Page 8

by Avril Ashton

“Maybe you wanted to know if it was really you I’m hard for, Is?” Reggie’s eyes glinted with a danger Is had all intention to heeding. “Maybe you had to see proof of my loss of control. To know that you made me lose my shit.”

Is shook his head. Shook it hard, because no. They shouldn’t talk about it. Why was Reggie choosing now to do it at all? “No,” he croaked.

“No?” Reggie’s tone was openly mocking. “No to which part, Is?” His hand remained on Is’ face and when Is inhaled he smelled it, the distinct bite of cum.

Reggie’s cum. Is hissed. “All of it. No to all of it.”

Reggie nodded once, gaze narrowed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” His hand dropped away. Is wanted to pick it up and put it right back there, on his jaw. “I’m done, Is. With this,” he waved a hand. “With you. With the bullshit. I’m done.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Panic hardened Is’ voice, turned it into a growl.

Reggie shook his head. “If you don’t know then I don’t have the fucking patience to spell it out. I’m ready to get out of here, to forget these past few days ever happened.” He turned away.

“Reggie.”

His friend spun back around to get in Is’ space. “Do you know how you sound when you say my name?” He tilted his chin, a challenge on his face, in his stance. “Do you know I can hear it in your voice, Is? Everything you won’t say, everything you won’t promise, it rings out loud and clear when you say my name.” He looked away then back to Is. “Stop it,” he said softly. “Stop saying my name.”

Is flinched. It was a body blow that stole his breath and he had to search for his voice in order to say, “I can’t.”

Reggie closed his eyes. “Then we’re fucked, Is. Because I don’t want you to stop, either.”

Is took a step forward and Reggie’s eyes flew open, defeat stark.

“We should start heading out.” Reggie retreated as Is frowned.

“It’s still early.”

Reggie chuckled. Dry. Brittle. “No.” He shook his head. “It’s late, Is. Too fucking late.” And Is knew he wasn’t talking about them leaving the cabin.

An hour later they were on their way back to NYC. Neither man had spoken a word to each other since the cabin. Is had nothing to say, at least nothing he suspected Reggie wanted to hear.

Chapter Eight

“You’re home.”

Reggie swore silently as he stood in the open doorway. “Yes, Mom. I’m home.” He stepped aside so she could enter his apartment then closed the door before facing his mother.

Pauline Turner barely reached up to Reggie’s shoulder. She was a short woman, but plump, soft in all the right places as far as Reggie was concerned. She’d been that way ever since he could remember, and he still recalled laying his head on her chest when she hugged him close. But he was a kid then. She smiled at him and her hazel eyes glowed. Her mixed parentage showed on her café au lait skin. Her father had been Caucasian, a banker on vacation in Guyana when he fell in love with Reggie’s grandmother, a native of the South American country.

“Come here, boy.” His mother waved him to her and Reggie went. He tried to obey his mother as much as possible. Didn’t always happen, but at least he tried. She opened her arms and he went to her, hugging her close as she placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Ugh. Mom.” He rolled his eyes, and she pulled away to glare at him.

“You is my son, you know. I can do this whenever I want.” She was loud. It always amazed him how such a loud voice could come from such a tiny person. Her nails, long and red, thanks to Ms. Lee at the nail place, pinched his cheek when she grabbed his face. “You look tired.”

He snorted. “I was trying to sleep when you woke me.” He gestured to his attire or lack thereof. “I’m not dressed for company.” His red boxer-briefs and white socks certainly weren’t meant for mixed company.

His mother waved his words away. “Boy, I done see all dat already, you know.” She looked around the place. “When was the last time you opened your windows, Reggie?” She released him to go fussing with the curtains. “It’s musty in here.”

He groaned and resisted the urge to scratch himself. “Mom, I’ll deal with that later. I need to sleep. I’m tired.”

“If you’d get yourself a nine-to-five instead of running the blasted streets like you been doing, you wouldn’t be this tired.” She didn’t look at him as she tied up his black curtains and cracked the window blinds, allowing sunlight to filter in.

Reggie wanted to throw his hands up and hiss, vampire-style.

