Page 9

“Damn, it smells good.” I inhaled the air after stepping out of my Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat Redeye Jailbreak and adjusted my navy suit jacket.

I always loved how it smelled after it rained.

Living in Miami was cool, but the city could get grimy, so rain washed away the filth.

Or at least masked that shit so that we could pretend to breathe some semi-clean air.

Tonight was a big one for my location in Little Havana.

Since I opened my first club in Miami Beach, and second in Wynwood, I had been working hard to open this space.

Although cancer had taken her away from me too soon, my mom, Carmen, was half Cuban and had made sure that I knew just as much about her Cuban heritage growing up as I did our Black one.

However, due to her toxic relationship with my dad, Oscar Crowne, who had a few baby mamas and kids to keep track of, she felt it best that we move to Georgia where her best friend lived.

She never kept me away from my Crowne family, but she wanted more for me … a different life. I wasn’t sure at what moment she realized I was a Crowne in more ways than one, drawn to organized crime and a life in the streets.

However, I was also a Rodriguez, fluent in Spanish and well-versed in the struggles of both nationalities now that I had taken an active role in connecting with my mom from the grave.

Raphael, my abuelo, hadn’t gotten a chance to rebuild his rocky relationship with my mom, but he and I were pretty close.

“Mi nieto,” my grandfather greeted, walking through the parking lot. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Abuelo.” I gave him a hug before he kissed my cheek like he always did. “What are you doing at Fetish tonight? I thought you had a poker game with Sal?”

Sal was my abeulo’s best friend, but they were always arguing about something.

“Ay dios mío,” he stated. “You-know-who came to my restaurant looking for you, so I took him here.” He pointed around back.

“Shit.” He didn’t say who the person was that had caused trouble at his restaurant, but I knew.

“I have to get back,” he said, already shuffling in the direction of his restaurant when someone called his name from across the street, “but come see me this week.”

“I will,” I confirmed, shaking my head as abuelo winked at Ms. Pat and Ms. Pam, two older women who were always into something and frequenting all the Miami hot spots.

Grandpa was a flirt and a wanderlust at heart, so while he had his restaurant, it wasn’t unusual for him to call me and tell me he was off exploring a state he’d never been to before, leaving his right hand to manage the place.

Which worked well for me. We both stayed out of each other’s way, but I loved that ol’ man and he loved me, too.

Calle Ocho was buzzing with locals and tourists who finally discovered that there was life outside of Miami and South Beach. Eighth Street was the center of it all and the most vibrant street in Miami’s Little Havana, known for its Cuban culture.

Cubans settled into the neighborhood in the 1960s and many felt that if you couldn’t get to Cuba, you had to come to Miami and experience the culture.

I was barely a few steps away from where my abuelo had left me when low, tense voices ahead told me some bullshit was already waiting for me even if abuelo hadn’t told me shit.

Ignoring the fact that the city hadn’t come out to fix the flickering parking light by the back door of my club, I went to put out the fire.

Mekhi, my head of security, had his hand gripped tight around the tall and lanky muthafucka’s arm. As I got closer, my leather loafers tapping against the pavement got Mekhi’s attention, while the dim light washed over the junkie’s face.

As expected, it was Baarbie, the man Mekhi and I had once considered one of our ride or dies, but that shit ended real quick when I found out he was using.

I didn’t want to let him go, but I couldn’t have a cracked-out dealer moving weight under my roof.

My clubs had an image to uphold, and Baarbie had been the perfect seller before he met Ken and got hooked on the shit.

Now, he stood in front of me twitching, his eyes darting too fast and his lips cracked and ashy as hell.

“Come on, Me-Mekhi, lemme ho-holla at Cruz for a min-min-minute.”

He was scratching his neck so much he was bleeding, and sweat glistened on his forehead before dripping down into his pupils that were so damn wide, his irises looked swallowed up.

Exhaling slowly, I dragged a hand down my beard. “What the fuck are you doin’ sniffin’ around here, Baarbie?”

He turned as much as he could under Mekhi’s grasp, licking his lips like he was hoping some remnants of snow was still on his mouth. “Cu-Cruz. I. Jus-Just ne-needed to talk to y-you, Bossman.”

I looked at Mekhi, who just shook his head, his grip never loosening. It was one thing to restrain one of our customers looking to buy some drugs. Yet, the shit ain’t feel right when we had to confine one of our own.

Nodding to the door, I motioned for Mekhi to place a black sack over his head and bring him inside.

The club wasn’t open yet, but I couldn’t have his ass causing more of a scene.

The entire time that we walked through the galley, Baarbie went on and on about how badly he wanted to work for me again.

The keys to my Hellcat and my Dodge Challenger SRT Demon 170 that I kept in a special garage had dual purpose buttons that weren’t only for the vehicles.

After pulling my keys from the pocket of my navy slacks, I pressed the icon that mechanically moved a large Cuban-inspired mural hiding a secret door, before pressing another button that gained us entry.

Rev used to tease me that I was too much into toys and could just have a regular kill zone like The Pit—the undisclosed place that The Paradox did all of our dirty work.

But time and time again I reminded my friends that I wasn’t always bringing my ass to The Pit when I needed to put someone in their place.

I ran several clubs. Shit was always goin’ down.

