Know Your Place

by Shelly Ellis

  Also by Shelly Ellis

  The Branch Ave Boys

  In These Streets

  Chesterton Scandal series

  To Love & Betray

  Lust & Loyalty

  Best Kept Secrets

  Bed of Lies

  Gibbons Gold Digger series

  Can’t Stand the Heat

  The Player & the Game

  Another Woman’s Man

  The Best She Ever Had

  Published by Dafina Books

  KNOW YOUR PLACE

  SHELLY ELLIS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 - Derrick

  Chapter 2 - Ricky

  Chapter 3 - Jamal

  Chapter 4 - Derrick

  Chapter 5 - Ricky

  Chapter 6 - Jamal

  Chapter 7 - Derrick

  Chapter 8 - Ricky

  Chapter 9 - Jamal

  Chapter 10 - Derrick

  Chapter 11 - Ricky

  Chapter 12 - Jamal

  Chapter 13 - Derrick

  Chapter 14 - Ricky

  Chapter 15 - Jamal

  Chapter 16 - Derrick

  Chapter 17 - Ricky

  Chapter 18 - Jamal

  Chapter 19 - Derrick

  Chapter 20 - Ricky

  Chapter 21 - Ricky

  Chapter 22 - Jamal

  Chapter 23 - Derrick

  Chapter 24 - Ricky

  Chapter 25 - Jamal

  Chapter 26 - Ricky

  Chapter 27 - Derrick

  Chapter 28 - Jamal

  Chapter 29 - Ricky

  Teaser chapter

  KNOW YOUR PLACE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Shelly Ellis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1897-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1898-3 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-1898-4 (ebook)

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: May 2019

  To Andrew and Chloe . . . without you,

  this doesn’t work. Thanks for making it all worth it.

  Acknowledgments

  For me, each book is a new, scary but exciting journey, no matter how many books I’ve previously written. I usually start with an overall idea, write a few chapters, write a synopsis, write a few more chapters, progress to a chapter outline, and then set about finishing my novel. But the truth is, no matter how much I plan out the plot and think I know the characters, I never really know where each book is going until I reach the end. (Hence, the “scary but exciting journey” bit.) Inevitably, I’ll have a few twists and turns I hadn’t anticipated; my latest novel, Know Your Place, was no exception. I hit a few brick walls this time around. (I wasn’t quite sure how Derrick would evolve as a character. And when it comes to writing a book series, you never know which book will be the last, so it’s always a negotiation with my editor with just how many cliffhangers I should leave at the end that may or may not be addressed in the follow-up.)

  There was more than one point in the course of writing this work where I was staring at the ceiling, ready to rip my hair out, and I had the usual people around me ready to talk me down. One of those people is my husband, Andrew, who always tells me, “You’ll get through it. You always do,” instilling me with the confidence I need to make it to the end. My other supporters are my parents, who provide babysitting duties for my five-year-old, allowing me time to catch up on my writing. They also lend an ear to listen to my laments. Thanks for always supporting me. I also want to thank my rock star agent, Barbara Poelle, and my editor, literary diva Esi Sogah. My books are my babies, so when I entrust them to someone, I don’t do it lightly. Thank you for your care, dedication, and professionalism. You guys are great at what you do, and I deeply respect you for that.

  Thanks to all my author buddies who share advice, praise, and jokes with me. Thanks to all my readers who plunk down their money to buy my books. I feel blessed to do what I do and even more blessed that you appreciate and like my work!

  Chapter 1

  Derrick

  Derrick Miller stared down at the two open suitcases in front of him, closed his eyes for a few seconds, and slowly opened them again.

  It was insane but, in the back of his mind, he had hoped they would disappear. Maybe the suitcases—one filled with multiple stacks of hundred-dollar bills bound neatly with multicolored rubber bands, the other stuffed with packs of white powder that was more than likely cocaine—were figments of his imagination, mini mirages right here at the Branch Avenue Boys’ Youth Institute dormitories.

  But of course, they weren’t; the suitcases didn’t shimmer then disappear like a waterfall floating in the desert. They were still there with their lids yawning open, and what they contained was bared for all the world to see.

  This was real, too real for Derrick’s liking.

  “Come on, man! We gonna be late,” someone shouted in the hallway, shaking Derrick out of his stupor.

  His eyes darted to the dormitory’s open door as two boys jogged by, probably on their way to their morning classes. Derrick’s eyes snapped back to the suitcases. He couldn’t leave them here. He certainly couldn’t let any of the boys at the Institute see them. He didn’t know whom they belonged to, but he suspected Cole, the student who was assigned to the bunk where he’d found the suitcases, knew who the owner was. He’d talk to Cole later, but his first mission was to find a place to hide these damn things.

  Derrick quickly flipped both of the lids closed, zipping each of them with shaking hands. He grabbed the handles and yanked them off the bed. They landed on the linoleum floor with a thud. They had to weigh about a hundred pounds each.

