on and before Tiffany could make a break for it, she screamed out.

“Ahhh!” A knife sliced into her flesh, drawing fresh blood as the chain from the panties fell to the floor in pieces. Scrambling about like some wild, rabid animal, Cora tossed the knife to the ground, collected a couple of diamonds and a few silver links, and flew towards the front door as if she had wings. Tiffany snatched up the blade and thrust it into her pocket before racing after her cousin at full speed.

“Fuuuck!” The woman shrieked when Tiffany grabbed a fistful of her tangled hair and dragged her backwards, yanking and pulling at her scalp.

Tiffany gritted her teeth. A pulsing pain nagged at her side as blood flowed from the wound.

“You can’t even trust family nowadays, can you?” Tiffany grinned as her long, off black coarse hair swung wildly to and fro, partially covering the side of her face. “Blood thicker than water, right?” With her free hand, she snatched the diamonds out of Cora’s tight grip and slid them in her robe pocket. Keeping her fist wrapped tight on the woman’s hair, Tiffany gave a hard yank, the kind that would draw a fit of tears and a bald patch to boot. Cora’s screams echoed throughout the house. Shoving her cousin into the kitchen chair, she got in the woman’s face. Panic danced in Cora’s eyes.

“I’m sorry!” Cora screamed. “You don’t understand. I—”

“Now see, bitch, I’m going to have to make an example out of you … my own damn cousin.” Tiffany reared her hand far back and slapped Cora so hard, her knuckles stung. “Don’t you ever bite the hand that feeds you! I pay your rent, keep gas in that raggedy ass car of yours by keeping the fuel card I gave you charged up. I feed your babies while you run off and get high now that Gable only takes care of your phone bill. We make sure you don’t see one penny of it. We pay these bills directly or bring the food over ’cause Mama didn’t raise no fool. I’d slice a neck and put a bullet in a belly for much less than what you’ve just done, but because Gable would never forgive me, I’m going to have to come up with something a bit … kinder.” She swiped at her wound with her robe, sopping up some of the running blood, but kept her eye on Cora, barely even blinking.

“I just—”

“Shut up! Don’t you say not one motherfuckin’ word. Now, since you wanna make me bleed bitch, we’re going to make a blood pact, strengthen our bond since you’ve forgotten the true meaning of family.” Cora’s eyes grew large when Tiffany pinned her wrist down on the chair and placed the same knife used to cut the sash against her forearm.

“No! Don’t!”

“Awwww.” Tiffany grinned. “I know you aren’t afraid of a little ol’ knife, baby? All the drugs you pump in your body … the needles worming their way into half collapsed veins and your nose so raw, it bleeds as soon as the air hits it. This is little of nothin’, right?”

“Tiffany, please! Ahhhhh!” The woman’s screams made her ears ring as she dragged the knife just above her wrist in a swift, hard motion.

“We’re even now. Get the fuck outta my house.” She released the woman but kept a firm grip on the knife, which dripped blood from both their injuries. Cora shot up from the chair. Her body trembled with fright while she held her bloodied arm. Tiffany tossed a diamond at her, hitting her in the back of the head with it. Cora paused, her eyes glazing over as she looked down at the thing on the ground.

“Go ahead … get on all fours and lick it like the bitch you are, and I’ll let you have it.”

With a trembling hand, Cora dropped to her hands and knees, curled out her tongue and ran it across the edge of the thing. She then looked out the corner of her eye, scooped it up, and scurried out of the house, leaving the door wide open. Tiffany stood there, watching every moment until Cora had started up her car and sped away. After closing and locking the door, she gripped the knife handle, then walked towards the sink and tossed it inside. Wincing, she pulled her robe back from her hip and made her way to her master suite bathroom.

Grabbing alcohol, cotton pads, a bandage and needle and thread, she cleaned and nursed her wounds, almost biting her damn lip off as she swallowed and bore the pain. She stitched the wound closed until she was satisfied. With a fresh pair of panties and sheer white robe, she lay on her bed, placed her arms behind her head and glared up at the ceiling until she fell fast asleep. Dreams of being on a remote island and playing a guitar to the sound of the crashing ocean waves kept her in a state of peace until the early evening hours begged for her presence. She ran her hand across her face, yawned loudly, and glared at the time.

Punch the clock…

The evening was her busiest time of day, when the dope fiends were out and about, in need of their next fix. Tiffany stood on no corners and met no one anywhere; rather, she scheduled drop offs using her network of employees via her phone and computer. She kept records of everything; nothing was left to chance. Placing her cell phone to her ear, she jumped right in, ready to do business.

“How are you doing tonight, Roberto? Are you ready to have the time of your life, because let me tell you, baby, there’s a kilo with your name on it…”

CHAPTER FOUR

Phoenix had bought his mother a house in Summerlin, Nevada. She’d lived there for the past two and a half years. This place gave off a different vibe from his hometown of Henderson. Sometimes, Phoenix still called it such, forgetting that his old stomping grounds now went by the name of Green Valley. The big factories were long gone, replaced with a thriving art district and the Galleria Mall. Las Vegas was where he’d been born and raised, in an area somewhat removed from the notorious Vegas strip and lights. There were a fair share of nightclubs and gaming around his home, but nothing like the mega casinos that drew people from all over the world.

Mom sat on her expansive porch, perched on a swing seat in a simmering 89 degrees with high humidity—a far cry from D.C. He sat beside her, donning a pair of khaki shorts and a white tank top. The air was sweet. A few children played in the street tossing a football around and she just sat there, her slender legs crossed beneath a teal and burgundy floral print lightweight housecoat. Her silver-streaked black hair was cut short, framing skin with a slight yellow hue. Her blue eyes looked sullen and her thin lips crimped on the right side as if she were thinking of something funny. She’d been that way since her stroke.

“I’m sorry about John,” she stated behind a yawn as she stretched her feet, exposing varicose veins. “That’s a real shame.” He nodded in agreement, adjusting the dark shades over his eyes, and leaned forward. “I imagine he had a real nice funeral.” Clearing his throat, he tossed her a glance then stared back at the kids in the middle of the tree-lined path.

“Yes, lots of people … very nice. They haven’t caught who’s responsible.”

“I thought you said that gang did it?” She ran a slightly shaky hand across her knee. Mom shook now, as if her bones were dancing beneath her flesh, and she complained often of her knees hurting. The new medicine seemed to be helping a bit though.

“I don’t know if they really had anything to do with it.” He squinted, the sun getting to him. Readjusting his sunglasses, he leaned back on the swing and swung back and forth in a slow rhythm. “I’ve been at this for weeks, and I’ve requested some cell phone records. I want to see which gang members were in the area just to see who I can rule out. It was a remote location, so they’d have no other reason to be there. The FBI is investigating them though. This is taking much longer than I thought.”

Mom nodded and rubbed knobby hands harder over that knee.

“The world’s not safe anymore, son. I guess it never really was.” He slid his hand over hers then, gently pushed her palm out of the way, and rubbed her knee for her. Looking straight ahead, he bobbed his head to her words, then stewed in silence. “I thought you’d hung your DEA cape up. I know you loved John, but you can’t get involved in this, Phoenix.” She turned to him slowly, a pleasant smile on her face.

“You know I can’t turn my back on this and as far as my ties to the DEA, I can never give it up completely. In theory, I did.” He shrugged. “But it’s a part of me.”

“You miss the excitement, don’t you?” She chuckled. He laughed lightly and nodded. With a light tap against his thigh, she grinned, understanding his plight. “It’s strange to see my son on television now. I’d like you to tell the President what we in the real world are going through.” She grimaced, her voice trailing at the end. “I have a famous son to help me, but others like me…” She frowned and shook her head as she looked out at the children playing. “They don’t have that.

“If you didn’t have the money to buy me this house, pay for my prescriptions, keep on me about seeing the psychiatrist, I don’t know what I’d do.” He ran his hand up and down her back. A gust of wind came through, allowing him a whiff of her sweet, old-fashioned perfume. As a little boy, this was her signature scent and whenever he smelled it, he felt comfort. “I put that photo of your dad in his uniform in a new frame.”

“The one taken of him as chief of police or the rookie one?”

“Chief… He was so proud of that photo.” Her eyes grew soft with gleamed with moisture. He imagined she was reminiscing on the day Dad was promoted.

Phoenix’s phone vibrated against his hip. Snatching it off the holster that lay next to his gun, he placed it to his ear.

“Rick…”

“Yes, those records should be to you soon. I kinda glanced over them and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I’ll send them on anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Phoenix, thank you for the teleconference with the rest of the guys this morning. I know you are technically on leave and visiting your mother right now, but it helped a lot.”

“I still have a job to do, Rick. I’m never on leave—just needed to visit my mother, clear my head for a minute.”

“Understood. We’ll see you when you get back.”

“10-4.” And he disconnected the call, then put his phone away.

“How’s Lilian?” Mom quipped, a sly expression on her face.

“She’s good … engaged.”

“So quickly? Hmmm, well, that’s interesting. I wish her the best I guess.” The old lady shook her head.

“Mom, you weren’t a fan of Lilian. Stop pretending.” He laughed at the woman who now chuckled as he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“It wasn’t that I wasn’t a fan of hers, honey. I could see you two weren’t good for each other. I told you she was a nice lady, I just knew it wouldn’t work.”

Phoenix removed his sunglasses and placed them atop his head.

“You never told me that before.”

“Yeah?” She tilted her head to the side, as if surprised. “Well, that pretty much sums it up.” She tapped his knee and looked away at nothing in particular. “I know you’re busy, but you should start dating again. It’s time to get movin’.”

“I don’t have time for all that, Mom.”

She slowly turned back in his direction. “Phoenix, if you don’t do as I’m tellin’ you, you’re going to live to regret that. There’s always time for love…”

…One week later

When you’re looking for that needle in a haystack, you have to focus not on the needle, but the bend and curves of hay that make way for the object hidden amongst the debris…

Phoenix crossed his arms along his chest. At 9:10 P.M., he was taking a flight to Chicago, Illinois. The private jet only had a few passengers, all of whom were crew. They sat what seemed like miles away from one another, each focused on their individual tasks. He’d spent the past two years riding on private jets, but every now and again opted for a commercial airline, wishing to feel like a normal, flesh and blood human being. The world now saw him as some superhero or a dangerous threat that needed to be annihilated. There was no middle ground.

To drug dealers and those in the illegal narcotics field, he was public enemy number one. They knew his background, and he’d made it perfectly clear that his fancy new title wouldn’t protect them from him sending out his team to crush them if he felt so inclined. To those earnestly waging a war against these factions, he was a hero. Phoenix surmised he was neither—just a man driven to do his job, and do it right. Many of his methods were deemed uncouth, even borderline illegal, but a blind eye was turned for the greater cause. During his days as a DEA agent, he’d earned the nickname, “The Dragon’, due to his knowledge of explosives used by many Mexican drug cartels, as well as his sharp tongue and wit, illegal yet effective waterboarding methods, and his enviable stack of ammunition. He had received countless awards and acknowledgements and was a quick draw, saving many of his comrades’ lives during violent takedowns. Priding himself on his resilience, he was able to go the distance where others had thrown in the towel.

He pulled out his briefcase and retrieved his computer. He scanned the documents over and over on the screen, resting on one name, time and time again…

Gable Johnson

Gable had a police record starting from the age of fifteen: petty theft, arson, and burglary, to name a few. His record was nothing exciting, the typical crimes one would expect to see for such a person born and bred in poverty and a crime-infested neighborhood. His mother had been known for selling narcotics out of her home until she’d been shot and paralyzed in an attempted robbery over twenty years ago. Gable seemed to have learned little from his mother’s near-death experience, watching her fend for herself in a wheelchair, barely able to care for herself, for his police record soon graduated to drug-related offenses. Still, the bastard had never spent much time behind bars.

He’d been raised in a rough part of Chicago, known to swallow souls in a single, gang-related and drug-induced bound. Gable had proved to be a slippery pain in the ass for the Chicago police. He’d managed to secure a complex drug network that was difficult to track and ran stealthily. He wasn’t a Gangster Disciple; in fact, he wasn’t affiliated with any gang-related activity whatsoever, but he ran in the circles, nurtured ties with them all the same. As Phoenix studied the man’s past, he found it rather remarkable. Gable wasn’t necessarily unintelligent, but he had a fast temper, unable to maintain self-control if pushed to his limit.

If he did this, there’s no way he did it by himself. He had help. Someone is the brains behind this operation. This is incredible.

The man’s runners changed as often and fast as one changed a pair of underpants and in the last five years, Gable had managed to avoid getting caught holding product, no matter how many surprise shakedowns the police sprang on him. It got so bad, he’d laugh in their faces and tell them to search wherever they wished, even offered refreshments as he lazed about on his bed watching a boxing match with a scantily clad woman beside him. As soon as the police would get close to discovering his supplier and the people involved, new aliases, and changes of addresses and cell phone numbers would happen within the blink of an eye. The use of P.O. boxes for drug deliveries so well packaged that police dogs at times didn’t detect a single note of cocaine inside became common. Regardless, the man’s luck might have just run out.

Phoenix compared Gable’s cell phone records, noting how his phone had been mysteriously turned off during the time of the crime.

I need to find out that location … there has to be a way. When the phone is off, the operating systems are still working, just not responding to external input. So, he was still getting signals, and since signals bounce off one another, his location is still being tracked. Even if he turned that feature off, which he probably did, any apps he has where he allowed location to run would still be tracking … just to figure out which one he may have missed.

He kept on searching on Google, looking through the records and surfing through sites. After a while, Phoenix leaned back in his seat for a spell and shut his eyes, but his relaxation was short-lived. Noticing he had a new message on his phone, he opened it up:

Mr. Hale,

Your findings have been validated. Mr. Gable Johnson has a cellphone number in his name, one of three, that begins with the area code, 312. This phone number was turned to the OFF mode, as previously shown. However, one app called ‘Popular Near Me’ had tracking still on. We will look at those records and respond back to your requests as soon as possible.

F.H. Hempstead

Department of Justice

Phoenix couldn’t help but smile at the revelation.

I know it was you, motherfucker. My gut hasn’t steered me wrong yet. You’ve got all the markers: frequent phone calls to the same three numbers two days prior, coded text messages, some of which state clearly that you would be unavailable on the date the murders took place and that you’d need back up during your absence. No outgoing calls or texts, not even one, during the time of the slaughters. Then, less than ten minutes after the coroner ruled the most plausible time of death, suddenly your phone was back on and you were only eight miles away from where everything took place. My father worked homicide for twenty damn years; it inspired me, gave me motivation, and I learned a hell of a lot. You’ve killed the wrong damn person this time, Gable…

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he leaned back again and rested his eyes.

He’d be landing soon, so he planned a special surprise party for Mr. Johnson, hosted by the Dragon…

Her head throbbed from the alcohol, but she’d tried to sleep it off nevertheless. On a sigh, she rolled to and fro, gathering the black sheets around her body as she caught a chill. Tiffany sucked on her lower lip and her eyes fluttered; the dream had been so bad, it had made her queasy.

“Damn…”

She sat up in her dark bedroom and ran her hand through her hair, tousling it, while her naked body drew much needed warmth. She reached for her lamp. Pulling the string down, she jumped and stifled a scream. Sitting beside her in a chair was a tall, broad shouldered white man with bright blue eyes, a suit and tie, and a chilling grin carved in his face. Her heart beat a mile a minute as they stared at one another. Slowly … so slowly … she reached beneath her pillow, but only felt the coolness of the mattress.

“Disappointed?” He smiled wide. “I took the liberty of removing your little friends. The knife, and the Glock, too.” Her gaze shifted to his hands. In his right one, he gripped a Smith & Wesson.

“What do you want?” she asked calmly, trying her damnedest to disguise her trepidation.

“Oh, your first question isn’t ‘Who are you?’ That’s interesting, Ms. McCall. Maybe it’s because you already have a damn good idea who I am, so asking would be silly and a waste of time.” He shrugged in an exaggerated manner. She simply glared at him.

“Now, as far as your question, here’s what I want … I want you to tell me where the hell Gable Johnson is.” Kneading the sheets into a tight fist, she swallowed hard but didn’t back down from his stare.

“I don’t know.”

The man laughed so hard, his eyes turned to slits, and then suddenly, just like that, he stopped. He rose from the chair, causing her to tighten her grasp of the sheets. The tall fucker hovered over her, casting a shadow across her comforter. Sliding next to her on the bed, he sat so close, she could smell his aftershave, see dark hairs of his trimmed beard and mustache, and even make out a beauty mark on the top part of his right ear.

“Tiffany, baby, no, no, no.” He smirked. “We’re not going to play this fucking game. Any move you try, I’m three steps ahead of you, have double backed and beat you again all within a matter of seconds.” He leaned closer, and she again sank her teeth into her lower lip, squelching any verbal resonances that would betray her fear. The pain cut through her as he grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “Now. Where. The fuck. Is. He?” Despite his words of choice, he sounded calm, but his eyes … his eyes showed something much different.

“I told you that I don’t know.” Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at her nightstand, noting that her cellphone was gone.

“I happen to believe otherwise. Gable was calling you a hell of a lot before John was murdered. You have no criminal record, but you’ve been on the radar for years; in fact, over a decade. You’re the beautiful, but deadly, Tiffany McCall … thirty-seven, never married, no children, striking … known to use your physique to trick men into believing a pipe dream. Well.” He cracked a wicked grin. “In your case, a crack pipe dream, right? Your cousin is in deep trouble, so unless you want to go down with him, I suggest you take this last opportunity to give up the gauntlet.” He twisted and turned her wrist so hard, her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to scream … refused to give him an ounce of satisfaction.

“Awww!” He smiled. “Look at you! Brave little soldier. I’m pressing on just the right spots to cause you incredible agony, but you are baaaad, right? A bad bitch, huh? Isn’t that what they call you?” He tossed her wrist aside as if she were trash and grabbed the sides of her mouth, forcing it open to the point that her jaws ached. Out poured a scream so loud, it vibrated her insides and stole her soul, when the pain flooded forth and took her under. Her wrist throbbed with an ache like she’d never known.

“I will break you like a goddamn toy.” Tearing his hand away from her face, he clicked his gun.

“I don’t know where he is!” she screamed between gnashed teeth.

“You’re a good liar. That time, I was almost convinced.” Before she knew it, he’d lifted her off the bed and he held her by a fistful of her damn hair, her feet dangling and the sheets fell to the floor. It happened so quickly, her body seemed a few seconds behind, her mind even farther.

“Let me explain something to you, Ms. McCall. Your cousin murdered three men … three very important men. One of them happened to be my best friend. Whatever I do to your cousin, no one will give a damn, and whatever I have to do to you to find out where he is, no one will care about that either. You have run out of chances so now, you’re coming with me.” He tossed her down on the bed and marched to her closet.

Breathing hard, she looked around her, desperate for a weapon, anything to get away from this crazy son of a bitch.

She fixated on the lamp as he stuffed various items of her clothing inside a duffle bag he’d had on the floor. As soon as her palm wrapped around the stem, he said, his back still to her, “Nuh … uh … uh. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ignoring him, she desperately threw it across the room, causing a loud crash, and sprinted towards her bedroom door. Pain ran along her chin when she fell to the floor, and a tight grip of her ankle put a fast halt to her escape. She yelled out as her body was dragged back towards the bed, the wooden floor rough against her bare flesh. Tossing her on the bed as if she were some rag doll, he stood before her, ice in his eyes. Her face seared as he backhanded her; the sudden twisting of her neck from the impact caused a burning sensation.

He tossed a shirt, bra, panties and jeans on top of her.

“Get dressed.” She got slowly to her feet, and did as told. Holding the gun tight, he slung the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

She began to move forward, dragging her feet, now clad in Nikes, and prolonging the inevitable.

“Where are we going?”

“A place where no one will hear your screams…”

CHAPTER FIVE

Despite her harmless façade and slender wrists in handcuffs, he knew he couldn’t take his eyes off her or it may be the last thing he did…

As Phoenix drove the ’67 black Cadillac Eldorado through the desolate stretch of the I-70 highway, he didn’t miss how she looked out the window through miles of bleak nothingness, no doubt trying to memorize her surroundings. Her dark gaze flitted here and there, the desperation within her almost tangible and heady. He, too, had his eyes on the prize, only it wasn’t the road but the curious woman shackled next to him.

Despite her well-timed calculations and carefully placed safety nets, she played a good game of possum for a novice. The woman kept eerily quiet, and now seemed to be asleep—but he knew better. He made mental notes of her appearance, all he’d seen of her the very first moment of meeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her remarkable features, adding to the list of impressions he’d never forget…

Thick, off black hair, the texture dry, coarse … various curl patterns throughout her mane, all of which hangs in layers to the middle of her back…

Large doe-like eyes, the whites like snow, giving the illusion of innocence…

Slender bridge of nose, slightly turned up at the end with flared nostrils…

Pronounced jawline, but not hard…

Lower lip much fuller than the top…

She smells like La Vie Est Belle by Lancôme…He knew that perfume well, a lovely personal assistant at the White House who greeted him each time he arrived in the mornings wore it…

Tattoo of a black butterfly carrying a red rose on her right shoulder…

Flawless, naked body. Two dimples on her lower back, right above her well rounded ass. Skin like rich cocoa with a dollop of cream, silky smooth, her natural movements fluid like melting ebony candles dripping down heated glass…

She WOULD have to be beautiful. It’s quite obvious how a man could be driven to distraction with her around…

“I want to know where you’re takin’ me.”

“I’ve already responded to that question and the answer is the same.”

“I have to pee,” she retorted, quickly changing up her game plan.

He gave her a fleeting glance, then yanked the steering wheel to make a hard right, swerving his car to the shoulder of the road. Her body jerked forward at the sudden maneuver. He put the vehicle in park. Getting out of the car, he slammed the door shut. The night swallowed the world in a heavy black blanket. His feet crushed the gravelly, uneven ground as he made his way around the car. Snatching the passenger door open, he gripped her arm and helped her out of the car, exerting a bit of pressure … not too hard, but not too soft. They walked down an embankment covered in nothing but tall blades of grass. The sounds of insects seasoned the air with a strange song and now the flashlight from his phone illuminated the choppy path ahead.

“Right here?” She cocked her head to the side, her perfect brows furrowed. “You don’t have the damn decency to at least let me go into a gas station?” she spat.

“Roaches aren’t welcome in convenience stores.” He turned his head and spit, then glared back at her. “You’re an animal, harboring another fucking animal. You can piss and shit outside just like the repulsive creature that you are.” Reaching low, he yanked her pants and panties down in one fell swoop until they gathered around her ankles. “Squat. Hurry up.”

Her eyes morphed to inky slits as she regarded him with the hatred of a million men. The sound of trickling liquid hit the brush, lasting quite a while. He kept the light on her, but square on her face. They glared at one another, neither uttering another word until it was all said and done. Without waiting for her to ask, he snatched a tissue out of his jacket pocket and tapped her pussy dry. Her lips pursed, she raised her head in defiance before he tossed the damn thing into the grassy open mouth of the land. “Let’s go.” She stood erect and he wrapped his arm tightly around hers to walk her back up to the car, then shoved her inside with a push to the side of her head. In that quick moment, he could feel the form of her skull, the angled and defined cheekbone, and her mandible.

Getting back in the driver’s seat, he got back on the highway, figuring he had at least twenty more hours to go before they made it to Vegas.

“I could’ve made a run for it.” She smirked, her expression bordering on absurdity with a dash of silliness.

“And then I could’ve blown your goddamn head off.” The next several minutes consisted of nothing but silence, much like the majority of the ride. Leaning forward, he snatched on the old radio, hoping something decent would play from the rusted relic. “Burn the Witch” by Radiohead crackled from the thing. Phoenix had purchased the car right after he’d discovered that Gable Johnson was definitely on the run. Two hours in a used car dealership and he was back in action, laying out the next steps of his plan. That plan was a she, and here she was, coming along for the ride.

“How’d you find me?” She readjusted in her seat, her long legs bent in odd ways as she attempted to get comfortable.

“You didn’t try to hide … you’re either arrogant or stupid. My bet is on the first choice. And like I told you, the cellphone records lead right back to you like a smoke signal. I realized you were his cousin. Did a bit of research and boy was I surprised to see that you two have been in cahoots for quite some time. You’re more interested in how I narrowed it down to him though, right?” He grinned at her, but she refused to look in his direction. She kept her face squarely on the road.

“Well, he made a little mistake, Tiffany. And now, here the fuck I am.”

Her jaw tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again. She suddenly turned to him, her eyes wide with what he presumed was hope, or perhaps one of her many pre-rehearsed, mass produced manipulative acts ready to be unveiled like some $2.00 magic trick—trying her slick tongue out on him for size.

“I will give you what you want.”

“You’re ready to tell me where Gable is?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I can get you money. I’ve got it. Let’s negotiate.”

…And I was right. Here she goes. It’s ShowTime.

“There isn’t enough money in your bank account or stashed under that mattress of yours to get me off you. And besides, I don’t want currency.”

“You asked for my cousin’s whereabouts but I don’t have them.” Her tone was peppered with the illusion of truth. She was doing a bang-up job with her lies. “So, I ask you again. What do you want that I can help you with? Everybody wants something, right?” Her tone softened as she played the role to the hilt, her wrists jingled from the shiny, metal handcuffs as she rested them against her jeans-clad thigh. “Let’s talk. I just may be able to help you out.”

“Help me out?” He nodded his head and gave a half smile, keeping his eye on the road. “I think you need to save all that help and assistance for yourself, Ms. McCall. Because where I’m taking you, baby, you’re going to need all the help you can get…”

She had no idea what time it was, what day, or even the city and state she found herself in. She tried to keep track of the highway signs they passed and the miles on the speedometer, but that all came to an abrupt end once he upped the ante. As she rode in that big, old, classic car, the quieter he became, the more her stomach twisted and turned. Before she knew it, he pulled over into a thicket and he emerged out the driver’s side door, grabbed her, and made good on the hysteria he promised to deliver at her feet.

Covering her eyes with a dark cloth, he tied it around her head, blindfolding her. The world went black. The thing was so tight, she soon developed a headache, but her pleas for a looser fit fell upon deaf ears. He made it clear that if she tried to scream or get anyone’s attention, it would be the last thing she ever did. She now believed him.

She prayed for a miracle, anything to get her out of this jam.

I told Gable to stop calling me from his phone! Fuck!

Tiffany had initially rolled with the punches, feeling confident she could somehow see her way out of this mess and live to tell the tale. After all, it wasn’t the first time her life had been threatened and she’d been in a precarious situation before. Such unpleasantries just came with the territory. She refused to be a sitting duck, knew how to pull a trigger, but better yet, to get people to do her bidding, sometimes just to be in her good graces. But the truth came crashing down like a swatter flattening a fly—no one could save her from this.

How did he get into my house?!

She had so many questions. The alarm hadn’t gone off. He certainly didn’t have a key and she hadn’t heard glass break or footsteps approaching her bedroom. She was a light sleeper, but he managed to creep in like some buoyant shadow, making himself comfortable in her private sanctuary. He’d stepped out from the dark corners of her home and haunted her reality.

She’d sat there for the longest devising a strategy and a backup plan for that one, too, until she saw the tip of something shiny and metal peaking from his pocket as he drove through the night. It was no gun, though he certainly had that, too; it was a badge of some sort, something official…

Shit! He must be one of the big dogs. FBI, maybe? If that’s the case, the odds are slim that anyone is going to try to stop him from whatever the hell he is getting ready to do to me…

No one would care about some Black female drug dealer from Chi-town getting shot and killed. She was used to the do-gooders snubbing their nose at her, waving their Bibles and telling her that she lived by the sword and she’d die that way, too. Some would surely celebrate her demise, while others would feel badly enough to pour a bit of their liquor on the concrete in her memory but many would simply say, ‘She chose her fate.’ Perhaps she was thinking about this too hard, giving the bastard too much damn credit.

She snuck glances at him before he blindfolded her, and tried to size him up. She played those tapes in her mind, attempting to piece together the information and form some connections to the ever-growing puzzle. Maybe he wanted pussy. Could that be her ticket out of this mess? Even if she was up for it, he sure as hell didn’t act as if that would be on the bargaining table.

He was different from so many who’d fallen at her feet without hesitation—men of all different races and backgrounds begged for her carnal attention. This fucker hadn’t given her a second glance. In fact, she was naked when he’d broken into her house, and not once did he ogle her or appear to take delight in her unclothed body. Maybe he didn’t like Black women; hell, maybe he didn’t like women at all. And though she’d never sold her ass to get a come up or get out of a tricky situation, she contemplated offering all of that and then some if he would just let her walk. This was no patty cake shake down or two-bit hustle. This motherfucker was the real deal, and she was in deep. She could practically feel her lifetime reaching its expiration date, the clock ticking by merely sitting next to him.

He’s not going to let me go. I can just feel it. Don’t give up, Tiffany… I’ve got to get out of this alive. I just have to.

The man stopped several times along the journey. This last time, the old car jerked and rattled as he shut the engine off.

She knew the drill now. First, he moved her to the driver’s seat. Then, she felt the touch of cool leather around her arm and the sound of a buckle being adjusted. He was tying her to the steering wheel with a belt. At this point, she was sure it had to be a belt. With her handcuffed wrists, this maneuver put her in an odd, uncomfortable position. “Don’t try any tricks or treats. I’ve got my eye on you.” He slammed the car door so hard, it echoed.

She sat there in silence, straining to press her face against the glass and hoping someone would see her. No one came; in fact, wherever they were, the place had to be pretty much deserted. She couldn’t hear anything, not even a peep, and her blindfold had made her lose the sense of time and place.

He returned soon thereafter with a drink and sandwich for her, at which point he released the belt and offered to let her relieve herself in another isolated area.

She took him up on the offer, unable to pass on any potential opportunity for escape. But then she heard the clicking of his gun, and he stood so close, the slightest move could land her with a smoking hole in the middle of her gut. There she was, time after time, with no cars zooming by, not even the noise of bugs or the chirping of birds.

Perhaps it was nighttime again; she wasn’t sure anymore.

Sometimes, she’d holler at him, but he rarely responded. When he did, he sometimes yawned, acting like he was damn near bored to tears. His calm demeanor unnerved her. Not once did he seem bothered or moved by her declarations; the mindfuckery she’d use on so many others to get them to see things her way was completely wasted on him. She’d exhausted herself with schemes, sweet nothings, and all out screams.

Now they were once again inside the vehicle, and she remained quiet, drifting into nothingness as she fought with the need to sleep until she finally succumbed.

Later, her eyes fluttered open when the car slowed to a crawl, then stopped with a jerk. She gasped when the blindfold was snatched away from her face. The shock of being submerged in light after the total darkness felt surreal. Before them stood a rundown motel with several floors, the exterior painted in pastel pink and yellow.

“I’m going to take off your handcuffs.” He leaned forward, smelling of coffee and cologne. “If you try anything, I will kill you. You’re the type who needs that sort of reminder. And I don’t care who’s near to watch. The people around here can be bought and sold with a pissed-on twenty-dollar bill and a scratch off lottery ticket, so you go right ahead and try your luck.” The car seat sighed as he got to his feet and made his way around the vehicle to her. She blinked, still trying to adjust to the off-white, blinking Christmas lights that hung from the rundown place like some out of place decoration. She winced when he removed the handcuffs. The damn things had cut into her wrists, making them bleed.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he held her tight to him. The butt of his gun bumped awkwardly against her side like some horny fucker nursing a hard on, making it known he wanted to fuck. Moments later, they stood side by side as he paid for the night and got a key. In no time, they were climbing the iron steps to their room. She dreaded each second, fearful of what awaited her behind those walls.

The air around them smelled like day-old elephant piss and fresh puke. A host of drunks and druggies moved about in front of the motel and their rented rooms like disease infested roaches and subway rats, scavenging the place, their eyes hopeful for a handout or invitation to party.

He’s clearly not broke. Why are we here?

She knew a broke motherfucker when she saw one. No, this man had money. He reeked of it… He had far more money than a cop would make. His cologne was definitely expensive, quality and not too overpowering, but the scent never faded. His hair was professionally cut, his low-cut beard and mustache trimmed to absolute perfection. His nails were filed and shaped, and his clothing and shoes were a dead giveaway of his upper echelon status. Broke men didn’t wear Marc Jacob shirts and pants, they didn’t sport Oyster Perpetual Rolex watches, either.

Who the hell is he?

They entered their room, a tiny thing with lint-ball-covered white linens, an older model television, and an air conditioner on full blast. Two small beds stood practically side by side and the light from the bathroom lit the entire area up. The man hit the light on the wall with his fist and slid two duffle bags onto one of the beds.

“Get comfortable. I packed a few of your nightgowns in there for you.” He pointed at one of the duffle bags. She made her way towards the thing, unzipped it and peeked inside. For a split second, it felt like these were artifacts, mere relics, something from another life and a time she no longer knew. She hadn’t been gone long, but a part of her believed that soon enough, she’d be dead. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a long navy blue frock. She recalled purchasing it from an online boutique; it was one of a kind.

“Is it all right if I take a shower?”

“Yes.” He lounged back on the bed and grabbed the remote, his gun tucked halfway in his pants. She moved past him and entered the tiny enclosure, closing and locking the door behind her.

“Take the fucking lock off,” his voice boomed, but he didn’t yell.

The sound sent a chill down her spine. She did as was told, then leaned over the dingy tub and turned on the water. The liquid spurted out, as if choking on itself, before it simmered down and gushed in an even flow. After giving the shower valve a good tug, the water burst from the head. She gathered a flimsy white wash cloth and a packaged bar of soap. Stepping inside the tub, she yanked the clear shower curtain closed and stood there under the rushing water, soaking herself. She made quick work of removing the paper wrapper, setting the shredded remains off to the side, and meticulously lathered the miniscule, cream colored bar with the wet rag.

For the first time in years, she was genuinely afraid—a foreign feeling for her, practically unheard of. She’d been excited, anxious and even worried, but never flat out terrified. At least not for a very long time.

Pull yourself together. Everyone has a button. You just have to find his, find out what makes him happy … what makes him sad … and use it to get your ass up out of here. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your mind right.

She rinsed her hair, digging her long, natural nails into her tresses, while wishing she could rinse away the entire nightmare of a day, too.

I should have left town, too, just like Gable, but then that would’ve drawn attention to me, made Gable and me a target, for sure. This way, no one knows a damn thing… Well, they didn’t, until now.

Rinsing herself off, she turned off the nozzle and stepped out of the shower. She took note of the odd shape of the robe hook hanging on the back of the closed bathroom door. The thing tilted slightly downward.

That’s on with adhesive. I can rip it right off…

Drying off her body the best she could with the rough towel, she then wrapped the material around herself and stood in front of the sink. The mirror was fogged up so she slid her arm across it and revealed her true self. For a split second, she didn’t recognize the person who stared back at her. Wet strands of long, crinkled black hair stuck to her face. She brushed her tresses out of the way and ran a slow hand down her cheek, giving herself the once over.

At last, she left the restroom, hoping by some miracle he was gone. No such luck, though. The man lay on the bed with his ankles crossed and his shirt off. She swallowed and paused. Under normal circumstances, she’d delight in such a sight. The man’s body was a fucking sight to behold, and he was sexy as hell, too. Why did the man who’d threatened to kill her several times have to look like Christian Bale rather than the late Don Rickles? She surveyed him further, taking note he still wore his pants and socks.

His muscular chest sported a large black dragon tattoo, which caught her eye. He glared at her, and she glared back until she finally broke their gaze and made her way over to her bed. Allowing the towel to drop to the floor on a sigh, she bent over, giving him full view of her freshly lotioned ass as she wiggled about and slinked into her nightgown.

Come on, motherfucker! Don’t you want this wet juicy pussy? Let me get you in a compromising position so I can slit your goddamn throat…

The fucker did nothing. She tossed him a glance over her shoulder, and he stared blankly at some war documentary on the television. Plopping down on the bed, she nestled under the sheets, praying the damn thing wasn’t filled with bedbugs and roach eggs. The place made her skin crawl.

“Get yourself some shut eye. We’re only going to be here for a few hours and then back on the road.” She nestled her head into the pillow after glancing at the front door a time or two, guesstimating it would take her four seconds max to dash towards it and race away into the night once the time was right. She looked over at him, pleased with her plans until he stood to his feet. Her heart pounded as he approached, the handcuffs in his grasp.

“No, please … my wrists hurt too bad,” she whined, laying it on thick.

She glanced back over at the door, gritting her teeth with rage at the thought of all her plotting being flushed down the drain. Without a word, he reached for her wrists, almost in a delicate sort of way. Before he could grab the other, she raised the sharp end of the robe hook she’d discreetly removed from the back of the bathroom door and lunged, aiming for his neck. With her trapped in a whirlwind, the sheets flew away from her body. He countered, practically crushing her fingers in his mighty, painful grasp. Her eyes glossed over from the agony. She hissed and spit in his face.

“Fuck you!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, beating on him everywhere she could land her fist before he tackled her down onto the squeaky, lumpy bed. Snatching the hook from her ironclad hold, he tossed it to the ground, grabbed her sore and reddened wrists, and handcuffed her to the headboard. “I’m not scared of you, mothafucka! Blindfold me, handcuff me, do all you want. I’m not tellin’ you shit! I’ll die before I tell you anything, goddamn it! Do you know who tha fuck I am? You will, soon enough! You won’t get a moment’s rest with me, you hear? Not one damn second!”

“Lady, you will choose life or death. Doesn’t make me a damn bit of difference.” His eyes hooded, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her as if she were a full-fledged lunatic.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, son of a bitch!” She ranted so hard and strong, the rage within her exploded and drove her out of her own damn mind. He just stood there, as if looking through her, completely unfazed, which infuriated her all the more. After the bastard finished checking to ensure she was properly locked into place, he casually bent down and picked up the door hook. He studied it, turned it around in his hand, smirked, then slid it into his pocket and got back in the bed. Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he wiped the saliva off the side of his face.

