by Kira Graham
“Casimirs does a great breakfast run if you know the right people,” I admit, a grin replacing my dreamy-eyed stare. “So, as patient as I’ve been all morning, I have to ask: what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Well, the DA and the judge are meeting with Hector right now to discuss the fallout, and not only dropping the charges against you, but also what happens next. Hector’s already filing against the city, so that’s in the works as well, and Messing is scheduling a press conference to handle the information going out to the public. The powers that rule over men like Messing want this to look like a case of an ex-military man who was dishonorably discharged for his conduct, and who spent the intervening years going crazier and crazier until he decided to fixate on you, an attorney fighting for women’s rights.”
I’m not all that surprised that they’d focus on that aspect. It makes a good story to portray me as the innocent hero defending the rights of women, and to portray Hilan as some freak who lost it and decided to bring me down.
“How’re they gonna play that? As far as I know, the connection isn’t there,” I point out, moaning around a bite of bacon.
Good Lord. Thank God that pigs are so ugly that I don’t feel guilty for eating them. This here is some hallelujah eating.
“Remember a woman you represented in a divorce battle about two years ago? Sarah Smart,” he fills in, nodding when I think back and then frown. “She was married to Hilan’s father, the coffee baron.”
“I don’t really think that coffee affords you the title of baron, but I remember. He called himself the Java Baron and made millions buying coffee out of South America at slave labor prices. She won her divorce despite the prenuptial agreement, and then used half of it to build a village and a school for the people that her husband had exploited. The bonus I got that year bought my apartment,” I muse, grinning when Zeus high-fives me. “Wait, are you telling me…?”
“No, because it shouldn’t connect at all. As far as Heath and Brent have found, nothing but that one point connects you to Hilan, and since his father passed away two months after his divorce without leaving him a dime, I agree with them that he wasn’t exactly foaming at the mouth to mess with you. As I see it, whoever hired him connected those dots and then purposely used the situation as a way to create a scapegoat, just like with Cameron Black.”
Huh. Now that I would believe, because even without being any closer to actual answers about the real stalker—a title I use for lack of a better one—what I do know is that he’s a forward-thinking planner.
“Do you think that Hilan was involved in planning the break-in at Cleo and Adonis’s place?” I ask, pushing away my half-eaten plate in order to pick up my coffee.
Zeus shrugs, maybe wanting to convey a nonchalance that he thinks I can’t see through, then sighs and looks up from his plate.
“Looking at the crime scene photos and the way that he destroyed Perez’s house, I’d say yes. He was there, and he was the one who destroyed the apartment and took the knife to Adonis’s bed. Heath is thinking that it was either a message or his rage taking over when his handler called off the kill,” he says, his voice going hard as he looks at me with concern.
I shudder at the thought that this animal was in the same room as a sleeping Cleo, and could have hurt or killed her at any time. Hell, it gives me a sick feeling to know that he was in my apartment while I was passed out from that drugged tea, helpless. He could have done anything to me, so, in a way, I kind of have the real stalker to thank, not only for my life, but for Cleo’s as well. In a sick way, he saved us from Hilan by ensuring that he only sent messages instead of killing us outright.
“What I don’t get yet, and what is possibly the most important question besides the who of it, is the motive. It’s the one thing that I just cannot get my head wrapped around, Z. What is the point of this guy coming after Cleo? Why go after her, and, by extension, why set me up for asking questions that he has to know I have no answers to?” I ask, frustration filling me.
God. I can’t handle not having the answers, and it is driving me nuts that no matter how I ask or what avenues I consider, there just isn’t any way for me to find out.
“I don’t know, baby. Honestly, if I had even a clue, it would at least give us something to work with, but the fact is, there’s nothing for us to go on. Hilan has no paper trail besides what was planted at his place. His financials are coming back clean, with the only money coming from his pension. In essence, the evidence points to him, and him only. Whoever was pulling his strings was very careful to make sure that they were not implicated in anything.”
“Just like Black,” I say, cursing silently.
