Candice felt a spark of heat in her chest. She never knew her hate to take on such physical manifestations. That’s what you get when you dance with the Devil.
“I’ll be right back, Candy,” Shana said, her tone shaky as she rushed out of the room.
Candice figured she was probably running to the bathroom because Broady had scared her so badly. Her bladder had always been weak.
Candice sat in a far corner in the back of the room. She checked her surroundings and pulled the small card from the envelope. She read the inscription:
To Broady, Junior, and the crew, Sorry for your loss. We’re here if you need us. Stay up.—Phil and the uptown crew.
Candice furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed. She thought Shana had told her that Phil and the uptown crew were believed to be responsible for Razor’s murder. If that was the case, why would they send such a nice card and flowers? Candice knew Broady was convinced it was Phil who had commissioned Razor’s brutal murder.
Inspiration seemed to strike Candice at that moment. A wondrous plan began to take shape in her mind, but first she needed to find a card and something to write with.
Frantic, she rushed around the lobby of the funeral home trying to find these items before Shana came back to look for her. She walked over to what appeared to be the funeral director’s office and knocked hesitantly. When no one answered, she let herself inside. The lobby was beginning to get filled up with people fast, and she needed to accomplish this task before anyone noticed her absence.
A tall, slender older woman approached Candice from the side, scaring her out of her wits. “Can I help you?”
Candice’s heart hammered, and her eyes darted around the room for Broady or Shana. She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. “Uh, yes. I sent flowers, and the florist forgot my card. Would you happen to have a small piece of paper I could write my note on?”
“I can do you one better,” the lady offered kindly. “I have blank floral arrangement cards in all colors. This happens all of the time. Those daggone florists are so forgetful sometimes.”
“Great! I am embarrassed to let anyone see that I have to put my card on after the fact. It’s starting to get crowded in there,” Candice said, rushing behind the woman as she fished around for the cards in the desk drawer.
“I knew they were hiding in there somewhere. Here you go,” the woman sang cheerfully. She retrieved a rubber-banded stack of small, blank cards. “What color?” the woman asked Candice.
“The light blue will do.”
“Here, I’ll give you two, just in case you make a mistake.”
Candice took the cards, thanked the woman, and rushed through the door of the office. When she stepped into the lobby, she had tunnel vision, wanting to get back inside the room where Razor’s casket lay. She scanned for Shana but didn’t see her.
Candice started into the room, cards in hand, and once again, she walked smack-dab into someone, and the cards went fluttering out of her hands. “Oh shit!” Candice exclaimed, startled.
“Damn! We bump into each other again. Literally,” Tuck said, his deep baritone massaging Candice’s eardrums.
“Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” Candice huffed, her words nervous and choppy. She bent down to pick up the cards, but Tuck beat her to it.
“I got it. A lady in a dress shouldn’t have to bend over.” Tuck picked up the two small light blue cards and handed them to Candice.
Candice straightened back up. Hands shaking, she accepted them.
“It’s real nice seeing you here,” Tuck said honestly. “I thought after the night in the club, Shana wouldn’t ever get you to come back around us.”
“I have thicker skin than you think.” Candice was trying so hard to keep up her tough-girl persona.
“That’s good. I love women with tough skin.” Tuck licked his lips seductively.
Candice swore she could feel her pussy pulse as she watched his moistened lips. She was stuck on stupid for a moment.
“Now, if you excuse me . . . ,” Tuck said, touching her shoulder to move her aside. He walked toward a group of men milling around.
Candice felt a flash of heat on her neck and cheeks. She instantly felt rejected. She wanted to be the one to end their interaction.
Candice stomped back into the corner where she and Shana had been sitting earlier. She noticed that Shana had moved up a few rows to join some of the crew’s girlfriends. Candice quickly sat in a vacant chair and opened her clutch to retrieve a pen. Everybody in the room was too preoccupied with their grief to pay her any attention. She placed one of the small cards up against her thigh and scribbled down the real message she wanted Broady and Junior to get from Phil and the uptown crew.
