Chapter Nine. Ember #2
This space is the perfect setup. To the curious eye, all they see are business-casual-dressed employees entering the Castle, showing up for work, but they’re not the everyday personnel of a fashion house.
Unlike the designers, artists, publicists, and other HoC staff, the people entering the lobby are drug dealers, smugglers, thieves, killers.
My grandfather and Marcus were the kings of “hide in plain sight.” It’s the reason why the Feds and law enforcement have never built a case around or even suspected House of Cross of fronting one of the largest drug empires on the West Coast. Well, that, and Marcus, just like my grandfather did, had most of the LAPD and high-ranking officials in the FBI in his back pocket, loyal to him by money and secrets.
Following the directions of the text Asad sent me, once I reach the door of the conference room, I notice the black box beside the jamb. I press my hand to it, and a blue light flashes, scanning my print. Seconds later, the lock clicks, and I pull the handle and enter the room.
Like the corridor outside, the conference room resembles any other that graces the floors of the Castle.
A long, rectangular glass table bisects the room, bodies parked in the leather rolling chairs on either side of it.
More of those chairs line the walls. A large monitor hangs suspended from the ceiling at the front of the room, ready for someone to hook up their laptop and display a presentation across its screen.
The main difference between this room and the one on the executive level is that about thirty lethal members of a crime family occupy these chairs instead of CEOs and marketing staff.
As if on cue, every head turns in my direction.
Except for Asad. Standing at the front of the long glass table, his gaze is already on me.
And of everyone, it’s his gaze that’s the heaviest. His that’s the most …
intimate. His that sends a rush of heat rushing through me like Noah’s flood and has my poor abused pussy clenching around an emptiness that now is shaped like his dick.
I recognize several people in the room, including Sam and my stepfamily. And Deacon and Xavier. Surprise whispers through me at their attendance. I flick a glance at Asad. What game is he playing, allowing traitors and his would-be killers in the room?
To my further shock, not only is Michelle seated at the table, but so are several other women. Though beautiful, they all bear that sharp-edged, hardened demeanor of those who’ve seen a lot of things and done more.
He beckons me forward with a curl of his fingers.
The nerves that beset me in the hall dial up a notch, but damned if I’ll let him or anyone in this cavernous room peep it.
As much as I hate the bastard, Marcus’s neglect and rejection are the gifts that keep on giving—they’ve empowered me with the talent to exude I-don’t-give-a-fuck-ness like the loud-ass special-edition perfume HoC rolls out at Christmas.
So as I stride toward the only available seat next to Asad, with each step my sore thighs and vagina reminding me exactly what I had been up to last night.
I lift my head up and my shoulders are back and straight.
I meet every stare with a calm that is challenged by the whirlwind of questions in my head and twisting in my belly.
I approach Asad, and he doesn’t bother to hide his molten perusal of my body in the black pinstripe suit with the matching corset top underneath the jacket.
His nostrils slightly flare, and my nipples tighten in response.
For a moment, I can feel his mouth at my breasts, feel his teeth grazing the tips before tugging on the piercings.
Feel his tongue soothing the small sting with slow, thorough sucks and licks.
Shit.
Thank God this suit is black. Otherwise this whole damn room would have a front-row seat to the wet spot between my legs.
Unable to hold his hot, silver stare, I glance away and crash right into Michelle’s.
The gleaming hatred there does the job of cooling the unwanted and resented lust for her son.
I can always count on my stepmother to reality-slap me, to remind me that I don’t stand among friends or colleagues.
I’m among strangers and potential enemies—because unknowns are enemies until they’re not.
I smile my thanks at Michelle.
Movement next to her draws my attention, and I notice Kareem. Unlike last night, his expression is closed off, distant. The flattened mouth and narrowed eyes don’t give off disdain and animosity like his mother’s, but this is not the man that joked with me either.
“Ember, have a seat right here.” Asad motions to an empty chair at the head of the table and to the left of his.
Reluctantly, I sink into the seat with a suspicion of what’s about to come.
