by Shelly Ellis
She chuckled and pushed herself away from the counter. “Come on. I’ll introduce y’all since we’ll all be working together now. Right? Let’s see what we can work out.”
He pursed his lips, contemplating Kiki’s offer.
In no way did Dante want to get involved in his daughter’s little weed empire, but she was right about a few things. One was that he couldn’t exactly take the moral high ground about her becoming a dealer when he had a heavy drug habit himself. Another was that he could definitely use the extra money Kiki and Tee would pay him. Dante’s savings were being depleted at an alarming rate thanks to his drug habit. Since he had been fired from the law firm of Nutter, McElroy & Ailey, he’d been trying to get a position at a new firm and get clients where he could. But it wasn’t easy. As a parting shot, Dante had admitted to law firm partner Edgar McElroy that he had been secretly screwing Edgar’s wife. Furious, the old man seemed to have made it his mission to kill Dante’s legal career—and he was doing a splendid job of it.
Finally, Dante slowly exhaled. “Okay, I’ll talk to her, Kiki, but you two better give me a decent cut of this whole enterprise, because if you don’t, then—”
“Then you’ll toss us out on the street.” Kiki nodded. “I heard you the first time. Don’t worry, Daddy! I got you.”
Chapter 5
Evan
“Inmate number 14587889!” the guard behind the counter barked as he looked down at a chart in front of him. “Evan Murdoch!”
Evan slowly raised his head and stepped out of line toward the laminated counter. “I’m Evan Murdoch,” he said.
The guard glanced up from the sheet at Evan, peering at him through the steel grate. He looked down again.
“Got any dress-outs?”
“Uh, yes,” Evan said with a nod. “Yes, I do.”
“Yes . . . what?” the guard asked tersely, looking up from the chart.
Evan’s jaw tightened at the guard’s challenging tone, but he forced his blank facial expression to stay in place.
He had learned to train his reactions. Any show of emotion could land him with a guard yelling and sending spittle into his face, or it could earn him a hard shove or a lightning-quick punch from another inmate who wanted to bully him into a fight. He had the bruises to show for his past mistakes, the moments when he hadn’t used caution and had let his emotions get the better of him. He wouldn’t make those mistakes again.
“Yes, sir,” Evan said evenly, watching as the guard snickered.
“You haven’t gotten out the door yet, Inmate. Mind your P’s and Q’s.” The guard then turned slightly to riffle through the stack of bags adjacent to him on the counter. He paused at one bag, scanned the label, then compared it to the sheet in front of him. He picked up the bag and tossed it at Evan. It was filled with clothes that Leila had sent for him wear on the day he would exit the jail and had to turn in his inmate uniform. Those inmates who didn’t have relatives or friends to send them clothes had to choose from the thrift store finds the jail had in reserve.
“Sign this,” the guard said, turning the chart toward Evan.
Evan reached for the ballpoint pen the guard handed him and signed on the line the guard had pointed to.
He then picked up the bag.
“Nice duds,” the guard commented, glancing at the Armani label on Evan’s shirt that showed prominently through the clear plastic.
Evan didn’t respond.
* * *
He emerged from a steel door into the receiving area a few hours later, rubbing his wrists, relieved to finally be rid of the steel cuffs that had left an indentation in his skin. The dingy room was filled with people sitting in the beat-up plastic chairs and standing along the walls. A few children ran in circles, tossing candy bar wrappers at one another while a woman yelled at them in rapid-fire Spanish. An elderly woman sat in one of the chairs, engrossed in her knitting.
“Ev!” a voice called out to him. “Evan!”
He turned slightly and saw Leila rising from one of the chairs. She strode across the room toward him. He could see that she was shaking and gulping for air as she did it. Tears were in her big brown eyes. When she reached him, she flung her arms around his neck and began to weep.
“Oh, baby! Baby, I missed you! I missed you so much.”
