Reluctant Love: Welcome to Emancipation

Chapter 1

(Six years earlier)

“I need to swing by the North Village before we handle business, a’ight?” Seth announced as he disconnected the call from his little sister, Kera.

“Yeah. I heard.”

Kera had that nigga wrapped around her finger.

Of course, he said the same thing about me and my little sister, Mekhayla.

But no way would Khayla ask for half the shit Kera did.

Right now, Seth was about to put business on hold to stop at the mall and take Kera’s spoiled ass more money, knowing he’d probably given her a couple of stacks before this little shopping trip.

But it was his business and, since we were early for our meeting, I had no issues.

We had passed the exit he needed to take, so he sped up to get into the U-turn lane, barely making it without hitting someone.

Seth couldn’t drive for shit, but my dumb ass was always getting in the car with him.

We were going to end up wrapped around a median somewhere and I was going to deserve it because I knew better.

Ten minutes later, he finally found a parking spot outside one of the big anchor stores. We stepped out into the hell that was North Louisiana’s summer heat and quickly made our way to the new outdoor mall that this girl had driven an hour to shop at.

“So, you really have no idea what this meeting is about?” he asked as we strolled toward the food court.

“How many times I gotta tell yo’ ass that? All I know is that this nigga worked with my mom’s dad, and he told me to bring somebody I trusted.”

“And did I mention how touched I am that you thought of me?” he asked, smirking.

I mugged his goofy ass but didn’t say shit.

Truth was, I wasn’t close to many people outside of my sister, but Seth and I had met in middle school and clicked off jump.

He had proven himself to me over and over again, especially when we went into “business” with the Kinsey family.

They had ventured east on I-20 and into Shreveport, one of the closest cities to our little town of Emancipation, LA.

We started as hungry corner boys, then moved into running a couple of traps near the old Cooper Road.

Seth really was the nigga I trusted most, especially walking into this situation blind.

“There her irritating ass go,” he said suddenly, but I heard the affection in his voice.

I followed his gaze to a table near the middle of the section.

Of course, Kera wanted to be in the center of everything.

It was just her vibrant and outgoing personality.

But my eyes didn’t land on Kera. They landed next to her, on a shorty who, for a minute, had me stopping in my tracks.

Her face was perfect, all full lips and big, up-tilted eyes set in a smooth, honey brown complexion.

Her thick hair fell in a riot of natural ginger curls, and I imagined touching it, just to feel how soft it was.

She wore a bright blue sundress that was loose on her but did nothing to hide the thick curves underneath.

She was a little heavier than I usually liked, but it looked good on her.

Real damn good. I couldn’t deny that she was beautiful.

“You good?” Seth asked suddenly.

He’d walked a few steps ahead of me. I nodded as I caught up with him, glad he didn’t know what had me pausing.

I’d never hear the end of that shit. Kera flew into Seth’s arms as we approached before pulling back and giving me a longer hug, pressing her body against mine.

She was flirting with a nigga, but she didn’t really mean it, and I ignored it.

She was fine as fuck but there were some lines I didn’t cross.

I wouldn’t want my niggas trying to fuck on my little sister, so I returned the favor.

Kera liked to pretend she didn’t understand, but she wasn’t stupid, by no means.

“Seth, you remember Farrah, right?” she said, pointing at her friend.

Seth nodded and Farrah gave him a bright smile. Kera turned to me.

“Farrah, this is Mekhi.”

“What’s good?” I greeted.

If I expected her to speak back, she made it clear, fast as hell, that she wasn’t going to.

She took one look at me and then looked away, like I was beneath her.

I noticed the diamonds on her ears, wrist, and throat, the obviously expensive material of her dress, and the Balenciaga sandals on her feet and dismissed her as some stuck-up, rich bitch.

Her behavior didn’t bother me… not much, but Kera was apparently surprised.

She bumped Farrah with her elbow, but instead of fixing her behavior, the little stuck-up broad mumbled something and took off.

Kera laughed nervously and waved her hand. “Don’t pay her no attention. She kinda shy.”

“Nah, shorty ain’t shy. Little rich girl just decided she didn’t want to speak to a hood ass nigga. It’s cool,” I said.

“I mean, she’s kin to the Millers, but she ain’t like that,” she defended.

I knew some of the Millers–rich off big farm money, but cool people.

Shorty definitely didn’t act like her folk.

I shrugged, letting Kera know my attention was already elsewhere.

Seth reached in his pocket and started talking shit as he dug out money for Kera.

I watched Farrah’s retreating back. I already didn’t like her but, for some reason, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

I watched her until she disappeared near the bathrooms.