She stared at the pompous, crazy fucker as she lay on her side. He kept his focus on the television, but she knew if she so much as moved one baby toe, he’d notice and make her bleed. Minute after minute passed and he became nothing more than a blur…

Her eyes grew heavy; she couldn’t hold on much longer. Before she realized it, the world around her faded to black…

CHAPTER SIX

She didn’t feel a thing…

Much to his relief, Tiffany had fallen asleep and it must’ve been deeper than a canyon because when it was time to rise and shine, she didn’t even budge. He nudged her several times, and all she did was sigh and roll over. He debated being a bit more aggressive, but decided against it. She’d have plenty of that sort of thing soon enough. Instead, he got her ready for the new day: eased her out of the gown, snapped on her bra, slid a fresh pair of panties up her legs, then finished it all off with a long-sleeved light shirt and jeans. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her out of the motel room with their belongings and gently placed her inside the car. Her eyes moved ever so slightly beneath the lids, but she remained lost in slumber.

How odd that someone could sleep like that, as if they’d fought the entire world and suddenly couldn’t move a muscle. It had to be the constant adrenaline rush within her, which had worked for hours on end and finally worn her down. The sun hadn’t risen yet; the early morning hung tight to watered down darkness. As he pulled out of the parking lot and got back onto the highway, he couldn’t help but be amused that she’d been resourceful enough to garner a creative weapon.

She could have gotten him good with it, punctured his jugular, but she was just too slow. He could see her plans in her eyes before she’d even tried to take his life, that expression he’d been faced with too many times before. She’d even wiggled her smooth, rounded ass in an attempt to lure him, an act that amused him more than anything else. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her alluring; in fact, she was ravishingly beautiful and she knew it, but he needed more than just a nice set of tits and something soft, warm, and wet to slide into to get him going.

He’d had plenty of pussy, from politicians to playboy mansion playgirls. Anyone who caught his eye needed to be a special breed of woman. She had to be able to captivate him, teach him something new, and motivate him to want to love and protect her. Tiffany’s eyes fluttered as she stretched, her hair all over her head and sleep in her eyes. She looked around, at him, then at her reflection in the window. Picking at her shirt, she removed a couple pieces of lint, then ran her restrained hands over her jeans and slumped in her seat, as if overwhelmed.

“Shit,” she mumbled. “It wasn’t just a bad dream.”

“Are you hungry?” He gripped the steering wheel tight as traffic thickened. She nodded, blinked a few times and yawned.

“I’ll pull into a drive thru.” After another ten minutes or so, he took the exit and made his way towards a McDonald’s. Once he pulled up to the speaker, he ordered two coffees and the breakfast combo of egg and sausage biscuits and hash browns. She stared intensely at the cup of coffee, and he burst out laughing.

“You’ve got to be crazy to think I’d give you of all people a cup of hot coffee so you could dump it on me. No, this is going to sit here and cool down, away from your grasp until I am certain it’s lukewarm.”

She visibly swallowed and turned away in a huff, looking out the closed window. He sipped on his coffee as they sat parked in the lot for a spell. After a while, she turned towards the food he’d placed near her and just stared at it. As if on cue, he reached over and unwrapped the biscuit, then lifted it to her mouth. She took several bites before she turned away, her mouth full, announcing she’d had enough.

…But he was just getting started.

Time flew by like it had wings. The hours rolled on; the sunset came and disappeared. He stopped at a couple of gas stations along the way, allowing her to relieve herself after he checked out the inside of the facility for any escape routes and items the little female fiend could whittle into something deadly. Then, he stood guard at the door while she took care of business. The last hours had proved rather uneventful, though he knew her type; she’d not give up until he squeezed her dry and broke her down to mere dust. Tiffany was built to last. Being a woman and in her late thirties, doing what she did for a living without landing in the hospital or graveyard was damn near unheard of. She hadn’t survived by sheer luck; she must’ve been diabolically brilliant and he couldn’t wait to crack open her mind like a walnut, pull out all the white meat and make her cough up her cousin and any other kernels of information she’d been hiding. Soon, they’d be in Vegas. The city of luck, lust, lovers and losers.

Shame on her. Tiffany had taken another gamble, but this time, she’d lost. Now, all she needed to do was pay up. The penalties would be steep, her pain surpassing anything she’d ever endured previously, and the interest was mounting.

And he was ready to collect…

Fuck.

That was the only word that came to mind when Tiffany entered a large, empty, industrial-sized room. In the middle of the floor sat one foldable metal chair. The windows were painted black and boarded over as if to keep the Devil out … or perhaps, in. The place smelled of automotive oils, burning liquids, and an odd buzzing noise floated by every so often. Several light rafters stretched across the beamed ceiling, some of which blinked and faded in and out. The man had tossed her inside like a stick to be chased by a dog, then closed and locked the door and left her there. It had been at least twenty minutes and she’d not heard another word from him. She noticed several cameras hanging in the corners; a light flashed on them periodically, the lens zooming in and out as if she were some experiment to be studied.

Her footsteps echoed across the concrete floor as she walked to the chair. Grabbing it with both hands, she went to one of the walls and set it down, then stood upon it. Reaching up as high as she could, she tried in vain to touch the frame of one of the windows. If she had to practically rip her nails off the beds to get those boards off, she would, but they were far too high. She grunted in frustration as she jumped off the thing and slammed it to the ground. In a fit of rage, she grasped the chair and charged across the room, throwing it as hard as she could at one of the cameras. It hit the thing, causing it to wobble, but it remained in place. Again and again she went, sweat racing down her face as she screamed. Wires now dangled from the corner, yet, the damn thing still blinked on and off, fully operational.

“I know you’re watching, you sick son of a bitch! Let me outta here! People are lookin’ for me and when they find you, they will kill you!” She banged the chair over and over again as she repeatedly tried to finish the camera off, but the thing kept on blinking, mocking her efforts. Seconds graduated to minutes until at last, she fell in a heap on the floor, head bowed and heart pounding.

The lights from the ceiling began to blink frantically, then went berserk until finally, the entire place went pitch black.

She didn’t move a muscle but tried to adjust to the darkness, to no avail. She couldn’t even make out her own hand in front of her face. Seconds later, the room echoed with a loud sliding noise of the bolted door being unlocked and slid to the side. In he walked with a small light in his hand, forming a ray of illumination. His large shadow cast upon the floor and wall, making him appear larger than life. She remained still as he turned towards her.

“It’s time to begin…”

Stripped down to her underwear at gunpoint, he placed a photo of John on the floor directly at her feet as she sat in the chair. The lights were now shining bright, one spotlight directed upon the star of the show. The woman wasn’t quite yet motivated to perform, but he had plans to change that. He’d dropped the room temperature to 40 degrees, and would keep on lowering it.

“Get up. Now.”

She wrapped her arms around her body, shivering as she got to her feet. Each time he asked her to reveal where Gable was, she refused. He found this slightly admirable, the way she held on to her pride, believing she had a chance of enduring her current condition. But, of course, they’d just begun.

“Tiffany, this may be a good time to tell you who I am. My name is Phoenix Hale. I’m the Director for the Office of National Drug Policy. I am a former DEA agent, but still work with them as a consultant and assist with various covert assignments.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “One of the men your cousin killed was Johnathan Price, one of the most proficient and valuable agents since the DEA’s inception in 1973. The Drug Enforcement Administration is a federal agency that focuses on drug smuggling and usage within the country, but of course, someone such as yourself more than likely is quite learned in the laws and organizations of the land, which directly affect your point of sales.”

She visibly swallowed, but her expression remained impassive.

“We work directly with the FBI, Border Control, Homeland Security and Immigration and Customs Enforcement. We know what you’re doing before you even know.” He pointed in her face. “Anywhere Gable goes, we’ll be there, and if by some chance we’re not, we’ll arrive before he can escape. Each hour that passes, the worse things will be for him. You’re not doing him any favors, Tiffany. If my men see him, they won’t arrest him. No, they’ll shoot him down like the dog that he is unless otherwise instructed. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know where Gable is…” she repeated like some broken record.

“I’m not some random guy who’s taken a vigilante stance. I’m your worst nightmare, honey. Do you know why? Because the things that are about to happen to you, if you live through them, they’ll stain your brain and you’ll never get them out of your mind. I’ve given you multiple chances, and you did nothing but waste my fucking time. Now.” He crossed his arms over his chest and paced back and forth in front of her. “This is your final chance to tell me where Gable is before things gets really, really bad, Ms. McCall.”

“I don’t have anything else to say to you.” She balled her mouth up tight as she gave him a hard, threatening glance.

“Baby, I’ve gotten confessions out of drug kingpins with far more bravado and proficiency than you. So here we are … this is the route you’ve chosen to travel with me.” His eyes narrowed on her. She snarled, not even blinking, taking him on. “Fine. It’s settled. You’ve made your choice. Get ready to experience suffering like you’ve never known…”

He left the room.

She stood against the wall, watching the door slide closed and hearing the clank of the lock. Her knees began to knock against one another as the cool air drew her very soul out from its confines and froze her to near death. Wisps of breath spiraled before her eyes like winding storm clouds. The door soon opened again and the bastard remerged with two large bags of ice and a plastic wading pool.

No … he can’t be serious!

She screamed in her damn mind, but refused to utter a word. In moments flat, she was secured to the wading pool, her wrists tied behind her head and her ankles bound in twine, too. She couldn’t move, she could do nothing, and before she knew it, something soft was shoved so hard in her mouth she nearly threw up. The folded fabric absorbed the spit along her tongue as she looked at the man who dumped chunks of ice all over her body. She screamed in pain, her eyes watering, and the temperature continued to drop. Pieces of frozen death rendered unbelievable pain as they hit her flesh over and over again. Leaving once more, he returned with a large pitcher of ice cold water, which he poured into the pool, making the perfect recipe for hypothermia. Snatching the scarf out of her mouth, the monster glared down at her and knelt at her side, smiling.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“Are you ready to kiss my mothafuckin’ Black ass? Fuck you and your mother, too!”

Shoving the scarf back into her mouth, he poured more ice onto her quaking body. Her stifled shrieks thundered inside her body and her throat grew raw. The food she’d eaten threatened to rise up and repeat, flow up her esophagus and force her to vomit as she struggled for dear life. Her limbs jerked in strange, uncontrollable ways, her body no longer hers as it gave way to the torture, forcing her resolve to start dismantling.

“Fuck me, huh?” He sat back in a comfortable fashion, dumping out the second hefty bag, then tossing it to the side. “You like saying that, don’t you? It seems someone of your acumen would have a broader vocabulary. Anyway, I looked into your background, Tiffany, the shit people like you want to keep private. You’ve been fucking people over for a mighty long time, and you’re quite good at it, too. You’re a con artist to your core. In different circumstances, I might have wanted to hire and train someone like you … such a waste of a brilliant mind.

“That’s how Gable pulled this off, isn’t it?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his gaze on hers. “He had help, didn’t he? Unlike you, he’s not exactly top notch in the intelligence department.” Snatching the scarf out of her mouth, he shoved a fistful of ice cubes down her throat, making her gag, before giving it a hard shove back between her teeth. Tears of pain rolled fast and hard out the corners of her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling, praying to a God she barely ever gave the time of day to.

“See.” He raised a knee and rested his arm over it in a leisurely sort of way. “Gable’s got street cred. Don’t get me wrong, but when it comes to devising a beautifully horrific plan, well, that’s all you, isn’t it? In fact, you’ve been the brains behind all of his big actions, his smooth as a baby’s ass, well run networks and takeovers. You invaded other territories, wiped out your competition, and he managed that with the help of dear ol’ cousin Tiffany. He now has to have you. He relies on you, but he’s probably the type of man that’s too proud to admit it. Now, he’s gotten you mixed up in something you can never undo and when I’m done with you, baby, you’ll regret the day he, you, your mother, and your grandmother were born.” He casually poured more water into the pool and she soon realized she was losing the feeling in her toes and fingertips, all sensation vanishing, leaving only a slight itch and a horrid numbness.

I’m going into shock. My body is going into fucking shock.

He snatched the scarf out of her mouth once again and she turned towards him, wishing for just ten seconds to be free so she could reach out and kill him with her bare hands. But instead, he rose to his feet and started walking to the door.

“Where are you going?!” she screeched, using all of her strength to call out to him.

He turned to face her and shrugged. “To get myself something to eat … maybe watch a little television and take a nap. Enjoy your bath. Oh,” he said, looking down at his watch, “the temperature in this room needs to be lowered in order to maintain this nice set up I have for you. If I don’t sleep too long, maybe when I return I’ll find you still alive. If not…” He shrugged. “I’ll be fine with that, too. Because I know you are part of the reason John is dead now, Tiffany. You were no innocent bystander. This was your little pet project. I can just let you die. Yeah … then half of the problem is gone. Half is better than none at all, right?” He began to walk away again.

“You won’t! You need me to find Gable!”

“I’ll find Gable with or without you, Tiffany. You just would have saved me a little extra time is all, and your own life in the process.”

“Wait!” she hollered after him but he ignored her. Seconds later, the room went pitch black, the temperature fell, and the flashing light of the corner ceiling cameras taunted her. Fighting back angry tears, she begged herself to stay afloat, to not give in and become weak by the bastard’s torture tactics. Time passed, and she was certain her heart was slowing…

She’d lost all feeling in her feet now and the slow crawl of hypothermia began to make its way up her ankles. She sighed and gritted her teeth as her brain began to fog and the threat of losing consciousness hung overhead. She had no idea how long Phoenix had been gone, but each moment felt like an eternity.

He’s in the government. I saw that badge; it looked legit. He confirmed who he is, so there’s no way out of this! Panic set in as she began to hallucinate.

I’ve got to give him what he wants… I’m going to die if I don’t. He’s going to really let me die! No!

Tiffany, he needs you, don’t believe him!

She huffed and sniffed, moved as much as her stiff and contorted body would allow to generate a bit of body heat. Her eyes fluttered, her teeth chattered, her bones ached. She winced when a sudden bright light bathed the room.

Him again.

He wore a fresh pair of dark jeans and a thick black sweater. His jaw twitched as he neared her. Dropping to one knee, he placed a hand along one cheek and then the other, looking deeply into her eyes.

“You don’t look so good…” He checked her pulse and nodded. “Now, let’s move to the next phase. It would be a shame for you to escape this discomfort by losing consciousness or going to sleep. I promise to keep you in the thick of it. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to inject you with a special concoction that will keep you awake for a very long time. The lights will be brightened and loud, horrible noises will be filtered into the room at earsplitting volume. That’s called noise pollution; some call it sound torture. Either term you prefer is fine,” he said. “You’ll be sleep deprived and have hallucinations. You may even go crazy. That’s a common side effect.”

“You have …you have to stop this.” Her eyes hooded as a deathly feeling washed over her.

“Oh no, baby, we’re just getting started. This is the easy part. If I can’t break you just yet, then I will introduce you to my personal favorite technique—the tiny tin.” She blinked several times and stared at him, unable to take her eyes off him as she floated in and out of reality. “The tiny tin is a little metal room, about 4x4. There is no light, but there is an ungodly heat and boy does the air get short in there.” The sight of his piercing blue eyes, coupled with his clinical tone, had her choking back tears. “Oh, you don’t believe me?” Plucking her out of the pool, he slung her over his shoulder and walked briskly, forcing her cold, wet body to shiver like a leaf. Moments later, she was staring at an enclosure that looked just as he described, only worse…

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to put you in there now and implement a few special experiences, catered just for you … no food, only 8 ounces of water once a day.”

“This is … no … this … can’t be…”

“It’s your life, sweetheart. I have a job to do, so sometimes you might not even get any water for several days as I’m working. Or, maybe I will accidentally forget you altogether. Who knows?” A heinous grin split his face. He placed her on the ground, her wrists and ankles still tightly bound. She wouldn’t stop shaking, her mind imprisoned by the weakness of her body. She hated herself, her limitations, the way her body wouldn’t match the bravado of her brain. The way it begged her to spill the goods.

With one hand, he opened the gate, which moved with screechy, rusted out groans. As he lifted the tiny cell door, panic struck her. She peered inside, seeing absolutely nothing but a pit of darkness. Dropping to the ground, she refused to walk inside. The enclosure was so small, it wasn’t fit for a caged dog. She shrieked as he grabbed her by her neck and tossed her inside the thing, her skin scratching against the harsh surface of the walls.

“Stoooop!!!” She raised a shaky hand, pleading with her body and apologizing to her mind and heart. “I’ll talk to you. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”

He stood right outside the door, looking down at her. Slowly crossing his arms over his midsection, he only glared. His expression didn’t change, but he appeared to be listening. “I’ll tell you everything, all of it … just … just let me out of here…”

She sighed—tired, beaten, and defeated…

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sitting by a space heater, sipping on a large bowl of hot soup, he observed her from behind the camera of the small office. He didn’t feel the need to speak to her just yet.

Phoenix had taken her invitation to confess, placed her back in the large room with the temperature now a comfortable 68 degrees, and gave her time. Normally, while dealing with a subject, he’d strike while the iron was still hot, refraining from offering a lick of comfort until the exact goal was reached, but his gut told him to do otherwise. He took all of his debriefings on a case by case basis. Tiffany was in so much physical pain, she wasn’t thinking straight. She’d become semi-incoherent once he’d placed her inside the cage. He needed to get her to a level of wellbeing, at least enough to get her blood flowing to her brain again.

He’d put a fresh shirt and yoga pants inside the room for her, along with dry underwear and a pair of thick socks. He’d watched her race to the garments as if her life depended upon it, quickly covering herself. When he’d offered a warm meal, she’d accepted. Now he watched her scarf it down, the liquid splashing about in the bowl with each spoonful raised to her lips.

On a sigh, he left his post behind the scenes and joined her. She was sitting on the only chair in the room, a blanket wrapped around her body. He stood in front of her, one leg extended forward, his hand on his gun, nursing a need to delve deep inside of her. He motioned to her with a wave of his fingers.

“Speak.”

Her breathing was labored, her eyes glossy and limbs stiff. He looked at the way her hands shook as she held her spoon. The instrument clinked against the ceramic bowl and there was no way she could make it stop. She lifted her head but looked past him, staring at a blank wall.

He clapped his hands two times, loud, garnering her attention. As if coming out of a trance, she hooked his gaze, trepidation dancing in her beautiful, dark eyes. “After I talk to you, you’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” She looked away from him, set her empty bowl and spoon on the floor, and folded her hands in her lap.

“I told you the truth when I said I didn’t know where he was. In case something happened, it was best I didn’t know … it’s part of our system in case … well, in case something like this were to happen but, I can help you narrow it down.”

“I already know that.” He slid his hand into his pocket and rocked back on his heels. “If I believed you knew exactly where he was, you would have broken down sooner. As my grandmother used to say, ‘You can’t get blood from a turnip.’ But, I was aware you knew just enough to help me find him quickly.”

“How long have I … been in here?” Her voice was low, barely audible.

“You lasted six and a half days in here, much longer than some.” He could see on her face she had no idea of time, days, minutes, nor did she understand until then how she’d achieved something few had managed before her.

“All that time in darkness … then light … cold … ice … body twisted up.” She said the words aloud, as if trying to convince herself that it was true.

“You asked me if I was going to kill you … you know that you should die with him.” She lifted her chin a bit higher, but said nothing. “This was your idea.” He pursed his lips and glared down at her, hating her for all that she was. “Gable could have never pulled off something this sophisticated without your help. Getting them to pull over … finding the money and the drugs … cracking codes and leaving no evidence. All the fuck ups, the way we found you—it was all because of him, his sloppiness, not you. I’m even more convinced of that now. This was your baby, wasn’t it?” He bent down, palms rested on his knees, and stared daggers at her.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Bitch, I’m telling you.” He gritted his teeth, wishing to bring her more pain as she sat there stewing in her homegrown arrogance, pissing him the hell off. He pulled out a crumpled crime scene photo of John from his pocket, blood oozing out of the man’s head and chest, a vacant look in his eyes, and shoved it in her face. She blinked several times, tried to turn away, but he grabbed her chin, digging in her flesh with his fingernails, and forced her to see. “Look at it!”

Her gaze rested on the photo.

“He had a wife, children! You took not only his life, but a piece of theirs, too.”

He snatched his hand away from her, letting her turn her attention to the floor. Strands of hair fell in front of her eyes as her shoulders slumped. “You’re going to tell me everything, and I mean everything. I’m curious though.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know how you got close to the Disciples in the manner you did to find out such confidential information. I assume Gable was your ticket in, and then you left enough breadcrumbs for them to be viable suspects. You set them up, and they didn’t even know it … just amazing.” She slowly looked up into his eyes and he saw the devil. Hatred oozed from her as she gave him the once over.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did,” she offered with hooded eyes.

“It never is, is it? Your actions,” he said, pointing a finger so close to her face, he could almost touch her forehead, “have caused bloodshed and chaos. Not only are three DEA agents dead, but five members of the Gangster Disciples are in jail right now awaiting trial for a crime they didn’t commit. If found guilty, they will more than likely get life in prison since your State of Chicago no longer allows the death penalty; but trust me, if it did, they’d be on death row faster than your head could spin. Not only that, there is blood running in the streets.”

Her brows dipped and her lips parted. “What are you talking about?”

“Your fucking cousin is gone, Tiffany. He flew the coop, leaving you holding the bag, and now that’s garnering attention. And oh, look! Now you’re gone, too … you’re marked for death from all angles. I don’t have to shoot you.” He shook his head. “You’ve already written your own death certificate.” After a moment or two, her expression showed it all; she knew he was telling the truth, and that reality was grim.

“I’d like to strike a deal with you … if I can.” She swallowed, her large eyes glazing over once again.

“What type of deal?”

“You said you have connections still with the DEA and the FBI, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t they have some sort of witness protection? Like, maybe I can get that?”

“Why in the hell would anyone protect you, Ms. McCall? I think you’ve lost valuable brain cells while in the deep freeze.” He grimaced.

“No.” She shook her head, holding a sudden air of confidence. “I’m definitely in my right mind. I can help you find Gable. He’s the only one I care about. But, I can give you all sorts of information—names, connections, things that would take years, maybe even decades, for the DEA to discover on their own. All I ask in return is that this is kept quiet; that Gable isn’t killed, and that there’s no trial for me, no prison time. Witness protection and I’ll put it all in your hands.”

His jaw tightened as he mulled over her words, thinking it all through.

She’s meticulous. She definitely keeps notes … I’ve seen some. Hmmm, maybe there’s more. Things we could really use.

After a few moments of contemplation, he came to a decision.

“All right, here is what I can offer, Ms. McCall. I will get you up north and across the border as soon as this is over and I locate him. You staying here long term is not feasible, at least not right now.”

“Wait? I’d have to leave the country?”

“That’s what across the border means.”

“But I can’t—”

“That’s our deal. I can’t promise what will happen to Gable once I alert my team and they find him, but what I can do is ask that they not use extreme force to capture him. Undoubtedly, he’s armed, so if he tries to shoot them, they will take him down. I will give them instructions to help avoid an escalation, but that’s the best I can do.” She nodded in understanding. “As for you, you will start a new life and be in protective custody for a promised minimum of ten years, maximum of fifteen, contingent upon the capture of Gable Johnson, and the provision of valuable information about the Gangster Disciples’ narcotic and other illegal activities. At the bare minimum, this information should lead to the capture of at least five top tier drug dealers in the country. Think you can handle that?”

“Definitely.”

“Good. Now, tell me what you know.”

“Gable isn’t in Chicago, that much I do know. He really did leave.”

“I know he’s not in Chicago. He’s not in Michigan as he told others, either; I already cleared that. He’s not in Canada or New York. Do you think he left the country?”

She shook her head. “No, my guess is he is either in Texas or California. He knows people there, people who can help him in a situation like this.”

“What are these people’s names?”

“In Texas, there are two suppliers he is cool with; they look out for one another. One is Francisco Guerra and the other, Roberto Fuentes.”

“And California?”

“Hector Martinez, Penny Akens, and Terrance Lost.”

“Thee Terrance Lost? Cowboy?” He knew that name all too well. She nodded. “All right, now I want you to give me the complete run down of what happened that night you and Gable put your little plan into play.”

Less than ten minutes later, she’d told her twisted tale. As she spoke, her tone was devoid of emotion, cold and callous. He hated her all the more for it. Not an inkling of a sign of remorse.

“I didn’t shoot anyone,” she blurted at the end.

“Where are the guns that were used?”

“He tossed them in the Chicago river.”

“Who told you about the deal between the agents and the Disciples?”

She swallowed, looked away, then back into his eyes.

“No one. I overheard some conversations. Gable began to take me around there, and I got in good with a few of them.”

“Why did he start taking you?”

“Because I said we needed to form a better alliance with them. They could be good runners in some of the areas I couldn’t get in. They already had a foothold but Gable and I had better suppliers and more connections.”

“All right, so you were arranging to go into business. Then what?”

“They started to speak freely around me after I provided them with some new, trustworthy associations of my own. They made more money because of that, and I helped another one open a liquor store. Because of that, they started to trust me. After I overheard them talking about meeting with John and another guy—they thought they were some rich billionaires from Germany I believe—I really paid close attention to what was being said.

“I then let Gable know about the plan, telling him that the Disciples had a big deal with some heroin and cocaine about to go down, over a million dollars worth. It was as pure as you could get, premium. I wanted my hands on that. Pure profit, no middleman, out the door and settled. After doing a bit more research and watching for weeks, I spotted one of the agents coming and going in a nearby apartment building, and knew something wasn’t right.”

“How’d you know?”

“It was in the way he moved … his mannerisms. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I can just pretty much spot a narc or police officer a mile away. I started going over to the other apartment building, full of Disciples too, and I’d just kind of listen and pay attention. My suspicions, as far as I was concerned, were confirmed. He was setting them up. While he was in the apartment one night, I took photos of his car, the license plate, the interior. I went back home and enlarged everything, looking at it, and saw a torn piece of paper with some writing on it, folded in half. When I zoomed up on that, I could make out some of it. Not enough to get his name, but to confirm he was an agent. When I ran the plates, I found they were registered to another car. I knew then that was part of his cover.”

“You’re a real smart fuckin’ cookie, aren’t you?” He snarled down at her. “It was time to crumble. All that work … that time invested, knowing what to look for and how to do it. You’re like some snake slithering around searching for a warm rat to strangle. It’s by instinct, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so…”

“Did you ever find out who the agent was that you saw?”

“It wasn’t John, your friend, but the guy in the backseat of the car when we did the heist.” Phoenix cracked his knuckles as he listened, taking it all in. “I didn’t tip off the Disciples though. I paid close attention to their many encounters from afar, never making eye contact when they were talking about it. Instead, I pretended like I was on the phone or distracted. The Disciples completely trusted this guy because they’d dealt with him for years. He said two of them would come and do the drop. I was surprised to see a third agent.”

“What you accomplished took more than just running a license plate with an illegal police software program. How did you find out DEA classified information? That is rather difficult to obtain.”

“I studied for weeks, day and night … found out how these operations usually take place from a few sources and cross-compared them. I got classified papers from former takedowns, too.”

“Yes, but from where?”

“I paid hundreds of dollars from a merchant who specialized in these sorts of documents online.”

“Deep web?”

“Yes. I read about how you all store the drugs in your vehicles, how you handle transport, things like that. I knew I couldn’t do anything if the agents were in the middle of the deal. I had to find a way to stop them before they even arrived. So, during one of the agent’s visits—the same guy—I put a tracker on the outside of his car while he was inside the building in hopes that they’d used the same car that the Disciples were used to seeing. He did.”

Phoenix took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead.

This woman is fucking unbelievable…

“Then what?” He got down on one knee and glared at her, not wishing to miss one tiny detail of the inner workings of the monster’s mind.

“He’d done a practice run, which I read is common for you all, and I picked a spot that was as isolated as possible to put my plan in motion. No one was supposed to get killed, Phoenix. I never wanted that.”

Phoenix rose to his feet. “Sit tight. I’m going to investigate your claims. If I come up empty handed and find out you’ve bullshitted me on any of this, I’m going to come back in here, no questions asked, and hand you right over to the FBI. Then you’ll serve a life sentence in prison, which is still too damn good for you. If you’re telling the truth, I will send my squad out for Gable and get you in protective custody, just as we agreed.”

He walked away then, leaving her alone in the room and praying all the way she hadn’t just blown smoke up his ass. It would be a damn shame to waste someone so bright, so resilient, so vile, and so fucking magnificent…

Her soul ached far more than her body ever had under his tormenting control…

She’d ratted out the one person who’d always had her back, and this hurt her more than anything. She rested against the headrest of a platinum Lexus white leather car seat, pretending to be asleep as Phoenix drove her away into the darkness of the night. He’d gotten what he wanted; that was evident by the fact that her heart still pumped blood. She was still alive and no FBI agents were carting her away to prison. There was no denying the fact that the man had the trappings of a cold-hearted killer, much like Gable, only the government sanctioned him to do it, allowed him to be an assassin in broad daylight without so much as a pause. Regardless, she had no one to turn to; her entire world had been shifted off its axis, turned upside down and shaken to death. Regret set in; tears she’d never shed were now threatening to fall as her eyes moistened.

She hadn’t liked looking at the picture of John. She didn’t like the way Phoenix Hale stared at her. Something about his gaze when she’d confessed her sins made her feel two inches tall. He had a way of causing her to drown in a pool of shame, and the foreign emotion felt devastating.

He’s all I got. He’s going to turn me over to protective custody, but how can I trust anyone to keep their word? He made the agreement with me and no one else. I hate this man, and yet, until this is all over, I’d only feel safe with him and no one else. If word gets out about what I’ve done, it’s over. He was right.

She’d be tossed into the streets of Chicago only to be mauled by the anxiety-ridden and anger-fueled mob she’d created with her actions, or worse yet, sent to prison where the same bitches would get word from their Disciple boyfriends and husbands to take her out. They’d plot her death, then execute her without so much as a forethought. She wasn’t afraid of doing time, but she was afraid of losing her mind. Her life.

There was so much no one knew. People simply wouldn’t understand. But, specifics didn’t owe her a lifeline; in fact, they would probably fall on countless deaf ears and speed up her path into the line of danger. As things stood, she had something this man needed in a lockbox, hidden far, far away.

I still have some control here. It’s not over till I say it’s over.

“Where are we going?” she asked, trying to maintain her sanity.

He tossed her a glance, hands at 10 and 2 on the leather-bound steering wheel, then looked back at the road.

“Home.”

Phoenix looked at his to-do list and checked off items one by one. He’d confirmed their airline tickets, booked their hotel for the evening, and made Tiffany’s private doctor appointment. It was protocol after an ordeal such as the one she endured. A complete physical would help ensure that any concerns or medical issues were found and addressed. He’d called his constituents, sent the information needed over to the appropriate parties, and even spoke to the President about a totally unrelated matter—the review of jail time laws in Arizona for minor marijuana charges, to be exact. A new report was coming out regarding incarceration of minorities who were found with weed on them, being treated much worse than their Caucasian counterparts. The evidence didn’t look good.

Closed door meetings were held on more than just an occasion about such concerns. The NAACP and other civil rights organizations made their voices heard, and he was expected to say something, anything, regarding the matter. He had on many occasions, but it was demanded that he offer a filtered, watered down version although his written documents often showed a much grimmer truth.

If those findings and educated opinions he possessed were brought to the public light, and if he were allowed to speak up, he imagined he’d find himself in a different sort of assembly altogether. Things were far more complicated that the public realized. There was no war on drugs; only small battles between concerned citizens and the dealers. The influx of drugs into the country could be cut in half overnight if that was the actual mission. The true war was far more complex and didn’t come coated in powdery residue or stuffed in suitcases smuggled in from Cuba.

No, the truth was cloaked in green, in the faces of dead presidents, bits of paper that would never make their way to the states’ and country’s tax coffers. The true war was that of vigilant combat on organized, illegal profit with the government not seeing one red cent of it. Period. Greed was the root of all evil, and power the water and sun that kept it nourished.

Phoenix pulled up to a strip mall and parked the Lexus. He’d make arrangements to have the old battleax picked up and shipped to Washington in the next couple of days. Opening the passenger’s side door, he let her out and they entered an establishment. They perused the aisles of a huge drugstore where he instructed her to get whatever snacks and beverages she wished while he stayed close by her side. Along the way, she selected various toiletries such as clear gel deodorant, chap stick, and a box of tampons. After he paid for the items, he ushered her to a nearby store within walking distance. They moved about, side by side, his hand gripping his gun in his jacket pocket, ready for action should she decide to have a change of heart, and get any strange ideas.

“Let’s go down here.” A few storefronts lined the footway, shops with brick siding, including a beauty supply distributor. He escorted her along the uneven, sloped sidewalk, opened the door to the chime of a bell, and marshaled her inside. The tightly packed, long corridors were filled with shelves of lipstick displays, ethnic hair pomades, colorful nail polishes, and body oils. Some annoying song boomed from the speakers, a rap tune he hadn’t heard before. Along the walls sat hundreds of creepy mannequin heads, their drawn-on lips lifted in clownish grins, and each fitted with a different style of wig. He pointed at one of the walls, directing her attention to them.

“Why do you want me to look at—” She stopped in midsentence, seemingly answering the question for herself. Moving towards the hairpieces and ponytails, she perused the selections.

Growing quickly tired of being inside and overcome by the strong, cheap perfumes and burning incense, he decided to help get them out of there as fast as possible.

“What about that one?” he suggested, pointing to a reddish-brown wig in a long, poker straight style.

“No.” She shook her head. “It looks unnatural.” She gestured at a short, kinky textured bob. His lips curved at her selection.

“That one?” an elderly Asian woman asked, making her way from behind the long counter that framed the majority of the floor area.

“Yes. Can she try it on?” he asked.

The woman shook her head vigorously. “Hygiene. Try on, must buy.”

“Fine. Bag that one up for me. Pick out one more just in case.” Tiffany looked about the place and spotted a curly, shoulder length one. “Looks too much like your natural hair, only shorter.” She nodded and kept looking about.

“How about over there?” He caught sight of one with tiny, intricate braids. He’d never think it a wig, but of course, this wasn’t his expertise.

“That’s human hair, hand braided, very expensive,” the storekeeper said.

“She can afford it. Get it for us,” he barked, sick of the old woman already. Her small, slightly yellowed teeth showcased in a forced smile, she headed towards the wig, removed the thing from the dummy, and returned to the cash register. He took closer notice of the cosmetics. A selection of faux eyelashes caught his attention. “Get some of those.” Tiffany took several down from a hook and gripped them tightly.

“They need glue. These don’t come with it,” she said.

He turned towards the old woman. “Eye lash glue?”

“Right here, behind counter.” She picked up a bottle and waved it in their direction. Several minutes later, after he paid the bill, they left, holding a basket filled with their purchases, in addition to a couple of pieces of gold costume jewelry, lip glosses, scarves, a pair of black leggings, and cheap Bob Marley, Betty Boop, and Wonder Woman printed T-shirts.

As he pulled out of the parking space, she turned to him, the bag cradled between her knees, and whispered, “Phoenix, will I ever get to speak to or see my mother again?”

He paused, looked at her for a moment and answered, “The life as you knew it is gone, along with everyone who was in it…”

The next day…

The plane ride was rocky—turbulence, the pilot called it. She’d ridden planes all over the country; pleasure trips were a treat but typically her travels were work-related, involving business ventures with Gable. This plane ride wasn’t unsettling just because of the choppy air and a brewing storm. The whole thing seemed to mean so much more, marking a journey that would end her life as she’d known it. She and Phoenix sat side by side and at one point she found herself gripping his big hand as the plane made a fast dip, causing many passengers to gasp and murmur amongst themselves.

Astonished at her act, she snatched her fingers away from his and looked out the window as the wheels emerged from beneath the cabin in preparation for landing. According to the pilot, they were in Baltimore, a city she’d visited once before for a field trip during sixth grade. She recalled very little of the place, except the trip to see ol’ Abe, the Lincoln Memorial at the National Mall. She smiled at the memory.

Soon after that trip, everything had fallen apart, her world shattered. Shaking herself back into the present, she regarded Phoenix, her heart filling with a deep rage and resentment for him, herself, and anyone else she could think of.

A couple of times she contemplated speaking up, saying something to garner attention to the fact she was not a willing passenger, she was there under duress, but then she remembered—she was no longer a hostage.

At this point, there was no going back; home was gone and she had better accept it.

Home had become hostile. She and Gable, the dynamic duo, had become a thing of the past. There would be division in the streets. People would take sides—some possibly believing she’d been kidnapped and killed. Conspiracy theories and speculation would abound. A number of people, though, would suspect the truth to be far worse, darker, dirtier and rotten than anything their imaginations could muster.

“Let’s go.” She was shaken out of her deliberations, not even realizing they’d landed. They deplaned and navigated through the thick crowd of people in the airport. When they exited, a shiny black limousine pulled up, and a male driver greeted them. Phoenix ushered her towards the vehicle without so much as a word and helped her inside. When he sat down beside her, he immediately closed the privacy partition window, opened a drawer, and retrieved a shiny, black Glock 19. As he moved, she caught a whiff of his cologne… He smelled so damn good.

After the trim up he’d had at the hotel that morning, he also looked like a fucking king. She tried her damnedest to not pay him any mind, but Phoenix was fucking sexy.

Oh, how she hated herself for the ill-timed attraction. From his jet black wavy hair to his icy blue eyes, broad shoulders, 6’3 frame, and big ass feet in designer shoes, he was a sight to behold. She’d never trusted her love for dangerous, powerful men, bad creatures who wished her no good. But this one had taken care of her a smidgen, in his own little way. A doctor had come into their hotel room that morning, and the woman had examined her before they’d headed off to the airport. She’d drawn her blood, taken a swab sample from her mouth, checked her blood pressure, ears, eyes, and mouth, and given her a full physical. When she was done, she told Phoenix she’d send the test results to him after a few days.