“Junior said you hung up the phone on him.” His mother faced him, a scowl on her face, the million and one gold bangles on her wrists clinking when she gestured. “He’s your father, Reggie. When will you show him the respect he deserves?”

Ah, God. Obviously this visit wasn’t going to end anytime soon. He walked over to her and took her hands in his then led her to the couch. They sat and he held her gaze. “Mom, I love Pop. You know that.”

She cut her eyes at him. “But you don’t respect him.” When he didn’t respond right away, she asked, “When will you stop seeing him through the eyes of a teenager? I’ve forgiven him, why can’t you?”

Reggie blew out a breath. “You can’t tell me when or how to forgive him. You forgave him for what he did to you and that’s nice. But you can’t forgive him for what he did to me, that’s mine to do, and right now…I can’t.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because it still hurts.” He closed his eyes. “Mom, it still hurts. He didn’t just leave you and break your heart. He left me,” he tapped his chest. “He broke my heart.” Fuck, this talking about feelings thing was draining as hell.

His mother patted his knee. “Then give him a chance to fix it. How can he fix what he broke if you don’t give him that chance?”

Logically, he knew she was right. Reggie shrugged. “I’ll try.” He was making no promises, though.

“Good.” She touched his cheek then got to her feet. “Start on Sunday.”

“What’s Sunday?”

“We’re having a gala at the church.” A calculating glint appeared in her eyes. Reggie braced. “Lots of single women will be there. Afterward, I’m making dinner.”

Reggie groaned. “You do realize I’m a known criminal, right? I don’t think your fellow churchgoers are going to want to pair with me.” And he wasn’t interested in them. “And don’t try to butter me up with food.”

“You underestimate my fellow churchgoers.” His mother smiled and bent, kissing his forehead. “Pick me up at ten-thirty.” She let herself out and Reggie laid his head back on the couch with a curse.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t deal with this now. He rubbed the area between his eyes. Things between he and Is hadn’t improved when they got back. Is had been picked up at the airport in Lower Manhattan by one of his lieutenants and Reggie had refused the half-hearted offer of a ride. Instead he’d taken the subway, using the time to try to clear his thoughts. Didn’t work.

It was fucked-up, because even now he wanted to grab his cell and call up Is, complain to him about his mother trying to hook him with the women at her church. They’d laugh and Is would invite him to hang with him and his crew, smoke, play dominoes.

Such a short time they’d known each other, but they’d built something solid. That bond was now in jeopardy. All because he couldn’t control himself. He’d been shocked as hell to feel Is’ hands on him, massaging his aching neck. The touch had left him immobile and then it’d been too good to say no, so he’d melted into it as his body vibrated and his brain short-circuited. It’d been too late by then, his body rebelled and he had to get release.

Of course, Is chose that moment to walk in.

Reggie closed his eyes. That shit, it kept playing over and over in his mind. The sound of his name on Is’ lips and he’d shot off so hard, almost falling to his knees at the strength of the orgasm. And Is had seen it all. Em
barrassment and horror had blended with the arousal lancing through Reggie and he’d lashed out, putting Is on the spot, on the defense. So here they were, which was nowhere.

His phone went off and he raced to get it in his bedroom. He snatched it up and blew out a breath when he saw the caller.

Kezia.

* * * *

“For the most part, everything has been real quiet.”

Is sat in the backroom of the dry cleaning spot, a plate of oxtails and rice and peas in front of him as he listened to a status report. Four men stood in the room, all his lieutenants. He could say all men he trusted, but he’d learned a long time ago, but he’d made sure they all had a healthy fear of him. He wasn’t up to having to look over his shoulder for anyone wanting to move in on his position, or having to count and recount their monies when they brought it in.

“Keep the status quo.” He sucked on a piece of bone then spat it back onto the plate and licked his lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

“What about the businesses we lost in the fire?” Cutty asked.

