28. Micah
Music thunders from the club’s speakers. The bass, a vibration through the floor. Money transfers from palm to palm, and little bags of white powder sometimes go with it.
We’re not here to deal, but we don’t stop it either. Humans will do what humans do, and cocaine has been a tried-and-true party aphrodisiac for a millennium.
Gregory mans his bar with fast, smooth movements, commanding his team the way a drill sergeant does his soldiers. And dancers work the crowd, making men salivate and spend more money and women question their sexuality, sidling up closer to anyone who dares look their way twice.
CeCe’s is a club that sells sex.
We don’t sell women, and no one here works under duress. But the club, in and of itself, sells the promise of a steamy tryst between the sheets. Of strangers living a fantasy together. Orgasms that shatter a soul, and then of tomorrows where they don’t wake up regretting their choices.
CeCe’s is classy and sexy—just like the woman she was named after.
“Ah, shit.”
I spin at Felix’s bitten words. At the temper I know he keeps under tight rein. Then I follow his gaze to the club doors downstairs, almost dropping to my ass when a trio of Feds walk through, flying duck formation.
Tiia fucking Hale leading her pack.
My heart squeezes, pain shooting through my veins and down to my stomach until I almost—almost—press a hand to the pain. But I’ve been a part of this world too long to give away such weakness. I’ve been watched and targeted too deeply to be so stupid.
“Leave.” Felix comes up on my right, his shoulder touching mine as we watch over the club from our perch high above. He peels his eyes from the side of Tiia’s face and brings them up to stare at me. “You can go. I’ll keep an eye on them till they’re done.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I’ll make sure they’re untouched,” he rumbles. “I’ll forgive them for walking in here in the first fucking place, and I’ll put her in a car and make sure she gets home safe.”
Tiia’s eyes scour the club. Her stare penetrating and mean. She wears shorts again, frayed cuffs providing a light contrast to her tanned skin. Her tank, too short, too tempting as the gap in fabric shows off her stomach and leaves my mouth watering.
My cock stirring.
I can push her away, and I can act like I hate her. I can know she deserves better than this world, and I can even follow through and ensure she stays gone.
But none of that excludes me from wanting her.
Needing her.
Begging for her, though I keep the words locked up in my mind and unheard by everyone but me.
“Micah?”
“I’ll deal with it.” I lock down my expression when Tiia’s eyes finally find mine on the second level. Her dark eyes widening and then narrowing. Her pulse hammers in her throat because she’s found me. Because she wants me, even when she knows it’s bad. I drop my gaze and study her supple body. The planes and dips I got to memorize, if only for a short time. Her long legs and curved hips. Her strong thighs, and fuck, but her sweet pussy.
She’s a buffet to my senses. A treat to look at. To taste. To smell. Her words are both entertaining and a challenge. And her attitude, something fun to play with.
I miss her more than I miss my stolen finger. More than I miss my brothers who moved across the country. I miss her more than I’d miss my own life if tonight was to be my last.
But then I drag my eyes up and stop on the necklace she wears, the emerald pendant she has nestled against her chest.
In an instant, my lungs empty and my legs turn weak.
She’s come here tonight, knowing she’d find me. Knowing I’m not likely to be a safe space to visit. And she chose to wear my heart right there around her throat.
“Micah—”
“I’m dealing with it.” I shove away from the banister and drop my hands into my pockets. I wear my anger the way another might a coat, a necessity, because if I forget I’m furious, I might obsess over the fact that I’m dead inside when she’s not mine.
I play with the knife in my pocket, tracing the engraved hilt and running the tips of my fingers over the switch that would free the blade from its cavity.
The noise grows louder as I head downstairs, the partiers shouting to talk to each other. To sing and dance. The din becomes damn near deafening, so I wonder how the hell she would understand me even if I tried to talk to her.
I feel Felix’s warmth at my back as I step off the last stair and onto the wooden flooring at the bottom, sticky with spilled drinks, but not slick beneath my feet. Then I feel the added heat as Stovic and Michaels follow. Because if Felix is coming to the ground floor, then the whole fucking army is following.
“You need to calm down,” Felix warns. “You might appear slightly threatening right now, what with the murder in your eyes and shit.”