Mekhi and I talked without words, only gestures and hand movements as Mekhi confirmed that he’d already checked Baarbie for a wire, and he was clean.

While many liked to keep their torture chambers lookin’ worse than a prison cell, I liked to lure them with luxury and designed my space to look more like an upscale gentlemen’s lounge.

Once we had him sitting comfortably in the sleek metal chair that was angled just enough to force you to lean back, I stepped closer to him, the scent of cheap liquor and unwashed ass rollin’ off Baarbie in waves. Mekhi removed the black sack from Baarbie’s head.

My nose flared in frustration. “What do you want to talk to me ‘bout? You don’t work for me anymore. You ain’t got shit to say, ‘less you tellin’ me who you been speakin’ to.”

One of our inside sources had told us that Baarbie had been looking way too friendly with a detective who had been breathing down my ass for years. I didn’t want to believe he would do that to me, but photos ain’t lie.

Baarbie’s gaze flicked past me, while his hands continued to twitch as he pushed his sleeves up and down, the track marks on his arms playing peek-a-boo.

I scoffed. “What have you been takin’?” I asked, approaching a different subject.

“N-Nothin’, Bossman. I swear, I?—”

I cut him off with a sharp look. Even high on whatever the fuck he was on, he knew better than to lie to me. His throat bobbed hard like he was nervous.

I wasn’t stupid. That detective had been pushin’ more lately, lookin’ for anything to pin on me.

That’s what happened when you were a man with my history and ran some of the hottest clubs in the city in a red state.

They hated to see it. Despised seeing me thrive.

Always tryin’ to find an informant or some weak ass muthafucka to crack under pressure.

And Baarbie? He was catnip for cops. Too tall not to spot and familiar-looking if you were able to look past his current state.

I lowered my voice and twisted the large gold ring on my finger. “How much are they givin’ you?”

His whole body jerked. “I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout, Bossman. I?—”

“Cut the shit.” I punched him in his jaw, my ring breaking his skin just the way I wanted it to. My voice dropped colder. “You wired? ‘Cause you out here in these streets actin’ real fuckin’ reckless for a nigga who used to be on the top of his game.”

Baarbie stammered, but I wasn’t listenin’ anymore. I already made my decision. I motioned for Mekhi to pound on one of the side doors for Phil, another member of my security team, to drag out the one thing that would get Baarbie to start talkin’ and quit actin’ like a goddamn crackhead.

As soon as Ken was tossed onto the floor, Baarbie stopped talking, wide eyes pinned on me.

“Baarbie, did you know that it was Calvin who told the cops about one of my trap houses and got a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of product seized a few months ago?

” I asked, referring to Calvin by his government name and not the Ken he started calling himself as when he fell in love with Baarbie.

Ken would have opened his big ass mouth to protest had I not sewed it shut.

“Before that, he also told the cops about that shipment I had been waitin’ on for last month. The one that had the Fort Lauderdale shipyard lookin’ like Christmas came early for the PD. Lost three of my best men in that gunfire.”

Leaning down, I ran my knife over his head and shoulders before making my way down.

“And that ain’t it, is it, Calvin?” Calvin started fidgeting on the floor when my knife reached the top of his left thigh, lookin’ like a fish out of water with his arms and ankles tied up.

“Turns out, you’ve been fuckin’ wit’ the cop that’s been snooping around here lately.

So you lost me hella money. You got some of my best guys killed.

And you cheated on my boy, Baarbie, here. ”

It took a while to get to the bottom of who betrayed me, but all roads led to Calvin, the man who had conned his way into Baarbie’s life and my business as a result. I didn’t know if the cops had gotten to Baarbie, but I had proof that Calvin was a snake.

The smirk that left my lips when Calvin’s eyes widened as he realized where my knife was filled me with a sick satisfaction that I was enjoying entirely too much.

When he went to thrash back and forth to avoid my wrath, my soldiers held him down, giving me full access to push the knife right into his groin, the agonizing cries he released like music to my ears.

The twisting of my knife made him wail even louder, and although Baarbie had been quiet, he screamed out in that moment, his eyes a mix between being not fully aware of what was happening, and a bit shocked at the blood pouring out around Calvin.

Usually, I liked to play with my toys a bit more, but a quick glance at the wall clock proved that the club had already opened, and the kitchen staff would be filing in soon to start preparing for the night.

All my staff was vetted and had signed NDAs.

However, I didn’t like handling crime business during club hours.

After removing my knife from his groin, I slit his throat quick and precise, wiping the blood on his clothes. Then I stood and watched his body jerk a few times before the life left his eyes.

Turning to Mekhi and Phil, I nodded to Calvin’s body. “Phil, get Tony to help you handle this shit, then get cleaned up after. Mekhi, find Calvin’s brother and make sure he understands that he still has a place working for me if he wants it. He’s a major reason we found out his brother was a mole.”

Mekhi didn’t ask any questions. Only nodded, already dragging Baarbie deeper into one of the side rooms to sober him up a bit while Phil tended to the body.

Baarbie started pleading with Mekhi for Ken to be able to come with him, but it was too late for that shit.

Calvin was dead, and the only reason Baarbie was still breathing was because I still felt like the man I once knew was in there somewhere.

Maybe with Calvin gone, we could get him back.