All good stuff, but those exams would never reveal her current mental state. The man had crushed her.

As they rode for a few minutes, she took in the view, trying desperately to not concentrate on the mess of her life, but it was no use. The scent of cigar smoke filled the cabin. Phoenix lounged back in his seat, holding the thing in one hand and his beauty of a gun in the other. He turned it to and fro, checked the chamber, and placed it on his lap.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Yes.” He blew out thick smoke, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Did you find Gable?”

“Yes.” That was all he offered, but in that one word answer, she realized so much.

“Was it due to one of my tips?”

“Yes.”

They were quiet for several minutes. Her heart beat faster and her chest tightened.

“What happens now?”

“With him or you?”

“Both…”

“What happens with him is none of your concern. I’m doing my best to keep good on what I told you. As far as you’re concerned, you’ll avoid prison time because no charges are coming against you. That was the agreement we made, but it will be more difficult than I hoped to get you out of here undetected. I can’t let the wrong people find out you’re in hiding.” Her eyes widened at his declarations, her curiosity piqued. But she knew he wouldn’t go further; he’d remain tightlipped, and she’d only end up frustrated beyond belief.

“So, no prison?”

“No.” He shrugged his shoulders and frowned as if annoyed. He kept his gaze averted as if she were some inconvenience he felt only pity for.

“Does anyone know where I am?”

“A couple of people I rely on know I was trying to find Gable. No one knows your exact involvement for certain, except me.” She sighed with relief. “I’ve not mentioned you in order to ensure I can get you from point A to point B in one piece, Tiffany. The FBI will want a chance to interrogate you if they are fully aware of what’s going on. That could make matters worse, trust me.”

“This can’t get any worse…” She shook her head and glanced at the window, fighting back tears of anger and regret.

“You and your cousin have left shit an absolute mess.” He turned towards her with hooded eyes. Smoke drifted around him, partially blanketing his face in a hazy white fog. “But my men will clean it up.”

“I can only imagine what’s going on back home…” She sighed.

“It’s a catastrophe. I’ll show you some of the news later, just so you can be certain what I’m telling you is true. And that’s just what the media knows, which is less than 15% of the story. The rest is speculation and rumors.”

“So … what do I do from this point on?”

“You stay with me until it’s safe to move you.”

Thank God! She couldn’t believe her prayers had been answered. The very man she’d asked God to let her get away from, she now wished to remain with, to be with him as her human, bulletproof umbrella … for just enough time to get her thoughts and affairs in order, at least.

“Give me a little time, Tiffany, but I’ll get you transported as soon as possible.” She sighed and looked out her window to take in the blur of trees and concrete.

“Why did you keep your word and not kill me?” she whispered, chancing a glance at him.

“Would you prefer I go back on my promise?” he asked, a sexy smirk on his face.

“Right now, the answer is no. Tomorrow…” She shrugged. “I might respond differently…”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“This is where you’ll stay until further notice.”

She scratched her scalp beneath the itchy wig, trying to make sense of things. She was accustomed to luxury; she’d spoiled herself rotten in the last five or so years, but nowhere near this scale. The place smelled like it was baked in money—old congressional, white plantation, down south cotton fields jubilee and sweet iced tea money, the white people shit that was passed down from generation to generation, that Negro Spiritual blood money. Mr. Phoenix Hale had vast coinage, the kind that stacked tall and wide, a wealth spread over onyx bridges and long, gold paved roads that led to diamond studded privilege and the holy grail pimp cup beheld by a mere two percent of the goddamn country. A DEA agent wouldn’t bring in this type of loot, not even on his best day, and though he was now swimming with the big governmental sharks, from her understanding, that occupation wouldn’t afford this sort of extravagance, either.

He’s got to have other income. Maybe he does a lot of paid public speaking, writes books, things like that … though she suspected it would be something different.

Loud barking erupted in the distance, startling her.

“Relax,” he said coolly, giving a couple of loud claps. “Zeppelin and Metallica! We’ve got company.” Her blood froze when the large beasts drew closer but halted as soon as he put up his big hand. “I see Mildred took good care of you two while I was away.” One of the dogs whimpered while the other stared at her as if she would be its next tasty snack. He bent down and lavished the two creatures with affection. “These are my buddies. Do you like dogs?” He looked over his shoulder at her then turned his attention back to them, rubbing their massive heads and playing with them.

“Not really my thing. They’re okay I guess.” She frowned at the hairy ogres, which behaved as though they’d been so lost without him. Standing up, he pointed towards a large winding staircase.

“Follow me.”

She grabbed her bags and hiked up the steps. The dogs sat at the bottom of them, glaring at her. Oil paintings of ponds with lily pads, beautiful porcelain-faced Victorian ladies, and large Viking boats in a violent storm, all with ornate gold frames, hung on the walls. They looked like they could be worth thousands, possibly more. Phoenix walked past a few closed doors, then stopped at one and opened it with a twist of the knob. “This is where you’ll stay.” She walked inside, leaving him behind to survey the space. A large, king-sized bed with an elaborate wooden headboard took center stage. It stood higher than the other furniture in the room, and she soon realized it was sitting on a platform, like a stage all to itself.

“Do you like it?” he asked, sliding one hand into his pocket.

That’s a strange question coming from him. Why does he even care?

“It’s fine.” She swallowed.

“I think you’ll find it more than suitable,” he stated dryly. “There are two remote controls in the nightstand.” He pointed across the boudoir. “One operates the television, the other the temperature and fireplace in the room. You have a restroom right there to your left, fully equipped with a garden tub and separate shower. Towels, washcloths, soap—it’s all in there. There’s a mini-fridge over in the corner. It’s stocked with bottled water, juice, some soda and iced tea.”

“Thank you.” She wasn’t certain why she’d said it, but she meant it.

“You’re welcome. If there’s something else you want, let me know and I’ll get my house staff to handle it. You are three stories up, so should you decide to make a run for it…” He shrugged. “That’s your choice, but you will set off the alarm system as soon as you open the window and probably break your leg on the way down. Not to mention, Metallica enjoys being outside and if she finds you in her territory, well, I might not get to you in time before she’s had her fill.”

She sat on the bed, feeling emotionally beaten and dejected.

“You don’t have to worry about me and Scooby Doo wrestling in the grass. I’m too tired to do much of anything right now.”

“I find that hard to believe, Tiffany. Even when you’re down and out, you always manage to summon the energy to battle, don’t you?” Coldness coated his tone. “My maid will be back tomorrow. Every other day she will clean up your bedroom and launder your clothing. Breakfast is at 8:00 A.M. Lunch is at 11:30 P.M. and dinner at 6:15 P.M. You can help yourself to the pantry and food items in the kitchen whenever you wish. I mentioned security a moment ago. You should know that there are more than three different security systems running simultaneously here. All exit points are locked, though you are free to walk about the common areas.”

“Like the kitchen, living room, and here?”

He nodded. “If you come across a closed door, do not attempt to open it. If you do, an alarm will go off and my two buddies that you met upon our arrival will greet you to see what the fuss is all about. I always release my dogs if I feel there’s a threat to my home.”

“Why is your house like some fortress?” She looked about at all the cameras in the room.

“Due to my prior occupation and current role, I’d rather be safe than sorry. These systems record all outside activity and, when needed, they also do the indoors with a simple flip of a switch. You’re not with me now under the exact same circumstances as when I first transferred you from Chicago. Because of that, I don’t need to watch your every move. I will disarm the camera in your bathroom, but the security system will remain in place. After you get situated, I’ll show you around. Oh, and the doctor called. You have a clean bill of health. No diseases of any kind, no long-term damage from the ice. She did note that your blood pressure was slightly high, but that was probably due to stress. You’ll be fine. I’ll see you at dinner.” And, just like that, he dismissed himself, closing the door behind him.

Tiffany sat there, swallowed by her morbid thoughts. Not so long ago, she’d been on top of the world. How quickly things had unraveled. Where was she, and where was she going? Life and time were in limbo, juggling her most precious commodities, making a game of all she’d once loved. Nervously rubbing her hands together, she looked about the massive guest bedroom. The domed ceilings, large fireplace with a mirror above it, and colonial style furniture were something she’d only seen in magazines featuring the rich and famous.

Her décor tastes were far more modern, but this place reeked of opulence.

Mama would love a house just like this…

Her eyes watered as she thought about her family. Even after all this time, after all she’d done in life despite the fact their pleas for her to cease and desist had fallen on deaf ears. For the first time in a mighty long while, she regretted getting herself involved in such treachery. She’d lived off the constant adrenaline rush, addicted to the street life, the danger, the fast money and lifestyle.

She’d found power, control over herself and her surroundings, and once she’d gotten a taste of that, there was no turning back. She wouldn’t have given it up for the world, but now, she’d do just about anything she could to reverse time and start over. Her parents had all but washed their hands of her, but despite the horrible arguments and alienation between them, she still loved them dearly. Now, all of her parents’ tears, worrying, threats and screaming over the years played in her mind like a broken record. One Christmas, she’d cursed her mother out for not accepting the brand new black Lexus she’d purchased her. The woman stood in the middle of the driveway, screaming, ‘I don’t want it! People have probably died so you could get that car, or at the very least, had their lives ruined. This is all Shirley’s fault, but you’re grown now, and I don’t want a damn thing from you until you stop this shit, Tiffany. You’ll never get far off blood money!’

Tiffany rubbed her legs hard, fighting back tears. Trying to muzzle the pain of so many lost opportunities.

I was too busy chasing that money … chasing a lifestyle that protected me from really getting to know myself. I could have become the opposite of what I really was … be a big deal instead of someone nobody paid attention to, no longer shy and quiet, dull and boring. I was now using my brain to destroy the naysayers, but I destroyed myself in the process. Look at me now! In some man’s big house, a guy who can make things happen—terrible things—and walk away without getting a wrinkle in his damn shirt. And why? So I can die in some place like Cozumel? I’ve been running my whole damn life. Now I’m chasing time, but I’ll never catch up. It’s gone…

Her mind had always been on the almighty dollar; business never ceased. She was in it deep, and then it hit her why she felt so forlorn and out of sync. Since she’d reached the age of sixteen, not a day had passed that she hadn’t been doing something linked to the dope game. Whether it was a simple marijuana drop off when she was wet behind the ears, a talented runner, or calling the shots behind a few dozen burner phones to arrange a four-digit deal, she always had herself enmeshed in the street life.

Fast forward to the present when she’d been taken by Phoenix, forced to stop, cold turkey. Reality sank in, and boy did it descend deep. Now that she was emotionally sober, the realization of her muddled life, choices, and consequences began to play tricks with her mind … or maybe she’d just been fooling herself the whole time.

She no longer had her fancy clothing, couldn’t hide behind her piles of money, flaunt her furs during brutal Chicago winters, flash her pink and yellow diamonds, parade her shiny, new cars and demand respect as soon as she stepped foot in any Chicagoan establishment. Tiffany McCall wasn’t just her name; it was a well-known brand in the streets of Chitown. Her product was pure, her reputation stellar, and she handled her business in an enviable fashion. Her cousin Gable was feared and respected as the front man. While she was obliged to play behind the scenes, she sparkled too bright to be ignored. A bitch with brains and beauty … unfuckwithable.

Grasping the ridiculous wig, she ripped it off, tossing it to the side as if it were some creepy crawly thing that had settled atop her head. Running her fingers through her wild hair, she stood to her feet and viewed herself in the mirror above the fireplace.

I’m not putting that wig back on right now. I can do my own hair tonight. Do I even still know how to braid? It’s been so long…

She was going to try her hand at it. Besides, it would be a good way to spend some of the time. Returning to the bed, she regarded the cameras, sighed, then slid off her clothing before making her way to the bathroom. So, he could be watching her; she didn’t give a damn. Her life had been uprooted; she wasn’t about to walk on eggshells because of that motherfucker. Screw him.

She looked up at the camera jammed near the shower, noting the little red light wasn’t lit. Closing and locking the door as a force of habit, she opened the faucet to fill the tub, taking note of a large bottle of bath gel, battery operated candles, and several bath bombs in a glass jar. She removed one from the container, sniffed it, and smiled.

Gardenia…

She threw a couple of them in; they fizzed and turned the waters bright pink. Moments later, she was relaxing in abundant suds and bubbles up to her neck. Slowly closing her eyes, she did what she used to do when she was a little girl—disappear inside of herself, playing a game of pretend.

Fear filled her as she sank deep in her imagination, but she went ahead.

I’m a queen on a big, snowcapped mountain. I have my golden staff and I’m looking over my land. No one watches me, no one tells me what to do, no one harms me, no one tricks or deceives me. I’m alone. I’m safe. And that’s my freedom…

She climbed down the steps and he swallowed his own voice. Speechless. When she went past him, he saw her long, thick braids, which reminded him of silky black jump ropes hanging down the middle of her back, grazing the top of her behind. Her gown, a reddish-purple color, complimented her skin tone and she smelled sweet, her aroma teasing him in just the right way. It was 6:12 P.M., almost time for dinner. His personal chef, Jaspar, had made a simple Caesar salad per his request, buttery rolls, wild rice, and a lemon pepper rotisserie chicken. As they made their way to the dining room, he caught her looking at him through the reflection of several mirrors.

Her voyeurism came to an abrupt halt when they’d entered the dining room. She practically jumped in surprise when he came behind her and pulled out her chair. It had been a long time since he’d had female companionship in his living quarters. He preferred it that way. Funny how things change in unexpected ways. Looking at him for a spell, she finally relinquished and took a seat. Sitting across from her, he unfolded his thick cream-colored napkin over his lap.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of white wine and pouring a glass.

“Yes.” She didn’t look up at him as she placed her napkin on her lap and smoothed it out.

“Would you like some wine?”

She shook her head and looked down at her lap, as if something important lay there. Dinner was a quiet affair, the kind of silence that bred a whole set of questions and musings.

“I want to know if my cousin is alive,” she finally stated, pushing her food away as if it disgusted her.

“For now.” He took a sip of his wine, then set the glass down. Several minutes passed, and the room grew darker, colder. “He’ll stay alive as long as he cooperates.”

“I have a question. Was your original intent to capture him and interrogate him like you did me, or to kill him?” He pushed his plate away and folded his hands on the table. “My objective was to locate him, interrogate him, then dispose of him. I decided to alert the authorities after you and I came to our agreement. It was best for me to remove myself from that aspect of the case, to ensure I wasn’t able to go back and change my mind regarding him.”

“If he’d been home when you first got to Chicago, what would have happened?”

“He’d be dead right now.”

Silence webbed between them once more. Pulling the plate closer again, he resumed eating.

“You didn’t care to hear what he had to say, did you? You already had it in your mind that he needed to go…”

“It became painfully clear he was responsible. There would have been no damn reason to draw out the inevitable. Things worked out in another way altogether though.”

“But you still could have gone and got him yourself and not called the FBI or anyone at all. You could’ve finished what you started. What made you change your mind?”

“You…” The woman sat back in her seat, crossed her arms over her breasts, and simply glared at him. He took a taste of his wine and cast her a wink. “Let’s discuss something else. I discovered you’re a bit of a music aficionado.”

She slowly picked up her fork and raked through her lettuce, as if looking for a lone piece of radish that remained to be seen. “How’d you find that out? I’m sure it isn’t top secret that the ‘Spring String’ music store is mine, but I don’t go around broadcasting, either.”

“Taxes?” He smirked.

“Amongst other things. I like to keep that separate from my other … endeavors.” She kept her eye on her bowl, seemingly unmoved by his statement. But she had to be a tad curious about the whole thing. “So, you can find out whatever you want about anybody, huh? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“I have my ways.”

Her gaze was steely. “You find me interesting, huh? Kind of like some new gadget.”

“You’re fascinating, true. Don’t you like the attention? You do … you enjoy it when people gawk at you, watch you walk into a room. You like to see the envy in some women’s eyes and the lust in men. That’s power, that’s control. You need it more than air, don’t you, sweetheart? You eat up the responsiveness, right?” He cocked his head to the side and slicked his tongue over his lower lip real slow and easy. “People seeing the novelty of all that is Tiffany?” The woman didn’t answer, but visibly swallowed as she averted eye contact. “Now, let’s get to the reasons why I personally find you intriguing.”

“Okay.”

“I love listening to music, almost all kinds. It’s what I do in my free time, the little that I have.”

“Your dogs are named after major rock and roll bands.” She smirked as she stabbed her lettuce a few times, then shoved a forkful into her mouth. “I’m not surprised.”

“You are an artist. You can play the guitar and violin. In school, you were in advanced orchestra. In fact, one of your teachers regarded you as a wunderkind, a true talent. You play the acoustic guitar so well, you received accolades in several local periodicals; in fact, you made a name for yourself statewide. So much potential…” How it sickened him to see all that natural aptitude go to waste for a life of temporary pleasure and plenty of sparkly nothing.

“I haven’t played in years.” She took a bite of her salad, her chewing slow, thoughtful.

“It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”

“How would you know?” Instead of answering, he excused himself from the table. He returned with his electric guitar, a one-of-a-kind orange blossom and midnight black 1959 Gibson Flying V.

“Oh my God, that’s a—”

“Beaut.” He grinned as he spun it to and fro. The woman practically salivated as she looked it up and down. For a split second, she appeared to all but forget about her predicament, her cousin hanging in the balance. “You want to see it?”

“Yes.” That was the first time he’d ever seen her smile … really smile. She got to her bare feet and he placed it in her hands. Running her thumb slowly across the strings, she hummed low, as if falling into a trance right before his eyes. “Where in the world did you get this?”

“An auction in Tennessee.” She handed it back to him and stood there, staring at the thing lovingly from a short distance.

“You play?” She pointed to it.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t say I’m the best player in the world, but definitely not the worst. I can hold my own.”

“Self-taught, professional classes or what?”

“My dad taught me. He was a police officer in Nevada and very much into music, too … he was damn good.”

He strummed the strings, just as she had. The sound vibrated through the air. Placing the guitar against the wall, he took his seat once again and she followed suit. Every now and again, he could’ve sworn she was smiling as she looked down at her plate. They looked at one another a few times across the long table, but neither said another word. He felt a million miles away from her, but somehow, in some special way, the distance had unexpectedly lessened…

CHAPTER NINE

…Two days later

It was a gift…

Tiffany awoke, lying in bed, thinking about what had been happening, and it made her sick to her stomach. Any brief periods of joy and happiness were short-lived as new and old memories collided and she relived her past time and time again. Her brain became her biggest comforter and worst enemy. In a surprising turn of events, Phoenix had allowed her access to Gable and her mother the previous night. She hadn’t asked; he’d simply told her what he was going to do.

Then, he’d placed the phone to her ear, and she heard Gable’s voice. He didn’t sound in distress, but he also didn’t know she was on the other end. She soon realized that as she called his name, but he kept on speaking as if he’d not heard a word she’d said. She was allowed to hear him speaking to someone else, proof that he was alive and breathing. Regardless of the kind gesture, she figured out things were even worse than she imagined.

Gable was being interrogated, as she suspected, but he had no idea of the mental fucking he was about to endure—something brutal, much like what she’d succumbed to. She prayed they’d cut him some slack or they’d break him like a twig. She listened to the men with him, speaking calmly. This was the honeymoon stage, when they’d try to play nicey nice.

Phoenix made it clear Gable hadn’t mentioned her, at least not just yet. Should he do so, Phoenix had a plan for that, too, but he never shared it with her. He abruptly ended the call when Gable asked, ‘What is that?’ in a worried tone to one of the men in the room.

In the call to Mama, he dialed the number from an odd-looking phone, no doubt an untraceable one. Of course, he’d know the number by heart—that didn’t surprise her. As she spoke to the woman, she pretended to be on a much-needed hiatus to alleviate her worries.

Convincing Mama that things were completely copacetic proved easier than she’d initially thought, but things went south when she’d gotten some information from the lady that tore her to pieces. Everything that Phoenix had warned her about was coming to fruition, as in the Book of Revelations in the Bible, for she was now a wanted woman—not by the police, not by her competition, but by the Gangster Disciples. Her home had been vandalized, her hard-earned valuables stolen, and the thieves had absconded with the loot.

Luckily, her bank accounts remained untouched. She wondered if anyone had managed to get into her safe deposit box before she’d given the information to Phoenix, per their agreement. Hopefully not, for that would seal her fate forever. Coming out of her wayward deliberations, she stretched her limbs and looked towards the window. Abundant sun rays poured in, welcoming her into the dawn of a new day. Rubbing her eyes, Tiffany yawned and got to her feet, then something caught her eye.

In the corner of the room sat a gorgeous grand auditorium acoustic guitar. She looked up at the camera, then back down at the thing in awe. Making a mad dash across the room, she took it in her hands, unable to break the large smile that spread across her face. She trailed her fingers along the glossy, wooden body, checking out the bridge, turning keys, and rosette. The thing was built to last. Before she knew it, she was sitting Indian style on the bed, strumming it, getting to know its special ways and unleashing its power. Who knew how much time had passed with her also singing, something she hadn’t done in years? This wasn’t her strong suit, but she could hold a note without disgracing herself. The music though melded with the way the instrument felt in her grasp, the two becoming one, a concert of the heart, mind, body and soul.

She was awakened from her trance by a kick at the door. A shadow appeared behind it, blocking the light. She stared at the slit between the door and the threshold. The man could enter any time he wished; she had no control over his comings and goings. He was the king of the castle in the truest sense of the word.

“Tiffany…” Phoenix’s deep voice carried to her.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to come in.”

“I’m not stopping you.” The knob turned and he stepped inside. There he was, his beige button dollar shirt hanging partially opened, exposing some hair. A pair of relaxed navy jeans covered his long, muscular legs.

I hate this fucker for always looking so good.

The sunlight caught the ocean blue of his eyes just so. In one hand, he held a cup of coffee and in the other, a bagel slathered with cream cheese.

“You missed breakfast.” She looked at the clock and sure enough, he was right. In fact, it was almost lunchtime. Setting the drink and food on her nightstand, he pulled up a chair, moved it flush with the side of the bed, and straddled it. “I heard you playing the guitar all morning. You’re really good.” His gaze drifted briefly to her fingers before meeting her eyes.

“I didn’t even hear you come in my room last night to drop it off. Well, I assume it was you, right?” He nodded. “I’m usually a light sleeper but lately that hasn’t been the case. Do you like sneaking around?” She gripped the guitar tight, suddenly hit with a surge of paranoia. She didn’t like how she was beginning to enjoy engaging in conversation with him, looking forward to their chats, to moments when they passed one another in various rooms in the grand house. He had an unnerving tendency to give her these long, intense, bold looks.

“I like many things, Tiffany.” Her pussy contracted as she observed that shameless look in his eye again. “You call it sneaking it around; I call it business. As far as you being a light sleeper, things change, you know? Sometimes our subconscious isn’t happy with our choices and then when we start to really sit down and think about our lives, our sleep patterns respond to that if it’s something in ourselves that we don’t like.”

“Who are you? Dr. Phil?” she barked. “I was talking about sleep, not a request to be analyzed.”

“I disarmed your security system, entered your house, and you didn’t hear me. I sat there and looked at you for over fifteen minutes—that was after going through all of your shit, confirming who you were, and making sure we were alone. I’m not Dr. Phil, but I know a little somethin’ about human nature.”

“Oh, really?” She looked him slowly up and down.

“Yeah, you know how to survive in a small bubble. I’m trying to show you how to make it in the big sphere. And another thing,” he said, his lips curved in a grin. “Don’t be so defensive when I’m talking to you about flaws, the cons of life. If that’s a pattern for you, then that’s a weakness.” She casually looked away. “It means your thin-skinned, people with that sort of characteristic don’t get respect; they get ulcers. Besides, it’s unbecoming.” He smirked as he got comfortable.

“Duly noted.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes … but her heart beat a little faster at his words that hit too close to home. “How’s everything going? I mean, the information I gave you that uh… you said could help.” The man hadn’t updated her in a while. Did he have what he needed? And if he did, what were his next plans?

“It’s fine. I took your lead and confirmed the evidence for my new investigation. Interesting.”

“Evidence for your new investigation? Like what?”

“That safe deposit box of yours … I got it.” Her heart felt instant relief and panic all at once. There was no turning back now; he had her entire world in his possession. She stifled a yawn, fighting with a pending nap that wanted to take her down or perhaps she simply wanted to escape the feelings, the rush of attraction, the worry, the funeral she’d had for her old life all at once.

She yawned, unable to control it this time. She’d been so tired as of late.

“Do you need to rest?” He looked like he really cared. Her left eye twitched like she’d had too much caffeine. The words flowed from his mouth as though coming from someone who loved her, someone who gave a damn.

Why am I looking at him like this? What do I think I’m doing?

“No, I think I’m okay. I might have stayed up a little too long last night.”

“You’ve been sleeping hard ever since I’ve had you in custody, Tiffany. I make my rounds here inside my home early in the morning and late in the day, and it doesn’t seem like you hear me.” His eyes narrowed on her.

“Maybe you’re just always in stealth mode,” she joked.

“I know how to make my presence known, and how to stay in the shadows until it’s too late. I’m good at it. But, I’m not hiding my comings and goings around you … Now.” He cleared his throat, giving her a much welcomed ‘out’. “What was it that you were playing before I came to the door?”

“The song is called, ‘I Don’t Care’, by Elle Varner. One of my favorites.”

“You don’t just play very well. You have a nice singing voice, too.”

She gave the guitar a strum then, pressing it into her gut, rumpling the over-sized Bob Marley shirt she’d slept in. Like that, she began to play a few notes of the song, the final hanging in the air like the last wisp from a blown-out candle.

“Why don’t you eat?” He pointed to the bagel he’d placed down. “If you don’t want that, lunch is soon.”

“I’m not hungry.” She set the guitar off to the side and retied the scarf on her head. “Look, I’ve got some questions.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded, as if giving her permission to ask. She jumped on the opportunity without hesitation.

“How did you manage all of this?” She looked around the bedroom.

“Manage what?”

“You know, keeping me here out of harm’s way? What’s going on? And where is your family? Don’t you have a wife and kids?”

He looked at her curiously, his head cocked, and grinned.

“I’m keeping you out of harm’s way because that was our agreement. What’s going on? You’re in protective custody at this point, Tiffany, and even if I was going to explain it all to you, things are quite complicated and you knowing the details won’t change anything. In fact, they might just make your sleep patterns all the worse.” He rested his chin upon steepled fingers. “Wife and kids? I’m divorced. I have no children.”

No wife. Girlfriend?

“I think I have the right to know the details of what’s going on, even the information you think won’t benefit me in any way. This is my life we’re talkin’ about.” She pointed a finger at her chest. “One minute, you were going to kill me; the next, I’m staying in your home, taking spa baths, being given expensive guitars and fancy foods. You said you were a former DEA agent and now you look over and revise national drug laws. You’re all in the President’s ear about this sort of thing.”

“That’s a simplistic characterization, but yes, that’s essentially what I do. I have a law degree as well. I take all of my work seriously and do it to the best of my ability. The same as you…”

“You have a bunch of big titles, the big man on campus, but that has nothing to do with me. I’m just a hustler in your eyes, right?” Her view narrowed on him as her mood grew fangs. “Probably some low bit drug dealer that you only see as some bitch. Oh, let me rephrase that … some Black bitch, right? In my world, I was top dog, but in yours, I’m small on the totem pole if I even show up at all.”

“Let me make some things perfectly clear to you, Ms. McCall. First, get that fucking chip off your goddamn shoulder. I’m not your enemy. Secondly, this reminds me of something I’ve been wanting to address with you.”

“What?”

“I want to apologize for hitting you when I took you from your home. I was tired, frustrated, angry, and believed you had a hand in killing my best friend. You did, but I don’t believe that was your intent, especially after my analysis of all of the information and to me, intent is very important. Nevertheless, I don’t go around hitting women as a rule of thumb. My apology is genuine.”

“Okay, so you claim to not be a woman beater. Have you ever had to kill a woman?” She smirked.

“Have you?” She rolled her eyes and looked away, which drew a light laugh from him. “Yeah,” he answered casually as a light chuckle escaped his lips, but then that smile slowly faded. “I’ve killed my share, but that was business, what I was trained to do. Do you honestly think I was going to discriminate when it comes to my life and assisting in protecting the team of agents I worked with? Someone with a pussy can be just as dangerous, if not more so, as someone with a dick … you’re proof of that. Regardless, I was raised with old fashioned principles, and I don’t really enjoy when that sort of thing happens. I can’t change it though, and I had to do what I had to do.”

“I don’t enjoy it either, but sometimes, it’s inescapable.” Flashes of blood splattered on a wall flashed in her mind. That time, she’d had to kill another drug dealer who’d tried to rob her and Gable. Old memories resurfaced of the life she’d been forced to leave behind.

“I’ve had women come rushing to me and my men with grenades, machine guns and gasoline with matches during raids. Yes, I’ve had to put their asses down without a moment’s hesitation.” She could see he’d grown immune to the shock of killing. So had she. Were they even human anymore? “My point is that outside of business I’ve never laid a hand on a woman, whether it was my ex-wife, someone I was dating, a female trainer, anyone. I am perfectly capable of separating work from personal life.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, someone you’re dating now?”

Why did you just ask him that? She hated how his lips curved at her question—in that all knowing, ‘you’re busted’, you’ve-got-a-thing-for-me kind of way.

He shook his head and exhaled loudly. “Nah. I’m not seeing anyone right now.” She sat a bit straighter, all confused inside. “I would also like to apologize for calling you a bitch. My emotions regarding John had impaired me. At the time I meant it, but now I regret it.”

“Don’t apologize for that.” She shrugged. “I am. I sure as hell don’t apologize for it. I embrace it.”

At that, he smirked. He let his head lull back and he gazed at her through hooded eyes.

“Are you in love with someone? You only mentioned wanting to make sure Gable was okay, and requested to talk to your mother, but is there someone else?”

She could see in his eyes he knew the answer, but perhaps he just wanted to hear her say it.

“I’m not seeing anyone right now. And even if I were…” She shrugged. “It would be over now, wouldn’t it?” She laughed mirthlessly.

“I suppose so. Now that’s aside, let me get to the nitty gritty, Tiffany. You’re bought and paid for, and you are the one who put yourself up for sale when you entered the business you’re in. Problem is, you can never alter the sticker price or remove yourself from the shelf.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re a pawn. It’s not that you’re last on the totem pole to me, but you’re last in the big scheme of things. Unfortunately, many underestimated your influence. See, a lot of the agents want the big guys, the drug lords, but there would be no drug lords without people like you. What’s interesting about you is that in a few more years, if you survived, you’d more than likely have been one, too. You were movin’ up those ranks fast, weren’t you?”

At that moment, his smile sickened her. He was correct; she was being prepped for a major promotion. She’d earned her stripes and now, everything had been torn away from her without so much as a warning.

“How the hell do you know I still can’t get my rightful position back? I can rebuild anywhere. The knowledge doesn’t leave me; it’s just a change in location.” She clicked her teeth with her tongue, knowing she was digging herself deep with those words. Rather than showing anger, he donned a look of concern, as if she were some wayward child and he were the parent.

“You’re slick, but not slick enough to stand against what’s going on in your business right this moment. People in Chicago are in awe of you. They don’t know how you’ve done what you’ve done and many are afraid of you. You’re still fairly young, you’ve got clout and power, and the stunts you’ve pulled off few would fathom, coming from a woman like you. Let’s face it, beauty and brains are considered a rare combination. You’ve beaten some people to a pulp with your bare hands, sending a message you are not one to be messed with. That’s great. Congratulations, sweetheart,” He offered a slow applause, then his smile vanished. “But you’re in a totally different world now, surrounded by men who think like me. You haven’t a clue as to the true nature of what’s going on, and this isn’t something that can be taught overnight. It’s not an education; it’s a mentality.”

“I’m here because of what happened to your best friend. You want revenge. You made me suffer until you got out of me what you needed. I get it, Phoenix. You got my cousin, you got me, and yet, something is still off. You want more before you take me over to Canada.” She gave him a piercing look. “You’re not telling me everything. You act like it’s for my own good, but I know better.”

“It is for your own good.”

“Why?” She threw up her hands. “Either way, I’m going to die. I can’t live with you forever. I can’t hide from these people.” She turned towards the window, angry tears forming in her eyes. “I’m a marked woman and regardless of what happens, my actions the night your friend died have helped to dig my grave. I can’t take it back! God knows I wish I could! The FBI is down the Disciples’ backs and the Disciples are convinced Gable had something to do with it now. My mother already told me everything and you showed me what they said about it on the news. They’re lookin’ at me too, because they know we’re business partners besides cousins, and now both of our asses are missing. What are they supposed to think at this point, huh? Everything I worked so hard for is destroyed! These are not people you can sit down and reason with. I’m screwed. They’re gang members, not fuckin’ stupid, Phoenix!” The bed shook as her rage took her under.

“They know about you and Gable. They know you killed those DEA agents they were going to do the drug deal with, too. Not because they pieced it together, but because they were told.” Her breathing accelerated as she tried to search his face, see if the man was playing games, fucking with her mind. “Someone else knows what you two did. I’m trying to figure out exactly who. In some way, I’m sure you thought the Disciples should be thanking you because many of them would be facing lifetime bids in state prison had that little exchange not been interrupted. But now you see that wasn’t the case.” He leaned in, his eyes snake-like as they narrowed on her. “It was much worse because an epic investigation has been launched. Online petitions have been drafted, and the people want blood.

“You wanted to know what you’re up against, baby? Well, here it is… The Gangster Disciples operations all over the nation are under scrutiny, not just in Illinois. Killing a DEA agent brings a special sort of call to justice, in and out of prison, that no one can save them from.” Her heart thumped hard within her chest as her anxiety mounted from each word he uttered. “They’ll be torn limb from limb … emotionally, psychologically, mentally, and finally, physically, all on account of Gable putting slugs in those three men. It was your brain child, you’re the accomplice, but you directly killed no one. Right now, as things stand, your involvement is still just a rumor. Of course, that won’t stop the street justice being rallied against you. But what matters is what I think of you, Tiffany. You didn’t kill John. I can see it in your eyes, and though you’ve tried to pretend like you didn’t give a shit, I’ve read your confessions. You’re so much more than you pretend to be. I had to read a bunch of handwritten journals to find out who you really were. Yeah, the names dropped in them were great, trust me. You’ve given us a shitload of leads, but you, my dear, are somethin’ else … what a prize.”

She swallowed as her eyes glossed over. Pure adrenaline pumped within her.

“You want me, don’t you?” She sneered, trying to derail the tight rope journey he was trying to take her on. He shrugged in a nonchalant sort of way and looked about, as if trying to figure out if it were true or not.

“You see me lookin’ at you sometimes, right? It bothers you, but you like it … asking me about a wife, family, girlfriend. You collect people like you collect jewelry, Tiffany.” His tone turned from easygoing to dark. “Men are mere accessories to you. You want to add me to your collection, Tiffany?” An evil grin spread across his face. “Maybe I’ll add you to my collection instead … let you hang your thighs around my neck like a pussy pendant.” He stood abruptly from the chair and tossed it to the side.

“Who are you?” She was barely able to get the words out without a scream. “You do more than what you’ve said, you’ve all but admitted that. Who is the man behind the suit? Tell me … just tell me!”

He stared her down for what felt like an eternity, and she saw the Devil. Instead of horns, he wore Armani shirts and Escada jeans.

“Oh yes, beautiful. There’s more to me than meets the eye. There’s always more, isn’t there, baby?” He caressed her chin with a light touch. “You want to know who I am? They call me the dragon. You came close to discovering that on your own, but just be glad you never had to find out why.” And then he walked out the door…

He wanted to touch her, to reach across the bed and grab her in his arms and kiss her. Things had gotten out of hand. He’d gotten too close, she’d gotten too close, the world was closing in on him. She had no idea how she’d destroyed him and built him up with the angry tears that pooled in her eyes, her concern over her mother, and now, her acknowledgement of how far up shit’s creek she’d travelled with no paddle or life preserver. Her remorse didn’t pour out from between those lips; it was written in blood across the pages of her journals.

He lay in bed underneath wine-colored sheets, the journals sprawled around him, having read them cover to cover. He’d had a hell of a time getting the safe open to retrieve them. He’d begun reading them while she was trapped in his ‘playhouse’ in Vegas, and she’d consented to a deal: her life and freedom in exchange for a bonanza of information. Finding out interesting tidbits about her through her meticulous planning had been a true journey within itself.

He’d teemed with disgust, revulsion, lust and admiration at her words. Her penmanship was perfection dipped in ink, her thoughts clear, her emotions all over the fucking place. He surmised these books were the only place where she dared to show vulnerability, and this thought tore him up inside—the fact he’d gotten a glimpse of her true nature.

It challenged all his perceptions about her, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

But he wasn’t one to lie to himself. He was a straightforward kind of guy.

So what now?

At 2:12 A.M., he was on his fourth cup of coffee in the last three hours. What a diabolic, systematic mind she possessed. She was no small-time hustler; that woman had pulled off some of the most elaborate schemes he’d ever read about in the underbelly of drug trafficking history. Tiffany McCall had made the bulk of her money convincing the inconvincible that the sky was blood red and their lawns were made of discarded rainbow clouds, gold speckled leprechaun shit, and unicorn dust. She walked away from every battle looking shiny and brand new, as if she’d given life to the valley of death and seen it bear flowers, black butterflies and blood red roses.

This time, however, things had gotten out of hand. She’d bitten off more than she could chew and the details of John’s death in that book floored him…

Little did she know; her written words had saved her life…

He’d been set to turn her over to the wolves after she’d confessed in Vegas, provided he’d confirmed the contents of the journals—which he did. Had he done so, she’d at the very least have been saddled with a prison sentence which she’d surely not survive once her enemies got their hooks in her. He’d been about to make the call to get her out of his hair, be rid of her, but his gut told him to put it all on pause after he read her words in those journals…

I should have done this on my own. No. I shouldn’t have done this at all. It wasn’t worth it.