  Derrick gritted his teeth as he lifted the suitcases and lugged them to the door, one in each hand. He walked straight down the hall to the stairwell. A few students eyed him curiously. Several boys had a questioning look on their faces, probably wondering what the Institute’s director was doing, carrying luggage down the hall in the middle of the day like he was heading to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport fifteen miles up the road.

  “Hey, Mr. Derrick!” one of the boys—dark skinned and stocky—called out as he held open the stainless steel door for him. His dark eyes dropped to the suitcases. “Damn, those look heavy! You need some h—”

  “No!” Derrick barked between bursts of breath.

  The boy’s ready smile disappeared.

  “I mean . . . I mean, no. I-I got it. Th-thanks for asking though,” Derrick stuttered with a slight grimace.

  The boy nodded just as Derrick disappeared into the stairwell and made the slow trek down the stairs to the floor below. With each step, the suitcases felt heavier and heavier. Sweat erupted on his forehead and rolled down the bridge of his nose. The short bursts of breath came out faster, making a faint whistle between his clenched teeth. The tendons and muscles in his arms started to jitter. His heart was beating fast from the
stress and the strain. When he finally pushed the steel door open and reached his office, he didn’t lower the suitcases to the floor as much as hurl them.

  He shut his office door behind him, locked it, and looked around frantically for a place to hide the suitcases. The office didn’t have a storage closet and the suitcases certainly wouldn’t fit in any of his cabinets or shelves. The only spot where they could possibly fit was a corner beside his file cabinet. He shoved them both into the dusty, dark space.

  By now, not only was his brow sweaty, but pools of sweat had also formed under his armpits. His palms were slick with it. Sweat even dripped down his back and the crack of his ass.

  When Derrick finally finished shoving the suitcases into the hiding space, he dragged across the floor a potted fiddle-leaf fig tree his fiancée, Melissa, had given him for his birthday to add a little softness to his sterile office. He set it in front of the suitcases. He then stood back and surveyed his handiwork.

  It was a questionable hiding job—the plant barely provided any coverage—but it would have to do for now.

  He flopped back into his rolling chair and let out a slow, long exhale. It took another ten minutes for his heart to finally return to its normal pace, for his hands to stop shaking.

  How the hell did those things even get here?

  How had the boys managed to smuggle something so heavy and massive into the dorms, right under the noses of the instructors and security guards? When had they done it? It must have been recently because the suitcases certainly would have been noticed during their weekly inspections of the boys’ bunks and lockers. Had someone else brought them?

  Cole knows all the answers, he thought, staring at the fig tree. And that boy better tell me the damn truth!

  * * *

  “Cole!” Derrick called out as he saw the boy stroll toward one of the classrooms. He cupped his hand around his mouth like a megaphone. “Cole!”

  Cole glanced over his shoulder at him and rolled his eyes. For a split second, he looked like he was going to pretend he hadn’t heard Derrick and continue on his way, but he turned on his heel and walked toward him anyway. An expression of pure contempt was on the young man’s face.

  Derrick knew that Cole was angry at him. The boy obviously had a crush on Morgan Owens, the new carpentry instructor at the Institute. Cole had come to her defense before when another student had sexually harassed her in class, and he probably felt he was taking up for her again, against Derrick this time, after seeing her cry. But Cole didn’t know the full backstory of Derrick’s complicated relationship with the beautiful instructor, nor did Derrick care to share it with him. That was between him and Morgan. Besides, the suitcases were of bigger concern right now.

  “What do you want?” Cole snarled with a curl in his lip, drawing closer to him.

  “I want you in my office—now!”

  “Can’t,” Cole said with a shrug, casually shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. He painted on a fake grin. “Gotta get to class. Sorry, Mr. D.”

  Derrick’s jaw tightened as he watched the young man turn back around. “It wasn’t a question, Cole. I said come to my office.”

  Cole started to stroll away.

  “I found them! I found them under your bunk!” he called out, making the young man stop in his tracks. “You didn’t even do a decent job of hiding them. Why?”

  Cole faced him again. He didn’t look smug anymore. He looked alarmed—and annoyed.

  “Come to my office. I’m not gonna tell you again.”

  Finally, Cole sucked his teeth and nodded.

  A minute later, Cole walked into Derrick’s office. Derrick stomped in after him, slamming the door shut behind them.

  “What the hell . . . what the hell were you thinking, bringing some shit like this into my school?” Derrick yelled as Cole flopped into one of the armchairs facing his desk.

  Cole sat in sullen silence with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at nothing in particular.

  “Your mother begged me . . . she got on her damn knees in this very office and begged me to let you into this program so that you wouldn’t have to go to jail, and this is what you do?” he asked as he charged around his desk to face Cole. The young man still refused to meet his gaze. “This is how you repay her? Repay me?”

