Maybe Tiff is right. Maybe I need to do something different . . . something I’d never normally do. Just something to shake my mind up and get me moving in the right direction again.
Never one to give in easily, I tease her. “You’re going straight to hell, you know that?”
Tiffany cackles evilly, delighted that she’s managed to win me over. “’Course I am. I’m driving the party bus there, but that’s why you love me.”
After following Tiffany’s directions, I pull up to a rough-looking section in downtown, several blocks from Stella’s. It’s the kind of area where you’d be scared to leave your car for more than five minutes out of fear of someone stealing it. Luckily for me, I’m poor, and anyone desperate enough to steal my beat-up piece of shit is probably so bad off that I might actually feel bad reporting them to the cops.
“Remember,” Tiffany tells me as we get out of the car and I double-check my locks, “keep an open mind and just have fun with it. She’s gonna reveal that you’re going to hit the lottery and get a super-hot husband, have beautiful little children, and a gorgeous home with a white picket fence. All that good stuff. Exactly what you need to hear.”
“Mmmhmm, sure,” I mutter halfheartedly, letting Tiffany lead the way past several run-down shops. Honestly, my expectations are about as low as they can get, which is good since then I won’t be disappointed.
“Here we are,” Tiffany cheerfully announces a moment later, stopping us in front of a neon sign that reads Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I exclaim, placing my hands on my wide hips and glaring at the sign and then Tiff. “Seriously, Tiff? House of Voodoo? I don’t want to put some voodoo hex on Rich. I just want to forget he exists.”
“Ooh, I didn’t even think about that, but a voodoo hex ain’t a bad idea.” She puts on an evil smirk before continuing, “But for real, the name’s just for attention, I’m guessing.”
I glance back at our vehicle, already wanting to leave. If I’m gonna do this, let’s at least do it someplace that looks and sounds legit.
“Oh, no, Miss Thing, you’re going inside,” Tiffany tells me as if sensing my thoughts, opening the door and giving me a pointed look. “Kicking or screaming. We have a deal, remember?”
I glower at her for a moment before giving up. It’s just a few minutes. Let’s just get this over with. Hell, if nothing else, maybe I’ll get a good laugh out of it. And if not, at least Tiff will be off my case.
I step past her and into the shop. There’s a small dark room with colorful paintings and murals all over the walls. I don’t get more than a second to check out details because the smell of strong incense immediately greets us along with a heavy accent. Jamaican, maybe. I’m not sure.
“I’ve been waiting for you two girls,” calls a deep-voiced woman from the back. “Come to me.”
I glance at Tiffany, whose eyes have grown as large as saucers, and then roll mine. “Oh, please,” I mutter, wanting to laugh. “She probably says that to everyone who comes in.”
“Shh!” Tiffany hisses, dragging me along to the back. “I don’t want no voodoo curse cast on me!”
It’s even darker in back, but my eyes have adjusted now and I can see. There’s a large round table in the middle of the room with a deep red cloth draped over it to the floor. A dark-skinned woman with a colorful rag wrapped around the top of her head and long, thick white dreads sits at it, two flickering candles on either side of her.
She gives us a warm smile when she sees us, flashing pearly white teeth and clasping her hands together cheerfully.
“Welcome, my children! My name is Marie,” she says, motioning at the two wooden chairs in front of the table. “Please, sit.”
We slowly take our seats. Before either of us can say anything, Marie looks pointedly at me.
“This reading is for you,” she says matter-of-factly, her smile ebbing away. “You are the one for whom the spirits have been talking to me . . . the forgotten daughter.”
Shocked, the hairs on the back of my arms prickle and my mouth drops a little. There’s no way she could know that my mom abandoned me at birth and that my aunt raised me.
“How did you—” I stop myself.
It was just a lucky guess. Nothing more. This woman is a fraud. She probably heard us outside. Or Tiff told her? Maybe this is a setup?
“You’re not a believer,” Marie says perceptively. “You think I’m a fraud.”