“Hush.” I make a beeline for the trio who turn and watch my approach. As their formation changes, and Roscoe tries—but fails—to become Tiia’s guard. He steps in front of her, but she shifts again and makes herself their shield.
She’s not afraid, though she should be.
“You need to leave my club.” I come to a stop just two feet in front of the woman whose perfume slams to the base of my lungs and spreads throughout my body. I’m surrounded by people. By colognes and perfumes and flowery body sprays. Alcohol spills and men drag nicotine in after they’ve snuck away for a quick smoke. All of those smells compete for dominance. But it’s Tiia’s my entire soul focuses on.
Her shampoo. Her lip gloss. Her long, long lashes, and the fire in her eyes.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Hey!” Roscoe yanks Tiia back a step, his protectiveness setting my temper alight. “Don’t speak to her that way.”
I look him up and down. The sharp set of his jaw and the rage burning in his gaze. I spy his hand wrapped around her wrist, and his broad form, about twice her size and width. Then I look at the third in their group, the one I never picked to be a Fed before now.
It’s so easy to see in hindsight. So obvious now that I know. But before, when I was focused only on Tiia, I had blinders on and remained oblivious to what I would have picked out any other time.
“You’re too pretty to be a badge, Jazmine.” I lift my chin toward the stage behind her. To the women in thongs and the money tossed at their feet. “Come work for me. You’d make ten times more.”
“You think so?” She doesn’t get mad, like I expect her to. Doesn’t fire up, though her companion is ready to tear my face off. She only brings her hand up and twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “I can’t dance. But I do two hundred squats a day. Reckon the gents with the cash will still be generous?”
“Yeah.” Fuck Tiia Hale. Fuck her necklace. Her heart. Her eyes. Fuck her to hell and back. And if I’m lucky, in my bed again. “Go talk to my guy at the bar. Give him your number and tell him I sent you. Then we’ll get you in for a private show.” I firm my lips, knowing, feeling, Tiia’s gaze burn hotter. “I’d have to see, first, to be sure we’re hiring quality, though.”
“You want to fight me, Micah Malone?” Tiia shakes Roscoe’s hand off and steps forward. Taking the lead again and clapping her hands to my chest. “You think I’m gonna let you hit on my best friend and slink away like a good little lamb?”
“I think you’re a fucking badge, creeping into my place of business, and making a mess you have no right to be involved in.” I slowly drag my focus down, like she’s the last thing I want to see, when, fuck, she’s the first, last, and everything in between. I stop on her lips. On her pert nose. Her sinful eyes. And keep myself, barely, from sighing. “You got caught, Hale. Now you can leave again.”
“I’ve come with a message.” She watches my lips, struggling to understand my words but refusing to leave anyway. “I want to talk to you.”
“And I want to go back in time and choose someone else to fuck.” I hate that her face hardens. That her lips firm and her jaw turns to stone. I hate that I hurt her, all because I’m too weak to keep her. “Pussy comes free to me, mo chroí. I don’t need yours specifically.”
“I know what those words mean.” She softens her voice, and yet, I still hear the quiver in her tone. The emotion. “Chroí doesn’t mean creature.” She looks up into my eyes, broadening her shoulders and glaring. “Guess that makes us both liars.”
“Right. But I never said I was telling the truth. So, if we’re getting down to the details, you’re still the only liar.” I tip my chin toward the door. “Now get the fuck out.”
“No.”
Felix bristles on my right. Stovic and Michaels, burning for a fight. Desperate for a signal to do… something.
Anything.
“I said,” I snarl, flexing my hands, though I don’t reach out and touch. Because once I do, I’m not sure I’ll let her go. I’m not strong enough to do it twice. Instead, I bring my eyes up and stare over the top of her head. Dismissive and mean. “Get the fuck out of my club. We have the right to refuse service to anyone we choose, for any reason we choose. And this club is doing nothing illegal, so you have no reason to be here.”
“’I’m trying to talk to you!” She reaches up with lightning-fast reflexes and grabs my face, yanking it down until our eyes meet. “Wilkes is making a move on you tonight.” She looks at Felix and swallows. Then at our guards. “We don’t have confirmation on where he’ll hit. Or what time. But I’m saying it’s here, and it’s soon.”
