by Lory Wendy
It’s a confession I didn’t expect, but it’s opening up a whole other litany of questions I hadn’t expected either. Some proving just how right he is about how spoiled I can be. Because here he is admitting he thought of committing murder, and the only thing I can focus on, still, is my ruined birthday.
“Is he the reason we came here? Did you track him down so you could kick his ass? If so, you didn’t need to pretend to bring me here for my birthday. My dumb ass would have followed you anywhere.”
“We came here for your birthday. He came because Pierce tracked him down and invited him here for me.”
“So did you beat up Terrence?” I circle back to that for reasons unknown to me. It’s old news now; it feels like it happened lifetimes ago, but I convince myself it’s relevant in the moment too.
“No, Quincy did. But I asked him to do it.”
“I think I already knew that,” I admit, looking back out at the view and buying myself some time to process the questions coming to my mind.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers. “I mean, you’re still here, so that’s good. But tell me what you’re thinking.”
I’m trying to piece it all together in my head and failing miserably. “What came first, the chicken or the egg?”
“Huh?”
“You’re a hedge-fund-managing, club-owning, loan shark. Which one were you first?”
“Oh, umm…”
“Julian, please.” My voice comes out weak, pathetic. I can barely take this anymore, but I need to know everything. And I need to know without the emotional back and forth and teeth pulling.
“The club came first,” he says evenly. “Then when I realized I needed money to keep it all running, I got a real job. Once I started making bread from that, the other shit started.”
“What even got you started in something like this? Quincy told me you used to fight, how come you didn’t tell me?”
“Because I didn’t used to fight. I fought a couple of times. That’s it. If you think I’m an asshole now, you should have seen me when I was nineteen or twenty-years-old. My mom was dead, my girl was cheating on me, and I was pissed at the world. There was this old beat-down gym near my grandma’s house, and one day I was there wailing on a punching bag when Rocky walked up to me.” A forced smile plays at his lips. “We were cool when we were younger, but we’d lost touch. That was it. He asked me where I was working, which was nowhere at the time.” He looks at me, answering the question in my mind. “And he asked me if I wanted to make a few hundred bucks. Those fights were nothing compared to what they are now. Not in aggression or money. So when Quincy says I used to fight, it’s nothing like what he’s into now.”
“What made you stop?”
“My ex did.”
The dead ex? The thought clenches at my heart.
“It’s the one good thing she did for me,” he says. “Even though it all turned out to be a lie, for a short moment thought I was going to be a dad. At the moment the idea of risking an ass beating once a week didn’t seem so appealing. So I quit, went to school, and…” He gestures around.
But he didn’t actually quit, not by a long shot. He just switched around his roles in the same exact world.
“So how did you actually get into, you know, the lending?”
He laughs. “Rocky again actually. He was never really good with the money. I mean, there’s something in him that when he trained me, even for my petty fights, I never lost. He’s good at that. But he was always messy with money. One day out of the blue, he came to me and said he needed to borrow a grand and would pay me back.”
“And you just had it laying around?”
“No, but by then I was working and I had access to money. I was able to move some things around. A couple days later, he came back with almost three times as much as I lent him. And that was pretty much it. The side hustles taught me how to be a better advisor on what my clients need at work and the investing fed my ability to throw money into the side jobs. I make them leverage each other now.”
“So you own the club and what else…?” I trail off so he can add to the list.
“The club, the gym Quincy trains at, some houses, and Josephine’s.”
I close my eyes and take a few breaths, absorbing everything he just told me. There’s more, there has to be, but do I really want to know? Yes, yes I do.
“Has it always been this? Did you ever sell drugs?”
“No,” he says forcefully. “I keep my nose and my pockets clean, and I demand whoever’s with me does the same. I’ve seen what drugs can do to people, to families.” Looking me dead in the eyes, he adds, “And I know you do too.”
I nod. I guess he knows more than he ever let on. It makes me wonder how much more he knows, but this Q&A session isn’t about what he knows about me. It’s about what I don’t know about him.
“I could never be about that life,” he says. “I may be an asshole, but I’m not a monster.”
Actually…
“Gambling is just as destructive as drugs, but you feed the addiction in people. You lend them money they don’t have, knowing they likely have no way of paying you back.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Of course it’s not.” I roll my eyes. It’s never the same thing when you’re hiding behind your own hypocrisy.
“Does what I do bother you?”
“A little bit,” I answer honestly. The club owning, hedge fund managing, loan shark? There can’t possibly be a version of this story where this ends well. He’s led by his greed, just like Chantel said, and I don’t think money will ever motivate me the way it does Julian. Most people would have stopped when they got half of what he has now. When will enough be enough?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Is there some deadline I should know about?” I ask, fear and aggravation pumping my heart faster.
“Deadline?”
“Yes, Julian, like what’s your plan? Are you doing this for another five months? Five years? Fifty years? Is the end goal to go until you make a certain amount of money?” My voice gets louder with each word. “Or is the plan to just wait until someone kills you, or hangs you over a balcony? When do you decide selling drugs is worth the gamble because you can make more money? Or it’s not just enough to scare people into paying you back and you have to torture them? How about when—”
“Okay, okay.” He raises one hand to stop my rambling.