I’m a little taken aback by her forwardness, but she’s right. There’s no such thing as a psychic power. “Honestly, I don’t believe in this type of stuff—”
“No worries, child. This reading will be free,” Marie says, cutting me off and gesturing at my hand.
I glance with uncertainty at Tiffany, who gives me a gentle nod of approval. I look back to the woman, whose eyes haven’t left me.
“Your hand, child,” Marie demands impatiently, holding her hand out. “The spirits might be talking now, but they go silent on their own timetable, and I never know when they’ll be back.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I let her take my hand and stare into my palm. After a moment, she takes a finger and traces it across my lines, tickling my flesh while appearing deep in thought.
She looks up at me, a small smile on her face. “You’re a Libra, aren’t ya, darlin’?” she asks.
I glance over at Tiff, who just grins and shrugs. “What . . . how did you . . .” I once again stop myself.
Another lucky guess. She’s got a one in twelve chance, and if she’s wrong, she just says that I have ‘Libra traits’ or something. Hell, the idea that Tiff is setting me up is starting to seem a little more likely right about now.
“Yep . . . yep.” She nods, muttering to herself as if she doesn’t hear me, her eyes never leaving my palm. “You’ve been hurt by someone recently . . . stuck in limbo. I see anguish and pain.”
I stop myself from looking over at Tiff this time, just taking it in. It’s nothing. Most people have been hurt by someone in their lives. Hell, you stretch the definition enough, we get hurt by people every day. Just think of tax season.
“Yep . . . yep . . .” Marie frowns, staring hard at my palm. “I see a scorpion . . .”
I grimace and Tiffany makes a face too. “A scorpion? Does that mean something?”
Marie doesn’t appear to hear as she whispers unintelligible mumbles to herself. But her next words are clear, ringing out in the room. “Your heart shall be his . . . then will come the sting. You will suffer . . . oh, girl, will you suffer . . . and then you shall burn.”
Her words drain the blood from my face and a chill goes down my spine. Her prediction seems to carry the tone of doom, but surprisingly, it’s Tiffany who is the first to react, jumping up from her seat.
“What the fuck, lady?” she yells with rage. “You tell my aunt she’ll find fifty bucks. You tell her friend that she’s going to find a new younger lover, and you tell my friend she’s going to suffer and burn? I came here to cheer her up!”
Marie sits back, her face calm. “The spirits—”
Tiff jabs a manicured finger in her face, definitely pissed beyond listening. “I brought her here so you could tell her she has good things on the horizon! Like I’ve heard you tell everyone else!”
“I do not control the future, merely tell it, my child,” Marie tries to explain, but Tiffany gives exactly zero fucks right now, and I’m still too shaken up to say anything.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell your clients what they want to hear?” Tiffany shouts. “Not tell them their lives are going to get even more fucked up!”
Marie weaves her hands together, looking to me and ignoring Tiffany’s rant. “Child, be safe. Be cautious. The scorpion is crafty.”
Tiffany yanks me up from my seat and begins dragging me from the room. “Come on, Maddie. Let’s get the hell outta here!”
I glance back once to see Marie, her eyes closed, her palms up on the table, seemingly unaffected
by the blast she just blew in my future or by Tiffany’s bitchfest. By the time we get to my car, I can walk myself and Tiff lets go. I slide behind the wheel, still not saying anything.
As soon as she closes her door, Tiff begins apologizing to me profusely. “Maddie, I am so sorry,” she moans, her voice thick with emotion while she shakes her head. “If I had known she’d say something like that, I never would’ve—”
“Did you know that woman or tell her anything about me?” I demand, my voice low and dangerous. “Everything she said was right.”
Tiff slowly shakes her head, her eyes full of regret. “No. I’ve passed by this place a few times, and my aunt really has been here before. That’s how I knew about it, but I’ve never seen her in my life. I swear.”
I study her for a moment, and I can tell she’s being honest.