Gable fucked up the entire plan. I’ve asked him a million times to stop doing this shit. If something happens to me, it’s because he shot those guys. I told him no bodies, as that’s traceable. He says dead men tell no tales. That’s bullshit. Forensics tell everything. These men were respected … three dead white men. We live in America. How the hell does he think this will play out if we are connected to it? You don’t go around killing DEA agents. We’ll attract the wrong attention. The streets are talking now. There’s war brewing. The murders hit the news now, too.

The man who got out of the vehicle to help me got caught in the crossfire. The reporter said his name was John Price. Everyone wants someone to blame, but I can only blame myself. I looked into that man’s eyes and hated what was happening. He didn’t deserve that. I’ll never forget it, and I’ve been having nightmares. I can’t sleep half the time now. Everything is fucked up. We could have gotten what we needed without killing anyone. If Gable had worn his mask, kept his mouth shut, and did what I told him to do, none of this would be happening. Sometimes, murder comes with the job. We haven’t always had the option to walk away without bloodshed, but this time we did. Doesn’t matter now though, because here we are.

The bad feeling I had that morning … I should have listened to my gut. Something told me to pull the plug on this. I even suggested to Gable we should abort the mission but he refused. No way, he said. He’s gone away now. I’ll stay, but I might have to follow behind him if this gets any worse.

His sister stopped by pretending to want to borrow money. Cora mainly just wanted to make sure I was there. Who the hell did she think she was fooling? I could see it in her eyes. She was nervous, plotting. Someone put her up to babysitting me, thinking she could get in close and I’d tell her where Gable really was.

I don’t know exactly, and that’s how it was planned. Giving her money would have paid for her silence and also admitted I was guilty. I never gave her a key to my home, either. She tried to rob me, see if I’d fight back. I would have killed her had she been anyone else and no doubt, she had a tape recorder on her. It’s not hard to convince a dope fiend to turn on you. Blood is thicker than water, right? Bullshit. My own family is now working for the enemy. I can trust NO ONE…

Phoenix mulled over the woman’s confessions. One thing in particular she didn’t know about: the fact he’d realized that plans didn’t go as expected, her cousin had become trigger happy, and now the chips had fallen where they would. Tiffany was still partially to blame, but his hatred for her diminished the more he learned about her and the more time he spent with her. He now knew for certain she hadn’t pulled the trigger, but if it weren’t for her, maybe John would still be alive. He’d wrestled with this every hour of each day, and in some moments, he found himself fighting against his own instinct to annihilate her.

After all, he was expected to do just that with so many others. Anyone who got in the way of their investigations or killed one of their own, he was sent out to hunt down and assassinate. His days of doing such were supposed to be over, but even his mother knew better. Those hunts never ended up in the prey’s favor, and he couldn’t help that he was built for this bullshit.

This particular hunt, though, was a private mission.

He hadn’t been assigned to it; it was definitely a conflict of interest. If his true involvement was discovered, things might not bode well for him. Some things needed to be kept secret … like the woman with the butterfly holding a rose tattoo. Tiffany had begun as his pet project, but now, she’d become something infinitely more, and he couldn’t let them have her…

His possessiveness over her grew ugly, huge, and all encompassing.

When he listened to her play that guitar for hours, nonstop, heard that beautiful, professional sound, that soul in the music and her voice, there was no way back for him.

Something about everything she did screamed complexity and depth. She wasn’t as cold hearted as she behaved—not exactly exuding warmth, either, but then again, neither did he. He understood the desire to wrap oneself in the necessary protective armor, the hard-shelled coating to keep the world out so one could perform a dreadful, challenging, nasty job in peace.

I didn’t kill her in her house when I wanted to. I betrayed John.

I didn’t kill her in the hotel when she tried to cut my neck open and drain me of life. I betrayed myself.

And now here I am, thinking about her, wondering how she feels and breaking my own rules to make sure she is more comfortable. And for what? What do I really think I’m going to get out of this? If anyone knew who she was and that I have her here, they’d demand me to hand her over to the authorities. Instead, I’m keeping her in hiding, like a precious jewel swallowed by a poisonous snake.

He sighed, turned off his light and lay with his eyes open for probably over an hour, thinking. And then thinking some more.

Just face it. Tell yourself the truth, Phoenix…

I want her. I want Tiffany McCall all to my goddamn self. Her deviousness makes my dick hard. Her brilliance makes me smile and laugh. Her talent makes my heart pump fast. Her ruthlessness fascinates me but her physical beauty and femininity is her allure, and she is so much more than anyone could ever know. The real her is in those books … and I want a piece of that. I want her mind and her body. I want to know what she tastes like between her long, sexy legs. I want to hear what her moans will sound like when I slide my cock inside her pussy. I want to feel her all over me, make her confess that she wants and needs me…

But in order to have her, in the way that I want her, I have to keep her alive and safe from everyone else. And that’s what I intend to do…

T.A.R.G.E.T.: Tiffany McCall

Mission: To convince, befriend, protect and love

CHAPTER TEN

She observed the man from the glass partition. The door in the kitchen was locked and armed, but outside, in the wilderness, a light shone down on Mr. Phoenix Hale, who stood in army fatigues, bathed in the early morning light. One after another, Phoenix shot at the wine bottles, hit bullseyes on the target posters, and caught dummy after dummy in the forehead, with the precision of someone who seemed to have come out of the womb firing at random. He was such a good marksman.

He even turned his head a time or two, sensing her presence, and proceeded to shoot the targets dead center. Her whole damn body warmed as he worked another line of bullets into the chamber of a Glock 22. Placing her hand against the glass, she let the coolness hit her, making her shiver, but not as much as when he turned slowly in her direction, and just stared.

The icy blueness of his eyes went through her like a galactic breeze. He looked soulless at that moment, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. But then his lips curved in a smile, and she smiled back as he turned away from her. Walking away from the target, his back towards the dummy, he shot over his shoulder, hitting the damn thing square in the forehead in one clean shot. She gasped as he did the same to the other. That was the final straw. She couldn’t deny it any further. Phoenix turned her the hell on. He was tall and sexy, powerful and dangerous, deadly, smart as hell and important to so many people. And though she had no idea when her luck would run out, right then, she felt happy he’d been the one who’d found her.

This motherfucker is unfuckwithable. He lost his friend and he came after the people who’d done it: me and Gable. I can’t fault him for that. I might have done the same thing. It is what it is. You live by the sword and you die by it, too. It just so happens the guy who is armed and dangerous is the only one I can depend on right now. He is what he is, and he’s not sorry about it. I respect this mothafucka to the fullest…

“Is that what the private jets are for?” she asked as she stood in the living room, her hands wrapped around a large, white cup of hot tea. The clock on the wall marked 1:00 A.M.

Phoenix regarded the ornate fireplace, the thing adorned with carved gargoyles and angels, then back into her eyes. He ran his hands along the armrest claws of the oversized, leather loveseat, enjoying the smooth sensation against the pads of his fingers.

“They’re for whatever I need them for.” They’d been up talking for hours, but it felt like a mere few minutes had passed. They’d mainly discussed business, the things that had brought them into each other’s world in the first place.

“Why are you talking to me so openly now? You trust me?” She took a few steps closer and set her cup down on a nearby table. She sat down before him, as if waiting for a bedtime story. As she crossed her legs, looking slick and seductive in her oversized plain green T-shirt, her body called to him. She wore no panties beneath it. Right before she folded her legs, he caught sight of her labia, purposefully exposed for his viewing pleasure. The light of the fire cast a glow against her smooth, flawless skin and her hair fell in loose spirals, her braids freshly removed.

His dick throbbed in his pants, and he felt himself dangerously close to exploding. Just by looking at her, as though he’d never seen a naked woman before. But this one pressed all the right buttons. All of them at the same time…

“I don’t trust anyone, Tiffany. But life isn’t about complete trust. It’s about trusting just enough.”

He wanted to make her cum so bad…

She looked at him for a spell then nodded in agreement, coaxing her hair to fall against her shoulder. She uncrossed her legs, spread them wide and planted her feet flat against the floor. His gaze was drawn to her honey valley. He leisurely stroked his chin as he eyed her gorgeous pussy, the way the fat lips opened and closed, glistening with wet desire as she popped her thighs wide then shut them, teasing him in dangerous ways.

“Do you trust me … just enough?” Her brow rose as her lips curled in a devilish grin. Setting his glass of bourbon down on the agar wood end table, he leaned forward and winked in her direction.

“Still deciding…” He reached for his collar and undid his tie. The satiny finish rolled like butter against his touch. She watched with such intensity while he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, tossing it aside. The woman’s eyes landed on his dragon tattoo before he stood to his feet and removed his leather belt and pants. The metal of the buckle clinked loudly as it hit the floor. He stood before her, looking down at his feast, falling under her tricky little spell.

Lifting her T-shirt, she exposed perky breasts. She discarded the garment the moment he reached low to scoop her with one arm from the floor and lay her down on a soft, white rug in front of the fire.

“Are you going to throw me in?” She smiled. A part of him believed in some way she might have wanted that…

“Fire … do you think you’re going to Hell?” He lay on top of her, pressing his weight and muscles into her tender flesh, relishing the skin-on-skin contact. Delicately caressing the side of her face, he gazed into her eyes.

“Hell is here on Earth.” Wrapping her toned arms around him, she thrust her tongue into his mouth and kissed him with the urgency of a woman dying, coveting her last moments with everything she had. He returned the fervor, his desire rising to fever pitch, then reluctantly pulled away for a moment. Pressing his hard cock against her, letting her see his need, he trailed burning kisses down the side of her neck, sucking on her tender flesh and eliciting moans of pleasure. She writhed beneath him, her sultry body moving against his. Driving him crazy.

No more waiting.

Ripping his black boxers down, he chucked them off to the side and shoved her legs wide open.

“Well, here’s a little pleasure on Earth…”

He plunged his dick deep inside her, rough and hard, to the hilt. After a moment of adjustment, he started thrusting at an even pace, holding on to her hips, digging his nails into her soft skin. Their mutual groans echoed throughout the room and she hissed as he drove himself impossibly deeper. The walls of her pussy felt like a dream—so soft and wet, catering to his every movement. Claiming her lips in a crushing kiss, he fucked her to oblivion. They held on tight to one another, held on for dear life, needing each other so desperately in that moment—for he felt her desire matching his own. Her body shook against him as he plunged in and out of her dripping wet pussy before pulling out and depriving himself of her warmth. Her eyes widened, her need awakened. She spoke no words, but she cursed him wordlessly, her face saying all she needed to say.

His dick protested but he ignored it and kept going. He’d been dreaming of doing this for so long…

Yanking her thighs wide open, he delved low and slicked his tongue up and down her saturated zone. Soon, she was lying back, enjoying his ministrations, seeking that relief he so wanted to give her. The sound of his mouth against her wet pussy echoed in his ears, driving him mad as the scent of her sex and the sweet taste of her love sent his libido into overdrive. Frantic fingers ran through his hair and clawed at his neck. He tasted her sweet nectar over and over, becoming drunk within seconds.

“Shit!” Her back arched, lifting off the rug as he drove two fingers within her while sucking on her engorged clit. She sprang against him, her womanliness bursting free as she came hard and beautiful, trembling. Turning her over on her stomach, he barely gave her time to recuperate. He brought her up on her knees and anchored himself behind her. “Fuck!” Her palm hit the carpet with a hard slap as he shoved himself back inside of her, his hands possessive around her waist, gripping her petite body, manhandling the woman, forcing her back to take his harsh thrusts. He pumped hard and fast until he’d had his fill. With a low grunt, he grabbed her tits with both hands and rocked against her as he roared, flooding her. Violent spasms took over his body as her pussy milked him dry. Her scream mixed with his grunts; they came together, as if chasing one another in search of the ultimate pleasure … and they finally found what they sought. Turning her over to face him, he could see her expression said it all…

He pinned her down on her back, hands above her head, and re-entered her. Breathlessly, he pumped his hips, taking advantage of the last of his erection. The last remnants of his release escaped him as sweat meandered down his face. Sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of her neck, he then gave her a soft peck, and she purred beneath his touch. With a delicate hand, he traced the bruised surface of her wrists, then brought them to his mouth, one by one, and kissed her old wounds from the handcuffs. The fire crackled as they looked at one another, until finally, he broke their gaze and rested his head on her breasts. Her fingers dancing through his hair, she broke the silence.

“I like you, Phoenix…”

He was quiet for a spell, gathering his thoughts.

“You like the fact that you know I can protect you, get you to the next level, get you out of here in one piece.”

“That, too … but it’s more than that.” Lifting himself off her, he stared into her eyes, trying to read her. “You’re strong, and you listen … you give a damn. You know how to get things done. You’re fearless, and that is why you turn me on.”

He smiled at her before placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“You wouldn’t like me if you really knew me, Tiffany. I’m hard to love.” He ran his hands lovingly through her hair, moving it back into place after their vigorous romp. “But I’m willing to give you a glimpse all the same. Time will tell if you change your mind.”

“Oh, I know you, and I won’t.” She pressed her lips against his, then rested back on the rug. “You’re an executioner … a hired savage for the government. A heartless killer, all in the name of justice. You spread like wildfire … make people disappear. They go up in smoke. That’s what makes you the dragon…”

“No one can find Tiffany McCall.” Phoenix swiveled in his office chair, the dogs lying next to him as he heard the man drivel on and on. “Maybe he killed her. She knew too much.”

“Maybe.” Phoenix bit into his apple and chewed, even the seeds. “Just make sure Gable is not in general population. They’ll rip his fucking head off if he is. He has to stay in isolation.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll call you back if I hear anything else, but thanks for agreeing to stay out of this now that you’ve helped find him. Just step back, all right? I know it’s hard … I understand, Phoenix, believe me I do, but we’ve got John’s murderer now. We can handle the rest.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you can.” What a crock of crap. Incompetent bastards… Just like you sons of bitches couldn’t even figure out for weeks who the hell did this. I figured it out on my own, but you want me to stay back while you fuck up again … That’ll never happen. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He ended the call and sat back in his seat, glaring up at the ceiling. Beautiful music played, the strumming of a guitar with a hauntingly low yet sexy voice climbing over the notes in just the right way…

“How do you make me smile … simply by telling the time…”

“You’ve got those endless eyes…” He chimed in from the comforts of his office, knowing the lyrics by heart now.

I could look at you all day, Tiffany. You’ve driven me crazy, just like all the men before me that you fooled into thinking you cared to get what you wanted. I’d like to think I’m different, because you know I take losing personally. I’m a vengeful God. You’re testing me, and I’m testing you, too. You don’t want to fail my exam. You better pass with flying colors … because I’ve got too much to lose…

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“That’s not going to allow you as free of a range. Try like this.” She reached over and corrected the angle of his thick, long fingers along the frets. “Okay, do it again.” Phoenix sat in his oversized black leather chair in front of his bedroom fireplace. She’d caught him plucking chords as she walked past some time earlier, his door ajar. “Come in,” he’d said, sensing her presence without even looking up.

Now here she was, giving a guitar lesson. He gripped the acoustic guitar he’d given her in the fashion she instructed, and strummed the chords.

“See? Hear the difference.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “I do. I’m going to keep the capo at the third fret.”

“Well, that depends on what song you’re going to play me.”

“James Taylor’s, ‘Fire and Rain.’”

She couldn’t help but smile as she leaned back against the chair across from him, folding her legs beneath one another and crossing her arms in anticipation. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Phoenix Vincent Hale was a hard man. He worked hard, he fucked hard and he played hard. And now that titanium man filled her daydreams and the soft crevices in between, awakened something within her she believed was impossible… the capacity to be open to love a man fully and completely. After they’d made love, they stayed up all morning talking, laughing, and more loving… Her body and mind hurt for him, he filled an extraordinary hollowness that resided within her she didn’t know was void… and she loved him for that.

He makes me want to be me…

As soon as he began, his fingers in proper placement as he drifted along, note after note, her heartbeat slowed. He sang the lyrics, his voice soothing, hitting every note just right, and she fell deep into the sound.

“I’ve seen fire, and I’ve seen rain…” he crooned in a slow, nostalgic tempo.

When he hit the final note, she applauded.

“You did good. Yeah, that was nice, Phoenix.” She took a seat near him, on the foot of the bed.

“Thank you. I’m a little rusty with that song. Don’t really play acoustic guitar that often either, but like I said to you before, I suppose it’s like riding a bike.” He set the guitar down, resting it against the chair.

She sighed. “Where do I go from here?”

They both stared at the fire. Phoenix cracked his knuckles and leaned forward.

“I’ve been checking out Canada on your behalf, just like I told you previously.” She nodded, not sure how she felt about that, but kept her thoughts to herself. “It’s not safe to try and cross you just yet.” She felt relief at those words, but knew deep down she couldn’t stay holed up in the man’s house forever. “I remember a real quiet night like this back in Nevada.” He looked starry-eyed as he gazed at her.

“A quiet night in Nevada?” She grinned. “Doesn’t sound like that matches up quite right.”

“People think of Las Vegas when there is mention of Nevada, but there are plenty of quiet places, like my old neighborhood. I grew up in Henderson. If you look on a map today though, it’s called Green Valley. It was residential … it was nice, actually.”

She nodded in understanding.

“Do you miss it? I’m sure D.C. and Vegas—excuse me, Green Valley—are a lot different from one another.”

“Yeah, I miss it sometimes.” He sat back in the chair, his eyes focused on the fire. “I miss my brothers, my old man, the good ol’ days, but those are long gone.”

“Are you close to your family?”

He smiled at her. It was a sad smile, the kind one would barely be able to muster.

“My youngest brother, Harley, is doing great. He’s a college professor. We talk from time to time. He lives in Vegas now with his wife and my niece. My brother who was only a year younger than me is dead.” She looked at him as he kept on staring into that fire. His face and words were devoid of emotion, but she knew he was hurting … he was hurting bad.

“What happened?”

“Drugs is what happened.” He swallowed hard. “Ellis died of a meth overdose. My father was an alcoholic … a nice alcoholic,” he said, “but one all the same. It wasn’t the type of shit you hear about, like the guy coming home and beating his wife and kids. My father wouldn’t hurt a fly unless provoked. He was loved in the community. He was fair. He was just what many would describe as the kind of cop you hoped would pull ya over … because he’d let you off the hook if you promised to slow down. He was what they called a functional drunk, you know.”

“Yeah…” she said quietly. “I’ve heard of that.”

“Went to work every day on time, didn’t cause too much trouble. He was a good man. He just, uh, couldn’t get that monkey off his back.”

“What happened to him?”

“One night after a two-day binge on his days off, he fell into a coma. The oxygen cut off from his brain and that was that.” He shook his head, looked down at his knuckles for a spell, then back at the fire. “My brother’s overdose, on the other hand, caused him to have a heart attack. Imagine that … a twenty-five-year-old having a damn heart attack,” he said. “That was a long time ago, but it still feels like it just happened yesterday.”

“I don’t have any brothers and sisters.”

“I know…” She smiled and lowered her head. “Of course you do. What about your mother? Is she still living?”

“Yeah, my mom and I are quite close. We speak often. She’s still back home in Nevada. Harley checks in on her all the time and I help take care of her from afar. She’s not well.”

“Oh.” She ran her hand along the ball of her foot, massaging a budding cramp. She’d been sitting the same way for so long on the man’s bed, but she didn’t want to move just yet. She just wanted to be still, be a listening ear, ask questions, get to know him. “What’s going on with her?”

“She’s manic depressive and bi-polar.” He looked so tired all of a sudden, so weary. Was she imagining it? No, she wasn’t. “Everything is fine as long as she takes her medicine, but sometimes she forgets. My brother and I help remind her. She’s a good woman, has a real good heart, and she’s real smart, too. I mean…” He shook his head, as if amazed. “She was at the top of her class. Very shrewd woman; brilliant, actually. But her mind keeps playing tricks on her.”

“How long has she been this way?”

“For a long time, longer than we knew. She got the diagnosis when I was twenty-two, I believe. She’d gone to therapy and it came out she’d been sexually assaulted as a child. It wasn’t like it came out under hypnosis or anything, she just remembered, but the counselor told ’er it might help all of us if she told us what happened. We’d been through a lot with her—the mood swings, sometimes she’d lock herself in her bedroom for days on end and not eat. She didn’t know why; it was a crazy time. But the abuse, well, that was the catalyst to her mental breakdown. It was building up. At least she found out … better late than never, right?”

Tiffany wasn’t sure what to say. She dared herself to look him in the eyes, and now, she regretted asking…

He set me up. He knew what the hell he was doing.

She refused to speak for she wouldn’t be forced into this. Not right now!

Phoenix’s face was like stone, while his gaze tore into her soul. He didn’t appear depressed, or on the verge of tears; no, he looked like he wanted to pick something up and pound it to death.

A few moments of silence passed, then he spoke. “Tiffany, I read your journals. not just your records of your various business dealings and contacts… I read all of them.”

Fuck! Here we go…

“There were some interesting things in there.” She kept her head down, pressing a finger into her palm until she felt pain. “Have you told anyone about what happened to you, Tiffany?”

“No.” She slowly lifted her head and met his gaze.

“Why do you keep journals like that? You know, detailing all of your scores, people you know, incriminating stuff. Isn’t that one of the things criminals know not to do?” he asked in a teasing tone.

She shrugged. “Maybe one day, I wanted to be found out… This way I would.”

“I doubt that. I had to use a special tool to get into that thing, the one where the personal accounts of your life were written down. You kept that separate. You wanted someone to work hard to find out, maybe even give up. Not only that, you were too good at covering your tracks. A cat doesn’t cover its mess with litter for no reason.” They both laughed at that.

“When I gave you the location and lock code to the P.O. box to obtain the business journals, I didn’t think about the other ones I’d stored in there. I remembered after we’d already left Nevada and it … it terrified me that you had them.” She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “How the hell did you get it open? What is this special tool you used?”

He chuckled and closed his eyes, leaning his head back in the seat.

“Your criminal mind is always working, isn’t it? None of your business and always remember, I can get into just about anything.” He opened his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and smiled at her. “How old were you when it happened?” She took a deep breath, drew her knees up to her chin and stared into the fire.

“I presume you’re talking about book 3, the red and gold one, right?”

“Yes.”

“Twelve. I was twelve.”

“I asked you already if you’d told anyone and you said no. Were you afraid to tell somebody?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think because my parents trusted and liked him so much, I was more concerned about their feelings than my own. I was an only child; his daughter and I were best friends. I mean, we lived right next door to one another. And he was a boy in blue … a fucking cop. Lieutenant, to be exact.” Her stomach cramped with anxiety. “I hated cops after that. I hated men who looked like him … walked like him … sounded like him … smelled like him. To this day, I remember his scent. I hate certain soaps because of it. I started to act out after that, do stuff I had no business doing, say terrible things. My mother couldn’t wait to take my aunt up on her offer to have me stay with her for the summer. My father worked so much, he barely knew what was happening.” She guffawed, her typical reaction when she thought about her beaten and bruised heart.

“How did you hide the pregnancy, honey?” He ran his hand along the arm of the chair, his eyes warm and his tone loving. Kind.

“Wasn’t shit to hide. It didn’t last long. By the time I knew I was pregnant, the baby was gone. I’d lost it. I told him about the miscarriage—didn’t even know I was pregnant till it was too late, and I guess it scared him. He stopped messin’ with me after that. If I would’ve known that would be the way to make it stop, I would’ve lied and told him I was knocked up a long time before that. But it went on for almost a year, once or twice a week, like clockwork. He gave me money … hush money. He gave me jewelry, nice things. My parents took good care of me, but my allowance wasn’t that big. I loved all that money he gave me, Phoenix. I realized at that point, money was what made the world go ’round. You can roll around in money, naked and happy.” She smiled through eyes filled with tears. “You can toss it in the air like confetti, have an ol’ party all by your lonesome, but it doesn’t seem to take the burn of this fucked up world away, the pain of it all rubbin’ up against you, leavin’ you all raw and exposed, now does it? I needed to be somebody else. I needed to become a new Tiffany, ya see.” Her eyes narrowed on a blank wall as she fell into the misery of her memories. “One that could kick ass and take care of herself.” A tear streamed down her cheek.

“I wasn’t going to be no damn victim, some stupid little girl with no voice, some dumb bitch that just lay there and took it. I was alone, but the money was there, so I hid behind the cash. It was a good hidin’ place … and I could make more of it, and more of it, and then some more. All I had to do was use this brain to build my own green, dead president covered castle, surrounded by a gold and diamond fortress.”

Phoenix rubbed on his chin and regarded her, not in a judgmental sort of way, but with curiosity. As if they were working on a special project and he were simply jotting down notes, collecting information.

“Was he married?”

“He had a wife. She was pretty. Her name escapes me; it started with ‘B’, I believe. And they had two other kids, Devin and Whitley. They eventually moved away, to Indiana. That was for the best, because I was planning to kill him.” She rocked back and forth, her voice going monotone as she drowned in the movement of the flames. She hated the sound of her voice at that moment, but she couldn’t seem to help how the words rolled off her tongue. She’d divorced herself years ago from the emotions that experience pulled from her; it was better this way. The cold, harsh truth? She could acknowledge it, but she couldn’t quite stomach it.

“How did you plan to kill him?” Rather than invasive, she found Phoenix’s spitfire question style comforting. His tone was even, relaxed, same as how he played the guitar and sang the lyrics to that old song.

“Gable taught me how to shoot a gun before all of this happened. He let me borrow one of Aunt Shirley’s when I told him some story about being afraid of a bully at school. It was bullshit. I’d have said anything to get my hands on that gun. I couldn’t let it go, Phoenix. I needed him to suffer, not simply be able to walk away like that, to never pay for what he’d done to me.”

“There’s something about that, isn’t it? The uncontrollable desire to right a wrong.”

She nodded, knowing he was talking about John.

“I needed revenge more than I needed air to breathe. It was eating me up inside. At two in the mornin’ one day, I walked over to that house and waited for him to do his usual routine. He worked late on Thursdays and would come home around 2:15 a.m. I remember that clearly. I was waitin’ for him to get home, hiding in his bushes, but he never came home, Phoenix.”

“Where did he go?”

“Come to find out, he’d flown to Indiana early. He’d left the day before. He was gone. I was so angry … infuriated. I couldn’t send him on his way in style, in a big hearse. From that point on, I told myself I was going to do whatever I needed to do to survive. I hated my mama for not knowing something had happened to me. A part of me felt like she should have realized it. In retrospect though, I was really good at hiding stuff, including my emotions. I was going to stick it to my daddy for not protecting me. That man knew my father was never home, and he played on that. I hated my father, too. My parents never understood why I’d become such an angry child. Well,” she sighed, “there’s the reason and I was hellbent on getting everything in this world that I wanted. Fuck everybody else. Hell.” She shrugged. “Fuck myself, too.”

“Why did you blame yourself for this?”

“I hated myself for letting it go on for so long, for not knowing what to do.” She wiped a tear away. “Why did I care so much what people would think of me? It didn’t matter anymore; nothing mattered anymore.”

“You mattered, Tiffany.”

“I didn’t see myself anymore. I didn’t want to be that girl, the one that got raped. I didn’t want to be the girl who played guitar, made good grades but was ignored. I wanted to be accepted, to be distracted by something bigger and better than me. I wanted to prove myself! I wanted to be someone else.”

He stood to his feet, and just stayed there, as if glued to her every word. His eyes looked so gorgeous as the light from the fire hit them in just the right way.

“When you find out you’re good at something, even if it’s bad, Phoenix, you can get addicted to it. Each time I sold a kilo, each time I proved myself to a nonbeliever and climbed up the ranks, it was like euphoria. I was appreciated for my mind, not for what I had between my legs; but then I soon realized if I used them in conjunction, I could turn kings into jesters and warriors into punks.”

“You were finally getting even…” He cocked his head to the side and crossed his big, muscular arms over his chest.

“Yeah, but it still was never good enough. I came to realize a terrible thing about me over the years.”

“What was that?”

“If it wasn’t the drugs, Phoenix, it would’ve been something else. Maybe stealing cars, high stakes illegal gambling … anything to give me that adrenaline rush and outdo, outthink, and outfuck any man under the goddamn table.”

“You know, Tiffany, in my line of work, it’s not as common as some would think to find a drug dealer who isn’t also addicted to some sort of narcotic. That makes you even more intriguing to me, especially after what you’ve endured.”

“I didn’t want any China white or even weed to relax my nerves. None of that. I didn’t need no dragon to chase—keep that heroin white, right and tight, but out of sight, as I’d say. Heroin was selling like hot cakes, and it’s back in style as I am sure you already know. The high I needed came from that all mighty dollar, which promised to dull the pain. But like any other drug, the results were only temporary. Nevertheless, for a second or two, it gave me respect and power. Nobody would ever touch my fuckin’ body again unless I let them.” She waved her finger in his direction as her heart beat a mile a minute. “I was in control of this shit, you hear me? This was my pussy, my world. The money was hot, my soul was bought, and I thought I was God ’cause I never got caught…” Her eyes shimmered with a flood of warm tears until one fell, and then another. She didn’t dare look his way in that moment.

“And that’s when the music died…”

She smiled at his words, then broke out in a strained cackle, feeling like her very own soul was ablaze like the fire in front of them.

“I have no damn idea why I told you all of this. Oh yeah, you already knew. I wrote it, you read it.” She laughed again, this time sincerely amused.

“I hate that for you, knowing you have that insatiable thirst to make things right, to fix injustices that don’t follow your own set of rules, no matter how twisted others may think they are. It’s like a blood thirst, isn’t it?” He gave her a quizzical look and then, he blew her a kiss as he took several steps towards her. “You’re persistent … determined. You didn’t write this, so tell me, baby, what’s the end of that story?” He took her in his arms and she shook in his grasp, falling apart, hating her weakness, but loving his strength. With balled up fists pressed into his chest, she rested her forehead along his collarbone.

“I looked him up.” He hugged her tighter. “He’d done it to some other girls, too, but the charges didn’t stick. What would I have looked like walking away from that, huh? Maybe if I’d opened my mouth when it happened to me, they coulda been spared! Others suffered on account of me being a coward. I hate weaklings, Phoenix. It was too late to cry about it though, but it wasn’t too late to try again for that 2:15 a.m. visit.”

She raised her head and looked into his eyes.

“Tell Phoenix what you did, baby?”

Her lips curled in a pleased, all knowing grin.

“I took a road trip to Indiana. He won’t be fuckin’ no little girls no more. He’s six feet under, food for the maggots. He stole my black butterfly from me; innocence lost. All these years I’ve flittered around, wishing deep down I could get her back.”

“No need, baby. She’s been inside of you waiting all along…”

Phoenix leaned over the desk and placed various signed papers in the large white envelope. The President had just walked out of his office, leaving him there to handle the rest of the mess. The new healthcare bill would bring deep, bleeding cuts in substance abuse programs, and they’d argued about that. They’d initially discussed this in a room full of senators and congressmen until finally, it was just the two of them, standing face to face in a heated battle. It had been made clear that he needed to get on board, that his was just an opinion, and an unwanted one at that. Nevertheless, he surveyed the new proposed measures and wrote out a counter offer. Engaging in a tug of war to render a better result was better than no change at all. He sat down in the chair and answered his cellphone, frustration boiling in him.

“Yes.”

“Phoenix…”

He paused, let the papers slip from his grasp.

“Tiffany, are you okay?” he whispered into the line. He’d given her the number in case of an emergency but he’d left her alone in his house that morning with tape-recorded sessions of Gable’s interrogation. The news was bad. She needed to hear the crap for herself—best if it came from the horse’s mouth.

“Yeah. I heard the tapes. So, he’s blaming me for this shit!” She gave a woeful laugh. “That ball-less mothafucka actually said that I forced him to do this and that I shot John and the rest of ’em. It’s lies! I didn’t do it and he knows it!!”

“Tiffany, I know … calm down. This is just procedure and it comes with the territory, all right? The FBI doesn’t believe that, but now your name has been thrown in the ring. They also want to interview you. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve been dragging my feet on moving you to Canada. They are heavily searching for you now. Look, let me finish what I’m doing here and I’ll be home in a couple of hours. Can you hold out?”

“Where am I going to go, Phoenix?”

At that, he chuckled.

“All right … I’ll be there as soon as possible. Relax, baby. I’ll be home soon.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tiffany had drunk an entire bottle of wine. It tasted good, rich … a vintage dated December 1988. It had to be expensive; now that it filled her belly, she was on the hunt for another. Just then, she heard the all too familiar bark of the dogs who’d grown accustomed to her comings and goings. It also helped that Phoenix had trained them to leave her be, and they became welcome companions. Regardless of the K-9 siblings being present, nothing compared to the presence of family and friends, and a warm body in her bed. It was lonely in the big house most days…

They’d make love during the night, and sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, too. She’d found the man was just as dominating in bed as he was in other aspects of his life. His cock was his gun, and he’d make her die a little each time he emptied the clip inside her sweet walls.

Beyond that, the man would go off to work, or stay in his study for hours, speaking on the phone with important people from around the world. He’d even disappeared one night and was gone for two days. No explanations, no nothing. Sometimes, she’d eavesdrop on his conversations, loitering outside his closed office door, trying to not even breathe lest he hear her snooping about. Sometimes he was talking about things she didn’t understand, using phrases she’d never heard. But, most of the time, she comprehended him just fine. That double life of his was real, and she bided her time to find out what stood behind door number three. Phoenix was a walking mystery to her, an enigma, and this made her love him all the more. He was so different from the cops that would harass her and her family during the hot summers in Chicago.

Phoenix wasn’t a police officer, but in her mind, at one point in time, he’d been actually worse. He was the guy the cops answered to when a big drug bust went down. Phoenix was the head mother fucker in charge of the organization she despised and feared the most: The Drug Enforcement Administration. It was obvious the bastard relished the takedowns, the trickery and manipulation. He was too good at slinging that gun and landing those bullets. Phoenix loved to kill. The difference between him and Gable was the fact Phoenix planned his executions to precision. He wasn’t sloppy or excessive. His nose was kept clean during the light of day, but when the night fell, the dragon came out of the castle and terrorized the pillagers…

“I see my bottle of Chateau Lafite is empty, and in the trash. Tiffany, you better tell me that someone had you at gunpoint and demanded you drink every drop!” the man roared as he slammed the door behind him, startling her out of her deliberations. Metallica and Zeppelin dashed past her towards their master. He rubbed their heads as he kept his eye on her. She couldn’t help but smirk at his reprimand. “Did you enjoy it? My prized possession, my pride and joy? It’s been swallowed as if it were nothing more than a jug of milk.”

“It was your baby, huh? Delicious.” She smiled and swayed her hips, rubbing it in. “How much do I owe you? It was only a 1988. You’ll live.” She flipped her freshly washed tresses over one shoulder and yawned.

“No, it was originally purchased in 1988. That wine is over 100 years old.” She gasped, then covered her mouth and bellowed with laughter. “Sorry. But you’ll have to excuse me. It’s been a stressful day. I’m tired of bein’ cooped up in this house and my cousin is a son of a bitch. Brief me, tell me what we’re going to do.” She slumped down on the couch and folded one foot beneath her. His heavy footsteps approached. He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, then took a seat beside her.

“All right, let’s get down to business.” He removed his shoes and set them off to the side. “I have one of two choices. I can admit that you’re with me, come up with some excuse, then turn you over to the FBI for interrogation. You could give a full confession and bypass that, or I can ship you out of here when the coast is clear, as we originally planned. Obviously, the first option is not an option. If I turned you over to the FBI, they’d interview you and by the time they were done with you, you’d be in jail awaiting trial, just like Gable.”

“But can’t you tell them to back off? I mean, it was you who found me, not them.”

“In layman’s terms, since the DEA is in the same ranking as the FBI, we can’t trump one another but we’re expected to work together, cohesively. I made a deal with you, but they could challenge it. I don’t trust anyone to make sure you’re protected in there due to the nature of the crimes, Tiffany. You won’t be treated fairly. You’re a Black woman who was working in the inner city selling and distributing illegal narcotics with a well-known drug dealer and pain in the ass, your cousin, Gable Johnson. I’ve seen it too many times; they won’t give you the time of day and it’ll be a wrap before you even get to court.”

“But what about the fact that I cooperated?”

He smirked at her and shook his head.

“You didn’t exactly cooperate, but that’s neither here nor there. I know the point you’re driving at. Without your help, this would’ve taken me significantly longer and by then, he could’ve fled the country. The FBI definitely wouldn’t have caught him in time; they didn’t even have him as a lead. He was in Texas, just like you said, on his way to Mexico. They got him just in time.”

“I went through all of that shit with you when you grabbed me and took me to Nevada for nothin’! I was trying to save his ass more than my own! And the thanks I get is him trying to pin these murders on me. I’ll admit to any court my part in this, all right?” Her eyes grew larger as the grim reality sunk in. “I know I’ve done wrong, and I might have to pay for that with my life, regardless of everything you’ve done to help prevent that, but this doesn’t change the fact that if people believe him, I’m done, Phoenix. I’ll never be safe anywhere I go.”

He leaned back in his seat and stared at her. “Baby, did you really think he wasn’t going to try to save his own ass?” She exhaled loudly, placed a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. “Of course, he threw you under the bus. He’s in big trouble and there’s really no way out of this unless he can successfully convince other people that you did this all on your own.”

“But you don’t know him like I do, Phoenix. We were there for one another, through thick and thin!”

“Were you?” His brows furrowed. “Look at what he’s done, Tiffany. All of these years he’s taken credit for your success, planning and effort. This man is like the Wiz in the Wizard of Oz.” She chuckled mirthlessly at his words. “He rarely gave credit when credit was due. That’s why the police knew little about you in the first place, even though you were the captain of the ship. The only reason why you started to garner a reputation in your world is due to him finally realizing he needed you up front and center. He couldn’t relay a plan like you could, and he couldn’t convince certain circles to move like you could.”