He wrapped his arms around her, too, and held her close, breathing in the smell of her hair and the intoxicating scent of her perfume, sinking into her warmth and suppleness. He had longed to embrace her like this, counting the days and then the minutes until he would see her again. He had even dreamed about her during those lonely, harrowing nights in his jail cell.
Evan continued to hold her close as she wept on his shoulder. But her cries eventually tapered off. Reluctantly, he released her.
“Let’s go home. I wanna see our baby,” he whispered.
That had been the other thing he had dreamed about while in jail. He longed to cradle Angelica in his arms, to have her little hand cling to his finger. He had been gone for a little more than a month and could only imagine how big she had gotten in his absence. He knew babies developed quickly their first year. Each week that passed was filled with milestones he had missed.
Leila grinned and nodded. “Of course,” she said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Angelica wants to see her daddy, too. So does Isabel. We all missed you, Ev.”
They exited the prison doors and walked into the parking lot. Evan closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air.
It was overcast that day. The cement and asphalt were wet and filled with puddles thanks to the melting snow all around them. Icicles still clung to the sparse trees along the parking lot. The prison’s exterior and the neighboring buildings seemed to all be of the same drab gray color as the clouds above. But the skies might as well have been clear blue and the sun might as well have been shining for how good Evan felt to finally be free again.
No guards barking at him to wake up or turn off his lights. No prisoners yelling taunts of “What the fuck you lookin’ at?” or “I’ma get in that ass, rich boy!” as he passed.
But Evan knew this freedom, however glorious, might not last. A year from now if a jury found him guilty he could very well find himself back here, walking through those doors again in handcuffs. Or maybe he could be sent to a worse place—a maximum-security federal prison on the other side of the country.
How the hell am I going to survive that?
His hold on Leila’s hand tightened at the prospect of having to let her go all over again.
Feeling his crushing grip and seeing the desperation in his eyes, she frowned. “Everything okay, baby?”
He nodded. “I’m . . . I’m fine,” he lied.
They walked the short distance to his Lincoln Town Car, where his driver, Bill, stood smiling as he held the door open for them.
“Good to have you back, Mr. Murdoch,” Bill said.
Evan gave a halfhearted smile and thumped Bill on the shoulder. “Good to be back.”
Though he had no idea how long he would be back. He couldn’t count on the world suddenly righting itself. He had to prepare for the worst and plan accordingly.
He and Leila climbed inside the car’s backseat, and Bill slammed the door shut behind him. They were still holding hands.
“I’ll admit that I’m selfish. The whole family wanted to wait for you in the parking lot, and I told them to meet us at the house instead.” She cupped his face and gazed lovingly into his eyes. “I get to have you all to myself, for a little while at least.” She kissed him again.
He vaguely nodded and stared over her shoulder at the passing scenery outside the passenger window, taking it all in: the buildings, the trees, and the cars. What was once so mundane now took on much more importance. He had seriously started to question when and if he would ever see these things again.
“I cleared out my schedule for the next few weeks.” She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. She drew closer to him on the
leather seat. “I’m not doing any work for any of my clients. I just want to spend time home alone with you and the kids, and we can—”
“I can’t, baby,” he said, shaking his head, pulling her hand from his face. “I have to get back to the office. We get news in prison, too, you know. I saw that Murdoch Conglomerated is falling apart. I can’t lounge around at home while that happens—even if I wanted to.”
“Of . . . of course,” she said, lowering her eyes, looking embarrassed and crestfallen. “I understand.”
He placed a finger under her chin to raise her face so that she was looking at him again.
“And I’m going to check in with my lawyer to see about my divorce from Charisse. We went through all that bullshit to get her to finally sign the paperwork, and she did it more than two months ago. It should’ve gone through by now. If it hasn’t, I’m going to tell my lawyer to light a fire under the judge’s ass and speed it up. I want us to get married ASAP.”