I inhale a few calming breaths and let him pull me to sit next to him.
“I want to answer all your questions, sweetheart, but you have to give me the chance to.”
I pull my hand away from his, but I don’t move away. “I’m listening.”
“Two years maybe?” He sounds unsure. “Truthfully, I haven’t thought about it. I’ve only been this deep for a few years. We’re lucky to be where we are in such a short time. So, no, I won’t be doing this forever, but I can’t stop now either. Not yet.”
It’s an honest enough answer that my brain appreciates his truth, but the ache in my heart communicates its disappointment. There’s no way I can keep up with him.
“I know my lifestyle isn’t for everyone. And I know I’m the bad guy. I’m not good for you, but I’ll be good to you, if you let me be.”
I open my mouth to argue, to comfort and tell him he’s wrong and he’s not a bad guy, but I stop myself. Technically, he isn’t wrong. As a guy, as my man, he’s not a bad person. But he is one of the bad guys. They all are. But they’re my guys. And it’s not easy to just walk away from them. My common sense is telling me it’s a no-brainer. That I should run as fast and as far away as I can and never look back. But my heart can’t reconcile the shady man Julian can be, with the guy who looks at me like I’m his world and disrupts the lives of all my friends just to surprise me for my birthday.
True bad guys don’t care for people the way Julian seems to, but good guys don’t lose their shit as easily either.
Like he did last nig
ht.
“Why do you hate Blaire so much?”
“I don’t hate anyone,” he says automatically.
He could have fooled me. “Me and my sister might have our issues, but I can’t be with someone who butts heads with her so much or treats her like that.”
Julian’s lips curl up, but not with a smile. “Of all the things I just told you, that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You, literally put your hands on my sister. That’s not okay.”
“Neither is her running her mouth about shit that’s none of her business.” Waving a finger between the two of us, he adds, “We are none of her business. And I didn’t put my hands on her, not in the way you’re implying.”
“So because she was talking shit about our relationship, you felt it was okay to lose your temper?” That’s not good enough.
He lets out a snort of disgust, his posture completely changing as he straightens his shoulders. “Why don’t you call her?” Julian grabs his phone from the coffee table and shoves it into my hands. “Because it doesn’t matter what I say she said, or did, or knew. She’s your sister. In your eyes, she can do no wrong. You’ll just make excuses and take her side anyway.”
“This isn’t about siding with anyone, Julian, grow the fuck up!” I dart up and throw his phone on the couch. “I can leave,” I remind him. “You asked me to stay and hear you out. That’s what I’m trying to do and now you want to get pissy with me because I’m defending my sister? That’s bullshit.”
“No, what’s bullshit is the fact you’re so fucking blind when it comes to her. What’s bullshit is the fact you expect all of us to be nice to her, and kiss her ass, when she’s the one who pimped you out to your boss!” Jumping up from the couch, Julian gets so close to my face I have to take a step back. “You think I give a fuck about her? She admitted that she knew. Stretch didn’t want her so she told him to go for you instead. The only reason I didn’t strangle her ass last night was because of you. So fuck her. I don’t give a shit about her.”
The weight of his words becomes impossible to bear. My knees buckle a little. I fall back against the coffee table, barely bracing myself. “She didn’t know. You’re lying.”
Julian shakes his head and stomps out of the room. Two minutes later, he’s back, kneeling at my side. “I got this for you.” He sets a flat jewelry box on my lap. “I wanted to give it to you tomorrow, but I don’t know if you’re staying.” He opens the box before I get a chance to, revealing a pink gold and diamond lotus flower pendant.
One tear finally falls down my cheek, though I know there are more to follow. There is no way what he’s saying about Blaire is true. Though a part of me doesn’t doubt him. I’ve been carrying the weight of this exact fear since the day Rocky showed up at Imperial.
“I know I hit you with a lot today.” Julian wipes my cheek with his thumb. “And I know what I do is hard for you to handle, but that’s important to me.”
“That’s not—”
“Please let me finish.”
I nod for him to continue.
“You might never be cool with what I do, but I will never be cool with your sister.”
“You two getting along is important to me,” I agree. “That doesn’t make it a deal breaker, though.”
“Not all things are black and white,” he whispers.
Still pissed, but glad he understands, I reach out to run a finger down his cheek, desperate for some sort of connection. “Exactly.”
“I know I’m the bad guy, baby. I know I’m not good for you,” he repeats part of his speech from before. Again, I open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong. Again I stop myself. “But at the end of the day, I’m just a guy who’s fallen for you, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to prove that to you. If you’ll let me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Just dress comfortable,” Julian answers my question of, “what should I wear,” quietly, even though the excitement in his eyes is clear.
Since my birthday, things have not been good between us, and if I had to describe how they’ve been, torturous would come to mind.
