He smiled. It wasn’t really a happy smile but was more like a resigned one. “If you haven’t noticed by now, I mean just about everything I do.”
Bliss shook her head. “Not when it comes to Cyrus. You’re too torn when it comes to him. Chase, why? All this shit is his fault. I know he’s your brother and you love him as such, but you’re going to have to mean what you said. We have to get away from him. Cyrus is a destroyer, Chase. One thing I know to be true is that you two don’t get along, yet you’re always doing something for him. What the hell does Cyrus ever do for you? You’re either always upset after you see him, or else you’re fighting him. Leave him alone, baby! He’s like poison to you. You have to promise me that you’ll do what you said and step away from him.”
Chase stared at her for a long time that Bliss almost shook him to see if he was still conscious. He finally sighed heavily and piled the pillows up. Chase leaned back against them and looked at her. “I promise you, Bliss, but I’ve gotta warn you.” He took her hand and held it tight. “A lot of things happened tonight—bad, story-at-eleven kinds of things. If there are reprisals, I might not have a choice but to answer them, and not because of Cyrus or Corey or even my own ego, but because I have to stay safe.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you, Bliss? I want to do what I need to do to make you happy, but I need you to know that there are a lot of extenuating circumstances that might require me to go back on my word. I told you before that I’ll never lie to you unless it’s an absolute necessity, so I’m letting you know now, just in case this shit spirals out of control.”
“It’s already out of control, Chase. Look at you! I thought you were dead when they brought you in here.” Her voice was rising, and tears slipped down her cheeks.
Chase pulled her to him and she straddled his lap, facing him. He rubbed her back and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here…and I’m fine.”
She leaned back and looked at him. “What if you weren’t, Chase? What am I supposed to do without you?”
He smiled his boyish smile at her and wiped the tears off her cheeks with her thumbs. “I’ll do my best to make sure you never find out.” He kissed her, and when he pulled away, he had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
Bliss frowned. “What?”
“Since I gotta keep my promise, you gotta keep yours.”
She smiled at him coyly, knowing exactly what he was talking about, but deciding to play dumb. “Yeah? What promise is that, Chase?”
Chase ran his hands up her thighs and let them come to rest on her hips.
Bliss raised an eyebrow and smiled. She had no idea what was in that last shot Tasha gave him or how bad his head was still hurting, but she knew neither one of them had any effect on his libido. She didn’t think he should be thinking about making love under the influence of injury and all that medication, and she didn’t want him hurt any more than he already was, but when she tried to get up, he held her where she was.
Chase smiled at her. “Where you goin’, Bliss? I was talkin’ to you.”
“I’m listening, baby, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get too physical just yet.”
Chase laughed and moved against her, causing a ripple of goose bumps to break out on her skin as he put his arms lovingly around her neck “I ain’t too hurt for that.”
Bliss giggled and kissed him quick. She was so glad he was okay. “I do love you.”
“I know you do, and I hope you know how much I love you.” He paused just long enough to slip his pants down and get in. Bliss sighed and started to move with him, and Chase smiled. “I could spend the rest of my life right here, Bliss—right here, just loving you. Would you mind? Would you let me?”
Bliss loved the feel of him. “You know I would. I love you, Chase. I can’t help myself.”
He laughed lewdly. “Why would you want to? You feel this? This is bliss, baby.”
Bliss blushed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Chase was looking at her as serious as she’d ever seen him look.
“I can’t help myself either. Keep your promise, Bliss. Marry me.”
There was no fight left in her. She was done dodging him and evading the issue. “When?”
“Saturday after next. We’ll go away and get married somewhere almost as pretty as you.”
Bliss nodded. She didn’t care where they made their vows. Wherever it was, she’d be there with him by her side, and she’d be ecstatic. “Okay, Chase.”
He kissed her and turned her over on her back. “I’m serious, Bliss. Saturday after next, somewhere nice. Don’t say okay. Say yes.”
Bliss wrapped her legs around him as he wore down the absolute last of her reservations. How could she possibly go through the rest of her life without ever being with Chase? It was too much to ask. It was impossible. Her body started to hum. “Yes. Yes I’ll be there. I’ll be your wife. I will. I promise, Chase!”