Is regarded the dark-skinned man with locks down to his ass. “We lost that. We move on.” He waved at the room. “We’ll use this plus the other places I told you about.” He’d learned a long time ago not to put all his eggs in one basket. He had a lot of business in Queens, for sure. The fucking Russian had hit most of them, but not all. However, he had even more in Brooklyn, some in Staten Island, and two in Jersey. He didn’t count what he had in Atlanta and Florida.

Diversify. The name of the game. He hadn’t lost much money in the battle with the Russians. The buildings were gone yeah, but money still flowed. People still wanted their weed, their coke, and their guns. He’d branched out into prescription pills and heroin a few years ago, the drugs of choice for the “white middle and upper class” nowadays. Already they were proving to be his best customers, though society would have everyone believe the drug users were poor blacks. Is laughed at that whenever he heard it. Poor blacks couldn’t afford his shit. He was big with the stay-at-home moms with minivans and soccer schedules.

Things should be right on track, though. With X keeping Dima Zhirkov well fucked, Is had nothing to worry about when it came to the competition. Of course the NYPD was another matter entirely. Always sniffing around. Which reminded him…

“Everyone can leave.” He sipped his coconut water. “Cutty, you stay.”

Cutty froze midstride and the other men shot him curious glances, but knew enough to keep it moving. When they left, Is waved at a chair and Cutty sat. Confusion was written all over the older man’s face. Is didn’t blame him. He didn’t do anything wrong, but still…

Before he could speak, Cutty did. “How is your mother? She doing better in that place over in the city?”

“Jacqueline is Jacqueline, you know that. She’s a survivor.” Cutty and Is’ parents knew each other way back when. They all lived in the same neighborhood once upon a time. Is remembered Cutty doing his hustle even then, so when time came for him to branch out and do his he’d brought the older man in on it. Every now and then, Cutty would ask after his mother’s well being, but the last thing Is wanted was to talk about the woman who raised him.

He didn’t even want to think about her.

“With everything that’s been going around here, I let some things slide to the back burner.” He sat back, hands clasped atop his full belly. “Tell me what’s going on with your son.”

Cutty’s eyes widened as he finally understood why he was singled out. “Jamal? Man, that bwoy ah run mi mad.” Cutty rubbed a hand over his face. ‘’Im nah listen.”

Is nodded. He didn’t understand the father-son dynamic, having never had that experience, but he knew about not wanting to be told what to do. Kids rebelled. Cutty’s son was grown, in his mid-twenties, but he was still a child not wanting to listen to his father. “Wah dis? Ah de third time ’im ge’ pick up?” Cutty’s son was flitting in and out of lock up. Is couldn’t have that.

Cutty nodded.

“Me nah go tell uno ’ow fi raise up uno pickney.” He dropped the dialect to make sure Cutty got his point when he said, “He’s a threat.”

Cutty reared back. “Nah, man. ’im nah know nutten.”

Is shook his head. “He knows enough. Your son is not a fucking idiot. He knows who you work for. He’s seen us together enough times to connect the dots. And one of these days he’s gonna get jammed up and those fuckers will flip him.”

Cutty’s face twisted, fear shifting to anger. “Nah, man. Ah me pickney dat. Yuh cyah—”

“I don’t want to, but I will,” Is told him. “Easily. I don’t play that family bullshit when it comes to my business, Cutty. Sit your boy down. He’s old enough. Make sure he knows just what the consequences are. We won’t ever have this discussion again.” It was a dismissal that Cutty heeded.

The other man got up and walked toward the door. “Mi will ’andle it, boss.”

“Good.” Is picked up his phone and flipped through it as the door closed behind Cutty. He lingered over Reggie’s number, but couldn’t make himself call him. His friend would probably call him an ass for threatening Cutty’s son. Reggie would probably offer up another solution, but Is couldn’t talk to him right now. Even if he missed his friend.

He swiped a hand over his mouth and called Tek instead.

“Is, what’s up?”

“Checking in.” Is rose from behind the desk and dumped his empty food carton into the nearby trashcan. “How’s it looking?”

“Calm,” Tek said. “Think I’ll head out tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” Is swigged the now-warm coconut water. “How’s Quinn, you taking care of him?”

