Page 8 of Faded Rhythm

Sable

I lean back in the leather armchair, fingers picking at the hem of my dress. I don’t wanna talk about any of this, but King seems to think it might help. It always makes me uneasy when the past bumps up against my present.

“Have you ever heard of Big Ray?” I ask.

He nods like the question was ridiculous. “I’m a hip hop fan, baby girl. Of course I know of Big Ray Lovelace. Your father.”

I nod.

“You’re hip hop royalty,” he adds.

I lift a shoulder. “A lotta good it did me.” I take a deep breath. “Have you heard of Dime?”

“Brett’s daddy? Only recently when I did a deep dive on him.”

“Well, he and my dad started Black Lace Records back in ‘96. Right after Outkast accepted their Source award and Andre said—“

“The South got something to say,” King finishes, grinning like he’s proud to know that quote. “That was a cultural reset, right there.”

I smile despite the circumstances. “Yes. That speech propelled them into action. Southern artists were sick of being overlooked. It was perfect timing.”

My eyes flicker over to the framed photo in front of me. Brett and Dime. My husband and my father-in-law.

“They were visionaries,” I continued. “Even though they didn’t always see eye to eye.”

A beat of silence passes. My eyes blur a little as I stare at the light pouring through the blinds, lost in the hum of a memory.

Bass rattling. Men talking and laughing.

The lingering aroma of weed smoke, incense, and fast food that seemed to cling to the walls at Black Lace Studios.

I see the flashing red light over the booth, hear the poetry lacing a track.

My sister Ebony and I used to run around playing tag up and down the narrow hallways while Daddy handled business behind closed doors.

Sometimes we’d fall asleep on the old couches while legendary voices made platinum records right beside us.

“Sable,” King says softly, snapping me out of my fog. “When did you meet Brett?”

I roll my eyes. “He was always around,” I say. “Parties. Album releases. Cookouts at our family’s house in Decatur or his family’s house in Buckhead. Our people were thick as thieves back then.”

I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Brett was eleven years older than me. I think I was just an annoying little kid to him. He never looked twice at me. Not until after my dad died. I had just turned seventeen.”

King leans back slowly, his face twisted into a frown. “I’m sorry. How did your dad…”

“They said it was a car accident,” I mumble. “But…”

“But what?”

I shake my head quickly. “It’s nothing. Just…I don’t know. I always felt like something wasn’t right. Maybe the timing. The circumstances. Dime handled everything for us because my mother was too traumatized. I don’t know. Something just never sat right with me.”

He watches me carefully, but he doesn’t press. “So Brett started noticing you?”

I nod. “It started out with him comforting me. Taking care of me. Helping with paperwork, finances, the estate. But looking back? I know it was grooming. I was just too young to see it for what it was.

King’s jaw flexes.

“We started messing around,” I admit. “But it was always so hard to reconcile the protective, big brother role and…whatever he saw me as. His lover? His conquest? I don’t know. He had my mind all twisted.”

King is silent. Disgust flickers in the expression on his face, but he schools it quickly.

“We got married in Italy,” I say. “At a villa in Vernazza. It was beautiful,” I say, almost to myself. “It felt like love.”

“What changed?” he asks, his voice low.

“My cousin Dash got killed,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Gang-related.”

“He was banging?”

“I guess. I never saw anything but…with record labels, everybody is on something strange or criminal. Anyway,” I say, my voice cracking, “Dash dying made me…unravel.”

I’m crying now, unable to control it. King walks over to me and swipes a thumb across my cheek. It’s a little too intimate and familiar, but also exactly what I need right now. I close my eyes and resist the urge to grab onto his wrist. And hold on.

“You’ve had a lot of loss in your life,” he murmurs as he stares down at me. “We have that in common.”

I watch him walk away and retake his seat. Everything in me wants to ask him to elaborate, but I don’t. He told me he doesn’t talk about his life. And it’s not my business anyway. Details of his life won’t keep me alive.

I clear my throat. “You talk about royalty, it was really was like a black version of a royal wedding. Or maybe a rap version. Politicians. Rappers. Athletes. Brett told me we’d be a power couple. I’d be the new queen of the empire when Dime handed it over. But he never did.”

“Do you think Brett loved you?”

I think about that. “I think…I think he married me to keep me close. And to join our families. Tighten control. Things between Dime and my dad started to shift before he died. The partnership wasn’t as solid anymore.”

“So you were supposed to be the glue.”

I nod again.

“Well, I’m sure that isn’t the only reason he married you. Look at you. Beautiful. Smart. Sweet.”

My eyes snap to his, locking in. He looks embarrassed, like his words surprised even him.

I glance away, cheeks hot. “Thanks,” I say. My voice is small, but the flutter in my belly is large and won’t be ignored.

I can’t remember the last time Brett complimented me. I can’t remember the last time he looked at me with anything other than boredom or contempt.

It feels good to be seen. Even if the man seeing me is a hitman sent to murder me.

I chuckle dryly at the absurdity.

“What?” King asks.

“Nothing. This is just…a lot. Still doesn’t feel real.” I check the clock. “Is this helping at all? Any of it?”

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Not yet. But it gives me something to go on. For now, we need to formulate a plan.”

“For…?”

“Faking your death. It has to be believable so I can get you out of here clean. Buy us some time to figure out what the hell he’s really up to.”

The room feels warmer all of a sudden. Sweat beads across my forehead. It’s like the walls are closing in on me. But King is steady. Present and ready to act. And beneath all the danger and mystery around him is something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

Our eyes lock again, and heat simmers just beneath the surface. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met under different circumstances. If he wasn’t a killer and I wasn’t a target.

And even thought I know I shouldn’t, I want to ask him what else he sees when he looks at me.

Instead, I say, “I have to check on the girls.”

And I do, but I also needed space. From him.

Because I think I’m starting to want him.