“You’re damn straight about that,” she murmured under her breath.

“You have a way of making people feel like you work for them, when it’s actually the other way around. Why would you honestly expect him to change up at the worst possible time, when his life depends on him being who he naturally is? A coward and a fraud.”

“I don’t know, Phoenix, but we worked like a well-oiled machine, and I guess I fooled myself into believing us being family would mean something to him. He had street cred and was the muscle behind the machine. I drafted the blueprints, so to speak. Honestly, Phoenix, I knew there was a chance he’d turn into an absolute punk and liar but I would’ve hoped, after all he and I had been through, he would’ve thought better of it, you know? I’ve gotten this fucker out of some stuff you wouldn’t believe.” She flopped back against the couch and shook her head with regret.

“What can I do to make this better for you, Tiffany? Maybe buy you a new lamp for the one you threw at me and busted?” He grinned as he stroked her leg.

She chuckled at his words, but there was far too much pain in her laughter. She knew she wasn’t fooling him; she sure as hell wasn’t fooling herself, either.

“When it simmers down a bit and they spread out—which, by the way, I know where they’re searching and when—I will get you over to Canada. If something changes, I’ll let you know.” He dug in his pocket, removed his keys, and placed them on the table before them.

“You know, I’ve been thinkin’.” Reaching over, she took his hand and held it, squeezed it. The warmth of his touch and the sexiness of his gaze made her stomach flip. “I don’t want to leave the United States, Phoenix. I wish there was another way, some other way out.” She blinked back more tears. “I know this is going to sound silly coming from me, but I need a do-over button, and not like this.”

“That’s why you’re going to Canada, to start over. What worries you about it?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t what I had in mind. I know I’m in no position to call any shots, and please don’t think I’m not grateful. I am. But it’s just that I love my country. This is the land of opportunity. I mean, isn’t that what men like you stand for? The symbolism of the American flag, the constitution? Even with all the racist bullshit I’ve endured, and the sexism too, I know I can manage. I can make things happen here. I’m sure Canada is great, but this is all I know.”

“Canada is ideal in your situation for a number of reasons, one of which, it won’t be a cultural shock to you. This is good. You’ll be fine.” His smile appeared forced.

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine, too.” He kept that same old fake grin, which looked ridiculous. “If they find out my true involvement with you, then I will deal with that when the time comes.”

“No … not that. What if … what if I don’t want to leave you?” His smile slowly dissipated, leaving the truth bare. The weight of it filled the room as he squeezed her hand a bit harder. His grasp then loosened and he slipped away.

Clasping his hands, he finally answered her.

“Tiffany, I just don’t see any other way out of this.”

“You’ve been distant,” she stated quietly as she crossed her legs, feeling suddenly chilly.

“Yes, I have. I’ve nursed a growing love for you that I can’t fully describe. On paper, it doesn’t seem we’d have anything in common, but we do … we understand one another completely. I’ve tried to stay away from you, but I can’t. The only way to ensure that you’re okay though is to get you over the border into Canada. I will have someone waiting for you who will help. You won’t be alone.”

She couldn’t stand looking at him. Gripping a pillow to her chest, she shook her head, wishing she couldn’t feel the emotions that welled within her.

“Tiffany … say something please. At least try to understand.” He drummed the coffee table with his fingertips, looking at his hand move across the swirled marble.

“Oh, I understand,” she sneered. “But what tha fuck do you want me to say?” She chewed on her lower lip … and then she saw it, that slight sheen over his eyes…

“I love you, Tiffany. I don’t think I even have to really say that. But—”

“But you can’t be with me. It’ll never work. It’s you, not me, right? You’ve got too much baggage and now got stock in grocery sacks, what? That’s not it?” Anger radiated out of him when she spoke those words, but he didn’t dare interrupt. “Okay, how about this one: a dope girl is too ironic of a girlfriend and maybe even embarassin’ for a fancy but psycho fucker like you. But the pussy is hot, juicy and soooo good, you drill it like oil so the President can stop relying on Iraq for gas, you son of a bitch! Which is it? It’s multiple choice, mothafucka. Pick one!”

Her words came out harsh, the tone dry and cold, just as she wanted it to sound. Leaning forward, he balled his fists tight, his jaw twitching. How she enjoyed how he tried to maintain his composure and not lose his shit…

Checkmate…

On a deep sigh, he spoke calmly, “Tiffany, I understand you’re upset but this shit right here isn’t helping. I’m doing this not because I don’t want to be with you … but because I can’t. I don’t want to do this.” He leaned back against the couch and shook his head. “Do you realize I’ve done hundreds of these sort of investigations? Not once have I ever become romantically involved with a woman I had to interrogate or taken into custody. Not one!”

“But how many did you bring to your goddamn house?! Tell me that was all for my own protection!” She jumped up from the couch and pointed down at him.

“None…”

“Look me in my face and lie. I dare you! You cared about me long before we even reached your front door.” She pointed up ahead. “Stop hiding behind your badges, accolades, special training and impressive titles. I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I only care about who you are on the inside … the good parts of you, the bad and the ugly. I thought you felt the same way about me!”

“I do!”

“How could you do this, just throw me away? I’m in love with you, Phoenix!”

“Don’t you think I know that?! You think this is easy for me, Tiffany? You think I’m sleeping like a baby knowing what’s to come?! I’m all fucked up inside about it!”

“Then do something about it! You aren’t afraid to run into burning meth labs, take down dangerous drug lords like the infamous Carlos Rodriquez, but you’re terrified to hold tight to me and fight for us! You called Gable a coward. Well, I guess it takes one to know one, now don’t it?” Her entire body felt like an inferno, a rage that could never be extinguished. She turned to run away, but the big man grabbed her arm and pulled her down upon him, holding her close as she sobbed against his chest. It was all too damn much!

She’d lost access to her family, her best friend was in prison and had turned his back on her, a dangerous crew had put a hit out on her, and the only man she’d ever been truly in love with in her entire life was going to ship her off like a FedEx parcel. And, to add insult to injury, she would always be looking over her damn shoulder for the rest of her natural born life. If this was what the future held, she was no longer sure she wanted to be a part of it.

He simply wouldn’t let go no matter how she struggled. He was so strong, his grip so tight. Laying a kiss on her cheek, he made soothing noises to calm her down. “Please listen to me … just listen to me, baby. I need to tell you something…”

She slowed her movements, listening, though her body still wanted to escape from him altogether.

“The place where I took you in Nevada, I designed that when I was an agent in active duty. It was an old warehouse and I wanted to create an atmosphere that would foster the driven results I’m known for, results I’ve achieved from interrogating even the toughest of criminals. I own the property, the land, all of it. I am still a consultant with the DEA and my expertise is called upon often.” She looked up into his eyes.

“I know that already, Phoenix. It doesn’t bother me.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Let me finish. I work for the government, not just as a Director of the DCP, but also in a special role where I must undertake extremely dangerous missions involving drug cartels and drug lords. My specialized skills and expertise are valued. These cases don’t make the news. They are top secret and I lead them. They are for interrogations, then exterminations, period. No middle ground…When these people see me arrive, they know what I’ve come to do, why I was brought in. If I’m spotted too soon or make one false move, I could die any day of the week, with no warning.” He gripped her face in his hands, his eyes intense. “I … do things, Tiffany. Things that I have to do, to help keep people safe.

“Only a handful of people know about this, and they are the ones who call me to take care of these matters. I’m only called on when things have gotten really out of hand, and they have nowhere else to turn. That’s how I make the majority of my money, baby. These special assignments are so dangerous and oftentimes involve such dishonorable people in the drug trade world, that anyone I’m affiliated with could be targeted if someone tried to seek revenge against me. That’s why I have no children! It’s a choice! That’s why my ex-wife and I are no longer together. She wasn’t mentally able to deal with it. I can’t let anything happen to anyone I love, and I have to do what I do. I must. I don’t want anyone I love in the crossfire… I love you too much to let anything happen to you…”

“I can handle myself, Phoenix. Why can’t you trust me enough to see that I of all people understand and accept the risks that are associated with being with a man like you? These are just excuses, and if you believe what you’re saying to me, then you’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m not afraid to love you. I’m not afraid to hold onto you. Under any other circumstances, I’d keep you by my side. We’d have a real life together … movies, concerts, candlelight dinners … anything you wanted, I’d get it for you. But the way things are, I can’t have you caught up in all of that, regardless if you think you understand and accept the consequences or not.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “I believe you can make it this time, go a different route—the one you were meant to be on.”

“And that route was supposed to be with you!” she cried. “I am not going to stand here and try to convince a man to want me. I wasn’t raised in no fuckin’ ghetto. I chose that lifestyle so that I could learn from the streets, the best teacher of all. I’m attracted to things I’m not supposed to have or touch, and definitely not supposed to see. That is a part of me. It will never change whether I’m living here, in Canada, or under a prison cell. My natural inquisitiveness and persistence are what draws people to me, but I learn fast. I learn quick.” She snapped her fingers. “I didn’t fuck you to gain an advantage or to seduce you. I fucked you because I care about you, I liked what I saw, I wanted to feel you inside of me and to set the goddamn standard. No one you touch after me, for the rest of your damn life, will even come close to what I could’ve given you. I’m done. Go ahead, ship my ass off to Canada, ASAP. Besides, I got my own pussy. I don’t need a man that’s one, too!”

Turning her back to him, she stormed off, Metallica and Zeppelin following behind.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

With the dogs chasing behind her, she went to her room—the guestroom. That was an appropriate name, for she damn sure wasn’t his woman. As Tiffany settled at the vanity to redo her braids, the bedroom door burst open and bumped hard against the wall, causing a picture to crash to the ground and the glass frame to crack. The dogs jumped up and raced out the room, while their master stood in the doorway, nostrils flared and legs spread, arms on each side of the door frame. All she could do was grasp the edge of the vanity and blink as he stormed towards her like a human tornado. Yanking her up and out of the chair like a yo-yo, toppling the thing on its side, he slammed her back against the wall.

“Get yo’ motherfuckin’ hands off me.” She swallowed, scared out of her damn mind. When he pressed his weight into her, the air left her damn body and she couldn’t scream like she wanted to.

“Don’t you ever speak to me like you did downstairs again. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” he spoke so smoothly, while jerking down the zipper of his pants. The rage within him turned the room into a spastic inferno and the heat from his mouth burned her face … like a dragon teasing its prey.

“I damn sure wasn’t talking to Zeppelin or Metallica. There would be no need; they’re far more loyal.” She winced when he roughly shoved her thighs apart with a swift swipe of his knee and wedged himself between her legs. The fabric of her panties ripping filled the air as he tore them away from her body. “Uh! God!” And then he drove his cock inside her, his thrusts brutal, alarming, filthy, and just right…

She draped her arms, her body filling with unbearable pleasure. Her flesh stung as she rocked against the hard surface of the wall.

“I’m a pussy, huh?” He positioned her legs around his waist, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and jammed himself impossibly harder inside her, making her scream and shake against his hard, muscular form.

“I … said just that … I meant it, too!” She moaned, barely able to get the lie out as he drove his long, thick dick in and out of her pussy.

“You know just what buttons to push … to get what … you want. Don’t you, girl?” His breathing quickened, harsh and hot, as he gripped her ass tight, forcing her to feel every inch of his hard thrusts.

“I’m a stingy bitch, Phoenix! I don’t share … once you’re mine, you’re mine, and I play for keeps!” She bit hard into his neck.

He stiffened, then thrust so hard within her, he left her breathless.

“Mmm! You’re fuckin’ out of your mind if you thought I was going to leave you!” Confused by his words, but cumming at the same time, all she could do was grip his shoulders, shake against his body, and try to catch her breath. She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn’t work; her pussy had been petted and now it purred, speaking for both of them.

“I needed to get you over to Canada then figure it all out … I couldn’t tell you what I was really thinking, didn’t want you to have any false hopes. I needed time!” She gasped as he stared into her eyes and the world grew blurry and soft. All she could see was his shoulders rising up and down as he fucked her out of her mind and stretched her pussy far and wide.

And love danced in his eyes.

She fell limp against him when her second orgasm came and granted her electric euphoria. Her swollen pussy quaked and squeezed his cock, raining her appreciation down on him. Her trembling legs grew sticky with honey from her sugar-walled goddess within. Hooking his hands beneath her ass, he brought her flush with his groin and rammed into her hard and fast, so much the pictures on the wall shook and threatened to fall and crash just like the first. She wrapped her arms tight around his broad torso.

“You don’t like to share? Who tha fuck said I was up for grabs?!” he roared, then stiffened, his moans low, his growls husky as his muscles locked against her. The warmth of his semen filled her hungry void. Pressing her forehead against his shoulder, she welcomed him as he milked himself until there was nothing left. Panting hard, he carried her over to the bed and laid her down. She reached up, tears in her eyes, and stroked his face.

“I don’t know what was worse. Knowing I’d have to get over you, or telling myself you didn’t really love me at all. You fooled me. I believed you when you told me you thought this was for my own good, that you were really going to just move on. My heart broke so badly, I knew at that moment, I loved you even more than I thought. I hate feelin’ like this! And I don’t like you for makin’ me feel like this, Phoenix.”

He stroked the side of her neck as he looked into her eyes.

“I said it because I needed you to remain safe, baby. I didn’t need anyone, including you, really knowing what I was trying to do but you were hurting so bad, I knew I had to just … just tell you and not leave you with that last impression.”

“But why?”

“If someone were to ask you anything, I need you to be convinced that you didn’t think anyone was coming for you, especially not me. Just like you and Gable did with him not telling you his exact whereabouts. That made you more convincing, because in your mind, you weren’t telling a lie.” She nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry for doing everything I need to do to make sure you’re okay.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. “From this moment forward, you’ll just have to trust me, all right?”

She lowered her gaze. “Okay.”

“Because it’s just you and me right now.” Hooking a finger under her chin, he coaxed her face up and kissed her, then straddled her body, giving her chills all over. “You’ll never have to convince me or chase me. Every time I look at you, I don’t see John’s face; I just hear something he said to me a few years ago.”

“What was that?”

“He told me he didn’t become a DEA agent to tear up peoples’ lives, or even just to stop drugs from coming into the country and being sold nationwide. He said he became a DEA agent because he believed that many of the people we took down needed to be forced to see what they were doing; they needed to be stopped so their lives could be saved. So many people see the agents as the end, when really, if you look at it the correct way, we’re the beginning. John told me, ‘Everyone has some good in them… even if they don’t see it on their own.’ Sometimes, it’s up to us to make them start the process of believing that for themselves.’”

She pressed her eyes closed, forcing away the tears that threatened. In mere seconds, he’d completely disrobed and kissed all over her body, his hands exploring her flesh like a famished man needing nourishment. Locking his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and slid inside her, moving slow and deep, over and over again…

“I want you, Tiffany, and I gotta have you … and there’s nothing anyone could do to make me stop loving you…”

Phoenix grimaced and sucked his teeth as he read the latest report. Gable had pulled a ploy to cop a plea deal. He didn’t share the terrible tidbit with Tiffany, for it would do nothing but infuriate her to the point that she might take action. The woman was more than feisty, and some things he simply wouldn’t put past her. Placing the stylus down, he looked absently at his computer and the CNN news report rolling across the screen of the large, plasma television. His office in the White House was rather sterile, lacking personality. It was how he preferred it for he didn’t spend every waking hour there, just enough time to tend to his duties.

The workaholic in him was being fed in other ways—in the long, sensual, nasty nights between soft, mahogany thighs. When he wasn’t making love to Tiffany, he was thinking about it, and when he was making love to her, he was thinking of the next time around in advance. But what else could he do? She needed more than good conversation and sex to make their relationship flourish. He kept prisoners confined, not the woman he loved, so something had to give. No matter how he tried to keep her entertained, the lady was undoubtedly going stir-crazy. He couldn’t say he could much blame her. It was time to let her get a bit of air. Picking up his phone, he dialed a number.

“Hello Eric, this is Phoenix Hale.”

“Mr. Hale! So nice to hear from you.”

“Likewise. Look, I need a favor. I want to rent one of your boats, but I don’t want a captain this time around. And I want it fully stocked with drinks, a gourmet dinner spread, and a full tank of gas. I know it’s late notice, but I’ll pay extra for the inconvenience.”

“Well I’m sure that can be arranged, Mr. Hale. How long do you need it for?”

“The entire weekend. I’m planning a one-of-a-kind adventure…”

Tiffany boarded the yacht called the “Seas the Day” dressed in the white pantsuit her love had purchased for her. She felt like a kid as she raced around the gorgeous vessel, looking in the cubby holes, peeking overboard at the vast ocean, then glancing at the man she adored as he gripped the steering wheel and moved the two throttles.

“Captain Hale,” she teased. “I didn’t know you could drive a boat.” She slid her shoes off, relaxed on the deck bench, and looked out at the Atlantic Ocean.

“Why would you know that? It’s not like we were discussing something that would cause it to be brought up. I don’t see the point in bragging about knowing how to drive a boat. I’d much rather drive you.”

She snickered at his salacious words.

“Well, hell, these are credentials I should know about. Can’t we just go off into the sunset and never look back?” she half joked, drawing a chuckle from him.

“If only it were that easy. Anyway, baby, help yourself to the wine and refreshments. There’s some dinner down in the kitchen area, too. I’ll be able to put her to bed in a bit.”

She nodded and leaned back on the bench, much preferring to just stay put and watch this mothafucka work. Clasping her arms behind her head, she smiled in a wicked way as she admired her prized possession. There he stood with his long, navy blue swimming trunks and white fitted shirt, his arm muscles showcased for her viewing pleasure and looking good enough to eat. His shorts hugged his ass just right. She smiled, happy she could enjoy such a view on a beautiful day as this. Her grin slowly faded though when thoughts of real life came and stole the glory, and her mind got in the way.

How long will I feel this good? When is my time up? This is some fairy tale shit, but I’m here for it … all good times come to an end, right? That’s just how life is…

She turned around and rested on her stomach, placing her chin on her clasped hands. Wind blew in her hair and the ocean tossed aromatic sea breeze about as the boat leisurely bobbed up and down against the waves. Crossing her ankles, she drifted into her safe place, becoming a queen in her mind once again…

I am a queen, and I have left my mountain. I am now sailing the seven seas. I have my gold staff, but I am no longer safe. I’ve gotten lost and the water has become choppy. I’ve found a king who says he wishes to court me. He came out of the ocean, slayed many beasts to allow me to clear the way. But when the night fell, I saw he was a monster, too. My poor king is actually a dragon from the lagoon. Whatever shall I do?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There was something magical about swaying on the ocean under the moonlight. Phoenix and Tiffany lay in bed in the yacht’s romantic sleep chamber, their bed dressed in white and black silk sheets, sprinkled with red rose petals just as he’d requested. They enjoyed a wet bar in the cabin, so they were able to select various drinks and taste test an assortment of Belgian candies. It felt good to be free from the world, not answering calls, and to disconnect from stress for a while.

“Is that all she said?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah.” Tiffany shrugged her shoulders as she wiggled her toes. She lay on her side, facing him. “My mother didn’t believe at first that her baby sold cocaine, and was in the industry. It took her a long time to accept what was going on. She was kind of naïve about stuff like that. My mother probably thought for the longest that because I’m not married, I’m still a virgin.” Tiffany rolled her eyes and chuckled at her own joke.

“Industry? That’s what you call it?” He smirked, running his hand slowly up and down her arm.

“Yeah, that’s what it is.” She shrugged. “It’s an organization; at least, mine was.” She scooted closer to him until she undoubtedly had what she wanted, him beneath her, used as her personal pillow.

“I’d have to agree with you there.” He reached around her to grab his wine glass, take a sip, then set it back down. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes! That lobster was so good. I wonder what seasoning they used? I’m glad I gave it another try.”

“You said you hadn’t had it in years, right?” He sighed and pulled her closer on top of him, needing her warmth and the feel of her against his body.

“Yeah, the first couple of times I tried it, it wasn’t really to my liking but the way it was prepared tonight, well, that was really delicious.” Before she could even finish her thought, he leaned over and kissed her neck, then sucked the flesh there, and blew on it, causing her to laugh and coo. Caressing her breasts, he claimed her lips, then drifted farther down to kiss her collar bone. Catching his lower lip between hers, she left him hot all over.

Sliding off the bed, she moved away from him and gave him a show when she removed her clothing, slowly and seductively. With her back turned, she discarded piece after piece on the floor until she stood before him completely naked.

“So fucking beautiful…” he murmured. “I like your tattoo.”

She tossed him a wicked glance from over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I got it because when I was little girl, one of my favorite songs was ‘Black Butterfly’ by Denice Williams. It still is. Shame I didn’t really understand the lyrics and how they apply to me until now…”

“Never heard of it. I want to listen to that song now, so remind me when we get back home.” He groaned with lust as she nodded and made her way over to him.

Tiffany crawled in reverse onto the bed and straddled him, her ass close to his face. Wiggling and doing a bit of a dance, she slowly slid her finger inside of her pussy, continuing the show. His dick swelled in a matter of seconds. Popping her finger in and out of herself, she gyrated to her movements, masturbating for his viewing pleasure. Not wasting another moment, he shimmied out of his threads, but kept his eyes firmly on the erotic display.

He knelt behind her and pushed three fingers in her pussy, in and out. She squirmed, the wetness of her garden coating his digits in anticipation. Gripping her ass, he got beneath her and slicked his tongue up and down her juicy slit. Her purrs encouraged him as he brought her closer, forcing her to ride his face.

“Aaaaah!”

Soon she was cumming against his lips, her nectar flowing like rain, and his dick got so hard, it hurt. Lapping the last of her juices, he got up on his knees behind her, resting on his palms. Throwing him a lustful gaze over her shoulder, the vixen made a sudden move and pushed him flat on his back.

He landed hard against the sheets. Wrapping her hands around his hard cock she slurped his shaft hard and fast. With one hand on the back of her head and the other gripping the pillow, he fell to pieces beneath her control. Pumping his hips into her soft, wet mouth, he wasn’t certain how long he’d last if she kept this up.

“Shit, baby … you make me feel so fucking good,” he slurred. “I want to feel you…” Gliding his cock out of her mouth, he turned her around, positioning her for doggy style. Placing one leg on the floor and the other kneeling on the bed, he pushed himself halfway inside her, held on tight, and dove deeper with each thrust. He pumped his hips, his leg muscles working overtime to push him into the softness of her ass over and over until he was balls deep. She scratched and clawed at the sheets, first whispering then yelling his name. Sliding his hands around her, bringing her body flush to his chest, he raised her off the bed and climbed up with her to the upper deck. Every step he took, he thrust within her, and she held on to the handrails, shuddering. This continued until they were out in the open night air. At the front of the boat, nothing but the moonlit water surrounded them, as far as the eye could see.

“Place your feet on the front.” She did as he asked, resting her heels against the front bar of the yacht.

She rested her head back against his chest, gripping his upper thighs, as if preparing herself for something monumental. Holding her around her waist to ensure she stayed put, he lunged deeper and higher inside her until there was nowhere else for him to go. Nasty things rolled out of their mouths in between curses and moans, while he fucked her right, with everything he had.

“You like that, don’t you?!” he hissed. “Your pussy is so fucking good, Tiffany … so tight and wet … I’m going to destroy it, baby…”

“Yes, beat that pussy up, baby. I love how you make it hurt! Give me that big fuckin’ dick!”

He reared back and stabbed into her, forcing her to howl and shake against him.

“You’ll wish you hadn’t asked for that … Such a dirty fuckin’ woman!” He sucked on her neck, giving her a love bite…

“Mmmm, you fuck me so good, Daddy! Wash me clean with your cum.”

“Yes, baby. I’m going to clean you from top to bottom … It’s going to be a torrential storm…”

Wrapping his hand around her throat, he submitted her to his ravenous, fast, harsh plunges. Her yells pierced his ears, her body contorted in strangely beautiful ways as his balls slapped repeatedly against her fat pussy lips. The waves beat against the boat, and sprays of water danced around the vessel.

Blackness surrounded them, broken up only by the muted streams of white light from the moon and the lonely yellow glimmer from the partially opened cabin door. They fell under the spell of each other’s bodies, bathed in the love that grew solid between them and the star-studded night he’d never forget. With a groan, he came inside her, jerking and pausing until he had nothing more to relinquish. Panting and satisfied, he lowered her down onto the floor of the deck. She turned towards him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, then crushed her lips in a kiss.

“Tell me it will always be like this…” the woman whispered. “I’m asking you to lie to me, so I can escape for just a little while longer.”

Lifting her chin, he looked down at her and shook his head.

“Trust me to do what I need to do. It won’t come easy, but my mission is to ensure that it will always be like this.”

“So, it’s not a mission impossible?”

He smiled. “Nothing is impossible, baby. Not when you want it badly enough…”

Two days prior, Tiffany had stuffed her little duffle bag with the bare necessities, packed and set to go off to Canada. Then, just like that, everything was stopped dead in its tracks. Phoenix had gotten some insider information and decided to delay her departure. The Canadian and Mexican authorities had been notified and her likeness plastered on internal government sites as it would be on some milk carton. Reassuring her that a bit more time would do the trick, he provided her with a computer, something to help pass the time while he worked and to keep her connected to the world.

Not much of a television person, she was eager to get her hooks into reading social media, even if all she could do was observe from a distance. She logged onto the website and was happy to see that her personal page, though rarely used in the past, had been deactivated. Phoenix had taken care of that in some way. That man intrigued her so, with his vast connections and networks and secret ways. Signing in under a fake account, she searched around, scrolling through posts by her friends and family members, wishing to catch up.

She smiled at the photos of a few of her girlfriends dressed to the nines, the pictures of them dancing in the Studio Paris Nightclub and the Drop, places she also loved to stop in and listen to music, get a drink with her girls, and take half drunken selfies. Her smile slowly dissipated when she clicked on her friend Denise’s profile. The woman had Tiffany’s photo as her profile picture with the words ‘Find my girl, Tiffany. Bring her home’ printed at the bottom. Quickly clicking away from her image, she perused other pages until she landed on Cora’s. Her status update of the previous day stated: Guys, Mama doesn’t have much longer. Praying to God she makes it through the night. Below it was a photo of Aunt Shirley in the hospital, her eyes closed, a million tubes running in and out of her body and a look of distress on her face.

“Phoooenix!” she hollered, getting to her feet and almost falling over as she raced about trying to find him. “Phoenix!” She burst into his office to find him looking pissed. He quickly slammed his phone down.

“Tiffany, I was on the phone with someone from the DEA office! You can’t—”

“My aunt Shirley is sick,” she stated breathlessly, trying to keep it together but failing miserably. “I just saw it mentioned online. I called the hospital and sure enough, she’s there in ICU. I have to go back and see her, Phoenix. She’s dying.”

“Tiffany.” He leaned back in his seat, running a hand down his face. He looked tired. “Baby I’m sorry about your aunt, but that’s not going to be possible. You know it’s not safe for you to be in Chicago right now.”

“Phoenix, please!” She stood before him and banged her fist on his desk. “I need you to get me there as soon as possible. I won’t stay long, I promise, just an hour or two, but I need to go. The woman was like a second mother to me.”

“Can you hear yourself?” He opened his arms, palms up. “Do you truly understand what you’re asking me to do? The answer is no.” He shook his head. “It’s far too risky.”

“That’s a chance I’ll take,” she said, resolute. They must’ve glared at each other for an eternity before the man sighed and leaned forward to stare down at his desk.

“Either you can figure out how to get me there or I’ll find someone who will. In any case, I’m going.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Grabbing his phone from the desk, he sat back and closed his eyes as if damn near exhausted. She turned around and made for the door.

“Tiffany…”

“Yes?” She paused and looked over her shoulder at him, waiting for the man to pull the rug out from under her, to tell her he changed his mind in a matter of seconds.

“I’m going to call in a favor to get you there, so you can see her alone. You’ll have thirty minutes, and not a second more. Do you understand me?” His blue eyes turned to slits.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” As she walked over the threshold, she heard him begin to speak on the phone.

“Sorry to call you so late, Gerald, but I have a friend who needs your services. I’m planning a quick trip and need some backup down in Chicago…”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Phoenix understood the importance of family. He understood loyalty, no matter how others might not have comprehended such a bond.

“Higher,” he instructed. He stood by her side, his arms crossed and the bullseye in front of them. Tiffany unleashed a series of shots, one after the other, her body holding firm and steady, and her finger wrapped around the trigger of his M1911A1 handgun. “That’s better.” Squinting to take a good look at the holes in the red and white target, he noted her improvement over the course of a few hours.

“I told you I knew how to shoot a gun, Phoenix,” she stated breathlessly, lowering the thing to her side. Her hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail, and her off the shoulder cream sweater looked sexy against her skin. “You know that I do. This is a waste of both our time.”

“No, it’s not. If you’re taking your ass to Chicago against my wishes, then you’re going to know how to not only aim, but to fire better, too. You know the basics, but sometimes that’s not good enough. Keep practicing.” He stood a couple of feet back from her and watched her work.

You’re a good shot, baby. Great posture, cool under pressure, but I have to have peace of mind. I can’t take you into enemy territory without protecting you to the best of my ability. You’re not in Kansas anymore…

…The next day

It had been a few years since he’d flown a twin-engine Cessna 340. He’d called in one of many favors and gotten his hands on the tiny motherfucker; it was rocky and grated his nerves but it proved their best bet to slide into Chicago without being detected. Tiffany barely said a word after they’d landed, but he could almost hear her heartbeat beating out of her chest when her feet touched on familiar soil. Chicago was her playground, her comfort zone, all that she knew, and here she’d returned to her sprawling jungle under some of the worst of circumstances possible.

He called an Uber and they were escorted to the rental car facility. Having her stay in the background, her attire baggy and unflattering and her wig in place, he filled out the paperwork, got the keys, and headed to Northwestern Memorial Hospital.

“Are you all right?” His voice came out gruff, as if he’d just awoken. After all, he’d been silent for so long, holding back words that were better left unsaid.

“Yeah.” She looked straight ahead, playing the role of a strong woman but inside, he knew she was falling apart. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go over the run down one more time. Repeat it to me.”

On a sigh, she began, “Enter the hospital from the west wing, take the elevator up to floor 4, walk two flights up in the stairwell. You will be at the end of the hall but within hearing distance. Aunt Shirley is in room 421. She will be asleep, her medicine given by her nurse at 6:00 P.M. to cause her to nod off. I have twenty-five minutes to visit and five minutes to be back down in the hospital lobby. You will pull up, then we will drive to the airport and fly the commuter plane back to Washington.”

“Okay, good. Now where’s your new license I gave you?”

“I have my new I.D. in my purse.” She glanced down at the small leather bag on her lap and looked out the window.

“Perfect. Let’s go.” Moments later, he pulled up in front of the hospital and she made haste to get out of the car. As she took anxious steps, her coat swinging about, a slight drizzle began to fall.

“Tiff!” he called out.

She turned and looked at him, fear, anger, and sorrow dancing in those beautiful, dark brown eyes.

“Be careful, all right?”

She nodded and rushed inside. As soon as he saw her enter, he made a beeline for the parking garage, then hightailed it inside to stand post…

She wished she couldn’t hear herself breathing…

It had become distracting as she made her way up the staircase. Phoenix had relayed Aunt Shirley’s schedule, as well as given her information about the usual visiting hours to make sure no one would be in the woman’s quarters at that time. Her children, according to him, had visited earlier in the day, and they tended to keep the same, exact routine each visit. As she neared the room, she slowed and paused in surprise. There, at the end of the hall, stood Phoenix. She smiled. How had he beaten her inside? He sat down in a chair, his phone in one hand and a cup in the other.

He even had time to get a coffee…

Soon, she stood outside the woman’s hospital room. On a sigh, she entered to a dark room. Getting close to the bed, she glanced at the woman, and her eyes immediately filled with tears. Tiffany walked over to the vast window. Pushing the curtains aside, she took in the night scene. Millions of lights shimmered and glowed. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass.

Turning her back on the city, she took a seat. Aunt Shirley’s skin looked smooth and creamy like peanut butter, not a wrinkle or blemish in sight. The lady’s lips were full, plush, the center of them darker than the rest from years of cigarette smoking. Her thinning gray and brown hair was brushed away from her face, a small gold hair clip holding it in place. Taking her aunt’s hand, she patted and rubbed it.

“Aunt Shirley,” she stated quietly. “It’s me, Tiffany. I had to come and see you. I … I am doing okay. As I’m sure you know, things have been pretty messed up. Gable and I got into a bit of trouble.” She swallowed. “I hope and pray we can get it worked out. You know, my mama, your sister, always told me, ‘Every dog has their day.’” She chuckled sadly. “I guess I didn’t realize she was sometimes talking about me.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I know life wasn’t easy for you, Auntie. I know you did what you had to do sometimes just to make ends meet. I never judged you then, and I damn sure won’t judge you now. You helped to make me strong when I didn’t even know I could stand up on my own two feet.” A slow tear trailed down her cheek.

“I can’t stay long, but … I’m glad I came. And I know you can hear me. I’m going to make something of myself, okay? I know I’m not eighteen and full of promise anymore, but I still have a lot of life to live … if I’m lucky enough to get a second chance. I know that’s what you wanted for me and Gable, for all of your children. You and Mama bumped heads, but you both had a strong love for me. I want to thank you for giving me room to grow, and teaching me how to survive, believe in myself. I owe my sense of self, my pride to you. Yeah, that was all your doing. You taught me my cultural history … the kings and queens of Africa. You were the first to explain that we could’ve come from royalty, so why shouldn’t we still look the part?” She laughed lightly when the warm memories flooded her.

“Some might not have agreed with your methods for teaching a lesson or two, but there was a madness to them, wasn’t there? I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Tiffany leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek. The lady’s eyelids fluttered and then relaxed, causing her to smile. Snatching a tissue out of a nearby Kleenex box, she dabbed at her eyes. She looked over at the clock in the room and noted she’d been there for twenty-two minutes. It seemed like it hadn’t been more than five. Getting to her feet, she walked back over to the hospital window and placed her forearms and palms against the glass. The entire city was alive, pulling on her heartstrings.

I better get going…

Walking back over to Aunt Shirley, she squeezed her hand.

“Black Butterflies and red roses, Aunt Shirley. As you used to say to me, ‘Fly away to your dreams and do what you like, baby.’ I love you.”

She blew her a kiss and stepped out of the hospital room. When she looked down the hall, Phoenix was still there. He didn’t look at her, but he rose to his feet, snapped his fingers, and made his way to the elevator. She was to take the steps down and meet him out front. Filled with relief, she made the trek down the first flight of stairs. Her steps echoed against the iron, and with each one a piece of her died, knowing it would be the last time she’d ever see Aunt Shirley. As she made it to the first floor, she paused.

What was that?

Footsteps approached, but she couldn’t make out from which direction. On a swallow, she hastened her pace towards the stairway exit. As she swung open the door to escape, there stood a tall figure dressed in black donning a ski mask. She opened her mouth to scream but was met with a sharp elbow to her teeth. Her mouth filled with blood as she fell to the ground. A gruff, male voice spoke through the woolen face mask. He hovered over her, looking down at her as if she were some little puppy, and her heart pounded in her chest as her mind scrambled to make it out of this shit alive.

“You miss me, you bougie, fake ass bitch?”

His black eyes and a bit of his dark brown skin were visible through the open eye area.

“You look like a fuckin’ sock puppet. How could I?” Her eyes narrowed as a trickle of blood creeped down her chin.

“I see you still like to talk shit.” He chuckled. “Since you like to open your mouth so damn much, I’mma let you see what this gun taste like.” Her eyes darted to the handle of the pistol sticking out the front of his pants. Grabbing hold of it, he inched closer to her. “It’s Tiffany Mothafuckin’ McCall in the goddamn flesh! I didn’t think you’d come back out of hiding, but they said you would come back for ol’ Shirley to pay your final respects. Look at you, in basic bitch mode, right? Lookin’ all ordinary ’nd shit.” Spitting out a wad of spit mixed with blood, she pulled herself up a little and met the man’s gaze.

“Coward. Take off your mask and let me see who you are.” The man ripped the damn thing off, exposing a scar on his left cheek and a diamond stud in his right ear. “Fox.”

“Yup, it’s me, baby.” He sneered as he stooped low, getting into her personal space. Fox was a Gangster Disciple, a bastard who’d made it clear that he was interested in her. At least seven years her junior, he had the body of a god, but he was a complete basket case and not the least bit her type. She’d let him down easy, but being who he was, he didn’t appreciate the rejection and on several occasions, he’d let her know she’d missed out.

This is who they send to get me? Shit!

“So, baby, you know Gable already cried like uh bitch and we know every damn thang. He told us everything ’bout you, on the phone bawlin’ his eyes out, talkin’ about it was all your idea. I knew that mothafucka was a simp!” He shoved a pistol in her face, then traced her cheek with the butt of the gun. “You been real busy, huh?” He dropped his gaze to her breasts, covered by the over-sized black T-shirt to hide her figure. “What tha fuck you got on?” He chuckled as he regarded her wig. “Don’t matter. We’d know you a mile away. Nobody got a walk like Tiffany McCall … sexy mothafucka. Shoulda gave me some pussy when I asked for it; maybe I wouldn’t enjoy this so goddamn much…” He laughed garishly, then drew disturbingly serious.

“If you’re going to shoot, then shoot me, bitch.” Cocking his head to the side as if in shock, he raised his arm high and swiped at her face, ready to deliver an almighty pistol whip, but she swayed and ducked in the nick of time. “Fox, go ahead and shoot me in this damn hospital!” She crawled backwards until her back was forced against the wall. “They can take me right down to the morgue when you’re through.”

