“Oh, now you’re really stretching,” the president said.
“Am I?” Reynolds smirked. “I believe that the majority of the American people would see that we’re simply doing our due diligence.”
“You won’t get the votes,” Kate said.
“Won’t I? A little birdie told me that you didn’t think that I’d get the votes for the speakership either.”
The president clamped his jaw tight, while Kate cut a quick angry look his way.
Reynolds reveled in his newfound power. “If I were you, Mr. President, I would stop underestimating me.”
19
Abrianna always entered Stanton Park with vivid memories of the first night she’d arrived in D.C. Sometimes it seemed like it was either a lifetime ago or yesterday.
“There you are,” the voice called out to her.
“Hey, Charlie,” Abrianna greeted him, holding up her usual club sandwich.
“All right.” He clapped and rubbed his hands to together. “I was getting worried that something might’ve happened to you when you didn’t show up yesterday for lunch.”
“Sorry about that. Something came up.”
“Don’t worry about it. No worries. I hustle around these parts real good. Enough to eat anyway.” He laughed. “All that matters is that you’re here now.”
She sat down on the bench next to him. “Well. I do worry about you out here. I wish that you would let me find you an apartment or something.”
“I won’t hear of it. You keep saving for that big dream of yours—living on the French Riviera. It will do my heart good to see you off like that.”
Abrianna broke down.
“Oh my goodness,” Charlie gasped. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” She removed her shades so that she could wipe her eyes. “It’s just . . . that dream may never come true.”
“Why not? You have been saving like you told me, haven’t you?”
“Yes. But a hell of a lot that’s done for me. Moses stole it.”
“What? That rat bastard!” Seeing her devastation, Charlie inched closer. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything to say. It’s gone. All of it.” She removed her shades.
“My God. Did he do that?”
Abrianna pulled away and shoved her shades back on. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal? No man should ever put his hands on a woman. I thought you said that he moved out of your apartment?”
“He did. But . . . it’s a long story. One I really don’t want to get into. Not now. I cried all night. I don’t want to do it all day too.” She swiped underneath her eyes again. “I have to be about solutions. Crying has never solved anything.”
Charlie took her right hand and squeezed it. “You’re a strong woman,” he encouraged her. “You always have been.”
Abrianna chuckled weakly. “I’m a good actress. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“You’re also a survivor,” he reminded her.
“We’re all temporary survivors of life, but we all know it’s going to kill us in the end.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t tell me you still hang out here waiting for death to find you.”
“You see he still hasn’t come for me yet,” he boasted
Her chuckling grew into a laugh. “You got a point there. In fact, since I’ve met you, you appear to have grown younger with each passing day. That horrible cough you used to have is gone. Your diabetes is gone. Hell, you don’t even walk with a limp anymore. I’m likely to come here one afternoon to see you jogging around the place.”
“Ah. That’s what I love about you, Bree. You dream big.”
“Yeah. I’m good at that, too.” Abrianna studied him. She wasn’t being glib about his improving health. He really did look great.
“Want to know my secret?” Charlie asked.
“I’m dying to know.”
Charlie held up his wrapped lunch. “One club sandwich a day and the company of a beautiful woman.” He squeezed her hand again.
She flushed. “Charlie, you’ve always been so sweet to me.”
He lowered his head to hide his own blush. “Well. It’s not so hard. You can be with any man you want to, but you choose to spend lunch with me every weekday.”
“You still sneak to see your granddaughter on the weekends?”
“Everyone needs a guardian angel around.”
“Ain’t that the truth? I need one with about eighty thousand dollars in his bank account.”
Charlie whistled. “Eighty thousand? What for?”
She sighed. “That’s the same long story that I don’t want to get into right now, but thanks for offering to listen. I really appreciate that.” She placed her left hand on top of his to sandwich it. “If I never told you before: I love you—and our friendship.”
“I love you too, kid.”
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. When she pulled away, her gaze swept across the newspaper on his lap.
CRAIG AVERY’S LATEST VICTIM
“What the hell?” She picked up the paper.
“Oh. I—”
Abrianna shushed him and read the article. “ ‘Shalisa Young, twenty-four, died after jumping off the roof of St. Elizabeths Hospital.’ What?”
“Ah. Don’t read that.” Charlie attempted to take the paper away from her, but she twisted away from him to keep reading. The story that unfolded stunned her. “Wait. Shalisa was placed in a mental hospital after she killed her mother?” Abrianna kept blinking and shaking her head. “The court found her mentally unfit to stand trial two years ago. I hadn’t heard anything about this.”
Charlie sighed. “It’s not like you kept in touch—with good reason.”
Abrianna reread the article and was hit with a wave of shame that she hadn’t reached out to the other survivors, but the sensation of their rescue would have brought the attention of her parents and that would have brought them to the hospital to take her back home. She didn’t want that. She’d had a little taste of fame when the TV movie came out. But media attention had died down soon enough and Abrianna had just tried her best to put the whole thing behind her.