“Bingo.”
And that’s the only similarity, I think, my mind full of a raging fury about this. I’m the woman who finds answers and pieces things together. Set aside my kick-ass skill at corporate law, and think about divorce cases. It’s up to me to use any and all information I can in order to get around contracts that I myself would consider ironclad. It’s a talent I have—finding answers and filling out a story that illuminates all the ugly parts of people—and yet in this, I have no idea where to start. It’s as annoying as hell, and also scary, because while I haven’t thought about the stalker for a while, I have to admit that it’s unsettling to know that the brains behind it all is still out there. It could be anyone. Any-freaking-one, and that’s about all I can say.
“What do we do?” I whisper, letting Zeus take my hand in his because I need the comfort.
“We wait, and we watch. It’s about the only thing we can do. Adonis isn’t planning to take the security off rotation any time soon, not until he has answers, so we should all be relatively safe, or as safe as we can be if we’re alert and take precautions. With that said, it’s completely possible that if we give the illusion of believing that Hilan is the culprit, this guy could melt back into the woodwork.”
And that’s exactly what I don’t want. I didn’t tell Zeus, but Hilan only came out of the woodwork and into that courtroom because of a message that Roach helped me send, basically daring him to stop hiding. It’s not something that anyone will find, not with Roach having sent it, but it was enough.
Bee and Juan are right. To fight a fight that you’ll win, you have to be prepared, and that only happens if you direct the play. You go on the offensive first and call the plays. In this case, I want to call the plays, but I just don’t know how to do that without getting someone I love hurt. This guy, he’s not right, and I just know that the next time he strikes back, it’ll be at someone I love.
“I guess we wait, then. Now, tell me about Greece,” I purr, changing the subject, because it won’t solve anything to focus on the bad when good is happening.
“Ooh, Greece. I’ll simplify things for you by saying that a toiletry bag is all you need to pack,” he purrs back, his wicked grin sending shivers down to my core.
Well, now…
I have been needing a vacation.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosetta
Oh, my God.
“This is supposed to be my fucking honeymoon, you whores,” I hiss to the three smiling women who ooh and aah as they look around the villa, taking in the white walls, the sparse furnishings, and the idyllic view that we see from a veranda that leads out to the pool and the beach beyond.
The sand is a light color that seems almost white, and I have to shade my eyes, even from within the confines of the house, when looking straight out towards the ocean.
“Aw, come on, Rosetta, be kinder. We all deserve a vacation,” Cleo coos, dancing on the spot when Adonis walks by, slaps her ass, and grins as he saunters outside to where the men are setting up the barbecue, just as most barbarians would do.
I call them all barbarians because I dare you to spend hours on a private jet with four men who hold the view that while women are a strong and revered people, they need protecting from the big, bad world. The only one who didn’t pipe up all that much was Zeus, but f
rom the way he was cupping his balls and avoiding my glares, that wasn’t because he disagrees, but rather because he remembers how long it took for his ’nads to drop back into the bag.
“I am being kind, you crone-faced prostitute! You’re all still alive. I was planning to walk around in nothing but skin or a bikini the whole time, and now I can’t, because Zeus started sulking and threatening to blind his brothers if they saw me naked. I wanted a tan without lines!” I yell, almost losing it when Sin scoffs and looks me over.
“You mean, you want so many freckles that you won’t look like a redhead, but like the Trumpster?”
“Screw you!”
“No, thank you. If I’m crossing the fence to taco land, I want someone who isn’t related to me. I watch The Jerry Springer Show, Rose. I know what happens to people when they can’t control their urges near blood,” she says seriously, her expression so solemn that I find my mouth wanting to smile.
Traitorous mouth! You will not laugh at her supercilious nature. This isn’t funny. I wanted to come on this honeymoon, because that is exactly what this is, and spend a week relaxing, trying out nudism and having disgustingly good sex out by the pool, on the beach, and maybe even on the flagstone floors, just to mix things up. Now, I have my crummy family tagging along, and Zeus has packed me the equivalent of a burka! A one-piece, people. I don’t know where he found that ancient relic of fashion criminality, but he did, and it isn’t even the cool, slutty kind of one-piece that Khloé Kardashian wears, either; it’s the kind that comes in black and has such low-cut legs that they may as well be shorts!
