Scandalous Heroes Box Set

by Latrivia Nelson

She did.

  This was classic Adam. He believed people. It wasn’t that he was completely gullible, but he preferred to see things that weren’t always there in others. Her godmother was partially to blame for that. She'd drilled honesty and fairness into her sons when they were young. It worked with Adam, not so much with Abe.

  “Why did he tell the police you were together? Is he trying to get you in trouble?” She glanced at Ms. Channing. The woman sat quietly at the other end of the small table, allowing them to talk. When their gazes met, Channing smiled before writing something on the pad in front of her. The small contact eased the knot of fear that had been growing in Belinda’s chest since the mention of the gun.

  “While we were walking, he asked me to join his group, his gang. I told him no, plus we just moved here. He said the only way to make it in the city is in a gang. Ms. Channing said that’s not true.” His gaze slid to the other female listening at the end of the table.

  A block of ice lodged in Belinda’s chest. “Gang? Did you say gang?” Her voice rose. No way was she going to lose her son to another group of fanatics, once had been enough.

  “Ms. Moore, what happened to Adam is fairly common.”

  “What?” Belinda’s head whipped around to face Ms. Channing. “Common? Setting my son up to go to jail or trying to get him involved in a gang?”

  Ms. Channing stacked the papers in a folder and placed it on the table before clasping her hands together. She met Belinda’s gaze. “Both actually. It’s why I needed you to come down here so we can strategize how to keep either of those things from happening.”

  Confused as to what the woman proposed, Belinda shook her head. “What do you mean strategize?” If they thought she would allow her son to go through some sort of scared straight program with hardened criminals, they had lost their minds. Adam wasn’t accustomed to the sterile world they faced in Michigan. Being raised in the south, with a close-knit church going family, he functioned best within a larger group of people rather than just her, his twin brother and her dying father.

  Exhaling, she released her fear and zeroed in on what she was certain would be one of the most important conversations she’d had in recent years. “Please tell me what you have in mind?” She was surprised at how composed she sounded when the nuts and bolts that held her world together was disappearing at an alarming rate.

  “There are mentoring programs in the city that are in place for at-risk youth. I would like to partner Adam with one of the groups to see if he connects with one of the men, that way he would have someone in his corner to help him understand his choices and how to navigate through some rough waters.”

  Belinda blinked a couple of times at the nautical references. Navigate? Rough waters? Really, is that what the conversation boiled down to? “You’re suggesting my son hook up with a mentor who knows the streets and can tell him what’s actually going on?”

  It was Ms. Channing’s turn to blink. A slow smile rose on her face. “Yes. Exactly. Thanks for breaking it down to its core. Sometimes what a young man needs is another man who can explain certain realities down to the lowest denominator, removing all the blinders so he can see clearly. The amount of time they spend together is up to them. You should know the mentors have been vetted, most are successful in their own right, and most importantly, have pulled themselves up from some low points. This program has a ninety percent success rate. I highly recommend it.”

  Belinda glanced at Adam. He sat with his head lowered and his hands clasped tightly together. Considering he had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder when he was a kid, his rigid posture and silence was a familiar sign he had used over the years. He wanted to try the mentoring program but was afraid to ask.

  “Do you have a list of the possible mentors?” she asked, returning her gaze to Ms. Channing.

  Adam released an audible breath but remained silent.

  “Yes, I do.” She slid a manila folder across the table to her. “Adam is sixteen, I see he has a birthday in a few months and what, another year of high school?”

  Belinda shook her head. “No, because of their late birthday, he and his brother started a year later. Two more years of high school.” She took the folder and opened it. There were a lot of names and information that she, Adam, and Abe would go over.

  “Adam do you have any idea what kind of work you’d be interested in?” Ms. Channing asked.

  His head jerked up, his gaze slid to Ms. Channing and then to his mom. Belinda watched him from the corner of her eyes as she continued flipping through the pages, waiting to hear what he’d say.