Chase was sliding into her deliciously. “Good. We’ll get your ring day after tomorrow.” He covered her mouth with his, and they came together. It was sweet and tender, full of love and passion. Chase held her close and whispered words of love in her ear, and both of them fell asleep in each other’s arms, not thinking of the horrors of the night, but of the promise of love in their future.
Chapter 17
Cyrus couldn’t believe the shit had gone down like that. It was a fucking disaster, and it was all over the fucking news—even in the goddamned paper! He’d managed to dodge them so far, but the cops were looking for him hard because he owned the club where all hell broke loose. Cyrus smirked and swirled his Hennessey. The irony of having ultimately named the club Eternal wasn’t lost on him. He should have named that shit Five Fuckin’ Minutes since that was as long as it lasted. He sipped his Hennessey slow. It was hair of the dog. He was so hung over, he felt like there was a tiny man with a hammer inside of his head. The Hennessey was helping a little, but he still felt sick.
Cyrus looked over at Khalid. He knew he didn’t really have a choice than to be where they were. They had to go somewhere out of the heat, so they were currently at Khalid’s sister’s house in Staten Island. Khalid was sprawled on the couch, looking like he was getting sick from that shot to the shoulder.
His sister Khadijah was trying to clean the wound. It wasn’t bleeding like it had been, but it still looked nasty. She bandaged it and stood up. “That’s the best I can do. There’s a bullet in there, and I’m not ‘bout to dig my fingers in there to find it. It’ll do more harm than good. When the hell is your friend gonna get here?”
Cyrus shrugged. “Hopefully soon.”
He’d sent one of his boys to fetch a dude named Monty, who’d served in Iraq as a medic and was pretty good at picking bullets out of niggas. They’d used him many times before with no casualties.
Khadijah sucked her teeth. “You don’t seem too concerned.”
Cyrus sipped his drink and looked out the window. “Everything’s gonna be fine. You think I could get somethin’ to eat?”
She sucked her teeth again. “If you want something delivered, be my guest, but I ain’t cookin’ for you, Cyrus. I’d rather die.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “No need for all that. Mind your manners, Khadijah.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re in my house. I think you need to mind yours.”
Cyrus watched her walk out of the room, mad like it was all his fault. He turned his drink up and finished it. It wasn’t his fault! It’s fuckin’ Chase’s fault! All of it!This is just one more thing to hate his ass for! If his hard-headed ass had only greased Wolf when he told him to, none of this shit would have happened. This was becoming common with Chase, instead of doing what he was supposed to, that nigga had done what he wanted to and let enough time pass for Wolf to come after Cyrus. Did he kill him then? No. That clown killed Mooch and Post. Of course, it was for get-back, but all he’d succeeded in doing by taking out them niggas was making t
he situation worse.
The killing spree at the club last night was worse still. That was Wolf’s brother with his guts splashed across that alley, and that was one of his top enforcers with his wrists split. Cyrus frowned and scratched his chin. He was still trying to figure out how Chase had managed that one. He heard through the grapevine that nigga looked like he’d committed suicide.
The doorbell rang, and Khalid opened his eyes. “Who the fuck is that?” he whispered gruffly, reaching down in the cushions for his gun.
Cyrus put a hand on his arm to restrain him. “Chill, man. It’s probably Monty…or maybe it’s Corey.” He’d left Corey’s tired ass a voicemail telling him where to find him, even though he didn’t seem to give enough of a fuck about him to look for him in the first place. When Cyrus had asked him where he was, Corey had shucked and jived him at first, then admitted he was at Chase’s place, holed up with him. “Fuck them both,” Cyrus had said. “Fuck ‘em hard for not even comin’ to see about me.” Cyrus smiled. He knew how to lay it on extra thick when he had to. He could slather on more guilt than a Jewish grandmother, and he always managed to make Corey’s ass fold right up. Chase used to fold pretty easy himself, but now he refused to bend, and that was the main problem that was causing all this shit.
Khadijah walked back into the room with Corey and—surprise, surprise!—J.T. and Chase. “Your little brothers are here to pull your fat out of the fire…again,” she said sternly.