“Oh, Ev, baby, I . . . I want to marry you, too, but we can do all of that in time! Let’s just focus on—”
“We don’t have time, Lee! You know that and I know that. I don’t know how long I’ll be out of jail or if all this shit is behind me . . . behind us.”
“I know that, honey, but—”
“No ‘buts.’ We need to do this. I have to make sure you’re taken care of. The only way I can do that for sure is if you become my wife.”
She slowly nodded. “O-okay, whatever you think is best. Whatever you want.”
“This is what I want,” he said before turning around to look out the tinted window again.
They carried out the rest of the ride to Murdoch Mansion in mutual silence with only the soft murmur from the heating vent and business radio filling the car compartment. When the Town Car slowly pulled into the circular driveway and he stared at the soaring portico and snow-covered hedges, he sighed.
“We’re home,” Leila whispered, leaning toward him.
“We’re home,” he repeated.
A minute later, he and Leila stepped through the mansion’s French doors, and Evan was greeted by the sight of his family standing in his foyer.
If he’d thought he’d been emotional when he walked out of the prison, he wasn’t prepared for the emotions that overcame him when he saw his infant daughter nestled in her grandmother’s arms or when he saw his brother and sister turn to look at him.
They had all been talking and laughing with one another but instantly fell quiet when Evan entered the room, like someone had flicked a switch, turning off all sound. He stared at them, also at a loss for words.
Isabel, Leila’s daughter, was the first to break the silence. She ran across the foyer and leaped at Evan, almost making him stumble back through the open door. She threw her arms around his waist and held him tight.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she sobbed into his dress shirt. “I thought they took you away like Daddy and you were going to jail forever! I thought we’d never see you again, Evan!”
Watching the little girl cry as she clung to him made Evan’s heart break.
His relationship with Isabel had been far from perfect this past year. He had tried to win her over, to show her that he loved her mother and, if given the chance, could care for her, too. But she had gone to great lengths to show Evan over and over again that he wasn’t her father. That title belonged only to Bradley Hawkins, in Isabel’s eyes—even if the man was a son of a bitch who had cheated on Leila for most of their marriage and had manipulated Isabel into doing things that no eight-year-old should ever be coerced into doing. Isabel’s coldness toward Evan had forced him to back off, to give up any hope of developing a relationship with her. Fortunately, a thaw had started to settle between them before he had gone to jail. But he’d had no idea that Isabel had warmed to him this much, that she had cared this much about him.
“It’s okay, Izzy,” he whispered, hugging her back. “It’s okay. I’m home now.”
After Isabel’s sobs subsided, Evan released her and hugged his sister, Paulette, who was also crying. He then embraced his brother, Terrence, who kept a brave face, but Evan could tell Terrence was equally emotional.
“Damn, Ev! I missed you, bruh!” Terrence croaked through sniffs as they thumped each other on the back.
Evan chuckled, released him, and took a step back. “Missed you, too, Terry. You been behaving yourself while I was gone?”
Terrence shrugged. “As much as can be expected.”
The welcome-home party continued in the great room where the servants had set out a buffet lunch for the half dozen or so attendees. But Evan didn’t have much of an appetite. Instead, he spent most of his time cradling Angelica, staring down at her with the same reverence as he had the day she was born. He also spent the next two hours holding Leila close, even as he spoke with others.
As the sun began to set behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, Evan removed his arm from around Leila’s waist. He did it with great reluctance. He longed to maintain the physical connection that had eluded him for more than a month, but he had something very important he had to do instead.
“I’ll be back, all right?” he whispered to her, then leaned down to kiss slumbering Angelica’s crown, gently brushing her dark, curly hair as he did it.
“Back?” Leila frowned up at him quizzically. “Where are you going?”
“Not far. I just need to talk to Terry for a sec.”