It had been a struggle, and now she was reading proof that it had been a struggle for Shalisa as well—more than a struggle. Clearly, her life had been destroyed.
“Look. I have to go,” she said suddenly.
“But you haven’t eaten your sandwich.”
Abrianna handed back his paper. “It’s all right. I’m not hungry. And I have to get down to the club.” She stood and slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “You be careful out here—and I’ll see you next week.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, looking and sounding disappointed. “You be careful too, and stay away from that Moses fellah. Love hurts—but not like that.”
“I get it. But I never said I loved him.”
“Good to know.”
20
The Stallion Gentlemen’s Club
“Good show out there, Breezy,” Alexei praised her. He dropped his heavy arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, wiggling to get away. However, Alexei’s arm locked around her shoulder.
“Heard you were in a jam,” he said.
“What?” Her head jerked up. “Where did you hear that?”
“Where haven’t I heard it? In for eighty grand with Zeke, huh? That’s tough.”
Heat scorched her face. She hated it when random muthafuckas were up in her business.
“I told you that fucking with Moses was gonna get you swept up in his bullshit—and there is plenty of it to bury the whole city.”
Abrianna groaned. “Do you feel better now that you’ve got that off your chest?”
“Hey. Just stating facts.” He sighed. “Anyway. Someone is here to see you.”
Her hackles rose. “Who?”
Alexei’s grin widened. “Why don’t we step into my private office?”
Alexei’s private office was just his favorite booth at the back of one of the bars. When they drew near, he signaled to the bartender for a bottle of his beloved Yamskaya vodka.
There was someone already sitting in his booth. A woman.
Now the hairs on Abrianna’s arms rose. She attempted to slow down, but Alexei shoved her forward.
“Here she is,” Alexei announced, his grin expanding. “As you requested: our Autumn Breeze.”
The striking woman lifted her mesmerizing hazel eyes from her cocktail and eased on a red-lipped smile. “Autumn Breeze—a charming stage name.”
“I’m glad you approve. I aim to please.”
“Please, please. Have a seat.” She gestured to the opposite side of the booth.
Hesitating, Abrianna scrambled for an excuse not to sit.
“I promise you that I only bite those who pay for the privilege,” the woman joked. “Call me Angel, by the way. I work for a very important woman who is very pleased to be working with you in the near future.”
Alexei laughed and hip-bumped her into the booth. Once he was in, she had to keep scooting over so that he could squeeze his six-foot-four frame into the booth too.
Annoyed, Abrianna flashed Alexei a dirty look, but he was too busy flashing his monster-sized grin at Angel.
“Actually, Alexei. I was hoping that I could talk to Abrianna alone,” she said with the right amount of sugar in her voice.
A server set Alexei’s vodka on the table while he blushed a shade of red that Abrianna had never seen before. “Uh, of course. Of course.” He worked his way back out with that ridiculous grin on his face “If you need anything, I’ll, uh, be at the bar.”
“Thanks, sugar.” Angel winked.
His blush deepened. “Of course. Just let me know if you need anything.” He took Angel’s hand and kissed it before strolling off.
“No sense in letting a good bottle of vodka go to waste.” Abrianna poured a shot, hoping it would do something about the buzzing in her head. She’d hadn’t done a morning hit in an attempt to quit, as Shawn had begged, but already her body was rebelling.
After tossing back a shot, Angel dropped the smile and studied Abrianna. “You like the hard stuff, don’t you?”
Taking it as a double entendre, Abrianna chuckled. “You could say that.”
“And how bad is your drug habit?”
“Excuse you?” Her amusement gone, Abrianna set the shot glass down.
Angel eased back “I’m trying to assess if you’re a liability. Recreational use isn’t a problem, but junkies aren’t worth the trouble. They don’t last long, they’re unprofessional, and they usually cost more than they make.”
“Maybe I missed something.” Abrianna folded her arms. “I don’t recall submitting a job application to Madam Nevaeh. That is who you work for, isn’t it?”
Angel’s smile twitched. “Yes. And Madam Nevaeh works for Zeke. I believe that you’re indebted for eighty grand, and if you don’t have the money by the end of the night, you’ll be working for him too.”
Abrianna’s smugness melted. “What?”
Angel’s gaze raked her again. “Two years,” she said. “Two years Madam Nevaeh has rolled out the red carpet for you to come and work with her, and you refused. She doesn’t offer just anyone the opportunity.”
“Because I’m not a hooker.”
“It’s male entertainment.”
Abrianna laughed. “Dancing and fucking are two different things—at least they were the last time I checked a dictionary.”
“They are both very good exercises,” Angel countered, still smiling. However, when Abrianna refused to be amused, she came direct. “C’mon, Abrianna. Let’s not play the modesty game. You’ve been on ho patrol on a number of D.C. corners before you landed the job here. Am I right?”
Abrianna refused to answer.
Angel turned sympathetic. “I heard about that unfortunate situation with that one sick bastard. What was his name that was all over the news a few years back? Avery? I heard about how he kept you all down in that basement and did weird experiments with you guys. It was just awful.” Her hand crept across the table.
