Page 8

Chapter eight

It was time.

The air smelled like rain. It had always been a comforting smell for me, reminding me of sitting on my grandparents’ porch down in south Georgia. My grandaddy would take deep breaths and remind me to always respect nature, because, just like a woman, she does whatever the hell she wants.

We were about to go against nature again, but it had to be done. We’d agreed, given our word, and accepted our half upfront. Sorry to the natural order of things, but old Harlan Whitman was about to have a most unnatural exit from this life.

I pulled my gloves tighter, flexing my fingers inside the leather. Night stretched all around us, filled with the sounds of horns honking, shoes clicking against pavement, conversations spilling out of windows and doors. The city was alive, and we were three ghosts moving through it.

It should have been four.

The Optima loomed in front of us, a cylindrical glass fortress on the outskirts of the city.

Cruz was ahead of me moving carefully, his steps calculated.

Titan was on my right, scanning the area around us.

And I watched for the black Tahoe, ready to get this shit over with so I could get back home to Santari.

We didn’t speak much. We hadn't since Rev died.

When he was alive, we bantered a lot before a job, roasting each other, shooting the shit, clowning, enjoying the calm before the storm.

It was like a ritual for us. First job after we lost him, the banter felt so hollow, we stopped doing it altogether.

Tonight, everything we had to say had already been said .

Headlights appeared, passing over our faces as the Tahoe rounded the circular driveway and pulled up to the valet. The three of us exchanged looks—it was go time.

The two security guards exited first, their suits perfectly tailored, their movements rehearsed. Professionals, for sure. They surveyed the area, scanning for threats, finally agreeing with a nod that the client was safe.

He stepped out.

We waited a few moments, watching as the guards flanked him and ushered him inside. Then, we moved.

My suit jacket fell into place as I stood from my crouched position and stepped onto the sidewalk. Cruz and Titan followed a few paces behind me, blending into a sea of hotel guests.

The inside of the hotel was ostentatious, full of marble and gold and chandeliers coating the ceiling. The air was perfumed with money and lust. It all looked and felt like Miami.

But we weren’t here to admire the ambience .

The target and his men were already at the elevators. We hung back, seeing no need to rush.

Timing is everything.

Titan broke off and headed toward the concierge desk. His job was to cut the feed to the penthouse suites. Cruz and I made our way toward the opposite bank of the elevators, watching quietly as the numbers ticked upward.

Penthouse.

Three drunk women staggered by, sloppy as hell but in good spirits.

We took the next elevator, riding in silence. My fingers tapped idly against my thigh, my body coiled tight in anticipation. This was it.

I stuck a hand in my pocket, finding lacy fabric. I massaged it with my fingers, hoping Santari's panties brought me some good luck tonight. I also hoped she didn't check her hamper anytime soon, because I hadn't left her with many options.

The doors slid open to an empty hallway. Dim light. Plush carpet. High art. I flexed my fingers. Rolled my shoulders. Looked left and right .

“Let’s go,” Cruz mumbled.

We moved down the hall, approaching the penthouse quietly. My gun, outfitted with a silencer, hung heavily at my side.

Titan joined us just as the two security guards stepped out into the hallway. By the time they got a chance to react, we were already blitzing them.

Cruz got to them first, quick and brutal, ending the first man’s life with the sharp steel of his knife. Throat slice. Clean. Blood sprayed the walls as the body crumpled.

The second guard reached for his weapon, but sadly for him, he was a touch too slow.

I grabbed him by the lapels, slamming him against the wall. His head hit with a sickening crack, but he still had the wherewithal to make a feeble attempt at fighting back. His fist connected with my ribs, knocking the wind out of me for a moment.

Titan moved before I could react, his blade finding a home between the man’s ribs. I heard a gurgling sound, then silence, before Titan shot me a look, probably wondering how the fuck I let that fool land a punch when I had the upper hand .

I sucked in a breath as we stepped over the bodies. Cruz wiped his blade on the dead man’s suit, then nodded toward the door.

I pulled the keycard from my pocket…we’d lifted it earlier. A dizzying case of deja vu washed over me, but I didn't have time to parse the memory. One swipe, then the lock clicked.

Inside, Whitman lounged in a high-backed leather chair, crystal tumbler in hand. His silver hair was neatly combed, his suit jacket draped over the armrest. Just an old man having a drink after work before retiring to bed.

When we stepped in with our guns drawn, his expression flickered from shock to acceptance within a span of seconds. He sat up straighter, setting his drink down on a coaster sitting on a side table.

“Fuck…” he muttered, rubbing his chin. His gaze moved between the three of us as his skin went pale. “Who sent you?”