It’s crazy how quick someone becomes part of your routine and how badly you can miss them, but I’ve needed time to digest, and thankfully—while also unfortunately—Julian’s given me a little bit of space, which really just means we don’t see each other as much as we’d started to, and when he comes over, we don’t fuck. We’ve talked, and we see each other, but it’s all been superficial, and no one rocks the boat by bringing up the events of the month before in Vegas.
In fact, for the past few days, there was a sort of radio silence, almost to the point where I wasn’t sure I would hear from him again, but when he called me last night and again this morning inviting me out, I didn’t miss the boyish excitement in his voice. So even though it’s uncharacteristically hot and early and I want to stay home and mope around, I need to be with him. We need this.
“Have you ever been to the Juneteenth Music Festival?” Julian asks as we take the exit toward Denver, or more specifically Sixteenth Street.
“I’ve heard of it,” I lie and take in the scenery around me and, in some parts, the lack thereof.
We’re quiet as he continues driving. I’m both happily surprised at the colorful buildings I see, yet unfazed at the ones that seem to be in a perpetual state of rundown. A lot of what I’m seeing is a mecca of art, history, and culture, and just… a vibe that makes me smile. Still, it’s hard to reconcile it with what I’ve always heard and seen on the news.
“You really grew up here?” I cringe at the judgment in my voice.
“Yeah.” He slows the car down and makes a quick, illegal U-turn. “They already started blocking off some of the roads,” he offers as explanation, then turns down another street. “The actual street I lived on wasn’t so bad.” He points somewhere behind him. I crane my neck as if I’ll know which house was his. “It wasn’t good either, but it is what it is at this point, right? Home is still home, and growing up where I did and how I did makes me appreciate everything I have now that much more. It’s made me work harder.”
The pride in his voice makes me smile.
We’re quiet as he loops around a few more times looking for parking, and even though I start getting impatient, his excitement doesn’t waver.
“He’s pulling out!” I point to a car backing out of a parking spot.
“That’s what’s she said,” Julian murmurs under his breath. I snort. At least one of us is in a good mood today.
“To some,” he starts, lacing our fingers together as we walk toward the blockades. “Juneteenth marked the real end of slavery because it took over two years after the EP was signed for the message to get to all the southern states.”
“EP?”
“Emancipation Proclamation.”
Oh, duh.
“Anyway, that’s not what they talk about here. Don’t worry. There won’t be a history lesson. It’s more…” He shrugs but looks at me with a bright smile. “It’s a celebration. It’s pride. It’s awareness. My mom took me here every year when I was younger, and I still never miss it. This should be us.” He pulls my hand to stop at one of the empty, tent-covered tables.
“Us?”
“Our booth.” He looks so happy when he says this—the bright smile still in place—that it takes a few seconds for me to start tripping over his words.
“Is this where you surprise me by telling me you’ve signed us up for some kissing booth type thing?” I joke. “I could be down with that.”
Julian’s smile drops, if only for a moment. “If you think I’d just sit by and watch a line of dudes come through and kiss you, then you don’t know me at all.”
I nudge his shoulder. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”
“You better be.” He presses his lips softly against mine. His phone ringing cuts into the moment. “Shit, give me a second, okay?” His face pinches at whatever he sees on his phone. “One second, sweetheart, sorry,” h
e says and kisses my cheek.
He walks away, far enough so I can’t hear what he’s saying, but close enough where I can still see the vein in his neck pulsing. His lips are moving so fast, there’s no way the person on the other end is doing anything but getting their asses chewed a new one. I know I’m staring and why I’m staring, but when we lock eyes for a second and he spins around, takes a few steps farther away, and completely disappears out of sight, I feel like I got caught doing something dirty. A nasty feeling settles into my gut. I physically cannot handle anything like Vegas ever again. I hope he’s not up to no good.
“Good morning,” a few people greet me as they pass by. I wave and smile, but still feel pretty silly just standing here. Thankfully, I see Julian reappear seconds later.
There’s a playful grin on his face now, and a large cardboard box in his hand. Behind him, an elderly couple follow, and Quincy!
“Hey you.” Quincy sets two boxes down on the table, then wraps me up in a quick hug. “Got bamboozled into working, or are you just here for the food?”
“The food. Definitely the food.” I grin up at him, thankful for the ease of our friendship. I’ve talked to him nearly every single day since my birthday. Sometimes it’s just to shoot the shit, and some days it’s literally him talking me off the Julian ledge in a way the girls simply can’t.
“We have more things in the car.” Julian snaps his fingers.
Quincy’s eyebrow arches, a gesture I rarely see him make. When he glances at Julian’s hand, I know he’s contemplating breaking the fingers Julian just used to snap at him.
“You’re pushing it,” Quincy says before stalking off in the direction they’d come from.
The both of us, Julian and I, turn to face the couple who are both staring at us. I recognize the lady immediately.
“Hi, we met at the restaurant, right? Josephine’s?” I ask.
“That’s right, sugar.” Her expression softens out of the glare she’s shooting Julian. In three steps, her arms are around me, caging me in a warm and loving hug. “You can call me Miss Mae.” She pats my cheek. “Now, what do you say you help me set this table up while my grandson goes after his friend to apologize?”