“You said that she was supposed to tell me what I wanted to hear,” I say, feeling shaky inside but not knowing why.
What Marie said has to be bullshit. My heart would be his? Definitely not a chance that’s happening. I’m avoiding men and definitely avoiding love.
Being stung by a scorpion? What the hell does that even mean? There are no scorpions around here!
It’s all just bullshit. Just like I always thought it was. Nothing has changed except that she said some spooky mumbo-jumbo generic stuff that scared me.
Tiffany pauses, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh. “Yes! I just thought maybe if you heard someone other than me tell you some positive shit about your future and I could convince you it was true, maybe you would feel better, start living again. Like our morning horoscopes amped up on crack.”
I see the hurt in her eyes . . . and the worry. Warmth flows down my sides. In her own crazy, fucked-up way, Tiff’s only trying to help. Although, I could think of a hundred other ways to go about doing so than a palm reading by a mad woman.
“You really couldn’t think of a better way than that to convince me, genius?” I ask jokingly, trying to shake off the bad feeling I have by making light of the situation. Fuck that lady. I’m not gonna let her stupid prediction ruin my week when I’ve been doing good lately.
Tiffany sniffs and then laughs, shrugging. “It’s just basic psychology I learned in college. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. You believe something good is true and that it’s going to happen, so you’re more likely to make the decisions that make it happen for real.” She shakes her head. “But shit, Maddie . . . I swear I didn’t know it would be like that. I really am sorry.”
I wave her concern away with a nervous chuckle and start the car, eager to get away from the palm reading shop. “It’s okay. You were only trying to help . . . and as crazy as this little idea of yours was, you’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”
Tiffany looks genuinely relieved. “So you’re not mad at me?”
I shake my head. “Of course not. Just stop pushing me toward random guys and nagging me about dating, ‘kay? It’ll happen when I’m ready for it to happen and not a minute before.”
Tiffany nods. “You’re right, girl. I really do need to stop. I just want to see you happy again, and while it’s always good to be fine on your own, or locked into a happily ever after fairy tale, a single night filled with multiple orgasms wouldn’t hurt. I just want you happy, for now and forever.” She pauses, peering at me closely. “Uh, so, you’re not going to steal one of my bras or put salt in my foundation like you did that time I threw ice on you to wake you up for work, are you?”
I grin, remembering that incident and how pissed Tiffany had gotten at me. “As long as you never ask me to go to a place like that again.”
We both look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.
And just like that, the mood brightens. I navigate the last few blocks to Stella’s and pull into the parking lot, on time for our night shift. Tiff and I are okay, and I can understand where she was coming from to try and cheer me up, but even as I walk inside, there’s a wiggle at the back of my head, repeating Marie’s prediction.
Chapter 2
Scott
Daily Horoscope, September 21st
Scorpio
Your lust for power will be your downfall. Humble yourself and you will see the success you so badly desire.
Perhaps I’m fated to be the misfit, the hard luck one, the one who doesn’t seem to find his place. After all, when you’re born at the stroke of midnight on October 31st at ten pounds, seven ounces, you make one hell of an impression. I was a bitch to birth, as my mom likes to remind me whenever I piss her off. The most painful birth she’s experienced, she usually says.
But in my twenty-six years of living, I’ve learned one valuable lesson. Pain can be the best teacher, no matter the circumstance. It’s a lesson that’s been driven into me time and time again and one that has made me stronger . . . physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Unfortunately, most folks hit that first twinge of pain and give up, afraid to feel it, to grow from it, to learn from it. So they stay stagnant, unfulfilled and not knowing how to get ahead.
They don’t recognize that until they find the courage to push through, the harsh reality is that they’re never going to overcome it. They’re never going to reach their dreams, their goals, or their potential.
I relish the pain and the obstacles it can bring. I know that with every sting, with every cut, with every bit of pain that the world inflicts on me or I inflict on myself, I’m making myself stronger.
