Chapter 32
The day of the wedding rehearsal, Everly was finally starting to fray around the edges, a little nervousness creeping into her spirit.
She sent us on a run to Hannarose’s Hair Haven for her favorite hair products in case her stylist didn’t have them tomorrow.
Spoiler: her stylist would definitely have them.
But we went anyway because she seemed on the verge of hyperventilating.
“If you put that orange-ass wig in your head, I’m leaving you here,” Emory warned.
Hyacinth gasped dramatically from farther up the aisle. “First of all, it’s ginger. Second of all, haters never prosper.”
“They do when they have good taste,” Em called back.
I laughed softly as I wandered down the packed aisle, absently running my fingers over edge control, mousse, and oil sheen displays.
The little beauty supply store sat near the edge of downtown Emancipation, squeezed between a drive thru daiquiri shop (gotta love Louisiana) and our cousin G's accounting office.
Ceiling fans turned overhead, fighting a losing battle against Louisiana heat every time the door opened.
They circulated the scent of the bergamot in Blue Magic hair grease, sweet incense, and those candles used when the devout ask saints to intercede.
Ahh. The scent of home.
“Well, if y’all don’t like the wig, then maybe I should get this one,” Hyacinth announced loudly.
I looked up just in time to see her hold up a platinum blonde, thirty-inch monstrosity.
Emory recoiled. “Oh, wow. Brae can't possibly like you in shit like that.”
Hy's glossed lips pulled into a thin line. Very few things could shake my cousin's sense of humor. Mentioning Braeden Christopher was one of those things. Emory was taking no prisoners.
“You always talking shit,” Hy responded, voice tight.
Em shrugged. “Because you keep giving me opportunities.”
I shook my head, grinning despite the tension suddenly sitting over us.
I was definitely trying to focus on the positive.
The last week should’ve felt perfect. Real and Everly were finally getting married.
My family was happy. Every relative we had was cooking, decorating, or offering me and Ev advice as we set off on our married lives.
And Targen…
Lawd.
My tattoo reveal had done something to that man.
Well, that and that lil blowjob. He looked at me last night and this morning like I personally hung the moon over Louisiana.
My husband acted like he still couldn’t believe I gave him permanent evidence I was choosing him and being his wife.
It wasn’t because I was suddenly unafraid or one hundred percent sure.
It was just that I wanted him too much to do anything else.
I should’ve felt good, and I did... mostly. But something kept me uneasy whenever I let myself think too long.
“You good?” Emory asked quietly, appearing beside me with lashes in one hand and hair jewelry in the other.
I nodded. She pursed her lips and stared. I sighed.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s always dangerous.”
“Very,” Hyacinth agreed, finally, thankfully, abandoning the wig section.
I grabbed a bottle of setting spray off the shelf. “I just…” My shoulders lifted helplessly. “I hate feeling like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.”
Both their expressions softened immediately.
“Nobody gon’ touch you,” Hyacinth said firmly.
I smiled at her. “Thank you. I—”
“Ay, where the fuck I'm s'posed to find curling rods?”
The sudden, loud voice made my skin crawl. Hyacinth’s expression hardened instantly.
“Well. Ain’t this some raggedy shit,” she muttered.
I turned.
Kemp. Fucking, evil ass Kemp. Chauncey’s cousin leaned against the counter like he belonged there. eyes already fixed on me. I hadn’t seen him since last year, on the day I first met my husband…
Targen and I stood there like two goofies until one of the back doors suddenly opened and my cousin Shep stepped into the kitchen from the door that opened into the solarium.
His ass had probably passed out drunk back there.
Seeing the man behind him wiped the smile from my face and made my blood run cold.
"Theory?" Targen said softly.
I shook my head as tremors seized my body.
"Y'all ain't cooked yet?" Shep groaned.
I couldn't answer, felt my mind leaving the kitchen. And then Targen was there, his back to my front as he sheltered me behind him.
To protect you, he'd said. And the tension in his long, muscular body told me he was ready to do just that.
"Who the fuck are you?" he growled.
Shep's spoiled ass decided to test him.
"Man, who the fuck is you, asking questions in my granny's house?" he snapped.
"Some dude yo' cousin fucking, look like. All this shit she done caused, and she being a ho just like Chauncey said, weird ass," his friend Kemp spat.
I jerked violently and before I knew it, Targen was across the kitchen, his hand wrapped around Kemp's neck as he knocked his head into the wall.
"Say, nigga—” Shep started.
But his ass stopped when Targen pulled a gun from his back and aimed it at him in one smooth move, his eyes never leaving Kemp's suddenly scared face. Bitch ass nigga, I thought.