“You ready?” Seth asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I nodded. A few minutes later, we were back in his car, headed toward Waterford Heights in one of the little ducked off suburbs.

I had memorized the address, and Seth had it programmed into his GPS, which was good, because my mind was definitely not on the drive.

Little Miss Farrah had me fucked up. At nineteen, I lived in a world where girls fell in line and would do damned near anything for my attention.

Being ignored by them was never an issue, but a little high schooler had acted like I was some shit on the bottom of her designer shoes.

Yeah, it was aggravating, but I couldn’t help smiling at how coolly she’d curved me.

Still, that was the last thought I was going to waste on her.

When we pulled up to the huge house in the upscale neighborhood after being allowed through the gates, I knew shit was suddenly real.

Seth and I were patted down at the door, then shown into a living room that was only a little smaller than the house I’d grown up in.

So, this is how my grandfather had been living while my sister and I struggled with a mom—his daughter—who resented our whole situation.

I counted this as one more reason to hate that nigga.

It wasn’t my grandfather who eventually joined us in the living room. He was on his final journey to hell, I hoped. Nah, it was a nerdy muhfucka in a three-piece suit and glasses who took one look at me and smiled.

“I’m Carlos Morales. You remind me of your grandfather.”

“Yeah? That’s too bad,” I said, making it clear where I was coming from.

I hadn’t seen my mother’s father since I was eight, right after my father died.

My mama had lost her husband and father in a matter of months.

I had to remind myself of that sometimes when she was in bitch gear.

She was stuck in survival mode for a long time, and it definitely shaped her.

At this point, I preferred my grandfather’s absence.

He’d never done shit for me when it counted, and if curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of me, I wouldn’t be here today.

Which would’ve been my loss. For the next hour, Morales explained the very lucrative business of loan sharking and money laundering my grandfather had been in. Nigga was a millionaire several times over.

“So, he thought he should leave it, with a little help, in the hands of his rightful heir,” Morales explained.

He looked at me like he expected me to be excited or grateful or some shit. Instead, I laughed in his face.

“His rightful heir?”

That shit was hilarious considering the fact that this nigga had sat back and got crazy rich an hour away from where my mama scraped by with his two grandkids. Now, he was worried about my inheriting what he’d built?

I opened my mouth to pass, but Seth shook his head once. I knew he already knew where my mind was. Why he was about to argue, I didn’t know.

“Ay, give us a minute,” he requested.

Morales nodded and walked out of the room.

Seth turned to me. “Yo, whatever yo’ pride finna make you say, swallow it.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “What? Man, fuck that. And fuck this nigga with his too little, too late ass. I don’t want shit from him!”

I jumped up from my chair and started pacing. Seth kept talking.

“I understand where you coming from, but this is the least that nigga can do for you and Khayla. You could take this shit, with the connections we got, and make it bigger than he even thought about.”

“I don’t need—"

“Khi, let’s be real. No matter how much the Kinseys break bread, you not gon’ ever be the type of nigga who wants to work for somebody else. This is your chance to do your own shit.”

“I know my mama got relatives. What if someone tries to come for it?”

Seth smiled coldly. “Then you’ll handle that, if it happens.”

I stopped in front of one of the big, picture windows and peered out onto the perfectly landscaped yard.

“I’on know. You know I’on like owing nobody shit, even a dead man.”

He sucked his teeth. “Fuck that. This nigga owed you and Khayla. Let him pay.”

Sighing, I rubbed a hand down my face. “I need to think.”

“Fine. But listen to what I’m saying.”

I nodded once before walking to the door and opening it to let Morales back in.

“What are the conditions?” I asked once he was seated again.

“He wanted you to keep the business in the family, make it more…” He cleared his throat. “Acceptable to some. And he wanted you to look out for your grandmother and aunt.”

I smirked. “Oh, now I got a grandmother and aunt?”

He frowned. “You know, Mekhi, maybe you’re not ready for this. You’re going to have to let a lot of things go—”

“He’s ready,” Seth broke in. “You just dropping a lot on my nigga at once. But he can handle it.”

Morales studied me for a minute. “Is that true, Mekhi? Can you handle this?”

I sat back down, my mind in overdrive. Everything Seth had said had been true.

I could handle this, and I definitely wanted my own shit.

But something about accepting anything from Mordecai Derouen didn’t sit right with me.

Still, I knew an opportunity like this wouldn’t just fall in my lap again. Like I said, I needed to think.

But then, Morales pushed. “Mekhi, if this isn’t—”

“Yeah,” I snapped. “Yeah, I can handle it.”