Cyrus looked at her sharply. “I’m tired of tellin’ you about that mouth of yours, Khadijah.”
Khalid sat up painfully. “Leave her alone, Cy. She didn’t have to let us in here.”
Cyrus looked at Corey, singling him out on purpose. “Nice of you to come, Corey. ‘Course, if I’d been shot, I’d probably be dead by now waitin’ on your sorry black ass.”
Corey looked at the floor, but J.T. rubbed his chin thoughtfully and sat down next to Khalid. “I don’t know about that, Cyrus.” He looked Khalid up and down comically. “This nigger’s shot, and he’s still livin’. How long do you think he might stay that way with no doctor, huh?”
Cyrus looked at J.T. darkly. He hated J.T. with a passion.
J.T. stared back just as dark because he hated Cyrus just as much, if not more. “You gonna let him get septic shock and die just because you care too much about your own ass to save your boy? That’s some fucked-up, selfish, shit, Cyrus.”
“Well…we didn’t take Chase to the hospital,” Corey chimed in quietly.
Cyrus’s eyebrow went up. Didn’t take him to the hospital? He bit back a smile. Did Chase—the almighty Smoke—almost get his wings clipped? He looked over at Chase, whose actual appearance hadn’t sunk in yet. Chase was standing very quietly in the corner with his arms folded across his chest, dressed in his “work clothes,” black from head to toe. He was even sporting a black Yankees cap and a really nice, really dark pair of shades.
“What happened to you?”
Chase took off his shades and his cap. There was blood in the white of one eye and a nice little line of stitches in his scalp. “I got hit in the head.”
Cyrus had very rarely seen Chase hurt, so he was understandably a little shocked. But he also found it hilarious. It was all he could do to keep from laughing with satisfaction. Good for his ass. “I know whoever did that paid for that shit.”
Chase smiled a cold little grin. “He bled out.”
Cyrus poured himself another drink. “I believe you.” He took a sip of his drink and looked at Chase with that same dark look he’d given J.T. “Anyway, I’m not supposed to be talkin’ to you. What the fuck could you possibly want? Did you come here to try and kick my ass again?”
Chase laughed dangerously, but his eyes refused to smile. “I didn’t try to kick your ass, Cyrus. I did kick your ass. For the record, I really don’t want see to your helpless wannabe gangster ass, either.”
Cyrus’s mouth flew open, and he started spewing venom. Who did this nigga think he was fuckin’ with? “Wannabe gangster? You ungrateful little shit! Who you raisin’ up to? If it wasn’t for me, who knows what would have happened to your crazy ass! What do I get from you? Disrespect and insubordination. I shoulda smothered your ass while you were still in your fuckin’ crib! All you’ve ever given me has been grief and more grief—for your whole damn life. You’ve always been difficult. You never just fell in line. All this shit is your fault! You call me helpless? Well, I guess I am, ‘cause I don’t get any damn help from you, do I? Look at the fuckin’ mess you made, you worthless son of a bitch!”
Chase was looking down with his lips tucked in. Cyrus knew he’d hurt him, because he refused to make eye contact. Go ahead and cry, you little bitch.
Corey stepped in front of Cyrus and put his hand on his arm. “Hey, Cyrus, don’t do this. Chase came to help you.”
Cyrus sneered and swigged down the rest of his drink. “Help me? He ain’t been helpin’ me. You want to help me now? After all this shit? Well, fuck you, Smoke! Take your help and go fuck yourself.”
“Wait a minute, Cy,” Khalid said from the couch.
“Fuck him. We don’t need his ass.”
“Cyrus, stop,” Corey said.
“I ain’t gotta kiss his high-handed ass, Corey, and I can say whatever I want. I was damned near grown when you niggas met me. What you gonna do, Smoke? Pull your razor out on me? Go ahead, ‘cause if you ever step to me again, I’m gonna put a bullet in your goddamned forehead.”
Chase’s head popped up, and his eyes twinkled. He was smiling.
Corey’s eyes pleaded with his brother. “Cut it out, Cyrus. You must be drunk. Stop this shit.”