Before he could reply, the stairwell door swung open, startling both of them. She covered her mouth with both hands to swallow her scream when Phoenix burst in like the rotating Earth, roaring wind, and dragon spewed fire. Like an eagle diving down low from the sky, he dropped behind Fox, reached for the gun in the man’s hand, and had it fly out of his grasp. The weapon crashed to the ground, prompting Tiffany to hurry onto her feet and snatch it up in her grip. She looked in horror as Phoenix and the big bastard struggled until Phoenix wrapped a thick, black string around his neck and pulled hard, choking Fox and cutting off the fucker’s air.

The man’s eyes grew large as he gasped, his arms waving in front of him like Frankenstein, tongue showing from his wide-open mouth. Tiffany raced forward, reared her arm upward and slammed the handle of the gun as hard as she could onto the side of Fox’s head, drawing blood. Phoenix then shoved the man to the ground and got back to his feet. Seizing the gun out of her hand, he shoved it in his pocket.

Grabbing her arm, he moved fast, dragging her with him. She held his hand tight.

“There’s three of them outside, one by the front door. They’re crawling everywhere,” he said in a calm but urgent tone.

“Shit! How are we getting out of here?”

“Just stay close to me.” Pulling her aside, he held her near, their chests almost touching. Eyes glued to hers, he slid her favorite weapon, a Glock 22, under her shirt. After planting a hard kiss on his lips, she held his hand and followed him as he moved ahead of her, all the while scoping out their surroundings. As they approached the door, she spotted Purp, another Disciple, standing wide-legged with hands held in front of him by the exit, blocking it. Hate filled his eyes at the sight of her and Phoenix. She wanted to scream, shoot, kill … but Phoenix kept her shielded.

“You think this white Wonder Bread mothafucka can help you?” he asked calmly as he pulled up his shirt and exposed his gun. “Who is this? A hospital cafeteria security guard? He servin’ lunch?” he sneered.

“Today’s special is bullet bread. Catch ’em and tell me how you like it.”

Suddenly, Purp’s body jumped as if he’d been hit with a wave of electricity, and then she saw blood flowing from his stomach. Phoenix marched on, keeping his attention straight ahead, as if he’d seen or done nothing at all. Screams could be heard behind them as they exited the hospital. She quickly glanced back to get a glimpse of Purp’s body convulsing on the ground.

“Oh no … no!” she screamed when she recognized several Disciples.

Letting go of her, Phoenix produced two guns and lit up the night sky with blazing flashes and the loud, repeated cracking of gunfire. The shrill screams and hollers from people all around was deafening and the odor of gun smoke filled the air. Stepping beside him, she fired several shots at Kodak, one of the Disciples who was shooting in their direction. Her adrenaline kicked in overdrive, she just kept blasting until she spent a bullet into his shoulder and neck, forcing him to fall back and slump to the ground.

Phoenix grabbed her around her waist, lifted her up with one arm, and kept shooting at several Disciples with the other. His steps were quick, but not rapid—an even, purposeful pace. Before she could take the next breath, she was inside the car, her seat reclined all the way back as he raced through the parking lot like a madman. She lay flat on her back, the gunfire still blazing as he shot bullets out of a rolled down window.

“The tire is going to be bald and flat in less than 2 minutes. They shot it out.” He rolled the window up and grabbed his phone as he drove onto the street, his foot on the accelerator.

“Rick, I need you to get the police over to East Huron Street in Chicago. There is a gang shootout with several casualties. I also need you to get me a private driver in front of the Windsor restaurant. It needs to be there in two minutes, tops.”

“Okay … but uh, Phoenix, what are you doing in Chicago? I hope it’s got nothing to do with Gable Johnson.”

“Just do what the hell I asked you to do; don’t ask me any questions and don’t mention any of this to anyone.” Phoenix disconnected the call and sped up.

The car began to ride bumpy, slowing to a crawl. He put the thing in park and they both jumped out, racing towards the eatery. Everything became a blur then. The street life smelled like death, hospital antiseptic, and car exhaust. Cool air beat against her face, while the lights mesmerized and sickened her. Just as they arrived in front of the restaurant, a dark car pulled up and the door opened. Phoenix helped her inside and off they went, into the night. After a moment or two, she stopped shaking.

“Who’s Rick?” she asked.

“My assistant.” He raised the privacy window.

“I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.” He removed several guns from his person, checked the chambers, then tucked them away. “I don’t think she’s going to make it. She looks like she’s really dying.” Her voice quaked as Aunt Shirley’s face lying in that hospital bed appeared in her mind. “She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Phoenix pulled out his cellphone.

“Yeah, it’s me again. Please send a bouquet of twenty-four assorted roses to hospital room number 421 at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Leave no name on the card, just include the drawing of a butterfly.” After hanging up, he took her hand in his. All she could do was stare at him in awe, in shock, in amazement … in love.

“I didn’t realize that—” He put his hand up, stopping her without looking at her.

“When you say the name of Phoenix Hale, you’re talking about over twenty fucking years of experience with enemy minds, criminal behavior, drug intel, highly sophisticated cartel disassembly, vast artillery experience, de-escalation training and aptitude, international explosives knowledge and over three hundred successful shakedowns and takedowns. I didn’t get here by sheer luck. I’m not called upon as a second or third choice. I’m the first choice, but it always boils down to, ‘Can they afford me?’ and ‘Will they follow my orders to the letter?’ When I tell my team ‘no’, it’s for a good reason. When I tell you, as my woman, ‘no’, it’s because of that twenty years of knowledge and experience. I’m not new to this shit, Tiff!”

“I just thought—”

“Stop talking! Don’t interrupt me and just listen. I didn’t just wake up a year ago or even five years ago and say, ‘Gee, I think I want to be called an expert in this shit!’ I know how to defend myself and others. Since I was a child, I’ve been protecting and serving. Goddamn boy scouts as a little kid, lifeguard as a teenager, bouncer while I was putting myself through law school, and bodyguard too, I did all of that shit, Tiffany! I’m not unfamiliar with how to take care of my business. I’m not new to love either and how to protect and treat a woman…”

He looked at her with fire in his eyes. “And if I love you, which I obviously fucking do or I wouldn’t have allowed you to be here in the first place against my better judgment, don’t hinder me from safeguarding you. Some shit just isn’t fair, and we’ve got to roll with it … like not seeing someone we love before they die.” She nodded, feeling shame. “Don’t question me, threaten me, or defy my judgment in these matters ever again—that’s the end of this goddamn discussion.” Directing his attention ahead, he lowered the privacy window. “Driver, our stop is close by. Please keep the car right at the exact speed limit.

“Yes, sir.” He rolled the privacy window back up.

She dropped her head, feeling like an absolute fool. How ashamed she felt, hurting inside, mourning Shirley, and replaying the horror scene that imploded in the hospital. Shifting her onto his lap, he stroked her hair. She caught the material of his pants in a vise, wishing she could disengage from the pain.

“How did you shoot Purp?”

“Purp? The guy at the front of the door?”

“Yeah.”

“Turned the gun to the side and shot. I didn’t want a bloodbath inside the hospital … keep that shit out on the street. If he’d seen me pull anything out, as soon as he took out his gun, the others would have rushed inside.” He gently pushed on her head, coaxing her to relax on him.

She looked at his crotch, at the privacy window, then back at his crotch. Reaching for his zipper, she pulled the damn thing down. The sounds of, “I’m a Player” by Too Short carried through from a nearby car as they waited at a red light. Phoenix sat back in his seat. Soon, his low moans filled the car as she sucked on his thick, long cock until he exploded in her mouth. Sitting back up, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and wrapped her arms around his neck in a needful hug. He looked into her eyes, tracing her cheek with his thumb as they pulled up to the parked airplane he’d flown them to Chicago in.

“Let’s go home, baby…”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Things had gotten sticky like coagulated, splattered blood…

Phoenix expected as much when there was a knock at his door less than twenty-four hours later in the middle of the night. He stared at the security monitors, taking note of the black armored vehicles pulling up onto his property. He pulled Tiffany close while they rested after making love in his bed, kissed the top of her head and told her he’d be right back. There Thomas Derision stood, Chief Intelligence Analyst for the FBI. Phoenix had known the man for years, and though they’d shared heated words on occasion, there was a mutual respect between the two. A slight grin was on the man’s face as he leaned casually against his front door.

“Phoenix, Director of the DCP was definitely Agent Hale last night…” Phoenix lowered his head and chuckled. “Well, well, well… how was your vacation in Chicago?” The tall, African American clean-shaven man with the deep cleft chin crossed his arms over his barreled chest and huffed.

“It was fantastic, Thomas. I heard it’s beautiful this time of year. You should go check it out.”

“I was able to see it from afar thanks to you. Looks like you painted the town red…Hale, I think we need to talk about your house guest, don’t you?” Phoenix’s eyes hooded as he held his glass of cognac in one hand and his cigar in the other. He could still smell the woman all over him, and in that moment, it gave him comfort. Metallica and Zepplin barked loudly in the background. He casually looked over his shoulder as the two stormed towards him.

“Metallica, Zepplin, heel.” He turned back towards Thomas. “They do as their told. I don’t.”

“Hale, let’s do this peacefully.” Thomas raised his hands in the air. Phoenix looked past him and took note of three armored trucks in the distance, their high beams on lighting the path of his long driveway.

“Wow…you think you brought enough backup?” Phoenix chuckled lightly as he crossed his ankles and blew out a ring of smoke. “Why so many, huh? I guess I’m Hannibal Lecter now. Fava beans…Jesus Christ.” Thomas sighed.

“Your reputation precedes you. I need to come inside, Hale.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to be rude and keep you standing there, come right on in.” He stepped aside and allowed Thomas in, closing and locking the door behind him. The man stood there looking about, his navy-blue FBI uniform on and a scorn look on his face.

“Where is she, Hale?” Phoenix and he turned at the same time to see Tiffany approaching in a sheer, red robe. Her long hair was slightly damp from her shower, and hanging against her shoulders as her hips swayed to the song, “Black Butterfly” that played low through the speakers in the house. In her hand she held a glass filled with red wine. Hale didn’t miss the way Thomas regarded her… yeah, she was show stopping for sure. With a devilish smirk on her face, she shook her head.

“It’s alright, baby… let’s just get this over with…”

Tiffany smiled as Thomas took her outside and put her in one of the big, black vehicles lined up in her baby’s driveway. She blew Phoenix a kiss before being led away. She didn’t yell, she didn’t cry… she had simply sat down and spoke to the handsome fucker who asked her a series of questions while Phoenix stood there on his phone, lawyering her up. She’d broken the rules, had to say goodbye to Aunt Shirley whom he confirmed died a couple hours after she’d left… it was a bad break, but a part of her didn’t regret that much needed farewell. After Thomas was finished, he explained that they were taking her back to Chicago for further interviews and arraignment. Several other FBI Agents were now in the house, standing beside her like armed guards.

Phoenix and he stepped away, behind closed doors and though both of their voices were raised, she couldn’t quite make out what was being said. She sat there with her glass of wine now fully drank, the scent of her lover’s cigar hanging in the air, his cum in her pussy and her anger reaching a fever pitch. Moments later, she was asked to put on more appropriate attire, and say her final goodbye. They said, ‘hold on’ to one another, speaking in their own special way through a glance. The big truck moved along the gravel path and onto the road, the big house she’d grown to love now becoming further and further in the distance. She crossed her arms, brow raised and plotted and schemed… it was time for action…

Phoenix paused as he looked at the duffle bag… the one he’d taken from Tiff’s home when he took her in his possession. He grabbed it up out of the guestroom closet and tossed many of her things inside of it. He’d been moving about so much, making countless calls and arrangements he hadn’t paused to breath or think. He couldn’t… he feared if he did he’d shoot something, or someone, up. Suddenly his phone rang.

“Yes Rick…”

“You’re going back to Chicago, aren’t you?”

“Do you want a pay raise?”

“Of course.”

“Then stay out of my goddamn business and do as I tell you.” At that, he was met with a sigh.

“Look Phoenix, I don’t consider you just my boss, you’re a friend. We’ve been working together a long time. I was with you when you were an agent, I have helped arrange your…trips. Come on, man. You’re going to lose everything if you don’t stop this! You’re obsessed with this woman! She is going to ruin you.”

“Then let me be destroyed… Rick, I appreciate your concern but who I go to bat for, which has even been you from time to time, and who I love and who I fuck are not your territory. This is about the principle at this point. She didn’t do it!”

“What about John, Phoenix! Your best friend? He was my friend, too! He’s dead on account of her and her cousin. She almost got you killed in Chicago and you’ve been neglecting your duties for the President because of her. She cannot beat these charges, Phoenix.”

“She can’t alone. That’s where I come in.”

“This is insane!”

“Let the President know I will meet with him as soon as possible with my updates. Cover for me. Call Mildred and tell her I need her to get over to the house ASAP. Tiffany’s attorney is Jane Patterson, I just hired her and she’s on it. I have to leave out of here in about an hour. I want you to call Tammy Duckworth and get me an appointment and I need to speak to Judge Frillton in the morning.”

“Tammy Duckworth? The Senator for Illinois? Oh, for fucks sake! Jesus, Phoenix. When is this going to end?”

“It will end when I get what I want…”

“And what’s that, Phoenix?” He zipped up the duffle bag and made his way to his bedroom.

“Her freedom, some liberty and justice for all and her wearing my ring and my last name.” He then disconnected the call…

Tiffany sat in the cold, dull room for hours. Agent after agent came and asked her the same questions over and over again, worded differently, as if to trip her up. Her story remained the same. She was relieved to see a tall, no nonsense blonde haired woman enter the room in a light gray power suit, her hair pulled back taut in a long, sleek ponytail and thin rimmed black glasses. She demanded they cease their questioning. Her name was Attorney Jane Patterson, and she was one of the best in the state of Illinois, in fact, according to Phoenix, the entire country. The woman sat beside her, an endearing smile on her face as she placed her suitcase onto the table. The agents tossed them both hateful glances before exiting the room.

“Hello Ms. McCall, I’m your lawyer.”

“I know,” Tiffany smiled. “Thank you.”

“Phoenix has given me the details of your case, and I’ve reviewed it. I have more questions, but we need to move fast. First and foremost, this won’t be easy. Secondly, your cousin, Gable Johnson, is in the process of making a deal with the prosecution and apparently, he states that he has evidence to back up his claims. I will review that. In an ideal situation, your cousin would of course recant, but we can’t live in a dream world.”

“Is it possible I can speak to him?” The woman looked at her quizzically.

“As your attorney, Ms. McCall, I am to give you sound advice regarding this case. I do not know enough about Mr. Johnson yet to say whether that’s a good idea or not.”

“Well,” Tiffany clasped her handcuffed hands. “I do know him, and if you’d like to sit right here while I speak to him, that’s fine. His mother just died, that’s why I was in Chicago. I’d like to reach out to him, all of this drama aside.” She smiled sweetly at the woman, laying it on thick. The woman sat there and stared at her for a moment, her lips curving in an all-knowing grin.

“Alright Ms. McCall, I will—”

“Please, call me Tiffany.”

“Tiffany, I will be right back.” The woman left the room, and returned several minutes later with a phone in tow. Tiffany glared at the thing, her heart pounding, eager to speak to dear ol’ Mr. Johnson.

“My mama just died, I’m locked up in this bitch and can’t attend my own mother’s funeral and you got the mothafuckin’ nerve to have me pulled up outta my cell and call me?! Bitch, I heard ’bout what you did, Tiffany. Fox is in the goddamn hospital in ICU, Purp is dead, Lock and Load ain’t gonna probably make it because of some urban cowboy shootin’ machine guns while wearing a goddamn business suit. Who tha fuck did you bring up in there wit’ you?” The man barked, not even giving her a chance to say hello. “Who’s the white boy, bitch?!”

“First and foremost Gable,” She said with a smile through the phone. “You just confirmed that you set me up. Thank you. Secondly, you and Cora figured I’d see that post on Facebook and you knew I loved Aunt Shirley, and would find a way to get there. I fell for it, baby, you got me.” She shrugged. “But what’s funny is I guess you thought I’d be stupid enough to go it alone. That ‘white boy’ is a grown ass man that you don’t want to tangle with, sweetie…and when you fuck with me, you fuck with him. And we don’t like being fucked with…”

“You’re out here walkin’ around free while I am up to do hard time! I found out you been up in D.C., chillin’. I could get a life sentence ’cause of yo’ bullshit! This was all your idea, Tiffany and you killed all them DEA Agents, I just wanted the dope.” Tiffany shook her head and burst out laughing.

“You’re so pathetic, you can’t even lie right. This is being recorded so you’re playing that little role. Well, Gable, looks like you got what you wanted…” She sighed. “but now, I consider you my enemy. So for you, it’s a wrap. You have stolen something from me I can never get back, just to save your own ass …there’s a price to pay for that, a big one.”

“We’ve been partners since forever. Don’t act like no damn victim, Tiffany. You’re ruthless, just like me… cut from the same cloth, own up to your shit.”

“Don’t get it twisted, I don’t mind paying for my crimes, Gable, but you will pay for your goddamn lies, one way or another. Ain’t nothin’ worse than a coward and a liar, you’re both, and you call yourself a man. Now your mama is dead and you’ve broken the family code. Aunt Shirley didn’t mind a pimp, a whore, a thief, a drug addict or a dope slinger, but she hated a liar… funny, she pulled me aside one night when she was drunk and said, ‘Leave my boy alone. He’s going to get you killed. Go do your own thing.’ She knew you well. I thought it was just the Hennessey talking, but that woman could practically predict the future. She knew her own son wasn’t shit. No loyalty, no honor… the GDs don’t give a fuck about you, either.”

“Say something else about my mama, Tiffany, and I’ll make sure you—”

“You won’t do shit! You think you’re going to take me down? Alright, cool… but we fall into the flames together then, dear dead cousin. Remember this, mothafucka, and remember it well… I’m better than you, smarter than you, and faster than you on my worst day, so if you think for one goddamn second that you’ve won and this is the end, you’re in for a rude awakening. Rise and shine, fam… it’s game day.” Tiffany disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Jane.

“Do you feel better now?” The woman asked sarcastically, causing Tiffany to chuckle.

“I most certainly do. Especially since I know everything I said was true…”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thomas rotated the glass of whiskey to and fro. Phoenix sat near him on a stool at the bar of the Peninsula Hotel.

And they stared one another down.

“You should be right there with her,” the man stated casually.

The ice clinked in Phoenix’s glass as he tipped it towards his mouth and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp. He set it down, remaining cool and collected. He shrugged. His room was ready, but he had important business to attend to.

“Phoenix, you know that you really get under my skin.” The man grimaced as he waved the bartender over. “You don’t follow procedure, you take too many risks, and you’re unpredictable. Well.” Thomas laughed lightly as he stroked his chin. “I take that back. It’s always predictable that you’re going to do something outrageous to get your desired outcome.”

“I’m not outrageous, Thomas.” Phoenix circled the rim of his empty glass with the tip of his finger. “I do what others want to do but can’t pull off. Look, I don’t have much time so if you’re going to apprehend me, make a citizen’s arrest if you will for disobeying your orders regarding coming to Chicago, let’s just do that so I can call my attorney, get out in twenty-four hours, and have my ass right back here where we started.”

Thomas burst out laughing and shook his head. “You’ve got some serious audacity, man. You make me laugh, Hale. But,” he said, tossing up his hands in resignation, “you’re damn good at what you do. I can’t take that away from you. I … uh … pulled some strings and said that business at the hospital was part of a takedown. That’ll require at least a week’s worth of paperwork to back up, postdated of course. You think you can handle that?”

Phoenix gave a toothy grin. “Yeah, I think I can handle that…” They sat quietly for a moment, their only company the sounds of the television and a few other hotel guests and patrons milling about in the posh, beautifully decorated place.

“Let me ask you something, and I hope you don’t mind me asking?” Thomas shifted his body on the bar stool, shooting him a look out the corner of his eye, his black brow raised.

“What is it?”

“For all of these long, grueling years that I’ve known you, tell me what is going on here?”

“What? Tiffany?”

“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, I saw her. I definitely see the appeal.” He licked his lower lip. “She’s a knockout. I can see the physical draw. But, you know her background. It’s a far cry from supercalifragilisticexpialidocious… Drug dealing, robberies, obstruction, the list goes on man. She’s devious, shrewd and, according to our research, she has violent tendencies. Are you trying die at her hands, or something else? Is the pussy really that good?”

Phoenix chuckled at the man’s words.

“Yeah, it’s that good … but Thomas, I don’t really expect you to understand.” They both drew serious. “She’s so much more than your little research could come up with. She’s an angel, but she’s got demons, too.” He shrugged, took out his wallet, and paid for his drink. “We all do though, don’t we? Wasn’t Satan once an archangel? People fall from grace. It doesn’t mean they have to stay that way…” He winked at the man and got to his feet, then tapped Thomas on the shoulder. “I’m going to get going. Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.” The man nodded with hooded eyes, his semi-intoxication showing more than ever.

Phoenix turned to walk away, then paused when Thomas called out to him.

“Hale!”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a classified report that just came out regarding a bullet that was just found at the crime scene… matches the ones in John Price’s autopsy report. You might find that information in a little white bin … you might not.” He smacked his lips and smirked as he downed the rest of his third drink. “But you haven’t heard shit from me…”

Tiffany waited nervously in her cell to receive news of her mystery visitor, who was due to arrive shortly. She’d be transported to Division 3 of the jail for her appointment with the stranger. She’d been in a daze, and the staff claimed to be oblivious to what was going on.

Jail smelled like old piss and stagnant water most days. The cot was thin, and she had a hard time getting her mind off things. She was kept in isolation due to the nature of the crime but that didn’t stop the rumors. Most days she remained in her cell, sleeping or reading to pass the time. Phoenix had given explicit instructions to not call him; he’d initiate all of the communication. She missed the hell out of him, and not hearing from him for days on end was killing her.

This time, however, she refused to push the issue or deviate from what he asked her to do. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Every time she exited her cell to make a phone call or speak to her lawyer, she had to go through the inmate populated areas. Two guards would walk her to her destination, but on the way, she could hear the women whispering, see them pointing and delighting in her misfortune. Regardless, no one had attempted to step to her; not one person had said a direct word to provoke her. A part of her itched to knock their fucking heads off, but another part of her wished to just be left alone, in peace and quiet. They weren’t making it easy.

One morning, she woke up to find a sanitary pad jammed in her cell, the words ‘Ur Dead Girl’ written in blood on it. While all this went on, Mama had called and told her all about Aunt Shirley’s funeral. It had taken everything within her to not fall apart. The event had been big and lavish, with all the bells and whistles, and the woman had been laid to rest in style.

She glanced up at the clock, making a mental note that in an hour she’d be seeing someone. Perhaps it was Dad? After the shit hit the fan, he’d refused to speak to her… No, maybe Cora?

She bet not bring her tired, funky ass down here… I will strangle her to death, finish what I started.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she dreamed and prayed and wished. Slowly closing her eyes, she rocked back and forth and disappeared within herself, daydreaming in a land of make believe.

I’m a Queen, with a King who’s a dragon. He found out my secret. I’m no beautiful lady after all. I’m a Black Butterfly, made out of the ashes of the dead, the deepest part of the ocean and the heat of demon breath. In my hand I hold a little white rose, but it looks red because it’s covered in blood. My blood. The queen is now exposed for what she truly is, with no jeweled fortress to block the view, no rich, opulent castle to call home. No, she stands naked before the hands of time. I will not run and hide, try to cover myself. I will stand here, once and for all, and show the world what I REALLY am….

“No, Rick.” Phoenix sat in the back of the taxi on his way to the Cook County Department of Corrections. “It’s not an actual white bin. The file is called ‘White Bin’. I need you to find it.”

“Oh … he was using code. Okay, got it.” The man started typing. Outside the cab window, the morning buzz of activity started on the streets. “When I locate the files, do you want me to email them to you?”

“No. Send it overnight on a thumb drive.”

“All right. Anything else, sir?”

“Yes. I’ve had two meetings this morning—one with the senator and one with two judges. I am not certain what, if anything, will become of those meetings, but I made it clear about the racial divide regarding punishment when it comes to drug convictions and murder offenses. One of the judges is also up for re-election.”

“Idris.”

“Correct. I put a little bug in their ear about Tiffany, too—wormed it in like it was secondary to my actual visit, but I need that murder weapon, Rick. They can’t sweep the river today—it’s too cold—but the evidence shows he had more than one. We’ve got to find out what happened to it.” River glanced down at his watch. “Call me when you find out anything.”

“Will do.” He disconnected the call. Looking out the window, he instinctively grinded his teeth and cracked his knuckles. People moved around the city, living their day-to-day lives. The cab paused at a red light and he took note of an interracial couple. The woman was Black, and the man, who held her hand, White. They had big smiles on their faces as they pushed a baby stroller along. His heart beat faster at that sight. Something so natural felt suddenly so rare, so out of reach. Here he was, envied by so many, enjoying a high-ranking position, an exciting life behind closed doors, and more money than he could ever spend, but he’d do almost anything to feel how that couple felt. To experience the freedom they had to simply be. He turned away and tried to relax, but his thoughts returned, refusing to turn him loose.

I want her to have a normal life, but I’m not a normal man, and she’s not a normal woman. I’ve done so much to protect my lifestyle; I’ve kept so many out. I love her so much, it’s tearing me apart. She’s strong though, and we’re even stronger together. I need a miracle. I need some gasoline to help me keep a firm grasp on this fiery hope. I’ve spent the last twenty years chasing drug dealers. But, all this time, love was chasing the dragon. And now … I’ve been caught…

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

She’d known he was there from the moment she was shackled and taken to her cell…

The men’s division of the jail housed guys who were in for everything from stealing a toothbrush from the local Walmart to bludgeoning their mother to death over not receiving the keys to the family car. It was a crap shoot as everyone awaited their arraignments. Gable was one of many, but his energy could be felt, no matter how far apart they were. It was clear he’d delighted in her capture, and was pissed that she was kept in seclusion, just like himself. Word on the street was that he’d requested to be in general population, but was denied. She laughed mirthlessly as she came to the understanding that the stupid bastard now felt safe—as if he could walk about the compound and no one would do him harm.

“Tiffany, your visitor is here.” She set aside the book she was reading, ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho, got up from her bed, and walked towards the guard. Extending her wrists, she let the short, squatty woman handcuff her and lead her to Division 3, as planned. As they neared the common area, she gasped, elation filling her like a goblet. Phoenix stood waiting in a long black coat over a crisp white shirt and black slacks. The smile on his face lit her fire as she made a mad dash to him.

“Phoenix!” She sat down in the chair opposite him, with the guard standing close by. “Oh my God, you’re here. I’m so happy to see you!” She reached for his hands, but he pulled them back and vehemently shook his head, throwing a side glance at the guard that was staring daggers into them. He gave a faint smile.

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” She lowered her head for a spell, hating that she couldn’t touch him, hug him, feel his kiss.

“I understand you and Jane are putting together a good case? Are you satisfied with her performance?”

“Yes. She seems to really know her stuff and is optimistic. Thank you for hiring her on my behalf.”

“Good. Baby, I have a short amount of time this morning so I want you to know what’s happened thus far. I’ve spoken to Gable and—”

“Gable?” Her heart started to race.

“Yes, just a friendly little visit…” He shot the guard a glance, then faced her again. Tiffany’s entire body warmed as she stared at the man before her. So many questions…

“I’m glad you came by. Phoenix, you know how I feel about my family.”

“You love them. You’re loyal.”

“Well, loyalty has an expiration date when someone has fucked you over, for the final damn time.” Her eyes narrowed on him as she leaned forward. “There’s something I need to tell you. Not until I was actually arrested and all that bullshit at the hospital did I want to take it to this level, but this mothafucka needs to get what he has comin’ to him and I am ready to put things in motion.” The guard’s walkie talkie buzzed, and she took several steps away to answer the call, allowing them unexpected privacy.

“What do you know?” he asked in a whisper.

“First of all, I am certain Gable gave my crackhead cousin the key to my damn house. He knew if he ever got caught, he was going to put this all on me. Cora has access to my home. That’s how it got ransacked after you took me away. That’s not what I actually had to tell you, but it ties into this story. Now, this may or may not help, but I have a feeling it is worth stating.”

“Any little you know could help so please, I’m all ears.” He leaned back in his chair, a serious look on his face.

“Okay. I’m an information hoarder, Phoenix. I keep everything, and I don’t place these ‘bits of data’,” she stated, putting her fingers up in quotes signs, “all in the same spot. For instance, in my store I have one of my favorite guitars. It’s black, with roses painted all over it, and it came from Spain. The instrument hangs from the ceiling, as a decoration. Inside of it is all of the gun receipts—weapons … artillery … everything.”

The man’s blue eyes flashed with obvious exhilaration. “Go on…”

“The gun Gable had that night, the one you told me couldn’t be found, well, he purchased it himself. I was the record keeper, and I kept all our receipts and an inventory of everything we had. I also have a video clip of him playing with that gun right after he got it, admiring it. It was a Sturm 9 millimeter, and it was unique in the sense that it had special markings on it. If it is ever discovered, I’ve never touched it. But it was his favorite and I’ve got evidence to prove it.”

“Son … of … uh … bitch!” He laughed heartily. “Oh yeah. This definitely helps and you’re right on time with that confession. I am going to pull the ballistic records. By the way, one of the bullets used on the scene was found and catalogued in another database. The FBI were in the process of doing a comparison. The results are not yet in, but it’s being expedited. Where can I find the video at?”

“Look in my iCloud. I’ll give you the password.” He fished out a pen and scrap of paper from his wallet, and slid it to her over the table. Tiffany jotted down the information, flipped the paper over and wrote something so fast, she was certain he couldn’t see it. She then returned the slip of paper to him. “Just put it away and read it later,” she mouthed, tossing him a seductive wink.

He leaned in close to her, as close as he could without a reprimand. “I miss you so damn much,” he whispered. Lust and love swirled in his eyes. And his lips … they were so perfect. “You’ve been doing good I hear … not letting people coax you into a fight. Thin-skinned no more. Keep it up.”

“I’m trying.” She shrugged. “I miss you too, Phoenix. It’s crazy in here, but I’ll be all right.” She blinked a couple times and pulled herself together, determined to be the soldier she knew she was. Standing from his chair, he pushed it in place. “Can you do me a favor, Phoenix?”

“What’s that?”

“Can you call my parents please and let ’em know I’m okay? I can only talk to them so many times. My mother is inconsolable. All she does is cry on the phone and I can barely get a word in. My father has all but disowned me. That’s just his way of dealin’ with me now because he’s hurt by all of this.” She swallowed hard, feeling all the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I’m also worried about their safety. I wouldn’t put anything past Gable. He knows at this point that all bets are off, and he’ll wanna hurt me any way he can.”

“I’ll take care of it, baby. I have to go now.”

“Thanks.” She stood from her seat. “Phoenix?”

“Yes?”

“Butterflies start off as thin skinned. See, they are larvae, then caterpillars. They eventually shed that thin covering and develop a chrysalis.”

“Chrysalis. Hard protection, like armor.” He grinned.

“I’ve shed my skin, Phoenix. My emotions got the best of me and I fucked up. Protected a man who used me, never gave a damn about me. Ran up in that hospital like it was going to be a cakewalk. Luckily, I had a die-hard man by my side who was prepared. I’m loyal to those who are loyal to me. Blood ain’t nothin’ but red blood cells and plasma. Real kinfolk sometimes ain’t nowhere near your family tree.”

“But the roots run deep.”

“Tell the truth, shame the Devil. But if you tell the truth about me, good, bad or indifferent … I’ll let a man live.” Her eyes narrowed as a deep, dark, nasty hatred burst from within her. “Tell a bunch of goddamn lies to try to ruin my life … everything I’ve worked my ass off for, and I’ll fuckin’ crush you…”

Was that admiration she saw in his eyes? And desire.

“I keep track of everything.” She tapped on her head. “I have a steel trap mind, and I leave a carefully guarded paper trail. I’m going to keep on remembering things, all sorts of things, baby, and then I’ll be telling attorney Jane, Tom, Dick and Harry, and telling you, too.” She winked. “So, you go ahead and get inside of that store, my house, my car. Turn them all over like soil, and look for the black butterflies and the blood red roses. There, you will find every bit of what you need. When I’m done with Gable, he’ll wish he’d jammed that gun in his own goddamn mouth and shot his ass to Kingdom Come.” She outstretched her arms for the guard who was approaching to put the handcuffs back on her. “Have a good day, baby. I owe someone retribution and Tiffany always pays back her debts…”

Phoenix decided to do her one better…

He called Mr. and Mrs. McCall and after a brief talk, they agreed to allow him to pay them a visit.

So there he sat now, inside Tiffany’s family home on Persimmon Court in Naperville. The affluent Oak Creek area had Midwestern charm. The curb appeal was spectacular, inviting and homey. The light brick structure boasted three floors, four bedrooms, three and a half baths, and vaulted ceilings. As he took note of small architectural details in the dining room, her parents joined him. Mrs. McCall set a cup of tea before him and the two took seats at the dining room table. He sat at one end of the table, and the father at the other. Tiffany’s mother sat to his left.

The older couple appeared as though drained of their resolve. The woman and Tiffany favored quite a bit, but he could see parts of her father in her, too.

He clasped his hands together.

“I want to first thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I wish we’d met under better circumstances.” Mrs. McCall nodded, sniffed and hugged herself. “I’m sympathetic to your feelings, and I just wanted to let both of you know that Tiffany’s attorney, I and many others are doing all we can to assist her.”

“Mr. Hale,” Mr. McCall said. “I know who you are. I’ve seen you on T.V. before. That’s what baffles me. I just don’t understand what the Director of DCP has to do with Tiffany. I mean…” He grimaced. “Why would someone in your position be involved in a situation like this?”

Phoenix took a deep breath and considered his words, opting for the direct route. “Because I’m in love with your daughter, Mr. McCall.” The man’s eyes grew big and his wife gasped. “Tiffany and I are in a relationship. How that happened is a very long story that I really don’t have time to get into right now, and I’d much rather she discussed it with you anyway. My reasons for being here are because she requested it, to let you know that she is fine and things are being done but also to tell you that she knows she messed up. She is asking for forgiveness from both of you and wants to earn your trust back. Additionally, I need you two to be careful.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. McCall questioned, his brows furrowed.

“I have arranged to have one of my men watch your house. You could be in danger.”

“Danger?” The mother threw up her hands. “What for? We have nothing to do with what Tiffany has wrapped herself up in! I just buried my sister.” Her voice trembled. “My nephew and my daughter could be doing life in prison! I can’t take this … I can’t take it!” Her husband got to his feet, rounded the table, and comforted her with a tight hug.

Phoenix took a taste of his tea, giving them a moment of privacy.

“I know, and I’m certain the pressure of everything is wearing on you. I do need you to understand though that this is a precautionary measure. Tiffany felt it was a good idea, and I’d have to agree with her.”

Her father nodded and returned to his seat. “You know, that’s our only baby…” he said, a sad smile on his face. “Tiffany was a real bright girl, so full of promise.” He pointed to a framed photo of her across the room, in which she couldn’t have been more than eight. Phoenix couldn’t help but smile. “She had a musical bug.” The man chuckled. “Loved classical music! Now, what little kid you know likes classical concerts?”

“Not many, I imagine.”

“She fell in love with jazz right after that. Miles Davis, Coltrane! Then she got into the DJ scene, and she liked hip hop and pop music. She loved it all. But when she’d hear a guitar solo, that was it for her. And she begged to take lessons, didn’t she, Winifred?” Her mother smiled and nodded.

“So, my wife got her into guitar classes because that’s what she said she wanted. When Tiffany set her mind to somethin’, she’d do it. We don’t accept any quitters around here. Once you start something, you finish it. She never turned back. Not once did she come home asking to stop, complaining it was too hard, or saying she changed her mind about it. She kept right on, determined. She made good grades, she was obedient, went to church and Sunday school regularly … but then, all of that changed.” He seemed to study the taupe tablecloth, or maybe just letting the memories suck him in.

Phoenix took a deep breath, wishing he could explain their confusion, but he knew that wasn’t his place to do so. It was up to Tiffany.

“I’m sorry you felt your daughter didn’t live up to her potential. She feels that way now as well. I will leave you my card.” Pulling a card out of his wallet, he handed it to Mrs. McCall and got to his feet. “Thank you for letting me stop by.”

“Thank you for coming.” They followed his lead and walked him to the front door. “How long is this going to go on?” Mrs. McCall asked, pointing out the door at the black car that pulled up right in front of their house.

“I’m not sure … but wherever you go, he follows.”

“It’s Gable, isn’t it?” Tiffany’s mother sneered, her eyes turning to dark slits. “He’s done this! That boy has never been any good! It’s all his fault Tiffany is in this mess!”

“At this point, Mrs. McCall, it could be a number of people who would wish to cause a problem. Tiffany has made her fair share of enemies, so this is just to err on the cautious side.” He turned and extended his hand, shaking each of theirs. “I’ll keep in touch. Have a good day.”

He started to leave but the older man stopped him. “Mr. Hale.”

“Yes?” Phoenix stopped and turned around.

“Tiffany really is not a bad person. I’m glad you could see that, despite everything she’s done. I don’t know how this happened. We loved ’er; still do. We’ve tried everything to get her to do right, and now she’s…” His eyes glimmered with tears. “That’s my baby girl!” He shook his head as the emotions poured. “I worked hard to make sure she had everything she needed and wanted, but it just was never enough.”

“Mr. McCall, I’m not a parent, but you can’t take the blame for everything your child does. Tiffany has taken accountability for her actions. She is remorseful. Regardless, sometimes these things happen and there isn’t much anyone could have done to prevent it.”