Not that I’m the only one to suffer, here. I heard from Cleo that Adonis bought her and all the other sibs the same travesty in different colors. Can you believe that Cleo actually likes the mustard-colored rag that Adonis picked out for her? I know, right? She is a fashion criminal!
“You know what? Just shut up and go annoy Ares or someone else. You’re like the Goldie Hawn to my Amy Schumer. I don’t wanna stand around listening to your drivel when I could be getting my sex on,” I grouch, silently laughing when she scowls and glares at Ares, who is outside beside the grill and wearing a scowl directed at Paris, who is in turn staring at Sin the way a lion stares at a gazelle.
Hungry. The man looks hungry, and not at all ashamed of himself as he licks his lips and gives her tank top a scorching look.
“Sweet Jesus, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this, but it musta been a true crime of epic proportions. You think you’ve got problems with a stalker, Rosetta? He never stops calling me, and he sends me all these memes all the time,” she whines, looking exasperated.
“Of what? His dick?” Cleo asks, taking a seat on the white couch and sipping on a glass of icy juice.
“Worse! Of weirdly-shaped fruits and vegetables. You guys know how I love those. He even found one of a beet that looks like, I swear to God, a real phallus. Not one of those ones that are slightly phallic and only make you laugh because the bottom is slightly round and resembles balls, but an honest-to-goodness, if it didn’t still have the leaves attached you couldn’t tell, beet dick! I laughed so hard that I almost cut my finger off,” she sniffs, holding up her finger where three stitches close up a cut so deep that the doctor actually shivered and looked grossed out.
“Wait, wait, wait. Let me see it,” I grumble, nearly swallowing my tongue when she unlocks her phone, and I see that the beet in question is her wallpaper.
I laugh so hard that I almost choke, because yes, it does indeed resemble a dick, down to the weird coloring that resembles veins. Huh. I didn’t know that—wait a minute!
“That is a dick!” I say, my eyes bulging when I inspect the ball area and see what should be little root hairs, but are definitely pubes.
“No way! Lemme see!” Cleo yells, jumping up to inspect it, as does Tee. “Holy…”
“That’s a dick that’s been Photoshopped to look like a beet,” Tee confirms, while I laugh so hard that I feel my stomach cramp.
I bet I know whose dick that is, too, I think, mere seconds before Sin turns to glare out towards the grill and lets out a muffled shriek that could deafen dogs. Paris just grins and raises his glass in a toast, his amusement strong enough that I can practically feel it from here.
My own is pretty strong, too, I have to admit, as I wrestle the phone away from Sin and huddle around it with Tee and Cleo, all three of us giggling and strangely unable to look away. Yep, that is definitely the dick of one of the Harts. Zeus’s is bigger, of course, but—
“What you got there, wifey?” I hear right before an arm reaches over, snatches the phone, and rips it out of my hand.
I turn, attempting to stop Zeus from seeing it, but he’s already pursing his lips and furrowing his brow, then quickly looking up and sending Paris a look of such anger that I gulp.
“I’ll kill that little shit.”
“Amen,” Sin grunts, still pale-faced even as her cheeks burn a dark red.
“Aw, man, don’t be a hater. You sat outside Rosetta’s apartment writing love poems to her about your dick. So I got a little more blatant about it with my girl.”
“I am not your girl!” Sin screams, stomping her foot with a screechy grunt.
“Sure you are. I’m the only man you date,” Paris counters, chuckling when she keeps screaming and starts to dance on the spot in an out-and-out tantrum.
No judgment here. That’s the only way that I can dance without music as well.