  His hands twisted together as he moistened his lips with his tongue. Her heart ached for her child. When he and Abe were younger, Adam had always been the peacemaker, the one who tried to help the other kids win races even if it meant he lost. Too many times she had to intervene in arguments between her boys over Adam believing a sob story from another kid who turned around and took advantage of the situation. In his defense, he would quote a Bible verse and say something along the lines of, 'God wants me to do it like that.' Eventually, Abe stopped choosing Adam as a teammate. The arguments ceased, but Adam stopped playing team sports and spent more time alone.

  Both her sons stood an inch or two over six feet. Abe outweighed Adam by at least forty pounds. Adam’s metabolism was on speed dial and although she could attest to the fact he ate a load of food, it simply didn’t stick. Consequently, he was tall with a wiry frame. Both her sons had what the people in her church called “good hair.” It was reddish brown, thick and wavy, which complimented their lighter complexions.

  “Adam?” Belinda said when he hadn’t answered the question.

  His whiskey-colored gaze met hers. She read his hesitation, but could not allow him a free pass. “Answer Ms. Channing.”

  He nodded. “I like to work with my hands. I mean…I can do computers like my brother, but I like to be outside, working with my hands, burning…burning energy.”

  Belinda smiled. She and the boys had lived with her god-mama until she died ten years ago. More times than she could count, the older woman had told Adam to go burn off some energy. Interesting he still related to that.

  “Okay. There are a few places, construction, landscaping, painting, all those would fit the bill. I only ask that because you will spend more time with someone who’s interested in the same things you’re interested in. I suggest you and your mom go over the list of mentors who work in one of those fields, make an appointment, and go talk to him.” She sat back in her chair and watched Adam.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he mumbled.

  Belinda flipped through the pages, impressed with all the information and the lists of potential mentors. She wondered if Abe would be interested, perhaps he and Adam could both have a mentor. The vision of Robert, the older man she had met a couple of months ago, as a mentor for her sons, eluded her. His children were adults, and while he was cordial to her sons, he had not been zealous in getting to know them better or in spending time with the three of them. Which suited her fine, since she considered him a temporary morsel until she met someone more her style.

  Closing the file, Belinda met Ms. Channing’s gaze. “Thank you, we'll go online tonight and sign him up. I want to go through all this information with my other son as well. He might be interested in taking on a mentor.”

  Ms. Channing nodded as she stood. “Yes, that would be good. Sort of a buddy program.” She smiled as she walked over to Adam and unlocked his cuffs. “You were lucky, Adam. Greg is underage, so the gang uses him as a recruiter. He’ll spend some time in juvie, but he is well on his way to spending time in prison for one thing or another. His older brothers are deep into the gang life and taught him from the time he was in elementary school how to be a runner.”

  Adam’s eyes widened.

  “The investigator asked him a lot of questions regarding how well he knew you. His answers didn’t add up so they knew he was lying. Learn from this, if you don’t understand someth
ing, your mentor can and will help you. Be honest, listen, and learn. I don’t want to see you back down here again.” Her tough words were accompanied with a compassionate smile, just the right combination for Adam. He nodded twice while rubbing his wrist.

  “Yes Ma’am. I won’t be back here.” He looked at his mom. “Can we go home now?”

  Belinda hid her smile at how young he sounded and glanced at Ms. Channing before picking up her folder. “Anything else?”

  “No. But if the system does not show Adam signed up in the mentor program before the end of the week, then you will probably hear from us again. It’s important that he does not have a repeat situation of what happened earlier today. Ignorance is not an acceptable defense, not when information is made available.”

  Random thoughts flew through Belinda’s mind. Chief among them was why did a teenager have to be schooled to learn the lessons of the street? When had the world gone topsy turvy? Was it because the cops couldn’t keep the streets safe? She didn’t live in a bubble, and knew that good, innocent kids died every day, often caught in the crossfire of criminals. But that they had to learn to navigate the rough waters of the city seemed as though those in charge had waved a white flag.

