Chapter Nine. Ember #4
So it doesn’t … fit that Marcus would’ve confided in his lieutenants about me. And if that’s true, then it stands to reason that they discovered the truth about me some other way. But how?
Or who?
“Quiet.” Asad’s low command booms from behind me and reverberates through the room. The resulting silence is almost painful in its abruptness. “Ember is Marcus’s daughter and only child,” he says, his tone practically daring anyone to contradict him.
The same young soldier speaks again, his palms out. “No offense meant, Prince. Or to you, Ms. Cross. It’s just, most of us here didn’t know Marcus had kids. I mean, blood kids. And we for damn sure didn’t know his daughter was the one responsible for creating our food.”
Michelle softly scoffs, but it’s loud enough to reach my ears, and my fingers curl into a fist on the table, a physical manifestation of the simmering rage that never fully extinguishes when I’m in her presence.
Standing in front of this roomful of ruthless, streetwise soldiers with their calculating and way-too-perceptive eyes on me, I can’t afford to let her trigger me.
Don’t have the time or privacy to perform one of my coping or grounding techniques.
But this bitch is trying me. And the more she pokes, the hotter my anger burns. The more my control slips …
Fingers trail down my back, using my spine as a road map, and my skin pebbles.
All of my senses laser focus on that touch and the man exerting it.
It—he—grounds me in a way one of my coping mechanisms would have.
I force myself not to lean into it. Not to close my eyes and indulge in it.
That would be one of the worst mistakes I could make.
Because his touch isn’t just offering me a firm foundation on which to resettle myself. It also extends a perverse sense of safety—perverse since Asad is the one I usually need protection from.
“Now you do,” Asad says. “Like I said, I’ll meet with each of you individually, but there shouldn’t be an interruption in distribution or shipments.
If changes are implemented, it will be to make the machine run smoother, not make what we have more difficult for you.
” He pauses. “One more announcement before I let you go. Some of you found out last night, but for the others, I’m getting married in a month.
You just met my fiancée.” He curves a hand around my hip, and lust wars with confusion and self-directed disgust. This man has been my nemesis since he entered my life thirteen years ago.
And yet, here I stand, nipples beading, pussy creaming, skin heating as my body remembers how he’d mastered it, possessed it, fucked it.
Who the fuck am I becoming? “You’re all invited to our wedding in a month’s time. ”
Various versions of “congratulations” filter through the air, the leadership nodding at me and some even smiling, but Michelle and Kareem remain on mute.
The disgust and fury tightening Michelle’s face is expected.
But the same anger darkening Kareem’s? Surprise sweeps through me like a drafty, whistling wind.
From his words to me last night, I understand he disapproves, but this …
rage? It doesn’t fit. Especially considering we barely have a relationship.
In my eyes, he’s just slightly better than his mother and brother.
And that’s only because he’s always been the weakest link among the three of them, the least threatening.
I narrow my eyes on him, and as if he feels my scrutiny on him, his gaze shifts, meeting mine. In the next instant, his expression clears, his mouth softening, jaw relaxing, eyes losing some of their intensity.
Unease tracks across the nape of my neck like the spindly legs of a daddy longlegs.
The swift change from infuriated to congenial is disturbing as fuck.
“If there aren’t any questions, you’re free to go.” When no one speaks up, Asad nods, and everyone shoves their chairs back and stands, talking among themselves as they head for the door. Me included. I take a step in the same direction, but Asad’s hand, still clamped around my hip, tightens.
“Stay,” he murmurs before dipping his chin at two people, a man and woman, who approach him. “Everything good?” he cryptically asks. They nod, and he turns to me. “Ember, I want to formally introduce you to Eli and Makeda.”
“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say.
“You, too,” Makeda replies, her intense gaze staring into mine almost to the point of discomfort.
“Same.” Eli smiles.
The three of them start engaging in a low conversation, and I tune them out.
My heart makes a jailbreak for my throat, and my mind howls an objection.
I’m not ready to be alone with him. Not after last night.
I haven’t even had time to fully process how I feel about giving my biggest enemy something no one has ever had—my body, my virginity.
I don’t trust him. Damn sure don’t like him.