The man wiped the tears away. “I just wish I could’ve helped her and maybe we wouldn’t be where we are today. She had some sort of hole inside of ’er, and nothing would fill it up, cover it, make it right. It got to a point where she wouldn’t talk to us, and when she did, she was so fighting mad we didn’t understand where the rage was coming from. I just want to know how someone with such talent, such a sweet, caring, beautiful girl who went to the best schools and never wanted for nothing could turn out like this?! Tiffany was at the top of her class, Mr. Hale. She won spelling bees, had a diverse group of friends, was funny and outgoing. She is considered a musical savant. She has a photographic memory and was in advanced classes all throughout her scholastic years. What, tha hell happened to my baby?!”

Tears kept streaming down his face, and then, the man turned abruptly away and marched inside the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Thank you for coming…” Mrs. McCall stated quietly before following him inside, disappearing from view. Phoenix stared at the closed door for a moment, then went to his car which he’d parked in the driveway. He started the engine and backed up, waved to Leon who was on duty, and got on the road.

Photographic memory? She never told me that. That explains some things. How interesting…

Just then, his cellphone rang.

“Rick, yes?”

“They found the gun.”

“Yes! Goddamn it!” He hit the steering wheel with his fist. “Where? How?”

“It washed up on the bank and a fisherman found it and turned it in to the police. The river drag divers have obviously been notified and the search has been cancelled.”

“Now just to match the bullets that were found by the FBI—how long do they think it will take?”

“I was told three to four weeks.”

“Too long. A lot of bad shit can happen in a month. Tell Rodger we need those in one week max. Let him know that Kyle and Dimitri already have search warrants and that there are several gang related hits planned; therefore, we can’t afford to have this drawn out.”

“Okay, I’ll call him right away. Oh, you had a message. Gable Johnson’s attorney called and stated that you are prohibited from any future contact with his client.”

Phoenix smirked and laughed as he drove along.

“No need. His client is a dead man walking. I approached him like a man, told him what was at stake. He would hear nothing of it, but I could tell he was scared. Fear is dangerous, Rick. Fear makes people do stupid things.”

“You think he’s going to do something stupid behind bars? Seems like he’s unable to get to anyone.”

“Nah, the jail and prison system are just like little neighborhoods, Rick. You can do a lot of damage behind those bars. You’ve basically got different levels of criminals, bringing all their pain to one another, befriending one another, betraying one another, training one another, destroying one another. They deliver mail to one another, break bread with one another, kill one another. Someone not built for prison would be scared to death in there on a daily basis. And if you’re scared enough, you’ll do just about anything to get out. Hell.” He chuckled. “Fear can turn into a full-fledged phobia, like Lepidopterophobia.”

“Lepidopterophobia?”

“Yeah … the fear of pretty little butterflies…”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Swallowing the last of his pastrami sandwich, he wiped his hands on a napkin. While poring over a document, muted footsteps sounded outside his office door every so often. The White House was quieter today, with not as much coming and going as usual. Rick had left that afternoon and it was just Phoenix and his thoughts, particularly relating to some recently discovered information—like the piece of paper with Tiffany’s iCloud password written on one side, and the name, ‘Dehaven Marcel Simmons – I need his number’ scribbled on the other.

When he looked up the guy in the database, he found that he was a long-standing member of the Gangster Disciples. His crimes ranged from breaking and entering to attempted homicide and second-degree murder. The man had been recently paroled, and he held a high position in the ranks of the G.D.s, considered a dangerous man by all accounts. Phoenix glanced up at the time on his computer, then picked up his phone. After the third ring, his mother answered with pep in her step.

“Hi! I was just getting ready to send a search and rescue team out to find my son,” she joked. “Haven’t heard from you in over a week.”

“I know, things have been hectic. How are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I’m hanging in there. Some kid spray-painted the word ‘Poop’ in the middle of the street, and of course it was right in front of my house.” She cackled, an infectious laugh that caused him to do the same.

“What color is it?”

“Huh? Poop is brown. Well, unless you’ve had too much corn.”

“Mom…” The woman burst out laughing again.

“It was black paint. It’s not coming off, either. Little fucker … it was Fred’s grandkid. Anyway, what’s been going on with you?”

“I have a lot to tell you but it’s too much for one phone call. I don’t want to keep you too long.”

“You wouldn’t be. I am sitting here looking at a catalog of different ointments I can purchase for my feet, and examining checkbook designs of teddy bears and little ducks and lace table doilies. Why do they send this crap to people on AARP? This bathroom rug looks nice though. Anyway, I hardly think my time is extremely valuable right now so please, be my guest and waste it with a few dozen stories. I welcome it.”

“All right.” He smiled, so happy to hear her voice and delighted she was in such a good mood. “Well, that case I was working, regarding John—the killer has been apprehended and is in jail awaiting trial.”

“Good! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? I’ve been waiting for an update for months.”

“Because I couldn’t, Mom…”

“Because you were not supposed to be working that case, mmm hmmmm … What other secrets do you have?”

He sighed. Rocking his chair back, he closed his eyes for a spell and spilled his guts. Minutes later, he was held hostage to a tirade that only his mother could force him to endure.

“All right … so let me make sure I’ve got this all summed up correctly. Basically, my highly favored, smart, educated, intelligent, devastatingly handsome, funny and sarcastic son has been hiding a hot girlfriend, who hails from Chicago and used to sell cocaine and heroin with her gang-affiliated cousin. My son kidnapped this young lady and tortured her for work-related purposes, mind you, but not before she tried to slit his throat with a robe hook. He then took her home to Washington and put her away in his house, safe and sound. Sounds like a great match!”

“Mom—”

“Wait, I’m not finished with this light-hearted, fun-loving love story! It gets better. My son has had this wanted woman stored away in his house like some Barbie doll since the dawn of time. They’ve been jumping each other’s bones like rabbits and—”

“Uh…” He interrupted with a chuckle. “that part is not really something I’d like to get into with you and I wouldn’t say it was like rabbits. That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” He hated how his cheeks warmed. He’d never gotten used to his mother saying things like that.

“It’s not an exaggeration. I saw you on the news a few weeks ago and you had bags under your eyes but still sporting a huge smile. I know that smile. Your dad used to look the same way when it was all said and done.”

“Mom, please!” He chuckled.

“Now it all makes sense. Moving right along. So, this guy, my son, hatched a scheme to get her to Canada but the Feds kept running interference and then, lo and behold, her ex-drug smuggling and prostitution ring running aunt gets sick and she asks her head over heels, crazy in love boyfriend to take her back to the scene of the crime so she can say goodbye to her aunt before she passes away. They end up getting shot at by gang members who want her dead.”

“You make it all sound so beautiful,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, it’s quite lovely, isn’t it? I’m not even finished. It gets better! They make it back to D.C., only for the Feds to show up at my son’s doorstep. Phoenix Hale is threatened with obstruction charges, amongst other possible indictments. Luckily for my child, the head kahuna showed mercy on him and didn’t ring the alarm, but back in Chicago, my son’s lady love is in jail. Cue sad violin music … That hasn’t stopped him however from wondering what size ring she wears for their pending engagement. Good God, Phoenix! I thought I was the crazy one of the family. What the hell is going on over there?!”

At this, all he could do was laugh. Mom had relayed the tragic truth of the situation, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“What the hell is going on over here? Sounds like you pretty much have the gist of it.”

Silence stretched between them for a while. After a long exhale, she spoke up.

“So, even though you’re laughing, all jokes aside, I know you’re quite upset about this, Phoenix. I’m sorry … I wish there was something I could do.”

“I am upset. I can barely sleep, Mom. I love her, I really do. I’m working day and night trying to make sure she has a fighting chance. She’s a good match for me, despite how you made it sound, and believe it or not, I think you’d like her. You two have a lot in common. It’s one of the reasons why I called you, actually.”

“Well, I may never get to meet her from the sound of things. What similarities do you think she and I have?”

“Intelligent, strong, stubborn. Hard working, cunning, blunt. Multi-talented, affectionate, giving, reliable … just to name a few.”

“We sound wonderful.” She laughed lightly, though he could hear the concern in her tone.

“You want to know what happened—why she did what she did, right? There are many reasons, but one of them, the start of it all, was something else you have in common … something that haunted you for years.” Another long pause followed.

“And she never got help for it…”

“No. And after all this time, her parents, who she loves very much, have no clue about it, either. I had to talk to them about another matter and it really got to me that they were so broken up about the whys and hows. I couldn’t overstep my boundaries though.”

“You’re right; it’s not your place to tell them, son. But, right now actually may be a great time to discuss it with her because she’s got nothing but time on her hands. Maybe you could encourage her to write a letter to her parents, get all of her feelings out. I find that helpful sometimes.”

At this, Phoenix grinned wide. “That’s a good idea. She happens to journal a lot.”

“Encourage her to let this pain out. If she doesn’t, it’ll keep on eating her up inside, turn her into someone she’s not.”

“It already did…”

Butterflies go through a metamorphosis, but not all change is good…

“She can’t run from it. It’s the type of thing that keeps chasing and chasing you until you’re backed into a corner and break.” He nodded in agreement. “I hope she has something she enjoys doing now that her previous exploits are finished, because that’ll help, too.”

He was thankful for his mother’s words of wisdom at that moment. She’d cast her judgments aside for the greater good.

“Actually, she owns a music store. She is an excellent musician, too.”

“Really? What does she play?”

“The guitar.”

“Like you and your father … Well, it’s all making sense now.” She sighed. “She reminds you of the best parts of both of us, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah … she feels like home. And she’s where I want to be…”

Tiffany looked over in her cell trashcan multiple times, wondering if she should just discard the last copy she’d written and stop trying. After a ten-minute call with Phoenix, she’d decided to tackle the challenge he’d set before her. What did it have to do with her case or them as a couple? Nothing probably, but she couldn’t deny him. He’d driven out to meet her parents, talk to her father man-to-man, and helped with the first steps of her making amends. Taking with her a blank piece of paper, she slumped on her bed and gripped her pen, her arm shaking ever so lightly.

Mom and Dad,

I am writing you this letter because I don’t think I can say it to your face. I don’t know why … I guess I don’t want to make you cry any more, Mama. I know how you both feel about me, the trouble we’ve had over the years. I needed something that neither of you could give me, and that was not your fault. I needed confidence, I needed a strong belief in myself. I had that at one point in time, and then it was yanked from me. I don’t want to make this long and drawn out; you know that’s not my style. But, at the same time, I am procrastinating even in this letter because each second that passes without me telling you this is another second I think you’ll both still be at peace. Once I let you know all of the story, there’ll be no turning back. Sometimes to keep wondering is better than being told the truth, because if the truth is so horrible, it just ends up destroying the little bit of hope one has.

But, hope didn’t help me, so it doesn’t matter anymore. Mama and Dad, when I was twelve years old, Mr. Sam raped me. I had gone over to his house as I always did after school to play with his daughter, Jasmine. Jasmine wasn’t home but I didn’t know that. She’d gone to visit her grandmother with her mom and brother and sister. He told me I could wait, but I said I’d leave and just come back later. But, he decided that wasn’t what he wanted. I went to walk out and he grabbed me. He attacked me. I will spare you the details. When it was over, he told me not to tell anyone because he loved me, and his wife would be upset. I knew that was a bunch of crap. I was too old at that time to fall for that, but I just nodded and said nothing. I left then, and didn’t eat for three days. I told you, Mama, that my stomach was hurting.

I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. I started to hate myself. I asked myself, ‘Why me?’ Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. He did it more times, and it wasn’t always at his house. One time it happened at the school in the bathroom. Sometimes, he’d come up to the school and pick me and Jasmine up. I’m sure you remember. He’d bring us home and find a way to get Jasmine to run an errand or finagle some excuse for him and me to be alone. And then, he started giving me money and jewelry. The more it happened, the more helpless I felt, and the angrier and more detached from myself I became. I was changing, but I couldn’t stop it. I no longer cared about the things I used to care about, and that’s when Mama started complaining about my attitude. I am not saying that this situation alone led me to becoming a drug dealer, but I believe it had a hand in it. I just wanted to get away … pretend to be something else! I cannot apologize to you both enough for hating you for something you had nothing to do with. I believe in my heart now that you had no idea. I am the one who took Gable up on his offer to be his partner. I can’t blame anyone else for that poor decision but me. Now, three men died due to my lack of care of others. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m still to blame.

I didn’t value life at all because I didn’t value my own life, either. I was just floating through, trying to escape time and time again. Money was a coping mechanism, as all the beautiful, shiny things were, but I was already rich inside because I had parents who loved me. What a shame that I didn’t know it. I want to quote a line from my favorite song, “Black Butterfly” by Denise Williams:

‘You survived, now your moment has arrived. Now your dream had finally been born.’

My choices, good or bad, Mama and dad, were my way of surviving from the pain I had inside. I created a dream and chased it. It became my distraction. I was good at it. I was no one’s victim, and I would never allow myself to be done like that again. The mental, emotional, and psychological devastation from those events has never left me. I died the day Mr. Sam stole my innocence. Your daughter, as you knew her, no longer existed. But, he didn’t deserve that power. I handed it over to him. I let him kill my very soul by keeping my silence. Now, I want to live!

Things I never cared about or thought I wanted are in the forefront of my mind, Mama. Dad, I remember you and me going to Home Aroma and looking at all the pretty houses when I was a little girl. I want a nice house filled with nice things—that hasn’t changed—but this time, I want a husband in there with me, and maybe a couple of kids!

I never wanted to be a mother until recently. Or maybe I did, but didn’t think I deserved any so I pushed the thought out of my realm of possibilities. I stayed on birth control pills, as you knew mama, I have had an IUD for years to prevent that from happening. Children are a blessing and not everyone deserves to have some. Six months ago, thank goodness, I didn’t have any. I was incapable of letting down my guard enough to love openly and freely. I didn’t want to be seen, not the real me. And children need that openness, that all-encompassing, rich, vast love. Like the kind I had growing up.

Babies … so innocent, so beautiful. I want to cook dinner sometimes. I want to run a state of the art music store with a built-in studio and offer music lessons and organize live music events that feature local jazz artists. I want to help girls who are victims of sexual abuse to find their voices again! I want so many things—things that cost way more than anything money could buy. I want to help law enforcement with trying to understand people like me better. To figure out our mentality, not so they can lock us up and get another notch on their belt, but so they can show some compassion!

No one grows up and says, ‘I want my life to be in jeopardy every day.’ No one wants to have to look over their shoulder 24-7. I got addicted to the excitement, the adventures, the money, the things … while I need to get addicted to my well-being, to the possibilities, to my God-given talent to make money and run a business. I’m good at it and I’ve wasted many years working with someone else, doing all the work while he got all the shine, and he didn’t care about me in the least. I’ve got dreams and plans, Mama and Dad.

No more running my store from a distance and just taking the money. I want to be up close, fall in love with the instruments all over again. I want to play my Hendrix records and dance barefoot on the living room floor. I want to fall asleep on a field of grass with my music playing through my headphones in the park while the breeze blows through my kinky hair! I want to see Mama’s big, pretty smile when she gets her Tiffany back, or better yet, a new and improved version. And Dad, you worked hard. I used to say you worked too much and neglected the family, but that’s not true. Yes, it would’ve been nice if you’d been to more of my concerts and could have come home earlier for dinner sometimes, but when we were together, you were the best! You played Barbie dolls with me, and we had tea parties, too. You read to me, helped me with my homework, and told me I could be anything I wanted. It isn’t your fault.

No, it was me. I ran from everyone and everything. I flew away. Flight is a gift, but it’s not to be used to escape one’s problems. It’s to be used to explore, and get you to your next destination. I hope you can forgive me for not telling you any of this, but I just couldn’t at the time. I can barely write this letter, but you need it. It’s long overdue.

I love you.

Tiffany McCall

(Black Butterfly)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Charles Monroe – ‘School Boy’ – 6’0. Has a Bachelors in mathematics. An annoying laugh. Can’t shoot worth a shit. Fast on his feet. Smart. Is afraid of heights…

Kenneth Ferris – ‘Plenty money’ – 5’11. A fucking idiot. Lifts weights, muscular. Bad temper. *Don’t do business with him*. Stays near Congress Pkwy.

Dehaven M. Simmons – ‘Tech9’ – 6’4. Sometimes goes by his middle name, ‘Marcel.’ Second in command. The wrong man to fuck with. Intelligent. Manipulative. Serving 10-year sentence for 2nd degree.

Neal Mangold – ‘Little Brooklyn’ – 6’1. Sells meth only. Was a crack baby. Has a thing for White women. Laid back. Always on time.

Traci George – ‘Turbo’ – 5’9. Tattoo of melting skull on shoulder. Is a woman but can pass as a man due to low faded haircut and flat chest. Dresses masculine. Funny – good sense of humor, ruthless, blinks a lot.

And the list went on.

Page after page of Gangster Disciple member birth names, as well as aliases or nicknames, filled the pages, accompanied by interesting factoids. There had to be a method to Tiffany’s madness, for these bits of information must have allowed her to manipulate and twist many situations in her favor. Phoenix leafed through the book he’d obtained from her music store. The doors had been locked and chained since a few days after her disappearance, but everything inside appeared untouched. She’d paid the rent a year upfront and could return when and if she ever got to see the light of day again. But it looked as if she’d saved for a rainy day…

Tiffany’s P.O. box had just been the tip of the iceberg. The woman had a treasure trove of intel, the kind that made DEA agents and the FBI weep with joy when uncovered. This included lists of locations for hidden drug and money storage, logs of cars with faux license plates, and names and addresses of illegal chop shops. She’d memorized them all and listed them—Each. And. Every. One. Of. Them! When she got the chance, she’d meticulously record what she knew in these little books. She’d stated that the problem with the cell numbers was that they changed often, which was understandable, so she needed his help with obtaining one in particular.

As she’d said, he’d also found the receipts stashed in the beautiful body of the glossy black guitar with the red roses, stuffed inside a dark pouch, sorted by date. Records of each and every gun she and Gable had purchased, all bank receipts and transfers, you name it, were listed in there. This completed the puzzle.

Earlier in the day he’d gained access to her iCloud storage and cackled when he came upon not just one video, but several ones showing Gable having a damn good time at a party, waving his new gun around. From the look of it, the thing matched the one found by the fisherman. After giving Rick a call to update, he left for Tiffany’s house. Phoenix entered her home with caution, his gun raised and on alert. Just as Tiffany’s mother had informed her, the home was in shambles.

He opened the door, the damn thing barely hanging on, and stepped on broken glass. The beautiful place was now nothing more than a den of stench and darkness. Someone had torn the bed sheets, smeared food all over the place, ransacked the cabinets and furniture in every room, and shredded every last bit of her clothing. Fortunately, Tiffany had planned accordingly. The sneaky little woman trusted few, and what Phoenix discovered next proved this without a shadow of a doubt.

She said it was where no one would look. She whispered to me, ‘Bedroom Floor.’

Now in her bedroom, he looked around and sure enough, noticed the slight bump in the floorboard next to her destroyed bed. Pulling out a pocket knife, he dug the blade under the floorboard and lifted the plank. There, beneath it, sat a vintage orange and white Nike shoebox. He reached for the dusty thing and flipped the lid.

“Holy shit!”

Tiffany’s words, “I’m an information hoarder…” played over and over in his mind. The shoebox was filled with the names of police officers who’d played dirty—bought drugs, traded sex for letting some of the female or bisexual dealers off the hook, accepted bribes, and more. Tiffany had their full names listed, including their badge numbers, their district, their likes and dislikes, what they’d done, how much she and Gable had paid them to turn a blind eye, the works. An accusation was one thing, but Tiff had taken it a step further. Beneath the list was an assortment of old school cassette tapes and a player. In minutes, he was listening to the recordings of various male voices, presumably cops. Phoenix ran a hand over his face and shook his head in disbelief.

Jesus! She could take this whole damn city down. Placing the shoebox beneath his arm, he left the house and made his way back to his car. For a moment, he simply sat in the vehicle to witness the sunset, watched the darkness take hold. He glanced up at the modern home with walls made of glass and an open floor plan, once so beautiful but now all broken and torn to pieces. Tiffany loved that house, but she’d felt trapped in it, as she’d been by everything she possessed. How strange that the place was destroyed, as if to ensure, in some strange way, that she started fresh. The glass walls of her castle were down, so now she could either cower in the debris, or finally escape her self-built jail cell, in which she’d experienced only mock freedom.

Picking up his phone, he made a call. “Hello, Senator Duckworth. It’s Director Hale from the DCP. We met not too long ago regarding a review of police drug search and seizure procedures and I brought up a current case concerning a Ms. Tiffany McCall.”

“Good evening, Phoenix. Yes, I remember that. Are you still in town?”

“Yes, I am. I hope you don’t mind me calling your personal cell phone after office hours, but this is important.”

“No, not at all. That’s why I provided it. What can I do for you?”

“I have some information that I believe would interest you. I know it’s short notice, but I think we should meet up for dinner. This could take a while…”

Two months later…

It was a rare occurrence to meet a former drug dealer who’d never had a court appearance…

The fact Gable had kept Tiffany in the background for so long had a silver lining; it had protected her from the political and legal limelight. She sat on the witness stand, her hair pulled up in a taut bun and a pearl necklace around her neck. Matching small pearl earrings adorned her ears. Her conservative baby blue blazer over a satin blouse and straight legged pants with low heels made her look demure, or dare she say, motherly even. She slinked into the new role the same way she’d slid into that witness stand. Smooth.

Jane asked her a series of questions, as well as the prosecution, and the whole thing seemed to go on for an eternity. She’d understood this wouldn’t be easy.

The charges brought against her were serious, and her defense and the prosecution would go through everything with a fine-tooth comb. Day after day, week after week, the trial dragged on. How miraculous, though, that some of the charges against her had been mysteriously dropped. All Phoenix would say was, “It was an Iran war veteran duck that went quack on her way to the White House. Now everyone knows…”

The squeaky wheel—well, in this case, the squeaky floorboard—got the grease. The prosecution tried their damnedest to poke holes in the case, but with the mounting evidence Phoenix had provided to Jane from Tiffany’s store and house, such a feat proved virtually impossible. Gable sat with his attorney looking smug, but she could see through the bullshit. His goose was cooked, burnt to a crisp. And then … there was Gable’s flea-bitten fucker of an attorney.

Prosecutor Evanston approached her, set to destroy her once and for all. She was ready for him—all amped up and enjoying the game. Tiffany was accustomed to men like this, the ones with tiny penises, who thought too highly of themselves and overdosed on their careers because their inadequacies ran amuck.

“How would you know that the gun in the video just presented to the jury is the same gun that was used by my client?”

“I remember how it looked.” At this, the attorney feigned disbelief, rolling his eyes and grinning. He slapped the witness stand and glanced towards the jury, then back into her eyes.

“Your account of that night, the car, all of that.” He waved his hand. “The details of your deposition could just be your imagination. It was dark and raining. You couldn’t remember such details.”

“But I did.”

“Oh really?” He sneered. “Then why don’t you tell us everything you saw?”

“Sure.” Tiffany stated cheerfully. “The Bentley, the car I was driving, was going west. We parked three and a half miles away from Turner Point. On the left there was a line of trees, mainly oak that bent to the far left.”

“None of this is pertinent, Ms. McCall. I want you to get to the gun.”

“Your honor, I request that my client be allowed to answer the question in the manner that was asked. The prosecution asked that she describe the evening in question, and that is what she is doing.”

“Sustained,” the judge stated gruffly. “Ms. McCall, you may continue.”

“Thank you. On the right side, the trees bowed to the right, which meant that the area was accustomed to strong winds during rain storms. The road was covered in asphalt; however, where we were parked, the two wheels on the passenger’s side sat in the grass, which was soaked with rain, and caused mud to rise. At approximately 10:31 p.m., the silver SUV with the three DEA agents approached…” Tiffany continued, going more into detail to describe everything—from the way the rain fell to the sight of a squashed squirrel she’d noticed in the middle of the street.

“And he smelled of tobacco, his clothing that is, though he wasn’t a prolific smoker because there was no discoloration to his fingers and lips, nor did his breath smell of it. It was a cover, part of a disguise to blend in. He wore a camel colored Tom Ford jacket with a slight discoloration and bend right under the left breast bone. I noticed this because I realized that was where he had one of his weapons hidden. His brows were not similar; one was much straighter than the other giving him the look of a man who was always questioning someone…”

Photo after photo was pulled out of the victim’s SUV, the Bentley and the tires, and the victim’s clothing, to corroborate her testimony—even the Tom Ford jacket she’d perfectly described with the puckered area, the crease still visible below the blood splatter.

“The gun Gable used had several crisscross markings, which made it unique. Those markings are on the handle: seventeen on one side, fifteen on the other. It also has his name on it, proving that it was his.”

“I would like to present exhibit D, please.” Jane brought up a photo of the gun that was found and zoomed in on the crosshatching marks Tiffany spoke of. The gasps from the courtroom thrilled her, though she kept her gaze keenly on Gable, who sat there like some toad … getting under her fucking skin just by being and breathing in her presence. Up until that moment, he’d been feeling fairly confident no doubt, but once she started talking about the weapon, his face dropped.

“His name is not on the gun.” The prosecution smiled self-righteously, then zoomed up on the photos of the weapon.

“Yes, it is. You see that initial, ‘C.G.’? Those are his initials.”

“Ms. McCall, my client’s name is Gable Johnson. You’ve made a mistake. See? This photographic memory you supposedly have is flawed.”

“No, C.G. is his street name, just like mine is Butterfly. We used to call my cousin Clark Gable, like the old movie star. C.G. … Clark Gable.” The jury whispered amongst themselves, causing the judge to bring down the gavel. Tiffany memorized the attorney’s face at that moment … and it would be one of her fondest memories of all time.

The next two days turned out to be much quieter in the courtroom, though the prosecution made it their business to bring into the limelight Tiffany’s unscrupulous behavior, her depraved character, and lack of concern for the wellbeing of others. She couldn’t blame them; it was all they had to hang onto. She sat stoically during other testimonies, but the character witness from her mother ripped her heart out.

‘My daughter is an asset to society. She made a mistake, but she can help people. She’s a changed woman … something bad happened to her … she was raised right … please don’t lock her away…’

The prosecution and defense then rested their cases, and she waited for several days to find out her fate…

“We the jury find the defendant, Tiffany Angelica McCall, not guilty of the charge of first-degree murder, guilty of the charge of aggravated robbery, not guilty of second degree murder…” And so, it continued. Lowering her face into her hands, she sobbed, trembling with relief and remorse. Phoenix had already told her that the robbery charge would more than likely stick, but thanks to all the information provided, if that was the only charge she received, she would be released on parole once Jane got finished. Everything became a blur, but then her mind cleared when she heard her cousin’s sentencing soon after…

‘Life, with no possibility for parole…’

There was something to be said about that first high…

It was the king and queen of highs, the best of the best. Tiffany had heard about ‘chasing the dragon’ too many times to count in her line of business. Once the addict was hooked, they’d spend their entire check, sell their ass, steal and kill to try and get back to the euphoria of that first high—but it never came, and the addict, though enjoying his new highs, could never achieve that base level again because his body got used to the drug.

When you’re high on life though, you can always get higher. There is no plateau, only your own limitations…

Miracles were just that, unlimited potential, and as Tiffany walked out of that jail, she felt like a brand-new woman. She told Phoenix she’d meet up with him in an hour because she had some business to take care of. She had no home in Chicago to go to, but she had a new state of mind. Her parents had offered their home, but she refused, stating she’d be all right and just fine. Even after all the attorney fees and fines were paid, she had plenty of money, enough to take care of her next plan of action…

She got out of the cab on the corner of 53rd and Kimbark, on the southside of Chicago. This neighborhood was a haven for crime and violence, but in it resided a bit of hope, too. Bundling up to counter the brisk morning air, she tapped her foot, waiting for the bright red Ford Explorer to pull up. The street began to vibrate with the loud, thumping music bellowing from a nearby car.

At last, Dehaven rounded the corner, his big, black mass of a body in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t make out the passenger, but wasn’t surprised he’d brought a friend. He parked and took his time approaching her with his usual swagger, a toothpick dangling out of his mouth. His large, black bomber jacket strained to wrap over his muscles. After giving his cheek a good, hard scratch, he looked down at her, like she wasn’t shit. At that, she offered a smile. She stole a glance at the man still sitting in the passenger’s seat, then back at Dehaven.

“Tiffany, you said you had somethin’ for us. The only thing keeping me from wasting yo’ ass right here and right now is that I’m curious about what you might have to say … but after you say it, I still might pop yo’ ass. Now, what is it?”

“Before I get into that, you need to understand something, Dehaven. I know this may mean little to you, but you’re a rational man. First of all, yes, I set things up to rob those men you all were working with, which you now know were setting you up. I know it was stupid, but I figured I’d be doing you all a favor and also helping myself, too. Things obviously didn’t go as planned. Secondly—”

“Shut tha fuck up. You not gonna stand here and try to outtalk me, do that mindfuck shit you like to do, talkin’ like some mothafuckin’ attorney or motivational speaker ’nd shit. I’m not buyin’ it. I heard all about you in the courtroom. You fooled everybody, even that old ass white conservative judge. I know what you do, Tiffany. You slick with that tongue. That’s how you got out of prison time while ya boy still up in there doin’ a life bid. ’Cause of you, Purp is dead!”

“Hold on, mothafucka,” she said, sneering. “I went up in that goddamn hospital to see my mothafuckin’ aunt and Purp and the rest of your goons decided to have a GD family reunion at my expense! You can’t fault me for protecting myself. That’s code! I wasn’t there for you, or for nobody else. I was there for Shirley, period, point blank! Purp and the rest of them ain’t ever do shit to me up until that point, so what sense would it make for me to just start blasting? It just so happened that I had company… table for two, and they weren’t additional dinner guests.”

The man slid his hand in his pocket, staring daggers at her. She knew he was gripping a gun, but she’d see this through. She’d come this far; there was no turning back.

“I’m not your enemy, Dehaven. I want you to call your dogs off me.”

“I’m not doin’ shit. If you get sprayed, you get sprayed. You brought this shit on yourself.”

“Yes, I did bring it on myself but let me finish the rest of what I called you over here for. I wanted to get close to you all because I wanted to do business, not rat you out, not hurt you or have any of you up in prison. I considered the mother of your son, Tiny, my friend! The charges against your homies have been dropped now anyway thanks to Gable’s arrest—and speaking of Gable, let’s go ahead and get to that because that’s why we’re here.”

“What does he have to do with anything at this point?”

“Everything. Remember right before you went in to serve time, over $67,000.00 came up missing? You all never found it.”

“Yeah … you took that too, bitch?”

“No.” She smirked and shook her head. “Gable did. Now look, I am going to take something out of my purse, don’t shoot.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone. “I want you to listen to this…”

“Why are you so mad, Tiff? Damn! Them mothafuckas owe me! ’Member that deal I got for them with Abraham? They made a lick and only gave me a 5% cut.”

“I don’t give a shit. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you! If Marcel finds out you took that money, he is gonna kill you, no questions asked! He might think I had something to do with it, too. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve screwed up, big time!”

“Marcel in prison. He ain’t gonna do shit!”

“Why do you do dumb shit like this? Gimme that money! I’m taking it back to them!”

“You ain’t takin’ shit back. I run this shit, Tiff! You have forgotten yo’ damn role. You don’t outrank me. What? You suckin’ Marcel’s dick or something?”

“We don’t even need that money! And no, I’m not fuckin’ Marcel but you fucked him over, and if he finds out, it’s a wrap for you. Him being in prison has never stopped any body drops.”

‘You the only one who knows, so who’s gone tell him?”

She turned the player off. When she looked into Dehaven Marcel Simmon’s eyes, she could see the flames jumping.

“That mothafucka…” He grinned, but he was clearly far from amused.

“I taped the conversation just in case one day I’d be blamed for that, too. And he got life, Marcel. But he still gets to live. Seems unfair, don’t it? Now.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled up at him. “Here’s what I’m prepared to do. I am going to pay back my cousin’s debt to you, with interest.”

“And what do you want back?”

“Oh, baby,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t want anything back. Well, except for natural selection to take its course. You get it all … the money and payback. Seems like a good deal for you, don’t it? I have already been to the bank.” Pulling out a white envelope, she handed the man the money. “I trust you won’t spend it all in one place. Have a great day.”

With a wink at the man, she swiveled on her feet and walked away…

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“That’s one of the first things you have to do though.” As they walked the Vegas strip, he took a sip of his Coca Cola, practically flavorless after the ice cubes had melted. “Keno, Roulette, and Blackjack, just to name a few.” They held hands; he so enjoyed the feel of her smooth skin against his.

She seemed to overdose on the bright, flashing lights and the frenzied electric feel of Vegas nightlife. The whole scene was an old hat to him, but seeing it through someone’s fresh view was always titillating. The evening was warm but comfortable, a far cry from the temperature they’d experienced in Chicago and D.C. Her sheer oil slick colored baby doll dress flowed with each step, showcasing long legs he couldn’t wait to part wide open again. Tossing his cup into a nearby trashcan, he paused when they came upon the Chapel of Flowers, an elegant looking venue lacking Elvis and the excessive glitz and glam, but attention-grabbing all the same. Tiffany kept walking until her body swayed back towards him. Her eyes landed on him, at the chapel, then back on him. All he could do was smile.

“You wanna get married?” He grinned. The woman’s eyes widened and her lips parted but nothing came out. “Tiffany? Earth to Tiffany.”

“Let’s do this,” she finally managed.

He had to take a moment to temper his excitement before tugging her towards the entrance of the place. Her hold on him tightened as they entered the building.

“Hello!” A cheerful woman approached them. “How can I help you?”

“We want to get married,” Tiffany blurted.

He laughed. “Yeah, this wasn’t planned. I haven’t even actually, well, technically proposed and I assumed my girlfriend would want a big wedding but—”

“Sir, we can do whatever type of wedding you want. First though, you need your license, and then I can show you the chapels we have available. We have everything from simple and small, to larger and more sophisticated. The sky is the limit.” The host paused, her brow raised. “You look familiar. Where have I seen you?” She tapped her lower lip.

Tiffany snaked her arm around his and blinked. “He works with the President of the United States. He is the Director of the DCP,” she stated proudly.

The woman gasped. “So, you’re like, in the oval office ’nd stuff?” She giggled.

Phoenix shrugged. “Well, sometimes. So, uh, yeah—look, Tiffany, pick out whatever you want. We’ll take care of getting the license first thing in the morning. You’re open twenty-four hours, correct?”

“Yes, and you can plan your wedding right now with me and then return during the scheduled time.” The woman looked shifty-eyed, then leaned in to whisper, “We’re booked solid for the month right now, but we will squeeze you in. When did you want to do it?”

He looked down at Tiffany, and did some quick calculations in his mind. “Well, we need to fly her parents up, and some of her friends I suppose, too. I have some friends in Washington who will be beyond irritated if they aren’t invited so let’s do it for Wednesday evening. That gives us two days, and for timing, your latest availability.”

“Sounds like a great plan.” The woman took Tiffany’s hand and led her away. “We’ve got fresh roses. You can even rent your dress if you need to, you name it!” Tiffany looked over her shoulder at him, winked, and disappeared with the woman into a small room. Unable to get the grin off of his face, Phoenix slid his phone out of his pocket.

His mother answered the call. “These cookies are horrible,” she said, her voice muffled from a mouthful of food.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching your sugar intake?” He paced back and forth, his hand in his pocket.

“Yes … I watch myself swallow it. Look what time it is. You only call me this late when you’ve done something great or something stupid. Which is it?” She chuckled.

“Mom, I’m getting married.” He burst out laughing when the woman remained silent, then she started chewing once again. “We’re at the venue right now arranging it, but we’ve got to get a license first, you know, things like that. We’re going to invite everyone we love and care about and it’s being scheduled for Wednesday night. I know it’s late notice, but…”

“It’s not late notice. I knew this was coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me you were back in town with Tiffany today and going to the strip, my mind immediately went there. Not that I thought you’d planned this, but you know how it is over there … exciting, gives people ideas. You’re not a gambler, and I know you said she’s never been here but I just imagined this very scenario as a possibility.”

“All right, fair enough.”

“So, here is my question. Don’t I get to meet my future daughter-in-law before you make it official? I mean, it’s kinda rude even for you to run off and marry a lady without lettin’ me take a look at her first.” He heard another sound like her popping another cookie into her mouth.

“Yes, of course. I was going to bring her by anyway. Tomorrow, that is, because I figured you’ll be going to sleep soon so I’ll just—”

“No … bring her behind over here tonight. I’ll have the porch light on.”

He was then met with the dial tone. Shaking his head at his phone, he leaned up against the wall and waited for the love of his life to finish telling the woman all the things she wanted for her special day. In the distance, someone was playing the trumpet outside, accompanied by loud, boisterous laughter and passionate yelling. This was life, in full color, brought on by alcohol induced hysteria, fresh cocaine highs, high stake gambling losses, and falling in love for the second time around.

This time, he was playing for keeps…

It was two in the morning and her bare feet felt good against the kiss of the soft air from each sway of the porch swing. Phoenix was on the phone making airline arrangements for her girlfriends, who were more than happy to accept a free trip to Vegas. Her parents were already packing their bags. To her left sat a woman with a plain appearance, but possessing a wealth of love and devotion for her son. Something about Mrs. Hale screamed ‘kindness and nobility.’ The older lady looked straight ahead, one pink sponge curler on her head. In one hand, she gripped a cup of tea; in the other, a handful of fabric from her paisley printed brown and orange robe.

“You’re beautiful…”

“Thank you.” Tiffany smiled.

“I’m talking about in here.” The woman let go of her housecoat and thumped her chest where her heart beat underneath.

“Thank you even more…”

“Phoenix is the type of man who needs a wife.” The woman nodded, as if coming to that conclusion for the first time. “He didn’t know this, but I did. He needs that balance.” Her blue eyes were watery and sad, but full of promise, too. “His childhood wasn’t exactly perfect. I’m a crazy retired librarian and his father was a sweet drunk who played a cop in his spare time. We love our sons though and all three of them knew it. Nevertheless, I believe in telling the truth about these things. Being honest is important. You don’t have to stomp a man with the truth, you know, be rude about it, but I am what I am, a nut who happens to adore her sons, the living and the dead. I’m sure some days Phoenix would gladly trade me in for a ’57 Buick.” She chuckled, causing Tiffany to smile.

