by Keta Kendric
“You know she’s a college graduate. Did well. Could be staying in a high-rise, living a peaceful life. But, after she graduated, she came right back to all this.” The man circled his finger in the air to indicate the area we were currently located.
Timothy added, “She was pushing a key a week the entire time she was in college. She got an education, but the streets were right there with her the entire time. I’m sure she redefined the term ‘higher education’.”
The comment had us all grinning. It also solidified my assumption that these men, like Mecca, had way more depth to them than met the eyes. Another of the men, the quietest one with a big nose and a skinny face, spoke up. “And she is always sporting bruises like she attends an underground fight club.”
The bruises.
“Why does it seem like you guys push her buttons, if you think she’s this badass assassin?”
Six sets of eyes landed on me like I should have known better than to ask the question.
“People like her sense fear. She drilled it in our heads that the weak never survived long. If you act all scared and shit, she’ll know,” one stated. Another took over like their minds were a part of a collective hive.
“If not for her, we would probably be a bunch of statistics. She was the one, not Raymond, that trained most of us. She taught us about investing our money, and how to do more than buy cars and party.”
The enlightening discoveries about Mecca kept pouring in. Could there be any truth to what these men were saying about my wife being a hit-woman, or was I surrounded by a bunch of drug-dealing conspiracy theorists?
Mecca was a firecracker. There was no doubt about that, but an assassin? In a way, you needed to be a killer in this line of work, but Mecca’s men gave me the sense that she was much more.
Talking to the men was allowing me to gain more of a sense of how they functioned, as well as giving me insight as to how Mecca operated. Observing them closely with an outside eye, I could tell that most, if not all of them, would die for her.
After the shoe tossing incident, I expected that they would have calmed down, but the one that wanted a one-on-one talk with her wasn’t done. His body language and the way he ogled her insinuated that they had slept together.
He obviously wanted more, and she didn’t. He’d also had a sample of the one thing I was obsessing over. For that alone, I was ready to rip his spine out and hang it on the coat rack.
Mecca fingered her necklace, running her fingers delicately across it like it soothed her nerves. I was starting to notice that it was a habit for her. The silver necklace with the little solid circular pendant was one she never took off.
I stalked closer to them, fully aware that Mecca could handle herself, but unable to stop myself from wanting to protect her anyway. I didn’t like the way the man kept undermining her orders, that in my opinion, were solid and well-planned enough to be followed.
Now, he was in her face, and they were in the mix of a heated debate about the age requirements of the runners. She didn’t want them using anyone under eighteen. This was a respectable rule, since I had seen how young children and teens were eaten alive from getting involved in the street life too soon.
The man, Marshawn, obviously wanted to be more than he was in Mecca’s life, and if I knew anything about my wife, she would stand her ground on the matter. She’d put those sexy heels back on and stood a few inches shorter than the stocky man.
Their argument commenced, and neither noticed that I had edged closer to them, my stringent gaze locked on the man, studying his every move. His face grew incensed at some law she was laying down with one of her manicured nails aimed at his face.
When he gripped her wrist, I lost it. I was in his face so fast that I couldn’t recall how I’d gotten there.
“If you don’t take your fucking hand off my wife, the coroner is going to have to suck your body parts up with a fucking vacuum.”
The cutting edge of my voice, and my heaving breaths blowing against his face caused the man to raise his hands and back away from Mecca and me. Her brows lifted and remained that way as she cast a curious expression in my direction.
“Man, chill. We were just having a fucking discussion,” he stated, his hard glare colliding with mine.
A growl rumbled from deep within my chest as I glared at him with murder racing through my soul. He had common sense enough to remove himself from my view. He walked away, glaring back and no doubt wanting to put a bullet in me.
“Man, that big white motherfucker was about to rip your damn head off your shoulders and eat it,” one of the men told Marshawn before I turned my attention to Mecca.
Instead of the discipline I expected for stepping into her business, she flashed me a sly smile.
“How badly do you need him?” I asked her, staring after Marshawn again.
“What do you mean?” Her gaze followed mine.
“He put his hands on you, and all I can think about is ripping his throat out.”
Realization shined in her eyes, and a trace of something wicked flashed before a delicate smile breezed across her tempting lips.
“He has a mouth on him, but he’s one of the hardest workers I have. We had a thing, once, not even a full night. We were young. I let go, and he hasn’t, but it doesn’t change that he does good work. He’s also saved my life on more than one occasion. He’s like my trusted advisor. Tells me the shit I need to hear, versus what I want to hear.”
She’d confirmed my speculations about them. I didn’t like him having what I’d never had. Depending on my wife, it may be something I never get. They also worked together, so he had the privilege of seeing her more than I did.
The tension in my jaw made it tick and caused her to brush a soft hand against my forearm. The stiff tension in me eased as my gaze fell to the area she caressed, grateful for the small amount of affection.