I wrap my palm around her wrist, not only getting to touch her again despite my promise not to, but I’m rewarded with her eyes, too. Her perfect stare and her plump lips.
“We have intel that you don’t,” she murmurs. “You need to listen to me.”
“Your vine died.”
“My…” Her eyes flicker with confusion, then understanding. Disappointment. Then sadness. “My pothos? You couldn’t save it?”
“I mean… I could have.” I drag her hand from my face and harden myself before she tempts me to steal her away and put her in my home forever. It seemed to work out for Felix and Christabelle.
“I killed it,” I tell her. “Didn’t want it in my home anymore.”
“Well…” She draws a deep breath, filling her lungs until her chest expands, then she exhales again, her sweet breath tickling the underside of my chin. “That’s a decision you get to make, I suppose. My fern is still on the television cabinet, dead and rotting.”
Kinda like this romance we had going on for a minute.
“I want you to be careful.” With renewed energy, she meets my eyes and nibbles on her bottom lip. “My superiors have decided you’re not worth watching right now, so believe it or not, you’re less protected than usual.”
“Because the Feds aren’t up our ass?” I chuckle. It’s fake and feels like shit in my throat. But I have nothing else to give. Nothing wittier to offer. “I’m less protected now that the Feds have backed off?”
“I was only ever in your life to keep you safe.” She firms her jaw, staring into my eyes with defiance. Bravery. Pride. “You can believe me, or don’t. You can hate me, or not. I have no influence over your feelings.” Then she looks to Felix. “But my presence in your life kept you both safe on two separate occasions when Wilkes had planned to hurt you.” She brings her focus back to me. “I lied to you about things, but my intentions were always to protect.” She drops her hands and takes a step back. “Kinda figured that would be something you could understand. Guess not.”
“You leaving now?”
“Yep.” She looks to her left, at Jazzy, and shares a look. Then to the right, at Roscoe. Like a silent conversation between friends where they know exactly what is being said. But those of us on the outside are left in the dark.
Uninvited.
Finally, she brings her eyes back to me and swallows. “I’m sorry to have been a bother, Mr. Malone. I won’t intrude on your club or life anymore. Though I felt it prudent to inform you of Joseph Wilkes’ pending threat. I understand you to be your brother’s protector.” She glances at Felix again, though only for a beat. Just for a single second. “I know you take your duty seriously, and having information, but not sharing it with you, didn’t sit right with me. Wilkes is on the prowl. Intel doesn’t specify which club he’ll hit, but my suspicions led me here. Be sure to stay out of the street. Watch your backs. Maybe do something remarkable every now and then so I can catch you on the news.” She swallows. Gulping, so the movement in her throat becomes visible. “I wish you well. I wish you forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” My eyes narrow to dangerous slits. “From you?”
“From yourself. I know you better than you realize, so I’m aware of your self-inflicted punishment since we last saw each other.” She straightens her spine and juts her chin forward, pride and challenge and a million other expressions burning in this strong woman’s eyes. Then, reaching up, she fingers her necklace pendant and breaks my heart all over again. “I know you, Micah. I know what’s in your heart, and I know you need to find peace within yourself more than anything else.” She drops her hand and grins. “Thanks to you, I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.”
“You’re—”
“Aware there are worse things in this world.”
“Let’s go.” Roscoe’s hand circles Tiia’s slim bicep. His fingers wrapping all the way around until they touch again. Then he sets my temper aflame when he tugs her back a step. “It’s time to go, Ipo. We’re done here.”
“Blink twice if you don’t want him around.” I lean closer when she starts to turn, searching her eyes in desperation. “Just let me know if you don’t want that in your life. I’ll fix it.”
Her jaw trembles, though her lips curl into a sweet smile. “You would kill him for me? To rid a pushy man out of my life?”
“I would make you safe.” I can’t say I’d slit his fucking throat and toss him into the river to become fish food out loud. They’re Feds, after all. And I can’t protect anyone when I’m on the wrong side of iron bars. “Just tell me you want it done.”
She snickers, soft and watery and so fucking pathetic, the sound tugs at my heart. “I love him, Micah. I don’t want to be out of his life. And I especially don’t want him out of mine.”
“Ipo.” Another step. Then two more. “It’s time to go.”
“You just gonna let your girl leave with another man?” Felix stomps around to stand where Tiia was a moment ago. “That easy, huh?”