  “I appreciate all of your help,” she said to Ms. Channing and shook her hand. “I moved here recently and we’re still learning our way around.”

  “No problem, that’s my job. Are you here for work?”

  “No my father is sick and needed help.”

  “Sorry.”

  Belinda waved off her sympathy. Her father had lived seventy years of his life in the manner he chose, smoking, drinking, and chasing skirts. He’d allowed her mom to rule the roost as long as she didn’t interfere with his plans.

  “He asked me to come home to help him. It was a tough choice, as you can imagine.” She pointed at Adam. “They were in high school, had friends, close ties.” She released a sigh as the familiar weight of guilt settled. “We pulled up roots so my dad wouldn’t be placed in a home, and he wanted to meet my boys. It’s different here from Florida…and Georgia, but we’ll adapt.” She tried to inject the right amount of confidence into her tone.

  Adam shrugged and stared at the wall.

  “I’m sure you will get things settled before school starts in the fall. Sometimes we all need a little help. Nothing wrong with that,” Ms. Channing said in a conciliatory tone, and then opened the door.

  The three of them left the small room in silence. Adam being half a foot taller, brought up the rear never allowing too much distance between them. His anxiety was a tangible thing. She fought the urge to reach back and take his hand as she had done so many times when he was much younger. Finally, they were out of the police station, and headed home.

  Adam had been browsing through the folder in silence when he closed it and gazed at her. “Didn’t Ms. Channing look like Mr. Robert?”

  Stunned didn’t begin to describe Belinda’s emotions. She had thought the woman looked familiar. What were the chances that the woman in charge of her son’s case was the daughter or relative of the man she was dating?

  “You think so?” she asked rather than answer.

  “Yeah. She squinted her eyes the same way he does. Plus, her perfume reminds me of him.”

  That comment didn’t make much sense, but rather than prolong the discussion, she shut it down so she could think. “Got it.”

  Chapter 2

  Benjamin “Red” O’Connor walked into the new main building of the Men of 3X Construction company, located outside of Flint, and headed for Ross’ office. The two of them needed to discuss Julio Cardenas’ upcoming dinner party. He tapped on the door as a courtesy and opened it before Ross responded.

  Ross frowned at him.

  Red hadn’t realized his friend had company and nodded at the young man seated in the chair in front of the desk.

  “Hey,” Red said, tipping up his chin.

  “Hello.”

  Red met Ross’ gaze in expectation. He knew Ross wanted him to leave, but their discussion shouldn’t be put off. Smoke would be in the office soon and if he knew anything, he knew the shit would hit the fan. Smoke would demand answers. He and Ross needed to be on the same page.

  “Adam, this is Red, one of the owners of the construction company I was telling you about. I have another partner, Smoke. The three of us own Men of 3X Construction. We've all served some time in jail or prison for misconduct or criminal behavior. We will tell you that everyone has a story or a reason why they do things they shouldn’t. But that’s all it is, their story, or his story.” He pointed at Red.

  “History, get it?” Red chuckled, crossed his arms and rocked on the balls of his feet.

  Ross shook his head and continued. “At any rate, you are the only person who writes your own story. You can prepare your own blueprint for life or allow yourself to be swept along with little resistance. But at the end of the day, you own it. You own your choices and you own your story.” He paused. “As a mentor, we talk, and I will tell you pieces of my story when it’s relevant to your situation. You understand?”

  Adam nodded.

  Red stared at Adam and re-evaluated. He was a youngster, and based on the conversation, he had been in some trouble and was now in one of the mentoring programs. The way he held his head and stared at Ross seemed vaguely familiar. Ross said something and the kid laughed. The sound sent tingles of awareness across his skin. What the hell?

  Intrigued, Red stepped to the side and leaned against the wall so he could get a better look at the young guy. When he moved, the teen gazed at him, the remnants of a smile still on his face. Red froze.

  Aww shit.