“Don’t worry, husband. I don’t want him, not sure if I did back then. However, loneliness has a way of taking you down faster than a fucking bullet, and sometimes I’m forced to do something about it.”
Her words helped loosen the tension in my jaw, and I pulled my eyes away from Marshawn, who had caught me glaring at him. I aligned my gaze with Mecca’s, ensuring she received my words well enough to listen to them.
“You have me now. You never have to worry about being lonely again.”
“Read you loud and clear,” she replied. Her play on my nickname wasn’t missed, and the acknowledgment caused my smile to deepen.
What was that little smirk on her face all about? Was she impressed that I was willing to rip someone’s spine out for her? Was she aware that I would have done it without a second thought? More importantly, how could a woman that gorgeous be lonely?
15
Arjen
The next day, seeing a smile on my brother’s face had awakened mine. Khane smiling was a rarity, but after he married Desiree, smiles were expressed often and sometimes for no reason at all. At times, it was obvious that he was remembering a great time he’d had with his wife.
I had made every imaginable attempt to incorporate happiness into his life through the years, but nothing had worked, until Desiree.
Today, he wasn’t wearing his contact lens, something else he had rarely done. So his eye, the one he was nearly blind in, was on full display. He gave me a chest-pounding hug while I stared at him, not hiding my curiosity. He and Desiree were making it work, and I was curious to know how.
“How’s married life treating you?” he asked, and I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or genuinely interested in knowing.
“It’s. Shit. I don’t know. I’ve hardly seen my wife in the last two and a half weeks because she works more than the both of us put together. I’ve had to put four guards working in shifts on her just to keep a safe eye on her.”
I cupped the back of my neck and squeezed at the tension there. I had fool-heartedly tricked myself into believing an arranged marriage would be a stress-free endeav
or, another task on my to-do list.
“Most nights she sleeps at one of the Black Saints’ safe houses, her condo, or even at their trap houses. Sometimes it feels like we’re connecting, but fuck, I don’t know. What the fuck do I know about being married?”
Khane fought to keep his lips from forming into a smile. He knew that I wasn’t used to having women problems because they usually fell all over me. Mecca was resistant, and she had also informed me that she would consider being with me when she was ready.
Now, I was starting to think her version of ready wasn’t what I’d had in mind. My fucking balls were so blue, they needed a song written for them.
“How the hell did you get Desiree to go so crazy for you?” I questioned, waiting for his reply.
Khane’s unusual burst of laughter was like a kick to the side of my head. His head tilted, and the question I knew he would ask me, flashed in his gaze before he had even spoken it.
“You’re asking me for advice on women? You must be sick.”
He continued to laugh, and the rare sound coming from him caused me to ease into a laugh of my own.
“So?” I questioned in case he assumed I was joking. “How did you get Desiree?”
I shook my head, thinking of the trouble he and she had gone through to be with each other.
“You know the night before the wedding ceremony, through a curtain of tears, she told me that even though she was marrying me, she was still going to be in love with you.”
His brows lifted, widening his eyes.
“She told you that?”
“Yes. Which is why I’m trying to figure out what the hell you did to get her that devoted to you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I disclosed every secret I expected would drive her away. She saw the real me. Saw what I did for a living, saw me torture someone, saw me kill a whole group of people at that spa, and still accepted me. She saw my eye the first morning she walked into my kitchen and didn’t shy away, no pity or anything, only interest.”
Khane shrugged like he was still attempting to figure out him and Desiree.
“I was honest with her. She also seemed happy when I started showing her how to cook, so I kept teaching her. I’m not much of a conversationalist, you know that, but I sit with her and listen until she makes me talk.”
“What about the rest? The way your ass keeps smiling, I know that you two are fucking the shit out of each other.”
The way he bit into his smile made my words ring with truth.
“If that’s all you want from Mecca, she’s going to know, and it will likely make her stay away even more. I deliberately pushed Desiree away, but it had the opposite effect. Talk to Mecca like you’re talking to me now. Figure out what she wants or needs, not material things, and give them to her. I’m still figuring it out, but I believe women feed off of emotional connections. They like when you’re in tuned with their bodies and when you invest in their minds and the things they value.”
He tilted his head in thought for a moment.
“Make that equal parts mind and body,” he added.
I pushed my fingers through my hair while mulling over Khane’s advice. Did women still want the old school ways: the gentle caress, the smooth lines of care, surprises, and the listening ear? Didn’t that type of romance die out in the nineties? I was thinking about buying Mecca a car or two, but in light of what Khane was saying, had changed my mind.
The click of expensive heels had me sitting up higher in my seat. She was gracious about the closet of clothing I had purchased for her and promised that she would not let them go to waste. I was pleased to see that she hadn’t because she made each piece come to life on her lush body.
In light of what Khane had said about material items, I noticed that although Mecca loved the clothes, the gesture hadn’t done a thing towards making us any closer as a couple. Maybe Khane was right.
“Hey, husband.”
She cast a teasing smile in my direction before she turned to Khane.