“She’s not safe in my life. It’s better she goes with him.”
“She’s never going to be safer than when she’s with you!” He steps to the left when my eyes follow her trim back. When she stops by the door and peeks back my way. He tries to steal my view, but I see only her. The way she looks over her shoulder one last time. Then as her expression falls.
This isn’t a fucking Hallmark movie where I chase the girl out of the club and declare my love and dedication. This isn’t one of those stories that gets packaged with a pretty bow.
This is me and her, and we’re complicated even when she’s not a Fed and I’m not a Malone.
“Micah!” Felix slams his hand to my chest, demanding my attention. “You want something, you go and take it. Have I taught you nothing?”
“I want her.” I draw a deep breath when she disappears through the door, and exhale again, searching for new strength to remain standing now that she’s gone. Again. “So I let her go. She deserves to fly. Free and safe and?—”
Even above the din of a club pounding with music, I catch the squeal of tires in the street outside. The shouts of fear and screams of terror. Then the brrrrrt of bullets discharging from illegal fully automatic weapons.
“Shit!” I grab the back of Felix’s head and slam him to the floor. My instincts to protect my brother first and foremost, too deeply ingrained for me to do anything else. But as everyone else in the club drops, I remember the trio who walked outside.
The one who walked out of my life.
“Tiia!” I spin on my heels and sprint toward the doors. Bullets continuing to spray the outside of the club, a hundred rounds in under a minute that leave glass shattering and brick spraying.
“Micah!” Felix roars from somewhere behind me. His protective instincts as sharply defined as my own. “Micah, down!”
“Tiia!” I dart through the doors and skid outside, only to find bodies littering the sidewalk. So many of them, all who came out tonight only to party. To drink. Socialize. Love.
And now, they’re dead or dying.
“Ipo!” Roscoe’s cry of devastation draws me to the left. His broad body has dropped to his knees and folded over a woman who bleeds. The destruction left behind is enough to destroy what little heart I still had left. “Tiia!” He slams his hands to her chest. “Wake up!”
“No.” My stomach hollows out. While terrified partiers run in every direction, and guards bound into the night now that Wilkes’ car is gone, I turn and charge toward Tiia. My gun in my hand, though I don’t recall taking it out. My heart in my throat, certain it’ll block my airways and kill me anyway. “Oh no, no, no, no, no.” I grab Roscoe’s collar and throw him to the side, then I scoop her up, bleeding, broken, and gone. I hold her in my arms and search… for help.
For somewhere to go.
Someone to fix this.
“Wake up.” I shake her limp body and choke when she simply hangs. When blood streams over her chest and dribbles to the concrete ground at my feet. “Mo chroí! Wake up!”
“Medical required!” Jazzy sprints my way, a phone pressed to her ear and blood flowing from a wound on the side of her neck. “Agent has been hit!” she cries out, pressing bloodied fingers to Tiia’s neck. “Drive-by shooting out front of CeCe’s club. Wall Street, Manhattan. You need to put her down.” Her eyes shoot up to mine and burn. “Put her down!”
“Tiia?” I lower her to the sidewalk and press my ear to her lips. Searching. Begging for the sound of her breath. “Baby, you gotta wake up.”
“Inside!” Felix skids to my side and grabs my arm, trying, but failing, to jerk me to my feet. “Micah! You gotta get inside in case they swing back around.”
“Mo chroí.” I shake my brother’s hands away and press my palms to Tiia’s chest. “You gotta keep your heart moving, Tiia.”
“Entry wound...” Jazzy tears Tiia’s shirt away and reveals a belly smeared with fresh blood. Torn skin. “GSW to the abdomen!” she shouts into her phone. Then she wipes, viciously and rough, to clear the smudges of blood. “Only one, I think.” She grabs Tiia’s hip and yanks her up, searching her back. “No exit wound.”
Sirens wail in the night, and my brother guards my back, though we both know he’s the one who needs to be protected. Stovic and Michaels and a dozen other soldiers fan out and secure our portion of the street. And yet, my heart lies dead on the pavement, bleeding, unconscious, and in someone else’s hands.
“Wake up, Tiia.” My eyes burn. “You have to wake up. I can’t make you hate me if you’re not even awake for it.”