  He had seen that smile all his life. Not that the O’Connor grin was patented or one of a kind but the hair, sharp chin, square jaw, the angling of the head just so, and the crinkling of the eyes together made a compelling argument. The smile slipped a bit beneath Red’s stare, and the kid turned to face Ross, allowing Red the opportunity to further scrutinize the teen.

  The dark red hair could be considered dark brown but Red had enough relatives with that shade of hair that everyone referred to it as part of the O’Connor brand. But it was the whiskey-colored eyes that sealed it for him. They were the same shade as his mother

  Red snapped out of his musings when Ross and the young man stood. Red stood at six feet, five inches, and this kid was shorter than him by a few inches. He was definitely taller than Smoke, who was six feet even. The thought brought a smug grin to his face.

  “I didn’t get your name,” Red said, stopping the young man before he could leave.

  “Adam.” The kid looked at Ross and then back at Red. “Adam Moore.”

  “It was nice to meet you.” Red smiled and held out his hand.

  With some hesitation, Adam took his hand, and they shook. Red was impressed with the firmness of the shake. “Hope to see you around.”

  Adam smiled, looked over his shoulder at Ross. “Me too.” Red watched Adam walk away and shook his head. Someone in his family had a loose chicken.

  “What was so important you couldn’t wait a few moments?” Ross snapped, grabbing his attention.

  “Who was that? Is that kid from around here?” Red asked ignoring the glare Ross sent him. “Seriously, I need to know.”

  Ross stared at him. Red could see the wheels turning in his friend’s head.

  “Why?”

  Red shrugged, not wanting to say anything just in case he was wrong. “He looks familiar, that’s all.”

  Ross stood, and slid his coat on over his shoulders. “He’s a kid from the mentoring program. I signed the company up last year to help at-risk teens before they wind up in jail. Here.” He placed the file from his desk in Red’s hand. “Read his file. I have to meet Cherise in ten minutes. I can’t be late or she’ll kill me.”

  Distracted by the information he read in the file, he waved Ross off and sat in the chair Adam had relinquished moments before. The last name Moore meant nothing
to him. Adam was sixteen, soon to be seventeen. Red closed his eyes and did the math. That would mean someone in their mid to late thirties would have been involved with the mother. He re-read the parent information, not surprised that the father’s name was blank.

  “Belinda Moore,” he murmured. He had no idea who the woman was, but figured someone in his family might. Just to be sure, Red decided he would send an email blast to his brothers and older cousins. Pity he didn’t think to take a picture with the kid. He stood with the file and headed for his office.

  Moments later, he had sent an email with a description of Adam and his mother’s name to his kin. A trickle of unease ran down his spine. For a moment he wondered if telling his family about the kid had been the right thing to do, and then he saw his mother’s eyes. Allie O’Connor would skin him alive if he didn’t follow through.

  Once again that sealed it.

  <<<<>>>>

  Donald O’Connor strode into his twin brother’s home office while eating a sandwich that Perry, the servant who took care of the kitchen, had prepared for him. “What’s up?” he asked Blaine, his twin, who sat in front of his computer rubbing his forehead.

  “Have you checked your emails since you’ve been home?”

  “No, I left court, hit the gym, and came home, why?” He crowded close to the screen to see what had Blaine so concerned.

  Blaine scooted back in his chair, allowing Donald to come closer. “Read this. Red sent this a few hours ago.”

  Nodding, Donald bent forward to make out the words.

  “Just a note to you guys. I saw a teenager today and no doubt in my mind he’s related. He has the O’Connor mannerisms and eyes like mama. So if any of you ever dealt with a woman named Belinda Moore…that’s his mama, chances are he’s yours.”

  Donald’s breath caught in his lungs at the name of the woman he hadn’t seen in sixteen years. Belinda Moore. She had been what . . . eighteen, nineteen that summer? “Belinda?” He met his twin’s gaze and knew they would be opening an old wound both of them had agreed to never visit again. What were the chances?