“Hey, almost husband.”
“Mecca,” he greeted, his smile flashing again.
When she stepped closer to Khane, his smile dropped, and his posture stiffened.
“What the hell happened to your eye?” She peered closer, not giving him a chance to respond.
“Finally found out my cousin wasn’t as innocent as she appears to be, and she stabbed you in it or something? Caught you in the eye with the pot of hot grits she slung while you slept?”
A quick burst of tension had stiffened me. Mecca had no idea how close she had come to predicting what had happened to his eye, but that it was our evil father that had wielded the knife.
She reached out and cupped his chin, and I jumped up from my chair, hoping he didn’t react in a negative manner. By the time I took the first few steps, she was tilting his head up to get a better look, and he was…letting her.
“It’s been this way since I was thirteen. I usually wear a contact,” Khane answered, staring up at her studying him.
“Humm. Suits you. It makes you hotter.” She observed him, her palm remaining under his chin. Had she any idea, she was petting a fucking Bengal tiger, a wild, untamed one. And her telling my brother he was hot was like nails raking over my nerves.
When she eased back, the snarl and bared teeth I expected to see from Khane wasn’t there. He simply sat there and looked up at Mecca like they were long-time acquaintances.
She finally let her hand drop away from his chin, but remained within his striking distance. “Now I understand you and Des a little bit better. She loves her a bad boy but had often forgone what she wanted. Guess she found herself the real deal this time?”
Khane shrugged, and a small smile flashed on his lips.
“Guess so,” he replied.
Mecca turned to me once she was done observing Khane, eyeing me up and down. Could she see the surprise on my face and the tight pull of tension that I hadn’t let go of yet?
She hadn’t been the least bit disturbed at the sight of Khane’s eye. It wasn’t a horrific sight, but the color mismatch was highly noticeable and telling that he was nearly blind in that eye.
“I’m ready when you are,” Mecca stated before she strutted across the floor with those tight jeans and extra-high heels on, knowing my eyes would be on her ass. She had discovered at our wedding that I was an ass man when she caught me several times eyeballing hers.
We were finally getting around to signing more of our legal paperwork and bank documents. We probably could have done it apart, but I was starting to think Mecca was a work-a-holic that wasn’t going to take a break unless she was forced to do so.
Once she was out of earshot, I shot Khane a pointed expression.
“What the fuck was that?”
“What the fuck was what?” he questioned, not at all disturbed by what I had just witnessed.
“She touched your face. Talked about your eye. And you didn’t bite her hand off, didn’t curse her out, and didn’t even snatch your face away.”
I scratched my head because Khane was particular about who he allowed to touch him. Aside from Desiree, Mecca was the only person I had witnessed touching him that way.
“The only person whose opinion I care about is at home, probably burning down my kitchen trying to figure out how to cook me a meal. She accepted me this way, so I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks or says.”
“What kind of fucking spells do these Evans women have on us?” I asked the question more to myself than to Khane as my gaze cast in the direction Mecca had walked.
“Last I checked, I was the one they called ‘the Kannibal,’” Khane stated, a hint of laughter in his tone.
My focus fell back on him.
“What do you mean?”
My attempt to decipher his statement had my brows bunching.
“You look at her like you want to eat her, bones and all.”
The imagery his words conjured caused me to frown, but I considere
d them. I had always watched Mecca, even in the beginning. I suppose I was not as inconspicuous with it as I assumed, or was there more to my admiring eyes where it concerned my wife?
“She’s different and accustomed to this edgy lifestyle, fearless in a way that scares the fuck out of me. She’s hot and sexy, dangerous in her own right, but somehow manages to possess this impressive level of femininity that I think I’m addicted to. I seriously underestimated her.”
Khane didn’t give a reply, and it was easy to see by his smiling gaze that he understood my problem from experience. I knew from watching them together that all Desiree had to do was ask for something, anything, and Khane would make sure it was done.
Was that my fate? Was I going to end up becoming a lap dog, sitting, lying down, and rolling over for Mecca?
16
Mecca
After a few discouraging calls about our waning drug supply and the street starting to dry up, my depression intensified. I had exhausted my efforts, and the quick fixes I had applied, were just that, quick fixes and a loan of the size I needed would raise serious eyebrows.
In the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the tub after a long hot bath, contemplating how I would fix things. Arjen had knocked on the door twice, asking if I was okay. I had unlocked it after getting dressed, but remained in place, consumed by my raging thoughts.
At the sound of the bathroom door opening unexpectantly, I jumped, my body more surprised than my mind. Arjen drew closer, his face squinted in concern. I didn’t stop my pacing until he placed his strong hands on my shoulders to stop me.
A strange mix of sorrow and anger had me high. As much death and destruction as I had caused and was witnessed to, I found it odd that it hadn’t extracted all of my humanity. The ability to express deep sorrow still resided inside me.
“What’s wrong, love? Please, come here. You’re so knotted with tension, I can feel it with the slightest touch.”