“Take a guess,” Cruz said. Me and Titan didn’t react to that, but we were both irritated. We didn’t talk to these motherfuckers. In and out. Clean. That was the plan.

Cruz liked to play with his food .

Whitman’s eyes narrowed. “Bailey?”

Cruz smiled. “Try again.”

Whitman let out a dry chuckle. “That’s precisely my problem. It could be anybody.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I should’ve retired to the south of France.”

Cruz went to speak, but I beat him to it.

“Too late, motherfucker.”

I squeezed the trigger, and it was lights out for Harlan Whitman.

His eyes didn’t close. That happened sometimes, and I always hated it. Like the others, his eyes were wide and pleading, but the light had dimmed behind them. He was gone.

Disposal was methodical. Guns cleaned, dismantled, and tossed in the Aerimus river. Our gloves and clothes were incinerated. There was nothing to find. Nothing to trace any of it back to us.

Cruz lit a pre-roll as we walked back to the car, taking a few hits before passing it to me. I took one hit, because that’s all I ever did, and Titan passed as he always did. It was another ritual of sorts. It helped us relax.

But I couldn’t get loose .

Whatever this was that was gnawing at me had put me in danger tonight. Titan saw it.

But the target was handled without any casualties to us. I didn't take that for granted anymore. Not after Rev. I went back over tonight's job in my head, trying to figure out what made this one so smooth compared to the one that got our brother killed.

Our movements were precise, as always. Communication, good. Positions, exact. Execution, clean. Just like tonight. Literally everything that made a job work.

Back in the car, we sat in silence as Cruz drove us back to the house.

Titan had shotgun, while I was content to stretch out in the back seat and watch the city out of my window, neon and electric, the perfect distraction from my loud inner thoughts.

I closed my eyes and tried to nod off, but Titan made sure that didn’t happen.

“She still wants to sell,” he said, loud and sharp.

Of course she did.

Santari didn’t have the same attachment to that house.

But for us, it had always been so much more than a structure we happened to live in for four years. That place was a world in and of itself.

It wasn’t a perfect world, that was for damn sure.

I still remember the night Marcell Stokes got alcohol poisoning.

We’d been so fucking reckless that night, passing bottles like we were impervious to the effects, clowning any nigga who even looked like he wanted to stop.

We sobered up quick when Stokes collapsed in the hallway, struggling to breathe.

He lived, but barely.

Then there was the shit with Ronan—a sorority chick said he tried to assault her.

I wasn’t there, I didn’t know what happened, but the frat circled the wagons until the investigation was done.

No charges were ever brought, and the girl admitted she made it up, but it changed the way I saw that nigga for good.

It was the hazing that got Omega Theta suspended from campus, though.

It was supposed to be a harmless tradition, no different than what our forefathers had done going all the way back to 1922.

But lines get blurred when egos get involved.

The university had to come down on us hard, and, honestly, we deserved it.

Two brothers were permanently scarred behind that.

But it wasn’t all bad. More often than not, shit was quiet and studious.

Books and paper spread out across every hard surface, all-nighters, quizzing each other until the A+ was a foregone conclusion.

And in between, there was laughter. Celebration.

The step shows and parties and cookouts drew people from all over campus to come and just…

have fun. Chill. Get a reprieve from all the fuck shit black folks go through every day. It was our sanctuary.

I wouldn’t have made it without the support of my brothers. A select few saw my tears, and Revere was one of them. It ain’t too many people a black man can go to when he wants to work through his emotions, but my brothers were those people for me, and I was one for them.

And despite the university putting out a statement in the school paper about Problematic Fraternity Culture, we did a lot of good in the community, too. Fundraisers, clothing drives, readathons, volunteering at local shelters, even blood donation drives—we did it all .

Right inside that house.

“She’s stubborn as fuck,” Cruz said, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

“So are we,” I muttered.

Titan glanced back at me. “See if you can work on her. Cruz struck out—“

“Aye! I didn’t strike out,” Cruz defended. “I didn't even get a chance to talk to her about the house. I…got distracted.”

"Nigga—"

"By her pussy."

"Ohhhh," me and Titan said in unison just before the three of us burst out laughing.

“Understandable,” I said. “San is very fucking distracting.”

Titan grunted. “Yes she is. I've been so busy with this fucking resort, I haven’t had time to see about her. But please believe I'm eagerly anticipating the day she distracts me. I want her to distract the hell out of me.”

We shared a laugh.

“It’s all good,” I reassured. “I’m keeping her sexy ass busy these days.”

Cruz quirked an eyebrow. “So you and Ri finally had the conversation. I guess it went well. ”

I smiled into the darkness. “ Well is an understatement.”

I leaned my head back against the side, closing my eyes again, anticipation tingling up my spine as I thought about the fact that me and San had only just gotten started.