When Razor’s casket was lowered into the earth, screams erupted through the cemetery loud enough to wake the dead. Candice felt cold all over her body. She intensely disliked being in the cemetery; it reminded her that she had missed her own family’s burial. She wondered if she would’ve screamed and jumped up and down like Razor’s family.
Razor’s mother hollered and spread her body atop her son’s shiny death box. “Why, Lord? Why my chile?!” the woman screamed.
Candice wondered if she knew what type of life her son had been living before he died, that he had been peddling poison to his own people to make easy money.
Candice often wondered when she watched news stories about young black men being murdered and then saw their family members saying that their son was “a good kid” and that he “never bothered anybody,” if they truly were oblivious to the drugs, gangs, or murders that their departed loved ones were associated with. Although Razor’s mother was grieving, she had to have known about his illegal activities.
Candice kicked at the upturned, rocky red earth with her pumps. She looked around at all of the mourners’ faces and decided that she wasn’t sorry for Razor or his mother. She did feel a flitting stab of grief for Razor’s young daughter, however. Candice knew the love between a father and daughter. Razor’s daughter would never know that feeling.
Candice felt partially responsible. Maybe if he hadn’t followed her out of the club that night, he’d still be alive.
Scanning the rest of the attendees, Candice caught a glimpse of Broady dabbing at his eyes. She involuntarily smirked at the sight. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction that he was in some kind of pain.
When the burial ended, Candice trudged through the gravelly dirt and grass and started toward her car.
“Candy! Hold up!” Shana caught up with her. “You coming back to the house, right?”
“I just think I’m going to go home. It’s very late. I have never been to a funeral, in the cemetery this late at night,” Candice told Shana. The truth was, she had never been to a burial, period.
“Well, the one-day service was cheaper, so they decided to just do it all today. If they had waited, Broady woulda had to pay another two or three stacks. You know that nigga funny with his money. As much as he loved Razor, he did foot the entire bill for everything.” Shana gazed off in the distance, a look of admiration in her eyes.
“It is almost ten o’clock. I’m beat.”
“Please, Candy, come back just for a little while.”
Candice refused again, but Shana practically got on her knees and begged Candice to come back to the house for the funeral repast.
Candice had a lot of things on her mind. More importantly, she didn’t trust herself around Junior’s right-hand man, Tuck. Candice couldn’t stop running their last encounter through her mind, no matter how hard she tried to think of something else. She pictured his perfect face, those even white teeth and mesmerizing voice. She imagined herself kissing his plump lips. She had always wanted to be kissed by a man but had been too afraid when the opportunity presented itself. Uncle Rock had warned her repeatedly about the dangers of falling in love. She had avoided that fate simply by steering clear of the male species as a whole.
After a fe
w more minutes of Shana’s pleading, Candice accepted Shana’s invitation, convincing herself that her friend needed her support. But, deep in her heart, she really wanted another opportunity to exchange words with Tuck.
Candice had sat outside of Broady and Shana’s house many times while she conducted research on her mark. The outside of the two-story house, with its plain brick front and ugly black wrought-iron gates, told nothing of what happened on the inside.
When Candice stepped inside, her jaw dropped.
“C’mon, Candy, let me show you around,” Shana said, pulling Candice farther inside the house.
Candice followed Shana through a grand foyer, complete with a small statue and exquisite marble tile. She didn’t even think such a foyer could fit inside the house. The house had clearly been gutted and rebuilt based on the owner’s or, more probably, Shana’s direction.
Candice and Shana passed a small formal living room on the left. The entryway to the room was adorned with two white Roman columns on either side of the doorway, and the interior was decorated with yellow and silver, a beautiful combination Candice would’ve never thought to put together.