“Thank you all for coming to this meeting on such short notice. I’ll try not to keep you too long, but there are some things we need to discuss that can’t be put off.
The sooner we address them, the sooner and stronger we can move into this next phase of the Cross organization. ”
He takes a step back, and that steady gray gaze moves over the room, landing on each person. The protracted silence skates on, uncomfortable, but Asad seems unbothered by it. Power emanates from him, and it rolls through the air like crackling surges that skip over skin, lifting hair.
Goddamn.
It’s not fair that one man has a soul so black, but is this damn fine.
The intricate stitch braids from last night still look neat and beautiful, as does his thick, glistening beard that frames his full lips.
The navy-blue, three-piece suit fits him like it’s obsessed with his ass, fawning over those wide shoulders and chest, clinging to that washboard stomach and strong, powerful thighs.
When God was creating him, He said, Nah, been here, done that, and just passed him off to Satan to finish the job.
“You’ve no doubt already picked up on some of the changes, but still, look around you.
Note the people in this room.” I did as Asad directed even though I’d already done so when I first entered the conference room.
One person I didn’t see? Justus. “This is the new leadership of the Cross organization.”
Murmurs and a low grumbling ripple through the space.
“Quiet,” Asad orders in a low, even voice, and the noise instantly silences. “I understand the long tradition of this family, and I respect it. But traditions are guides, not gatekeepers. They shouldn’t hold us back from progress and change.”
“Not all change is good change,” an older man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard sitting near the other end of the table says. Several people shift in their chairs, their discomfort obvious. While others nod, agreeing with this sentiment.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not needed either. Without the infusion of something new, innovative, and fresh, the old will grow stagnant and fade away into obscurity or death.
No one here wants that, and it’s not going to happen on my watch.
And don’t interrupt me again.” The threat in Asad’s voice holds the promise of blood and a thousand screams. Yes, I might be a little dramatic, but then again, not in this instance.
The older soldier dips his chin and leans back in his chair.
“As I was saying, there will be changes going forward. The first and most obvious being the inclusion of women in our leadership and organization. All respect to Marcus and the Cross men before him, but it’s foolish to discount the strength, talents, and intelligence women have to offer this organization simply because they don’t have dicks.
Nah, we’re Black men, and no one knows more than us that we’re our strongest and most complete when our queens are beside us.
And if that includes busting guns, if that’s what they choose, then we in this shit together. ”
Well, damn.
My breath whistles between my ears, my pulse just as loud.
My pussy is ten times wetter.
“If anyone has an issue with that, now is your chance to leave—your one and only chance. If you remain seated in your chair, I’m assuming you’re good with this change.
” He pauses. And under his scrutiny, no one utters a word.
“Good. This next one shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to anyone.
Marcus had his advisors, and so will I. So thank you, Xavier, Deacon, and Malcolm, for your service, leadership, and loyalty.
I know Marcus valued your friendship and wisdom. ”
Oh shit.
Shots fired.
He’s sitting Xavier, Deacon, and Malcolm down.
It’s a move that’s shocking. But … isn’t.
Asad would be a fool to keep them as his officers when their loyalty is questionable.
And you can say many things about Asad Prince—trust and believe, I do—but being a fool isn’t one of them.
But demoting them is one thing. Killing them for attempting to take you out is something different, and I still don’t understand why Asad’s toying with them.
Unable to help myself, I peek across the table where Marcus’s second and counselor sit.
Xavier, a distinguished older man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair in a large frame draped in a tailored Italian suit, wears a congenial smile, but it doesn’t reach his hazel eyes, and if his hands clasp any tighter, he might crack his own bones.
Deacon, smaller in build than Xavier, with a gleaming bald head and dark brown eyes, stares at Asad with no hint of emotion.
It’s unsettling, but it’s also more honest than the polite smile curving Xavier’s mouth.
“Xavier, Deacon, Malcolm, we can speak specifics afterward about the change in your organizational roles going forward. But rest assured, there’s always a place for you here.”