  “Man, I don’t owe you shit,” Cole muttered, still staring at the wall in front of him defiantly.

  “Oh, is that what you think? Then how about I just send your ungrateful ass to jail then?”

  Cole didn’t reply.

  Derrick shifted the potted fiddle-leaf fig tree out of the way and pointed to the suitcases. “Give me one . . . give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the damn cops, tell them about what I found, and have your ass thrown in prison right now.”

  Cole finally shifted his eyes and looked up at him.

  “’Cause you ain’t that stupid,” Cole answered in a voice that was both glacial and hollow. “’Cause you don’t wanna get your shit fucked up. That’s why you ain’t callin’ the police.”

  “Shit fucked up by who? Whose suitcases are these? Who the fuck do you work for?”

  “It ain’t none of your damn business,” Cole said, shaking his head.

  “When you bring that shit here—yes, it is! This shit is my business now! You were low-key about it. I’ll give you that. But the boys still know the truth. Word got around, right? They know who you work for . . . ‘who you fuck with,’ don’t they? That’s why they’ve all been going out of their way to kiss your skinny little ass! If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna find out.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “Who do you work for? Whose bags are those?”

  The office fell silent. Finally, Cole sucked his teeth again. “They’re Dolla Dolla’s. All right?”

  Derrick felt an icy chill snake its way up his spine. They belonged to Dolla, his best friend Ricky’s business partner. The drug kingpin’s empire stretched far and wide in D.C. Hell, Dolla Dolla’s grubby, blood-stained fingers had even touched Ricky’s upscale restaurant, Reynaud’s, providing the money Ricky needed to start it. But Derrick never would have guessed that Dolla would reach here, within the Institute’s walls. Derrick never thought Dolla could taint a place he held so sacred.

  “It’s his bags,” Cole continued. “It’s his shipment. He usually keeps it somewhere else but they had to move it quick. They asked me if I could keep it until they could move it again. I told them no one here would touch it.”

  “Why . . . why would you do something like that?” Derrick sputtered. “Why would you bring that here? You know who Dolla is! Cole, he could—”

  “Look, he ain’t gonna do nothin’. This shit will be gone in a few days . . . maybe a week,” Cole assured him. “You ain’t gotta worry about it.”

  “No, I do have to worry about it because you’re putting me and every single teacher and boy at the Institute at risk with this bullshit!”

  “So you gonna snitch and tell the cops? Is that what you telling me?”

  “No, what I’m telling you is—”

  Derrick’s words were stopped short by a frantic knock at his office door.

  “I’m busy right now!” he called out.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, but your fiancée just called the front desk,” a muffled voice replied through the closed door. “She said she’s been trying to reach you all morning.”

  Derrick frowned, reached back, and opened one of his desk drawers. He pulled out his cell phone, which he had tossed inside the drawer more than an hour ago. He saw that there were several text messages from Melissa.

  What the hell is going on, D? the most recent message read. Call me back!

  When he saw it, his heart sank. Did this have something to do with Morgan?

  When he told Morgan that very morning that he had to break off their affair because he’d decided to get back with his fiancée, Morgan hadn’t taken the news well—as he’d expected. He hadn’t seen her since then. He’d assumed that she had either gone of
f to lick her wounds, or had decided to ignore her anger and go about her workday. He had not anticipated that she might try to reach out to Melissa, that she might tell Melissa what had gone down between them.

  “Your fiancée asked if you could call her back ASAP, Mr. Miller,” the muffled voice explained. On cue, his cell began to buzz. Melissa’s name popped up on the screen.

  “Okay, got it. Thanks!” Derrick called back distractedly, then took a deep breath. He glanced at Cole. “I’ve gotta take this. We will finish this conversation later though. This ain’t over.”

  Cole pushed himself to his feet, not looking remotely intimidated. He walked toward the door and swung it open. “Just leave your office door open later so I can move them again,” he called over his shoulder. “They’ll be outta here in a few days. I told you, you ain’t gotta worry about it.”

  Derrick opened his mouth to reply, but Cole shut the door before he could. Derrick’s frown deepened. A heavy crease formed in the center of his brow.

  All morning he’d felt like things were teetering wildly off kilter and threatening to topple over. First, he’d had to break things off with Morgan and got her explosive response. Then he’d stumbled upon the suitcases. And now, Cole was acting like he was running the Institute, like he was giving Derrick orders—not the other way around. Derrick felt like he was losing control of his life.

  Or I never really had it, he mused, as he pressed the button to answer his cell. Maybe it had been an illusion all along.

  “Hey,” he answered hesitantly, wary of what his fiancée was about to say to him. He braced himself for accusations and recriminations, for an endless stream of four-letter words.

  But instead she said, “Where have you been, Dee? I’ve called you about six times! I even sent texts!” Melissa shouted, sounding panicked. “You never called me back!”