Cyrus noticed that J.T. had retreated to stand at Chase’s elbow. Yeah, maybe he was a little drunk, but he had a fucking reason to be. He was furious at Chase for letting that shit get out of hand. He looked at Chase with his glittering eyes and icy grin, and then he put his glass down and pulled his gun out of his waistband. “I meant what I said, Smoke. You can stand there and glitter and shine all you like, but you come at me to kick my ass and I ain’t fightin’ your crazy ass. I’m puttin’ a hole in you.”
Chase didn’t move a muscle, but he never stopped smiling.
“Put the gun away, Cyrus,” J.T. said in a low voice.
“Please put the gun away,” Corey echoed.
Cyrus looked at Khalid, who was watching him like he was holding his breath and cautiously shaking his head slowly from left to right. Cyrus touched his nose; that shit would never be the same, thanks to Chase. He hated his punk ass. He always had, and there was no need to pretend it was something it wasn’t. He didn’t put his gun away but held it with the business end pointed toward the floor and poured himself another drink. He sipped it and looked back at his little brother. “So what do you want, Chase?” Cyrus was far from stupid. Chase was so angry at him that he was almost shaking. That smile had become quivery, but he hadn’t moved an inch. Cyrus smiled. Chase was showing amazing self-control. If he hadn’t been, Cyrus would have been on the floor trying to keep his blood in his body from the first moment he started talking shit. A frown had replaced the glittery look in his eyes, though, and he seemed to be looking everywhere at once. Chase flexed his hands, and Cyrus raised his gun, knowing he was fucking up bad. Nobody pulled a gun on Chase; that was the very reason he’d killed Herc Mercer.
Chase surprised him when he laughed and started pulling his gloves up on his hands. “I don’t believe your stupid, careless ass just pulled a gun on me, Cyrus.” Chase pulled the zipper up on his jacket. It was too warm for it, but he always wore on when he greased someone. “First, you talk to me like I’m a fuckin’ animal and then you show your weapon. You know how I feel about that shit.”
“Oh God, Chase. Please let it go! Cyrus just ain’t thinkin’ straight. Let’s just go take care of Wolf like you came here to do,” Corey pleaded.
“Nah, I don’t think that’s how this is gonna play out, Corey.” He turned his attention back to his gun-wieldi
ng brother. “You really pullin’ a damn gun on me, Cyrus?” Chase asked again before he started toward Cyrus from where he’d been standing just inside the living room.
Cyrus raised his gun and leveled it. “One more step, Smoke, and I’m pullin’ the trigger.”
Chase stopped where he was and smiled at him; it was a crazy smile. “You really gonna shoot me, Cyrus?”
Cyrus didn’t answer. He just kept his gun level and picked up the Hennessey bottle. He took a swig and winced at the burn. “I don’t really want to, Chase, but I think we’re entering the phase of our relationship where I just fuckin’ might.”
“Cyrus, please stop!” Corey was begging now.
Cyrus turned on Corey. “You know…you’re an irritating little motherfucker, Corey. Stop beggin’ us to get along okay? The shit ain’t gonna happen.” Cyrus was aware that he was starting to slur his words, but he took a short swig of Hennessey anyway. Fuck it now. The liquor burned as it went down, but it boosted his bravery. Cyrus pointed his gun from Chase to Corey. “You’re pushin’ your luck with me, too, you closed-mouth little bastard. You can get some too.”
Hurt and disbelief washed over Corey’s face, as Chase stepped in front of him and pushed Corey firmly behind him.
“What’s the matter with you, Cyrus?” Chase demanded.
Cyrus resented even the sound of his brother’s voice. “Shut up!” he said and pulled the trigger of his nine.
The bullet hit Chase dead center in the chest, the force of it knocking him backward into Corey.
“Oh my God,” J.T. said in a very quiet voice as he rushed at Cyrus and grabbed the gun out of his hand. J.T. had it pointed at him before Cyrus could finish blinking. “Chase?” he called out to his friend.
Chase had taken Corey down with him, and Corey started bawling as he held Chase in his arms and tried to check for him. “Oh no! God no! Cyrus, what did you do? What did you fuckin’ do to our brother, man?”
“Oh shit, Cy! What the fuck, man?” This came from Khalid in a raspy, injured voice.
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