Abrianna jerked back and settled her hands in her lap. “Keep your sympathy.”
“I understand you’re touchy, but look at how you’ve bounced back. You’re absolutely stunning. I don’t think that you realize how much you stick out here. You’re a diamond in a coal mine. Everyone knows it but you. Why not capitalize off of it?”
“Because I’m not a whore,” Abrianna insisted.
“Anymore,” she corrected.
“Right. I’m not a whore anymore.”
“All right.” Angel sipped her cocktail, before wrapping up the conversation. “Madam Nevaeh’s girls make good money. Her top earner pulls in a cool twenty thousand a booking. With the right training, you could beat her.”
“I’m not interested.”
She sighed. “All right then. I’ll just take that eighty thousand dollars you owe and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I don’t owe you eighty thousand dollars. Zeke is not my pimp. He can’t pimp me out for Moses’s debt.”
“How you define your relationship is of little interest to me. But I do know that one of three things will happen. One, you or Moses is going to pay Zeke back or, two, you’ll work for Madam Nevaeh until the debt is paid or, three, those gorgeous long legs of yours will be busted and your pretty face will be scrubbed clean with acid. Your choice.”
Angel slid a black business card across the table, but Abrianna couldn’t force herself to pick it up.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Angel said, suddenly.
Her gaze shoots back up. “Remember you?”
“The Sasha Bruce House for homeless teens. I stayed there when you and your friend Shawn used to crash there.”
A chill settled in Abrianna’s bones. “Oh, yeah?”
Angel nodded. “Look. I only brought it up to stress that we have a lot in common. We both hustled and did what we had to do to survive. I’ve worked the corners, muled drugs—stripped. I get the hesitance, but this is different. Madam Nevaeh takes care of her girls. She provides a service to some of the most powerful men in the country—the world even. Four of her girls are living like royalty with some sultan in Saudi Arabia right now. We’re talking best of the best. You can make that petty little eighty grand in a snap. If you’re smart, like some of the other girls, you’ll work the circuit for a couple of years—your prime years, stack your cash, and then retire well before you hit the big three-oh.”
“Really? You’re pitching retirement plans?”
Angel sighed. “In the morning, call that number and a driver will pick you up.” Before she walked off, she added, “Cheer up. At least Zeke decided not to kill you.”
21
Dr. Z arrived at the city morgue clutching a black lion head walking cane. The chief medical examiner, Paul Mitchell, had been roused out of bed to meet the doctor and his assistant there personally. Security cameras monitoring the property outside and inside the facility had been shut down. The doctor signed no visiting logbook and moved about the place as if he owned it. Other than the customary greeting of, “Good evening,” Mitchell and the mysterious doctor sidelined small talk.
Upon entering the sterile room, Mitchell led Dr. Z and his assistant to the morgue’s cold chamber. There, he pulled out a center drawer to display Shalisa Young’s dead body.
Dr. Z sighed wearily.
“You are, of course, welcome to take all the time that you need,” Mitchell said.
“Thank you.”
Mitchell turned and strolled out. Once alone with his assistant, Ned, Dr. Z spoke. “It’s a damn shame, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” the assistant responded robotically.
“When I think of how close Dr. Avery came to a breakthrough, it just breaks my heart.” He shoo
k his gray head. “Sure, he lost his mind toward the end, but he was still brilliant in a lot of ways. A man ahead of his time, really. While he was given free rein with his experiments, even the government gets a little nervous when the body count gets too high. So he was fired, but he kept claiming that he was just on the verge of success.
“But the government’s loss was to be T4S’s gain. The new arms race is in creating the perfect soldier—or rather, super soldier. Drones are great. You can kill the enemy from great distances without putting boots on the ground. But it’s a messy business. High civilian casualties. And, unfortunately, killing the innocent tends to create more pissed-off terrorists. So what has become clear is that even a great superpower country like the United States can never fully eliminate the option of boots on the ground. In these times, Uncle Sam would rather turn to security firms like ours than risk the political backlash of sending more soldiers to die in hostile territory.
“It’s better to run a war off the books and preferably with an army of elite super soldiers. Ones who are stronger than the average man or woman. Soldiers who won’t need to rely on . . . robotics, for example. Which is a great concept, but what happens when the enemy can hack into the system or its parts break down on the battlefield? You’d need an army of repairmen on the field as well then.”
Dr. Z leaned in closer, marveling how both serene and amazingly preserved the body looked for someone who had plunged to her death. In fact, Shalisa didn’t look broken at all. One could easily believe that the young woman had simply died in her sleep.
“Extraordinary.” The doctor’s curious gaze swept the entire length of the deceased’s body several times, and his fascination grew.
“Dr. Avery had no problem delivering enhanced strength, but he wanted to go after the great golden goose.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But what is that?”
Dr. Z turned a wide smile toward Ned. “Psychokinesis.”
“Sir?”
“The psychic ability to influence a physical system without physical interaction.”
Ned frowned. “Is that real, sir?”
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