“I highly doubt that. He speaks with great respect about you and his dad.” She smiled sadly, set her tea cup down on the small table off to her left, and rocked a bit more vigorously on the swing.

“One day, when Phoenix was about seven, he told me he wanted to be a police officer like his father. I told him I thought he should think of somethin’ else. It was hard being married to a cop, Tiffany. You never knew if they were coming back home…” Silence webbed between them. “He insisted anyway, and that was pretty much his plan until he decided to go to law school a couple of years before he graduated from high school. He completed that, passed the bar exam and I thought my son was going to be a lawyer.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Nope. He took it in another direction and went after a position with the DEA. I think Phoenix needs the adrenaline rush.” The woman narrowed her gaze and stared out into nothingness.

“I understand that feeling all too well.” Tiffany crossed her legs and grimaced. “It’s like the world is just so big, you never want to stop exploring it.”

“The world is definitely big, but we all have more in common than we realize. It’s funny how humans divide each other—you know, by race, age, religion. That’s all a crock of crap if you ask me. Phoenix never limited himself. He eats danger and excitement for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not a happy time for a mom, but that’s who he was … my little daredevil. Falling from trees, flying across trampolines like a spider monkey…” They both chuckled at that. “I had more E.R. bills from that boy than you could imagine. But then, he started getting good.

“He could scale things without falling, run track like a streak of lightning. Amazing how he could push his body to do the unthinkable. He doesn’t feel alive without it—the excitement of life, that treacherous energy. My son has quite a reputation but he’s always wanted his share of normalcy, too. Unfortunately, he can’t really have that because he likes his women like he likes his life: thrilling.” The woman fixed her gaze on Tiffany. “Whenever he picked someone ‘normal’ to date, and I say this with no offense to you, it didn’t last.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s boring to him. Not only that, normal women don’t understand him. Run of the mill people can’t appreciate what he’s trying to do out here in this big, crazy world. But you…” She pointed her finger at her and laughed lazily. “You, my dear, regardless of what I or anyone else thinks, are exactly what the Director of the National Drug Control Policy ordered.”

“I’m going to be real with you, Ms. Hale. I understand why you feel the way you do about me. It’s fine. If I were a mother, I wouldn’t want me for my son, either.” She laughed at her own words. “Not with the way things have been. But I love him with all of my heart. And even though you may see me a certain way, maybe even beneath him, I appreciate you being nice about it and at least pretending to give me a chance.”

“Ms. McCall, you’re right.” The woman held her head high. “I have concerns, but my son has good judgment. He also learns from his mistakes, and rarely repeats them. He married a woman who was not a bad person; in fact, she had a stellar reputation. She was an attorney, very well regarded, but she wasn’t good for my son. She wanted to change him, reinvent him, to make him someone he’s not, and that, I find reprehensible.” Her voice trembled. “Phoenix is a difficult person, but he loves hard, in his own special way. He needs room to be himself, and you are the one to give him that. He loves you, so I’ll love you, too. That’s just all there is to it.” She patted her thighs. “We all make mistakes in life, some bigger than others. If the good Lord can give second chances, so can I.” Leaning over, the woman kissed Tiffany on the cheek.

Tiffany blinked back tears, refusing to make a scene.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hale. I promise I put my old life behind me. I don’t even want it anymore. I have other plans, and they are already in motion.”

The woman nodded. “As long as you keep your nose clean and you’re good to my boy, you’ll have nothing but my full support. And if you feel so inclined, I wouldn’t mind Phoenix giving me a grandchild, someone else I can spoil rotten.” Tiffany wrapped her arms around the lady. She felt so warm, so soft, and smelled like flowers and home-grown comfort.

Returning the embrace, Mrs. Hale whispered, “The past is in the past, honey, and we’ve all got one…”

The Glass Garden inside the Chapel of Flowers was all aglow. The previous morning, he and Tiffany had made haste to get their license and everything was set. Though they only invited forty-eight guests, it was plenty for him—just their close friends and family. He waited for her to come down the aisle while dressed in a black Brioni suit and blood red tie to match Tiffany’s color combination of a China red wedding gown with a black sash at the waist. Denise William’s, ‘Black Butterfly’ began to play, and his bride appeared, her wings spread in all their glory.

The caterpillar had turned into the most gorgeous creature.

With a headdress of black and red roses and a garnet jewel hanging on her forehead, she looked unique and show stopping. The outfit fit her perfectly. Five of her girlfriends, whom she had as bridesmaids, preceded her, all wearing short black dresses with red sashes. Tiffany’s mother grinned wide, as her father marched her down the aisle. Their joy filling the room—her mother sat up front patting her eyes dry. He glanced at his mom and sister-in-law, who sat shoulder to shoulder alongside Rick and many others. His brother was his best man, and right there at his side. The minister entered the room and stood before them.

They exchanged vows, and things went smoothly. A pair of photographers moved about, snapping shots here and there.

“With this ring, I thee wed…” He slid the gold and diamond wedding band down her finger until it came flush with the engagement ring he’d purchased for her just hours before. He always envisioned something a bit more organized, but Tiffany didn’t seem to mind; she loved that four carat radiant cut diamond ring. Tiffany slid an 18k white gold Channing diamond wedding band down his finger—a bit fancier than he would have ever wanted, but he knew how the woman was about jewelry, so he’d expected her to select nothing less than top quality on his behalf.

“You may now kiss your bride.” He crushed her lips in a kiss as cheers and confetti filled the chapel space. When she slid her tongue in his mouth, he drew her into a passionate ring of fire as their desire and love for one another merged. Finally, she slowly pulled away, leaving him lonely, and looked into his eyes.

“You have no idea what you signed up for.” He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her close. “I hope you’re ready for me.”

Running her fingers through his hair, she cocked her head to the side and said, “I’m not afraid of dragons. In fact, I fly right into their flames…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tiffany tilted her gray fedora hat with a touch of her gloved hand. Sitting inside Bavette’s Bar and Boeuf on Kenzie Street, one of her favorite stops in all of Chicago, she’d just enjoyed a mixed greens and apple salad with a pint. This had to be her own little farewell party to herself, for she was moving to D.C. She’d decided to maintain her music store from afar but to also open a new one on 800th Street in Washington, among art galleries, posh eateries, and the like.

Phoenix was knee deep in some covert assignment he’d barely whispered a word about, and she let him be. When the man disappeared from time to time, she knew the drill and accepted it as such—someone was getting iced. On a sigh, she looked about the place, then polished off the last of her beer.

She grabbed her small carry-on bag and headed out the door. As she stood outside the restaurant, she called an Uber to take her to the airport. It was time to go home.

As she stood there, people watching, feeling nostalgic, sad, and optimistic, her phone rang and drew her away from her thoughts. She glanced at the number, smiled, and answered.

“She got hold to some bad shit, they say,” came the gruff voice.

“Awww, what a pity,” She leaned against the building, one heeled black leather boot against the wall. “Send my regards.”

“Yeah … I’ll do that. You out this bitch, huh? Movin’ to D.C.?” Turbo asked.

“Yeah, this is my last hurrah. Had to take care of some loose ends. So, I snipped them. I prefer to leave my shit precise.”

“Snip and dip like a mothafuckin’ haircut. Peace.”

She disconnected the call. Soon, her ride appeared and she slid inside, taking note of the driver, a man who looked a bit like her father.

“I’m going to O’Hara.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I know.” The man smiled in the rear-view window, then pulled away from the curb. Resting her head against the back seat, she closed her eyes, imagining what Cora looked like at that moment…

Perhaps she was dazed confused, frightened, or maybe all of the above. She’d wished to let bygones be bygones, but the woman had overstepped her bounds, broken code, and she was a disgrace to the definition of honor and blood ties. After allowing strangers, drug addicts and all sorts of riffraff into her home to destroy it and turn it into a crack house, the woman had stolen her jewelry and pawned it for a nice bit of change. To add insult to injury, Cora had tried to destroy her in court with a ridiculous testimony, making up things when the truth would’ve sufficed. Tiffany had made a mental note to teach her cousin a lesson…

Had Cora not been a mother to two small children, she would’ve ordered her killed, and besides, she’d vowed to turn over a new leaf. She was getting into baking bread and watching soap operas with her mother-in-law, for God’s sake, and she still had to talk with a probation officer every week; she couldn’t afford to lose her temper, to ruin this new beginning on account of a loose-mouthed, greedy crackhead with the mental capacity of a dying cricket. So, she’d allowed nature to take its course. She’d cut off the money supply and now, the woman was going to another guy, not her usual dealer, trying to save an extra buck or two after she’d smoked all of her stolen money away with wild parties and extravagant purchases. She’d enjoyed enough of the fruits of other people’s labor.

Desperate, the woman had returned to the bottom of her crack-laden barrel. Tiffany’s plan was rather simple, actually—to let her get the subgrade, bullshit crack, the kind that made your insides sizzle and hurt you deep to your core. That stuff was only one step above pure baking soda—total trash. She’d left it in Cora’s mailbox, giftwrapped like it was Christmas morning. No name, just a big white dream and a glorious scheme. Just like clockwork, the woman had smoked it and ended up in the hospital with injuries to her lungs and chest, which may never heal. She was down for the count indefinitely…

Snapping her gloves and stretching her legs, Tiffany sighed and caught her reflection in the car window.

Look how pretty my smile is. Genuine and broad. I’m not from the hood, but the hood is in me. I’ve changed, but Tiffany ‘Black Butterfly’ is still my mothafuckin’ name. I now wear the last name Hale, and I wear that shit well. Gotta man who can eat my pussy right, fuck the shit out of my coochie all night, and get me out on bail…

She laughed silently, throwing her head back as she secretly delighted in it all.

Goodbye, Chicago. I’ll see you around…

It had been a long time coming but it was finally happening…

Phoenix shook Titus’ hand, to seal the deal on PNC, the Partnership for Narcotic Control, a special organization he founded to help ensure that DEA agents, the FBI, the CIA, and the government worked together in more effective and cohesive ways. When he walked out of his office to head home, he was elated, floating on cloud nine. For the first time in a long time, things were working out well and he was receiving the cooperation he desperately needed.

He checked the time and noted that he was running late for the special dinner date he’d planned for Tiffany. His wife was working hard, and he couldn’t have been prouder of her. She’d be opening her new music store in the next few months. She’d already interviewed a number of music teachers to teach classes, and the small stage area was almost completely renovated and ready for performances. Pulling up to the long driveway leading to his home, he put in the code to open the gates, and drove inside.

He checked the security cameras through his phone, pleased to see she hadn’t made it home just yet. The next few minutes passed in a blur as he ensured that his chef had left the things he wanted, the wine was chilled, and he looked presentable. After taking a hot shower, he’d slipped into black pajama pants, slippers, and a long smoking jacket. Running his hands through his mane, he checked for any wayward hairs, then splashed on some aftershave and cologne. Back in the kitchen, he lit some red candles and dimmed the lights. As he checked a few emails on his phone, he heard the familiar ring of the security alarm letting him know someone had entered the front door. Metallica and Zeppelin barked in the distance. They’d been placed in their own room for the evening. He looked up, wearing a smile, waiting for her to enter.

“Phoenix! I have great news!” she called out. “I found the perfect—” She paused in midsentence. He could hear her high heels clicking against the wooden floor, undoubtedly taking note of the red and black rose petals spread along the place. “Oh, my goodness…” Grinning, he placed his phone down on the kitchen counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and let her come in.

“What’s this all about?” Her smile couldn’t have been any wider. How beautiful she looked with her thick hair hanging down her back over a black mock turtle neck. Tight dark blue jeans and 4’ inch black heels completed the outfit.

“I felt like you needed a little downtime. We both do as we’ve been rather busy. We’re newlyweds, so we should be enjoying one another more.” He rose from his seat, took her hand, and led her into the dining room, delighting in her sudden gasp when they entered the space. Fresh roses sat in a vase on the table, adorning their individual place settings. Full glasses of red wine awaited them, and Duke Ellington played from an old jukebox he’d purchased from an antique shop.

“This is incredible … oh, my God,” She placed her hands over her mouth, covering her luscious lips. “This is … I can’t even find the right words!”

“Come on baby, have a seat.” Pulling out her chair, he poured her a glass of water to go along with her beef tenderloin in merlot sauce with shallots, as well as a thin cut of veal. He rounded the table and took a seat, then raised his glass in the air for a toast.

“To us … the Hales.”

“To us!” She took a sip, placed her napkin over her lap, and dug in. He spent more time staring at her, falling into pitfalls of lust, than eating the perfectly prepared meal. He couldn’t help himself. He was in deep with the woman, so madly in love that at times he felt as if caught in a dream. She was speaking of exciting things she’d discovered around the city, after filling him in on the latest bargain she’d run across for flooring and window treatments for her new shop. Tiffany was talking quite a bit, more so than usual, but he didn’t mind; her excitement was catching. When she’d just about finished her food, he sauntered over to the jukebox and turned it off, then picked up a guitar he’d placed in a corner. He sat with it on a chair beside her. Tiffany sat back and crossed her legs, a proud smile on her face.

He started to strum the thing, ensuring everything sounded as it should. And then, he began…

“Morning light, silken dream take flight

As the darkness gives way to the dawn

You’ve survived, now your moment has arrived

And your dream has finally been born

Black Butterfly, sail across the waters

Tell your sons and daughters what the struggle brings

Black Butterfly, set the skies on fire

Rise up even higher so the ageless winds of time can catch your wings…”

When he looked into her eyes, tears streamed down her silky skin, and she trembled. What an emotional, lovely mess. He kept on playing until the end of the song. After he was finished, he got to his feet and set the guitar against the corner again.

“I looked up the music for the song and memorized the lyrics. It definitely fits your personality. I love the song possibly almost as much as you now; it’s beautiful, just like you.”

“I don’t even know what to say. Phoenix, damn! I love you!” Jumping to her feet, she brought him close and pressed her lips hard against his. Raking her hands through his hair, she held on as he picked her up and placed her on an empty silver platter on the buffet table. He lowered her zipper, then worked her jeans down and off until they fell to the floor. Allowing his smoking jacket to fall open, he shoved his pajama pants down to his hips, exposing a raging hard on. She steadied herself, waiting with sweet lust in her eyes. Gripping her hips, he tugged her body towards him and shoved his face between her legs, lapping and sucking on her slick garden, making her coo in his grasp.

“Put the pussy on a platter…” he said between nibbles and kisses on her nature. “It’s so good, baby. That’s where it belongs.” He thrust his tongue in and out of her, while she rocked her hips against his mouth.

“Shit!” She came hard, shaking against him, pouring into his mouth like a fountain. “Give me that dick!” she said breathlessly, scratching at his body, intensity in her eyes. Wiggling off the platter until she was on her feet, she dropped to her knees and deep throated his cock, making his eyes roll back as she worked the length down her throat in a matter of seconds. “Your dick tastes so good … big, thick ass dick! I love it!” Grabbing the back of her head, he thrust in fast, short spurts inside her mouth.

“I want to dive headfirst in that pussy!” Removing himself from her mouth, he placed her back on the platter, gripped her waist, and entered her with a deep and hard thrust. The buffet table rocked; the glasses on it threatened to tumble off and break as he plunged into her deep, wet depths. They screamed each other’s names, both lost in sensations.

“Don’t stop!” She grinded her body against him, matching his rhythm. Shoving her shirt up, he plucked her left breast from the lacy bra cup and engulfed the nipple into his mouth. The taut, fleshy bud felt so smooth against the tip of his tongue. Delicate hands held his neck firmly as he explored the other breast. Glasses began to fall and crash to the floor, but he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop…

They stared at one another, drowned in each other. His breath hitched, and then they came together, their orgasms intertwined. Groans and whispers filled the space as they collapsed against one another, and a rush of warmth surrounded him when she wrapped her soft thighs protectively around his waist.

He kept on cumming, delivering his milky gift within her walls. His head pressed against her breasts, he struggled to catch his breath. He didn’t have the strength to pull away from her, didn’t want the juiciness of her love to cease touching him, making him throb. After a few silent moments, he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

“There’s dessert, too.” He smirked, then chuckled, though neither really gave a damn.

“We probably broke all the dishes it was supposed to be served on if they were inside of the buffet cabinet,” she teased.

“We can always eat it with our hands…” With a wink, he picked her up from the platter and carried her up the steps to their bedroom.

“Oh, you’re workin’ late tonight, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” He smiled. “This is definitely going to be an all-nighter…”

Tiffany had to admit it—her mother looked majestic standing in front of the White House in her white jacket and matching skirt. She was as giddy as she could be, able to tour freely due to her son-in-law giving them a special pass for security. He was behind closed doors for an important meeting. Dad couldn’t make it; he’d been battling a cold but urged Mama to come on out as planned. The woman looked pleased as punch to be able to see the green marble busts of President Lincoln and so much more, and she kept speaking about how beautiful the White House was, stating that the pictures she’d seen didn’t do it a bit of justice. She particularly loved the cherry blossom trees that surrounded the place.

The paintings of Ronald Regan, George Bush, and Bill Clinton hanging in gold frames reminded her of something Norman Rockwell would’ve created. Tiffany couldn’t help but relish her mama’s excitement. She’d felt the same way, too, during her first visit. They went from room to room, the White House library being one of her favorites. After the visit was complete, they made their way outside and headed down the steps. Mama paused, sighed, and took a breather, leaning against one of the columns.

“I didn’t know I was that damn tired.” She grinned. “We must’ve walked at least a couple of miles … worth every second.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, baby, your mother is just getting old is all.” She chuckled.

Tiffany wrapped her arm around her and helped her down the rest of the way. When they hit the sidewalk, she bobbed up and down with her arms in the air as if she were Rocky.

“It’s time to eat, woot woot!” Tiffany cackled, causing her mother to smirk and roll her eyes at her.

“Girl, you can eat anything you want and stay skinny as a rail. I, on the other hand, am trying to watch my figure, so don’t think you’re about to drag me to one of those soul food places you like, with the food cooked in all that lard and grease.”

Tiffany pulled back and looked at the woman in disbelief. “Oh, but Mama, you have to try Oohh’s and Aahh’s! That’s where I’m going to take you. They have the best, and I mean the best, fried fish in this world!” Her mother stepped back as if she’d suddenly smelled a skunk. “What? Fine then. You don’t have to get the fish. They’ve got—”

“No … no, that’s not it.” The woman’s nostrils flared. “I had a dream about fish and you just reminded me.”

Tiffany huffed and rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s hand as they walked to her parked car.

“Mama, I’ve had my IUD for five years now. You know I don’t mess around. Besides, I—”

“Isn’t the one you have supposed to stop working after five years? I asked you about this when you and I got into it a couple of years ago and I begged you to never get pregnant because of your lifestyle. You then told me you had that IUD in your uterus, but it is not a lifetime thing, you know.” The woman paused, her forehead wrinkled and a frown on her face. “When was the last time you’ve been to the doctor, girl?”

Tiffany recalled the one who’d come to the hotel to give her a physical and run tests after Phoenix had gotten finished making her life a living hell.

“It’s been a minute.”

They walked side by side, their shoes clicking against the concrete.

“I suggest you make an appointment.” They reached the car and got inside. Tiffany forced a smile, wishing to change the topic, but Mama refused to shake it loose. “Your face is rounder, too, and since you have the metabolism of a six-year-old child, it could only mean one thing: you’re pregnant.”

“Mama! No, I’m not.” She angrily switched the radio on, only to hear the song, “Always be my Baby” by Mariah Carey come through the speakers. At this, her mother slapped her knee and burst out laughing.

“If that’s not a sign from up above, I don’t know what is!”

Tiffany pulled away from the curb, frowning so hard, she was getting a headache.

“Mama, look. Like I said, I’m on birth control and Phoenix and I discussed this. We will probably try to have children in a year or two.”

“Well, what you all discussed and what is going on are not in sync. I suggest you pull into the drugstore on your way to this greasy spoon you are taking me to and pick yourself up a test, dear.”

Tiffany sighed and burst out laughing. “Fine, Mama. To prove you wrong, I’ll do just that. I can’t imagine why you believe in that silly superstition.”

“Call it silly all you want. It holds water.”

“Hope floats!” Tiffany said, poking fun at her mother.

“You better buy a boat then! You were never a good swimmer…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Phoenix sat at his desk in his home office, his eyes strained and weary from the light of the laptop. He rubbed them until they felt raw and burning. On a sigh, he leaned back into his seat and picked up his cellphone.

“Mr. Braxton, there’s a problem with the contract. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience.” He disconnected the call and shot a glance at his Remington 700 rifle that hung on the wall, then at his computer screen. Soon he’d dozed off and hadn’t even realized it until his phone buzzed, waking him and springing him into action. Without looking at the caller I.D., he answered and put it to his ear, feeling disoriented from his brief yet deep slumber.

“Hello?”

“I expected you to have already left.” Rick sighed. “Aren’t you leaving for a few days or did that change?”

“No.” Phoenix yawned. “I am. I take the jet in the morning. Just finishing up some work.”

“Okay, well, uh, I have some bad … well, not sure how you’d classify it, I suppose interesting news would work just as well.”

“All right, I’m listening. What is it?”

“I imagine at this late hour your wife is asleep, but… I’m calling to let you know that Gable Johnson was murdered by a fellow inmate tonight.”

Phoenix’s jaw tensed as he looked towards his halfway open office door. He could see little with the exception of part of the staircase.

“Mmmm, okay. What happened?” He logged into the prison data system to see if there were any updates regarding the matter, anything to gain a bit more clarity before he told Tiffany.

“He’d gotten into an argument with the guy, as far as my understanding goes, and the other inmate must’ve had a shank and stabbed him in the chest, multiple times.”

“Do you by chance have the name of the guy who murdered him?”

“Yeah, hold on a sec here.” He could hear the sound of Rick rustling through some papers. “I wrote it down … Here it is—his name is Kenneth Ferris. He was in for robbery.”

“That name sounds familiar. Anyway, okay, thank you for telling me. I’ll be certain to let Tiffany know.”

“All right, I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes, I will check in with you before 6:00 P.M. Goodnight, Rick.”

“Goodnight, Phoenix.”

Phoenix disconnected the call. Running his hand down his face, he rocked back and forth in his seat until he got the gumption to drag his tired body out of the chair. Making his way up the steps, he took slow paces. Partially out of being exhausted, the other half out of the uncertainty of how Tiffany would react to such news. He entered their master suite to find the woman lying sound asleep on her side, her back to him, wearing a silky hot pink negligée that hugged her in all the right places. In the darkness, with the exception of a mellow nightlight, he removed his clothes and placed them on a nearby chair before sliding into bed next to her in his boxer briefs. Nestling up to her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. Soft bare feet touched his ankles.

“Finally came to bed, baby,” she murmured, barely awake. He kissed the ridge of her ear, then buried his nose into her tresses and inhaled their sweet scent.

“Yeah, need to get some shut eye before I head out.” He was quiet for a while, deciding he’d wait to deliver the news when she was fully awake. But fate delivered a twist…

“Why are you so tense?”

“What?”

“Whenever something is bothering you and you lie next to me, your body is real tense. I can feel it.”

He laughed lightly, enjoying how she could read him. “Well, we can talk about it in the morning. Let’s get some badly needed shut eye. You have that meeting in front of the committee to form the girls’ survivors group tomorrow, and—”

“No.” She shifted out of his grip, turning to face him. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”

He hesitated and then, on a sigh, he sat up and switched on the nightstand light.

“Baby, Gable is dead. He and another inmate had some sort of altercation and the guy stabbed him. Some inmate named Kenneth Ferris.”

Tiffany’s big, doe-like eyes widened, then narrowed, as if she were playing his words on repeat in her mind.

“Hmmm, interesting.” She punched her pillow so hard, the bed rocked, then she turned and pressed her head back down on the thing. “You better get some rest. You have to get up early in the morning.”

He looked at the back of her head for the longest. Any trace of lethargy left him at that moment. “Tiffany, that’s all you have to say?” he asked dryly.

“He got what he deserved.” She flipped over and faced him, fire in her eyes. “If it weren’t for you talking to congressmen and senators and hiring me a lawyer that charges hundreds of dollars by the hour, and me keeping records of every fucking thing since I started grade school, I’d be looking at prison bars this very second and fightin’ for my life, every damn day! Most women aren’t like me … and most men aren’t like you.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “He messed with a bull and got the goddamn horns. Nothing more, nothin’ less.”

She flipped back over, and he said nothing for several minutes. But he sat there, thinking, knowing her like the back of his hand. Though she wouldn’t say it, he knew she had something to do with it … and though she wouldn’t say it, she hated that she had to do it…

On an exhale, he turned off the light. “What happened to ‘Revenge is mine, thus said the Lord?” he whispered. He grinned in the darkness as he looked up at the ceiling, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Matthew, seventh chapter, verse seven: Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Gable asked, sought, found and knocked. Karma answered. Good night, good riddance. Amen…”

…The next morning

Tiffany stared at the clock. It was 4:12 a.m. She’d tossed and turned all night. Phoenix was sound asleep, but he’d be up in less than half an hour. Getting to her feet, she shuffled to their master bathroom in white, fluffy slippers. Locking the door behind her, she opened her side of the bathroom cabinet and retrieved the First Response pregnancy test. After a long hesitation, she tore the thing open, pulled out the kit, and read the directions.

She’d had it in her possession since her mother’s visit the previous week, but had convinced herself it would be a waste of time. Now though, her period was late, something that rarely occurred. She leaned over the sink and took in her image in the mirror, tracing her collarbone with the tips of her fingers and dragging them down her skin. She looked into her eyes, took notice of her ears, her features … anything to distract her from completing the task.

Come on. Not taking it won’t change anything. Either you are, or you’re not.

On a sigh, she plopped on the toilet, cup in hand, and peed on the stick. Then, she placed her sample on the counter, waiting, her heart beating a mile a minute. Pacing back and forth, she thought about Gable and Kenneth. She hadn’t known that Kenneth was in prison, but wasn’t terribly surprised. She knew one thing though; their fight had been the real deal. Once she’d told Dehaven about what her dear ol’ cousin had done, she’d had no doubt it would be only a matter of time before one of the GDs got a hold of that ass…

She stared at the test from a distance, then drew closer. Real close. Tossing the stick, she washed her hands, rubbed some vanilla and brown sugar lotion from Victoria’s Secret into her palms, tucked her hair behind one ear, and headed back to bed. She fell asleep, and when she awoke, she caught her husband fully dressed in dark army fatigue, various guns on his body, and sliding on one of his black combat boots. Sitting up, she smiled, relishing the sunlight peeping through the window.

“Good morning, baby. I’ll be heading out in about fifteen minutes or so.”

“All right … be careful.”

“Of course.” He came around the bed, kneeled down, and gave her a kiss.

“Phoenix.”

“Yeah, baby?” He left her side and went to a duffle bag he had lying on the floor, placing various items inside.

“I really need you to be careful … like seriously. No unnecessary risks.”

“I am, baby. I always take precautions, don’t worry, all right?” He glanced over his shoulder at her, smiling.

“Good … because you’re going to be a daddy.”

The man froze in his stooped position. After a few moments, he stood to his full height and turned towards her.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Yes.” She hated but couldn’t deny the goofy smile on her face. Storming towards her, he grabbed her and kissed her all over, making her laugh. Holding her tight in his embrace, he ran his hands through her hair, his warm breath tickling her ear.

“Oh, man! That’s great, Tiffany … How, uh, long? How do you know?” He placed her back down.

“I literally just took a test. My period was late, and it’s never late. My mother told me she dreamt that I was. She is usually right.” She chuckled nervously. “I’ll make a doctor’s appointment. Honestly, because of everything that happened, Phoenix, I forgot that my IUD had expired. I was in jail when it did, so I didn’t think anything of it. I was too busy tryin’ to make sure I didn’t get life in prison.” She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “I can understand that.”

“So, obviously, I need to get the IUD removed as soon as possible. Don’t want it to pose any risks, like this being a tubal pregnancy, something like that. For the baby’s sake, that’s what needs to happen.”

He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Make sure you go today, okay?” She nodded. “I’ll be hard to reach at times, but if you call and I don’t answer, send me a text, okay? I’ll be looking out for it.”

“Okay,” she said with a smile.

Racing back to his bag, he finished packing. He started walking to the door, then paused. Running back towards her, he picked her up in his arms, and she burst out laughing. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m so damn happy right now.” He crushed her lips in a kiss, then let her go, waved goodbye and headed out the bedroom door.

Tiffany stood there, missing him already. The world felt a bit smaller right then, somewhat more intimate and personal. On a swallow, she picked up her phone and dialed.

“Hi, my name is Tiffany Hale and I’m leaving a message for Dr. Anderson. I uh … I just took a pregnancy test and it’s positive. I also have an IUD implanted in my uterus, so I need to come in as soon as possible … Um, I guess that’s it. Please call me and let me know what time I can get an appointment today. Thanks.”

“I need you over at post three.” Phoenix waved two fingers towards Pete. They surrounded the house and he stooped low, gripping his M1911 in both hands. Victor crawled ahead of him as instructed, while Jacob got on the bullhorn.

“Come out, with your hands up!”

“Jacob, I need you to get low,” he whispered. Phoenix moved on his belly, slithering until he’d gained a couple of feet. The house went black, the lights killed. Pete gave him the signal and he joined the two other DEA agents in the back. “Jacob!” he whispered loudly at the man. “Get down!”

As Jacob turned around, the front door of the house suddenly swung open and a guy emerged with an MP5, shooting at anything that moved.

“Fuck!” Phoenix rolled over to Jacob, the man’s shoulder bleeding, and dragged him behind the armored vehicle. “3, 6, 1!!!! Fire!” A loud ruckus ensued as he secured Jacob behind the car, checked the enemy fire, and got to his feet. Racing towards the house now aglow with the commotion, Phoenix took out his M16, burst inside, and began blasting.

“GET DOWN ON THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ GROUND!” He shot holes in the white walls, then at the targets, getting one in the leg and making him collapse.

“Fuuck you!” a man screamed as he came barreling out from the living room, his gun drawn. He raced towards Phoenix with lightning speed. On a dime, Phoenix turned towards the man and blasted, shooting him multiple times in the head, neck, and chest. Blood sprayed everywhere, the house becoming an instant blood bath. The man fell to his knees and crumpled to the floor, dead in a matter of seconds.

“CEASEFIRE!” Phoenix yelled to his men, spotting a closed bedroom door. Adrenaline pumping, two of his guys covered him as he approached. BAM! When he kicked the door open, a woman screamed. She lay on the fifthly bed, cradling a baby in her arms. Phoenix immediately held up his hand for everyone to slow down. He approached with caution, gun still raised. He’d seen scenes like this before—a person appearing innocent like this woman, and then she brandishes a gun or knife and all hell would break loose. She jumped when another gunshot went off in what sounded like the kitchen.

“Do you have any weapons on you?”

The woman shook her head.

“Put the baby down on the bed and stand up, slowly.”

She did as instructed. Pete raced in front of him and placed her in handcuffs. The house was soon surrounded with cops. Phoenix stood there, looking down at the baby. So small. He walked over to the bed, tucked his gun under his arm, and picked up the child, bringing the little girl to his chest. The baby began to cry, her blue eyes full of pain and confusion. She couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old. Smiling at the infant, he ran his hand softly over her head and kissed her rosy cheek.

“I’m so sorry you’ve landed in the middle of this, baby. It’s going to be all right…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

One year later…

The Hale house was never quiet.

Not with the two dogs she now called her fur babies, not with Phoenix and his work-related temper tantrums, not with Tiffany and her guitar playing, and definitely not with a three-month-old baby boy who cried for milk and cuddling every ten seconds.

But, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Tiffany picked up Phoenix Jr. out of his crib and paced about his room, the walls around her sporting navy blue and white stripes. They’d decorated the space in a nautical theme, peace and whimsy in unison.

The little one was rapidly gaining weight, nursing often, and was such a good baby. Mama and Dad had been to see him several times, and each time, they didn’t want to leave. Tiffany couldn’t say she much blamed them, for her son was the apple of everyone’s eye. Phoenix’s mother and brother had been over often, and she relished the sense of family and community, especially since she didn’t have many relatives left.

“Who’s the big chubby wubby? Who’s the big chubby wubby lubby bubby?” she cooed as she thrust him in the air. His plump little caramel arms were full of soft rolls, his face round and cherub-like, and his head covered in loose, dark brown curls—the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Of course, she admitted her bias. Baby Phoenix smiled down at her, delighted, as she played with him. She still couldn’t get out of her mind how lucky she’d been.

She could have miscarried when the doctor removed the IUD once her pregnancy was confirmed during the first office visit. That risk had to be taken, but she’d cried so much about it, wanting that baby more than ever. The real possibility that all would be lost before it was gained had hung heavily over her head. Everything had turned out fine in the end, and though she had to be monitored, Phoenix Jr. had thrived during the pregnancy and she was the happiest she’d ever been.

The Washington music store, which she’d named ‘Butterflies and Dragons’, was flourishing with local artists who performed there on Saturday nights, the sale of second hand instruments, and classes for the youth to learn how to play guitar, drums, and piano. One more year of probation and she could move forward with a few other ventures, such as getting her liquor license so she could attract an even larger crowd, and plans for expansion. Phoenix entered the baby’s room, his button-down shirt open and falling loose over his work slacks. He made a beeline towards his son. Handing him over, she let the guys bond a little. The man cradled him in the football position and smiled so big, it seemed his face would split at any moment.

“You’re a good father,” she said, a bit choked up with the thought of how affectionate and attentive Phoenix had been.

“You’re a great mother.” He winked at her as he rocked the baby slowly in his arms. “I gotta leave tonight.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. This is what she’d signed up for; she knew who this man was, and she accepted it—bumps, bruises, and all. He got close and planted a kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be back in time for his checkup.”

“You just make sure you do good on our bet that you lost.” She smirked.

“What bet?” he asked sheepishly.

“Don’t play with me, boy. You lost our basketball game. If I won, then you had to get a butterfly tattoo. If I lost, then I had to get a dragon tattoo.”

“I’m not getting a fu—” He paused and looked down at the baby. “I’m not getting a freaking butterfly tattoo, Tiffany.”

“You can get it somewhere inconspicuous, like your ass.” She chuckled so hard, she nearly choked. When she glanced at him through eyes that had glossed over, he wasn’t laughing. This amused her even more.

“Okay, what about a moth?”

“No.”

“An eagle?”

“No way. You’d actually like that.”

“How about a bat? Bats and butterflies kinda look alike!”

“You tried it, didn’t you?” She laughed, taking the baby from his arms, then making her way to the rocking chair. “You are supposed to get a black butterfly. I expect you to be a man of your word.” She threw him a mischievous look.

He rolled his eyes, kissed the baby on the top of his head, and tucked his shirt in his pants.

“Mom is coming over for dinner.”

“Great. I can give her that new cookbook I picked up for her.” He turned to walk out of the baby’s room, then paused. Resting his hand against the doorframe, he looked over his shoulder at her.

“I love you so damn much, Tiffany. I should say that more often. You’re the love of my life, my whole world. You gave my life new meaning. You gave me unconditional love and you let me be the man that I am… You … gave me a son.” His voice shook. “You keep me going.” Not waiting for a response, he made a mad dash out the door.

She sat there, holding Phoenix Jr., her eyes watering. After a while, she batted the emotion away, tossed on a big, happy smile, and looked at their baby, seeing so much of his father in him already.

“When you grow up, you’re going to make a difference in this world, aren’t you, baby? You might even change it completely around. You come from a long line of hustlers, way-makers, goal-diggers, go-getters, honey. We keep receipts!” She cackled as she began to rock about in the chair. Her smile slowly dissipated as she stared out into their vast backyard. In the distance, she spotted a butterfly land on a cherry tree branch.

I miss you, Aunt Shirley … but I know you’re with me, watching over me. You helped this butterfly find her wings. I flew away and landed on the back of a dragon, and he engulfed me in his flames. It didn’t kill me; it made me stronger, and I came out brand new.

CHASING THE DRAGON

Give me that white powder that turns to gold sand

Give me those flames, so I can do a hellish dance

Give me that fierceness, so I can survive

Give me that dragon milk, so I can thrive

I don’t fit into your box and I never will

I can breathe life and I can inhale a kill

Cocaine, heroin, meth and crack

There’s not a high that I can’t supply or lack

Give me that crown made of black roses

Give me that death, snorted up noses

Give me that machine gun, government sanctioned

Give me that blood pact, for the nation

I am still standing, rinse and repeat

A hellish little butterfly that keeps receipts

I’m still cutting through bullshit with a knife

But now I’m a businesswoman, mommy and wife

Give me that challenge, to run this race

Give me that second chance, to plan my escape

Give me that new start, to hold and embrace

Give me that dragon, so I can give chase…

-Written by Tiana Laveen on behalf of Phoenix and Tiffany.

‘All Hale’ to the Dragon King and Butterfly Queen

~THE END~

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Image No. 14About the AuthorImage No. 15

Tiana Laveen was born in Cincinnati, Ohio though her soul resides in New York. She lives inside her mind, but her heart is occupied with her family and twisted imagination. She enjoys a fulfilling and enriching life that includes writing books, public speaking, drawing, painting, listening to music, cooking, and spending time with loved ones.

Tiana Laveen is a uniquely creative and innovative author whose fiction novels are geared towards those who not only want to temporarily escape from the daily routines of life, but also became pleasantly caught up in the well-developed journeys of her unique characters. Tiana creates a painting with words as she guides her reader into the lives of each and every main character. Her dedication to detail and staying true to her characters is evident in each novel that she writes.

If you wish to communicate with Tiana Laveen, please contact her on Facebook.

www.tianalaveen.com