“Because you keep showing up and scaring all the other guys away! At restaurants, at clubs. Even that one time when I met a guy at the dry cleaners, which was a prime catch because his dad owned the place. Free dry cleaning, you idiot. It’s like my dream come true, and you walk in and say, ‘Hey, baby, don’t forget to ask him if they got the breast milk stain out of that dress. By the way, little Alma is in the car with your mom, and she’s just about ready to nurse again.’”
Yeaaah, I can totally see why that would infuriate her, but come on, that shit’s funny, and I let her know that I’m amused by laughing uproariously and slapping at her tits, looking for this mythical breast milk. Sin had a pregnancy scare in high school after she let her boyfriend till the fields, if you will, and trust me, it was like the world was ending.
And not because Hope, Constance, or Mom would have had a fit, but because all she kept screaming was, “Babies make your body gross and give you saggy tits.” Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I think that hearing someone cockblock Sin using the very thing that scares her to death is as funny as hell. And apparently, everyone else seems to think so, too, because I hear a chorus of both giggles and male snorts.
“He was bald, no younger than forty, and had hairy knuckles. You were stooping just to piss me off and hurt my feelings,” Paris accuses her, putting on a pout so dramatic that it makes mine look like amateur acting.
“Feelings? I hurt your feelings? I don’t care about your feelings, Paris, because we are not an item,” she seethes, her hair practically standing on end because she’s so annoyed.
I don’t see why, though. I mean, the man is fine-looking, and he’s also awesome. He cracks jokes, unlike my own guy, who thinks that The Bachelor is bad TV. The blasphemy! Plus Paris also has a sensitive side, which I know because he cried right along with me when we found out that the recipe for our favorite cereal had been changed. Who puts vanilla in breakfast cereal, you monsters?
“Why not? You’re hot, I’m hot, and we like all the same things. Come on, Sin, be honest—you like what you see,” he purrs, smiling when her eyes narrow.
“What I see is a man-boy who goes to the spa! What kind of man goes to the spa?” she asks, her look filled with disgust.
“A man who doesn’t want to feed a woman hairballs! Do you see those smooth beauties? You’re welcome,” he says seriously, smiling when she closes her eyes and starts counting to ten.
“I do not like you. You hear me? You’re immature and insensitive, and you’ve almost gotten me fired more
than once.”
“That was an accident, babe. How was I supposed to know that your boss would walk in on us?”
“By listening to the words, ‘Stop trying to cop a feel, you pervert, since if my boss walks in on us, she’ll fire my ass.’ I asked you, nicely, to stop showing up at all hours of the day and telling people you’re my boyfriend, but did you listen? No. And then I asked, also nicely, that you stop putting ‘engaged’ on your online profile, along with a photo of me that you stole off my page, but did you listen? No. Now my mom has seventeen thousand dollars’ worth of penalties in wedding reservations because she believed that shit and jumped the gun!”
“I wish that someone would jump the gun for me,” Adonis mutters into the silence, getting an elbow to the gut from Cleo, who does not seem impressed.
“That was a joke, Sin. A simple joke in response to the photo that you posted of me passed out on your couch with the flu. I didn’t have a fit when you put it up and people called me Rudolph, and I didn’t even complain when you started telling people that I have seeping dick sores. In fact, I laughed at every joke,” Paris says softly, the tone of his voice going from amused to something that sounds like hurt.
That makes my chest ache—even more so when I see him swallow and try to smile. Which, to Sin, is a sign of weakness instead of an indication to stop, like she should. The guy is an open book, and so vulnerable right now that you’d think she’d back off and stop being such a freaking bitch. But oh no, not Sin. She just glares harder and goes in for the kill, turning a simple, funny episode into an awkward silence that makes even Tee wince and glare at her.
“Then you should laugh when I tell you that I have a restraining order against you, and that the cops will arrest you if they find you within twenty feet of me. You are not my type, Paris Hart. You’re juvenile, vain, and irresponsible, and I don’t want that kind of man in my life. Get it through your head, Hart. I. Do. Not. Want. You,” she says, enunciating every word in a way that has me wincing and longing to slap a hand over her mouth.