To the right of the foyer was a formal dining room. It was awe-inspiring, to say the least. A grand espresso-colored wood table sat in the middle of the floor with eight high-back, dupioni-covered chairs. The table and chairs sat atop a beautiful Oriental throw rug with gold tassels at each of the rug’s four corners. The chandelier that hung just inches over the table resembled a huge sparkly diamond.
Shana had accessorized the dining room with just the right amount of vases, mirrors, and candleholders. The rest of the house was just as beautiful. Expensive artwork hung throughout the home, and the woodwork around the walls and floorboards looked elaborate and rich. Candice could tell that Shana had poured a lot of money and heart into her home. Now she could see why her friend had been so reluctant to give Broady up, beatings and all. Shana was living hood-rich and better than she’d probably ever live, even if she went the traditional route and worked a full-time job.
“You have a beautiful home,” Candice complimented Shana as she walked through her home. Candice’s steps felt lead heavy, and she felt slightly dizzy. She had always just thought of him as a mark, a monster, someone she wanted to kill for revenge, but being inside Broady’s home somehow made him more human to her.
Following on Shana’s heels, Candice felt a surge of adrenaline, and her pulse quickened—a mixture of fear and power.
“Thanks. I try,” Shana replied, giving Candice a halfhearted smile.
They strategically dodged bodies as they passed several different groups of people holding conversations throughout the house. Some were laughing, some were still crying, while others were just eating and drinking.
Shana finally pushed through two short white swinging doors and stepped into her gourmet kitchen. “It’s kind of peaceful in here. Too many people out there for me,” she said, flicking her wrists dismissively. She climbed up on one of the leather stools that sat in front of the bar-style granite counter.
Candice joined her. “Are you all right? I mean, with Broady and everything. I know you said he had been acting a little erratic,” Candice said, choosing her words carefully. She had finally gotten a grip on her shaking legs and hammering heartbeat.
“So far he has just been caught up with a bunch of different dudes trying to play detective behind Razor’s murder. He hasn’t had time to really focus on me. I know he was very happy with the way I arranged this little thing for everybody, so maybe shit will be all good tonight. Maybe his days of laying his hands on me are over,” Shana said, looking down at her feet.
“So Broady is playing detective? I mean, nobody has heard any more information from the police about suspects in Razor’s murder?” Candice didn’t want to sound like she was prying.
Shana’s facial expression turned serious. “Candy, do you really think the fuckin’ jake is looking for Razor’s killer? C’mon now, girl, be for real.” Shana chortled, moving her hands in front of her and snapping her neck in and out. “Let’s see . . . Razor was a known drug dealer, a ‘predicate felon,’ and ain’t never paid a cent in fuckin’ taxes. Those bastard-ass DTs are probably having coffee and donuts right now, saying, ‘Good riddance, ’” Shana replied with an angry sigh.
Candice knew she was right. She had thought all of this through when she set out on her revenge mission. Nobody would care if Junior, Broady, or even Razor was wiped off the face of the earth, as they were all menaces to society. She couldn’t help but think that was the reason no one was ever charged in her family’s deaths. Did the police officially say, “Fuck finding the killers,” since her father was a well-known drug kingpin? Why else would there have been no arrests for such a horrific crime? The rumor mill on the streets pointed the guilty finger at Junior and his little cronies, but Candice didn’t need the police to exact her own brand of justice.
“Well, I still would like to know who’d do some shit like that to Razor,” Candice said. The last time she’d seen Razor was at Club Skyye when she’d stormed out of the club in a huff. Razor had followed her outside to calm her down, but she could barely remember their conversation. She was so furious with Broady that night, all she could see was red.
“Ayo, Shana!” Broady growled.
Shana bolted upright on the stool, almost losing her balance.
Candice sat up straight as well, Broady’s voice sending a prickly feeling down her spine.
“Yeah, Broady. I’m in here,” Shana responded, twisting her lips. She looked at Candice and rolled her eyes. “I’ll be right back.” Shana sighed. She wasn’t going to do anything to set Broady off, with so many people milling around the house.