My mind snapped back to the present. I could see the bitterness simmering under Kemp’s surface. My stomach tightened automatically, but I wasn't scared, not like I would've been a year ago. More pissed off that I'd let a bitch ass nigga like this shake me once. Emory immediately moved closer to me.
“The fuck wrong with yo' eyes, nigga?” she demanded.
Kemp ignored her completely, just walked until he was a couple of feet away from us.
“You look good, Theory. Seem like marriage agreeing with you,” he said slowly. “Chauncey thought it would, too. He talked about wifing you up, but I guess a clean-cut nigga like that ain't good enough for a–”
“Watch yo' fucking mouth before I call my husband... or hers,” Em gritted out.
I held up a hand to her, then folded my arms. “Get to the point, Kemp.”
He looked at my ring, then back at my face.
“You know, a lot of people been asking questions. We just a bunch of humble southern Black folks, you know? Your new family make people around here nervous.”
I laughed softly. “You walked into a beauty supply store to deliver gossip? That’s so masculine,” I taunted.
“Mmm.” The sound Hyacinth made was cynical.
Kemp’s jaw tightened. “You think shit funny?”
I shrugged. “I think you bothering women in public during business hours is embarrassing.”
A couple of older women farther down the aisle immediately looked up with interest.
One of them whispered, “Mm-hmm,” like she was already invested in what was happening.
Kemp stepped closer. “You better tell your husband we still looking for Chauncey.”
Everything inside me stopped. Looking? Like there was a chance he was still alive?
For a second, the entire store seemed to go quiet around me.
Chauncey was a problem that I thought was handled.
Even before I knew about Targen’s Bratva ties, I knew, from the way that he beat up my high school ex at my class reunion, that he was dangerous.
Deadly. His handling Chauncey was the reason this ring was on my finger now, wasn’t it?
Kemp kept talking, not realizing what he’d done to my imagination.
“Fucking Russians tortured my cousin this whole year, fucking with his mind, and now he gone? And you got the nerve to bring yo’ weird ass in here, acting like y’all untouchable.”
My stomach dropped.
Alive.
Chauncey was probably alive.
Every vague conversation suddenly replayed itself in my head. Targen never actually said Chauncey was dead. I just assumed, and he let me. A current of anger tripped down my spine. Kemp mistook my silence for fear and smirked.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Ain’t as safe as you thought, huh?”
I smiled at him then. Kemp was low-banging fruit, a loud, ignorant braggart. Chauncey’s aunt ran a tight ship. No way anyone trusted this piece of shit. He probably had been ear hustling, picking up bits and pieces and trying to rub them in my face. Ain’t no way he knew as much as he was bluffing.
“You done?” I asked calmly.
He blinked, surprised. His smirk slipped. “What?”
“You came in here trying to scare me. It didn’t work. Are. You. Done?” I repeated slowly enough for him to get it.
His face fell. “It ain’t my fault you too dumb to know when you in trouble.”
Emory shifted beside me. “Theory…”
I chuckled, walked closer. “Oh, Kemp. Poor, delusional, desperate Kemp. I’m not the one in trouble. The day I met my husband, he told you to never be where I am. And look at you. Just… being.”
I made a tsking sound as I patted his cheek. He tensed, his eyes lit up with rage.
“Do something stupid. Please, Kemp. Do it,” Hyacinth taunted, as she reached into her purse.
I shook my head as she pulled out a set of brass knuckles and slid her hand into them. The contrast between the gleaming metal and her extra-long, bejeweled and bedazzled nails made my smile spread.
“You better hope your husband can protect you when all this catch up to him,” Kemp warned.
I tilted my head. “You better hope you survive when my husband catches up to you.”
“Theory.”
Targen’s voice cracked across the store like a whip.
Every head turned.
My husband stood beside a display of satin bonnets while Mikhail and Juvie were behind him.
And Lord, I could tell he was mad, seething with rage. He looked dangerous… cold and dangerous. His silvery stare settled on Kemp like a death sentence. That bitch ass nigga took one step backward.
Targen walked toward us slowly. “You left your detail,” he murmured to me, his voice soft, nonchalant, like it wasn’t a big deal.
I knew better.
“Yo’ ass stay in trouble,” Hyacinth hissed.
I did, but we were even. Cuz he was in trouble, too.
Targen came to a stop in front of Kemp.
“You bothering my wife?”
“I was just talking,” Kemp back tracked hastily.
“Nah. He was practicing his ‘menacing villain’ role, just being real dusty,” Hyacinth volunteered immediately.