Tek barked a laugh. “Didn’t know I was supposed to. He’s taking care of me, more like.” His voice dropped. “He’s…quiet. And different.”

Is frowned. “What do you mean, different how?”

“Dunno.” He heard the shrug in Tek’s voice. “Just, I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I know how you stay, son. No putting fingers anywhere.”

“Thought never crossed my mind.”

“Uh-huh.” Bullshit. “He’s off limits.”

“Noted.” If Tek was offended or disappointed, his voice didn’t give him away. “No activity from our local pals,” he switched topics. “There was a quick news piece about the missing member of Vega’s crew suspected in the robbery and murder of a local businessman, but nothing else. Streets are saying Vega dealt with it in-house.”

“Let’s hope they run with that talk.” Is rubbed the top of his head. “Hurry get your ass back here, your moms is giving me the evil eye.” He grinned as Ms. Ng came into the back with a frown on her face and a large knife in her hand. “I think she’s thinking up some very creative ways to kill me.”

Tek snorted. “You know damn well she’d never hurt your delicate ass.”

“Is that Tek?” Ms. Ng walked up to him. “Tell him I say he come home now.” She didn’t like that Tek worked for him, but Tek was right, she liked Is. In her own special way.

“Your moms says hurry up, son. Your fiancé is missing you.” He chuckled when Tek cursed.

“Shit.”

His mother was doing her best to get Tek married off, stuck fast in her denials, while the guy dodged her efforts like a ninja.

“Later, man. Tell Quinn we’ll talk later.”

“Aight.” Tek hung up, and Is faced his mother with a grin.

“He’s on his way.”

She squinted at him. “Why you send him into danger?” Her brown eyes bored into Is. “He a good boy.”

Actually, Tek was one of the grittiest fuckers Is had ever met, but of course he didn’t tell the woman that. Why bust her delusional bubble? “Sorry,” he mumbled as she continued to stare at him. He always felt chastised when she looked at him like that.

Mrs. Ng’s expression softened and she patted Is’ chest. “You a good boy, too.” She turned and walked away, leaving him sta
ring after her with a lump in his throat.

His friends’ mothers have always been there with a tender word and warm hug. The woman who gave birth to him? Not so much. She’d been no kind of mother, but everyday he strived to be a good son. Taking care of all her needs. She would likely never be able to fully get or understand it, but he did it anyway. It was what good sons did. And all these years later, he was still striving to be what she wanted.

The perfect son.

He’d tried to be perfect when Social Services took him from Jacqueline Jermaine and placed him with her friend. No one in his family had stepped up, so the Storms took him in. The wife had been his mother’s friend and coworker. Young Israel had tried to be the good boy his mother had always insisted he be, but that was hard to do swimming in nightmares of screams and blood. He’d been different, an outsider.

He’d been “that kid.” A label he ran from as soon as he’d gotten the opportunity. Of course that need to escape had led him to take risks, and eventually landed him in Riker’s Island for eighteen months on a gun charge. That had been the original sentence anyway. But he’d gotten caught in a web, he, Tek and Elias Kote. Strangers, until suddenly they weren’t. They’d bargained for their lives in there. Tek for protection, Is for answers to where he came from, and Elias…

The Scot had made out the worst, in Is’ opinion anyway. Elias wouldn’t see it that way. He had what he’d bargained for, but the price was steep. Tek and Elias were still on the hook, but Is’ debt came due right there in that prison. He’d taken his first life and gotten sent to solitary. Would have been a life sentence if his cousin the lawyer hadn’t fought for him and had the charges thrown out on a technicality. The reason Is owed X way more than he’d ever be able to repay.

X had sat opposite Is in the visiting room at Riker’s and asked Is what he wanted. He’d wanted power, wanted to be the boss, wanted to obliterate the raw and vulnerable side of himself that had emerged inside those prison walls. That had been where X confessed how he got the money to afford law school and everything else in his life. He’d been hustling from way back. Right there they’d conceived the crazy idea of The Rude Boys. Xavier had gotten him out of that hell and sent him to school to get a degree in finance. Then they’d set their sights on the streets of Queens, taking out each gang leader one by one.