He and his mother made my childhood a living hell while I was still suffering through the most traumatizing experience of my life—my mother’s death. He is my trauma.
And yet …
I shake my head, try to take another step, but again, his hold on me tightens. Harder.
Yet, I allowed him inside me. Was more exposed with him than I have been with anyone else. No, I don’t trust Asad with my well-being, my safety, hell, my life, but I did my body … my pleasure. I trusted him not to hurt me. Not to take advantage of me in my vulnerability.
No, I don’t want to “stay.”
I want to get as far from him as possible.
Except for Michelle and Kareem, almost all of the street bosses pour out of the room, but Sam heads in our direction, his dark, penetrating stare fixed on me. I brace myself, already knowing what he’s about to hit me with.
I sigh. “Sam—”
“Congratulations are in order,” he interrupts, the resonant, deep voice that intimidates in the courtroom directed at me. I’m immune to that fear tactic, but not to the disappointment in his eyes. Regret swims in my stomach. “Let me speak to you. Privately.”
Asad breaks off his conversation with Eli, his new enforcer he called Makeda, and a petite woman with lovely ebony skin and beautiful lemonade braids, and turns to us, his silver gaze skimming over me and focusing on Sam.
“This isn’t your business, Sam,” he warns.
My godfather frowns, not cowering in the face of Asad’s threatening tone.
“Anything having to do with Ember is my business, Prince. That’s not going to change, whether she’s your fiancée or not.”
The two men stare at each other, and the tension crackles on the air.
“Hello, still standing here.” I wave between them, fighting not to roll my eyes.
“I’m not some bone to be fought over. I can make my own decisions about who I can and cannot speak to.
I don’t need his”—I jab a finger in Asad’s direction—“permission, Sam.” Asad fucked this pussy; he didn’t shoot my mother’s up.
So he doesn’t get to dictate my actions like he’s my parent.
Makeda snorts, but Asad bows his head over mine.
“Don’t get fucked-up in here. You know I don’t care about audiences,” he threatens.
And I hate the ripple of heat that courses down my spine.
Ignoring the warning, I curl my hand around Sam’s arm. “We can talk over here.” Here being across the room and in the far corner. “Be right back,” I say to Asad with an arch of my eyebrow.
Maybe he sees the “I will cut the fuck up” in my face, because after a moment, he nods and turns back to his people. Michelle and Makeda join him as we depart.
As soon as Sam and I are a safe distance where ears can’t pick up on our conversation, he lights into me.
“What the hell is going on here, Ember? Why am I just finding out that you’re engaged?
And to Asad Prince of all people? Last we talked, you hated him and planned on leaving House of Cross, and now you’re marrying him?
Is he forcing you? Is that it?” he cross-examines me.
“Because if that’s what’s going on here, I’m putting a stop to it right fucking now. ”
“Damn, Sam. Can I get an answer in?”
“Watch your mouth, little girl.”
I sigh. “Sorry. But I can explain if you’ll let me,” I lie.
Because I’m obviously not explaining everything.
Guilt already eats at him for not protecting me after Mom died.
If I confess the whole truth to him, he’ll confront Asad and lose his life.
I can’t have that. “Yes, you’re right. And honestly, not much has changed except that I’m not leaving Cross as soon as I planned.
Asad approached me”—broke into my house—“and offered a proposition.” Threatened me.
I break down the terms we negotiated last night, forgoing mentioning the threats and coercion that came before that. By the time I finish, the lines etched in Sam’s face ease, and though he doesn’t look pleased, he also doesn’t appear to be in a murderous rage either.
He studies me for several long, uncomfortable moments, then finally, he nods.
“Okay. I can’t lie, Ember. I’m not thrilled about this …
arrangement. I wish there was another way other than you shackling yourself to Prince, even if it’s for three years.
Still, as mean of a son of a bitch as Prince is, he can provide the best protection for you right now.
Your father’s killer is still out there, and we’re no closer to knowing who they are—”
“I can take care of myself, Sam,” I grind out. “I’ve been doing it for the last decade.”
“You shouldn’t have had to.”
“Doesn’t change the past though.”