Candice shook her head in disgust. When would Shana learn that no man is worthy of such blind obedience? She drummed her fingers on the granite countertop and gazed around the kitchen. She could see herself living in a home like this, with a gorgeous man and a few kids running around.
Candice almost laughed out loud. She didn’t know why that thought had crossed her mind. It would be the Immaculate Conception indeed, considering she had never even been touched by a man. She chalked up her strange thoughts to the fact that she was feeling lonely and out of place. Marrying and having children would be one way to fix that problem. But if she heeded the words of her uncle Rock, it could also mean an uncertain future. If Candice wanted to plant roots, as Uncle Rock said, she would just have to become a tree. She inadvertently smiled at Uncle Rock’s eccentricity.
“You look pretty when you’re smiling and not looking so angry all the time,” a male voice chimed from behind her.
Candice jumped off the stool, whirling around and clutching her bag, her boyfriends (Glock and SIG Sauer) nestled safely in her purse. She relaxed a bit when she recognized the voice belonged to Tuck.
“Nobody ain’t ever teach you not to be sneaking up on somebody like that,” Candice huffed, attitude in full force. She knew she shouldn’t have come back to Shana’s house. Her pulse raced, and her heart quickened. Just being in his presence made her feel hot, flushed, and uncomfortable.
“It must be me. I must be the reason you’re so mean. Because I know I just looked in that mirror across the kitchen and saw you smiling,” Tuck said, moving closer to her side.
Candice swore she felt an electric current flowing between their bodies. Is this what it feels like to lust after someone?
“Maybe it is you . . . since you like bumping into people and sneaking up on them. I don’t like that.” Candice didn’t like the overwhelming sexual attraction she experienced each time she laid eyes on him. It was dangerous. It was pure, raw emotion—something she had been taught to suppress all of her life, professionally and personally. Candice clutched her bag tightly, her lips curled into a snarl. She was going to fight these feelings. She wouldn’t go panting after this guy like some bitch in heat and do something she would regret.
“I’m sorry for whatever it is that I did
n’t do to you,” Tuck offered.
Candice snorted and rolled her eyes.
Tuck sighed. “See, I am even willing to apologize when you know good and well I ain’t do a thing to you and you still won’t throw a dude a bone. You’re something else.” Tuck flashed the sexy smile that always fucked Candice’s head up.
“Hmm!” Candice grunted, petulantly cocking her head to one side. She wiggled her toes in her shoes. She felt agitated and hot enough to melt, but she was damned if she was going to let him know the effect he was having on her.
“So, Candy, tell me something about yourself,” Tuck said, ignoring Candice’s defiant body language.
“I don’t tell strangers about myself.” Candice refused to make eye contact, afraid that looking into his eyes would cause a floodgate to open. Stay focused, Candy. Stay focused. Stay focused.
“Damn, you a tough nut to crack.” Tuck pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Look, how about we start from scratch? I tell you one thing about me. Then you tell me one thing about you,” Tuck said, dipping his head up and down and around, trying to make eye contact with Candice.
Every time he moved his head to try to meet her gaze, she turned her head and eyes in the opposite direction.
“Last I checked, this is not Let’s Make a Deal. I’m not a game show contestant, and I don’t have to negotiate a truce with you. I don’t even know you!” Candice secretly enjoyed the back-and-forth and giving him a hard time. If Tuck wanted to get to know her, he’d have to work for it. Besides, Candice knew that if he got in the way of her mission, he’d have to be dealt with swiftly, and she didn’t want to get attached to anybody she considered expendable.
Tuck laughed at her tough-girl façade, seeming to enjoy the byplay. He could see right through her act. Her flaming red cheeks had already given her away. “I’m sayin’, for real, though . . . you are one hard-ass Candy, ain’t you?” Tuck chuckled, still trying his best to get a smile out of her.
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