“Oh,” she uttered as he kissed her cheek and walked away. Despite his explanation, she still seemed disconcerted. Her worried expression didn’t disappear. “O-okay. But don’t run off for too long!” she called weakly after him as he strode across the room to his brother, who was talking to C. J. He tapped Terrence on his shoulder.
“Can I talk to you?”
Terrence nodded.
“In private,” Evan whispered, glancing around the room. “It won’t take long.”
“Lead the way.”
As the two men walked toward the great room’s door, Evan could feel several eyes upon them—particularly Leila’s.
Yes, it might seem odd and maybe even rude to walk out of his own party, but frankly Evan didn’t care. What he wanted to say to Terrence he had to say without an audience.
Evan walked down the hall with his brother trailing behind him. He then pushed open the door of his study.
“Oh, man! I don’t think I will ever get used to this room no matter how many times I come in here,” Terrence whispered in awe as he strolled into the study, staring at the wood paneling, the twelve-foot-tall bookshelves along the walls, and the high ceilings. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “I know it’s your home office now, but I’ll always associate it with Dad. I remember coming in here back when he was alive. You knew when Dad called you into the study, you had fucked up.”
Evan chuckled as he walked toward the large oak desk and turned on the old Tiffany lamp. Despite it still being somewhat light outside, the cavernous study was always dark thanks to its heavy velvet curtains. “That is definitely true.”
“He made me sit in that chair,” Terrence said, gesturing to one of the leather wingback chairs, “after getting suspended from school when I was sixteen for that big prank I pulled. You remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Evan said as he pulled out the swivel chair and fell back into it. When he did, he released a sigh of contentment. He’d never imagined that he would miss the little things like the feel of a comfy chair. A twenty-seven-day stint in prison had taught him different. “Dad looked like his head was about to explode,” Evan continued, looking up at his brother. “When you walked in here and he shut the door behind you, I wasn’t sure if you’d make it back out alive.”
“I wasn’t sure, either,” Terrence said, thumping his hand on the back of the chair. “He didn’t beat the hell out of me, but he cut me down pretty good with his words—the way only Dad could. I wish he would’ve smacked me. It would’ve been less painful!”
> Evan shook his head. “Dad wasn’t one for proportionality, was he? Did he tell you he was disowning you?”
“Pretty much. He told me I was a total waste of time and space, and if I ever embarrassed him and the family like that again, he would kick me out of the house. ‘Don’t think being my son means I won’t turn my back on you like any other sorry son of a bitch out here, because I can and I will. Then what will you have? Nothing. No one.’”
“Jesus,” Evan exhaled as he lowered his eyes to the desk their father had once owned. He slowly ran his hand along the ornate gold trim. “‘Don’t bring shame to the family name.’ That’s what he used to say.”
“All the damn time,” Terrence muttered.
“I wonder what he would say about me now . . . about everything that’s happened. He’d probably give me the same threat as he gave you that day—maybe worse.”
“No, he wouldn’t! He’d know you didn’t do this, Ev. It’s that bitter, psychotic asshole Dante who’s—”
Evan raised his hand to silence his brother. “I don’t wanna talk about him, Terry. Don’t even say that motherfucka’s name to me again. Okay?”
Just the thought of Dante could send him into a bubbling rage as hot as magma.
When Evan hadn’t been fantasizing about Leila or Angelica during those cold, lonely nights in prison, he would think about Dante. He’d wish that he had been the one to pull the trigger in that parking garage—or had killed his half-brother by some other means: strangulation, stabbing, or possibly kicking and beating him to death. If he ever came face-to-face with Dante again, he didn’t know what he would do. If found guilty of attempted murder, Evan decided he might try killing Dante after all.
If I’m going to go to prison for twenty years, I might as well go for a good reason, he now thought, clenching his fists.
He exhaled and loosened his hands, resting them on top of the desk again.
“Talking about . . . him,” Evan said, “isn’t why I brought you in here, Terry. I don’t want to waste any more time on that.”
“So why did you bring me in here?”