Twenty-six years of pain. By this point, I’m strong enough that when someone hits me with an iron bar, the bar is the one that breaks. When the snake tries to bite me, it’s the one that withers up and dies.
No pain, no gain? If that’s true, then I’ve gained the world, and the only thing that can stop me is me.
“And so, we have a winner with this deal, folks,” I declare confidently, turning away from the floor-to-ceiling windows and the spectacular view of Bane’s skyline at sunset to address the men and women of the Board. “At the outset, my deal may look riskier than either Chase’s or Olivia’s,” I say, nodding my head respectfully to my older brother and sister, who are sitting at the opposite end of the fourteen-foot table that fills the conference room. “But nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, the AlphaSystems deal will only net us twenty million up front, and yes, it will take at least five years to recoup our initial investment. But after those five years, the cash flow will surpass that of the other deals, and more importantly, my plan will gain us sizeable leverage, virtually creating an entirely new industry under the Danger Enterprises umbrella.”
The room starts to rumble with a chorus of murmurs and whispers, but before anyone can say anything discernable, Chase coughs loudly, drawing my eyes to him.
Like me, he’s got dirty-blond hair that he always wears slicked back. And he’s got the chiseled jawline that the Danger bloodline is notoriously known for.
“So you say this deal is better than ours, little bro-I mean, Scott,” Chase says, quickly correcting himself. But he flashes a mock grin and pointedly straightens the cuff of his Armani suit with the smooth flourish he knows drives me nuts. “Yet you failed to illustrate how. I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I ask how in the world you came to that conclusion? You’re not even close to my figures.”
He challenges me with his arrogant blue eyes and the condescending smirk he always uses to piss me off.
I return my brother’s smirk, refusing to let his fraudulent slip of tongue or his attempt to trigger my irritation ruffle me.
Instead, I smoothly make my way to the front of the room, intentionally looming over him.
“Well, big brother,” I say in false deference before tapping the stack of papers on the table, “If you would read the chart in front of you, it’s all right there, spelled out very clearly. I’ve laid the groundwork, done the math, and had it double-checked by our in-house business analysts. This deal is great for Danger Enterprises, a way to look forwa
rd and take our company to the next level.” I motion at the papers in front of every board member. “See for yourselves.”
The room fills with whispers and murmurs once again as the gathered executives peer closely at my report filled with graphs and notes. I sit back in my chair, and for the next several minutes, I watch them flip pages, their fingertips following the upward trajectory of profits, their excitement obvious on their faces. My grin grows by the second.
“My word,” says Charlie Reynolds, a graybeard executive who’s been with Danger Enterprises for as long as I can remember. He sits back in his seat, looking at me with newfound respect and admiration, shaking his head in what is almost awe. “Ladies and gents, this is impressive.”
The room stays quiet, but it doesn’t matter. I can see it in their eyes. They’re coming around, agreeing with me. It’s better than wild applause.
I’ve fantasized about this happening since the moment I took on the daunting task of securing this deal, and now that the moment is here, it’s all I can do to keep from shouting in triumph.
Everyone seems happy except for two people, and they’re scowling as if I pissed in their morning cereal.
Unsurprisingly, one is Chase. The other is my father, Robert Danger.
At sixty, his once-lustrous blond hair is now streaked with grey. His broad shoulders are hunched together as he leans forward in his chair at the head of the table, his hands steepled under his chin as if he’s praying. Not only is he glaring at me, but his cold blue eyes have a hateful look about them, almost as if he detests my very presence in the room.
It’s a look I’ve grown accustomed to. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been my father’s least-favorite child. I’ve never quite figured out why. Maybe it’s simply because Chase is his favorite and I’m a spare son, or perhaps because I’m quick to take command of a situation and father doesn’t like to be challenged. Definitely not by me.
Whatever the case, he has made it no secret that he’d prefer Chase to be his successor. The empire has its crown prince and I’m just the backup plan.
Scorpio Page 2