Chapter 18
He’d been trying to stay low, but peace never lasted long. Not in his world. This morning proved it—the calm shattered the second his phone rang.
Brooks had been through hell. Buried both parents. Grew up fast, wore manhood before he was ready, and learned early that silence could be armor.
He’d cleaned up his father’s mess, turned dirt into gold, and built something that could last. Now his legacy was on the line.
Brooks didn’t just build for the hell of it. He built it so his name could mean something clean for once. So, when folks said Bishop , it wasn’t followed by a whisper.
He’d survived shit most never experience. But watching clowns with less skin in the game win off politics and handshakes? That shit made his blood boil.
He done things the right way. He hadn’t come this far to be robbed with a smile.
Somebody was playing with his legacy, and Brooks didn’t do games. If it didn’t make money, it didn’t make sense. But this wasn’t the street, it was City Hall. And violence wouldn’t fix it.
He gripped the phone tighter, his lawyer’s voice flat in his ear.
“They’re giving the emergency response contract to Premier Carry Towing.”
Brooks closed his eyes, grinding his molars together so hard he could hear them crack. His nostrils flared, his pulse throbbed at his temples. The leather of his chair creaked as his other hand gripped the armrest.
“That some kinda joke?” His voice was tight, barely restrained, the kind of calm that came before storms that leveled cities.
Jansen sighed on the other end, the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “Wish it was. Vote was supposed to happen next week, but word is…”
“They already unofficially made a decision.” Brooks finished for him, shaking his head, rage coiling hot and tight in his chest.
Jansen hesitated. “Nothing official yet, but it’s leaning in their favor. Someone up the chain wants them in and you out. The gala is when we find out. I didn’t want you caught off guard.”
A choppa ringing out always got a muthafucka’s mind right. Old habits were calling him from a past he’d thought he’d outgrown.
Brooks let out a humorless chuckle. Motherfuckers really thought they could play him. Premier Carry Towing was a garbage-ass company that had no business handling emergency calls in this city.
“I put in that bid six fuckin months ago,” Brooks said, his voice sharp enough to cut. “We checked every damn box. Spent the money. Did everything by the book. I already got the county contract. That’s how I know it’s some bullshit.”
Brooks flexed his fingers, watching the tendons dance beneath his skin as he tried to breathe through the anger riding up his spine. If he lost this contract, he’d be out a quarter million-dollar deal. That wasn’t just about money he had plenty of money. It was about the future and principle.
One day, he wanted to pass something down to somebody- nieces, nephews, maybe even his kids if life ever gave him that chance. This could set him up for life. And these corrupt motherfuckers thinking they could take it away without a fight had the game fucked up.
A loud knock hit the door, followed by Marco sticking his head in. “Aye, uh… You good?”
“Find me something,” Brooks said, his voice calm in a way that should’ve scared anybody who knew him. “I don’t care if it’s a conflict of interest, a missed signature. I need something to make this bid stick, or it’ll be a sheisty summer. Do you hear me?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“That ain’t gonna work, Jansen.” Brooks’ voice dropped lower, each word precise and deadly. “Find something or find me an address. What the fuck you mean you’ll see? I don’t pay you to see shit. I pay you to make things appear or disappear.”
Brooks hung up, tossing the phone onto his desk like it had personally offended him. He massaged his neck. He was wound up too tight and he wasn’t happy about coming back home to bullshit after the time he’d had with Taylor.
“We’re getting fucked over.”
“Shit.” Marco let out a low whistle, running a hand over his fresh fade. “What we doin’? What’s the move?”
Brooks cracked his neck, “Waiting on Jansen to find me an opening.”
Marco shifted again, but Brooks could see the tension in his stance, the way his right hand instinctively drifted toward his waistband, old habits never quite dying. “And if he don’t?”
Brooks flexed his fingers again, watching the tattoos ripple across his knuckles. “Then I’ll find my own way in and make an example out of whoever playing with me.”
His phone buzzed again against the polished mahogany of his desk. This time, it wasn’t Jansen.
Taylor.
He stared at her name, lighting up his screen, his thumb hovering over the decline button. He couldn’t be anything for anyone right now, not with rage clouding his vision and old instincts threatening to take over.
The city contract crisis had blindsided him, the first real threat to his business in years that he couldn’t immediately handle.
The last thing he needed was to snap at her.
She’d been through that enough. It was better to call her back when he had his head right, when he could be the man, she deserved rather than the one was ready to take it too far.
Taylor: DECLINEEE???
Brooks : Work shit. It ain’t personal.
Taylor: Ok and you can talk to me about it. TF
He turned, face tight, eyes sharp. He’d never declined her call.
She was pushing him, and nobody pushed Brooks Bishop.
Not like this. And she didn’t give a damn.
She had earned the right to call him any time and she expected him to answer.
Taylor had pulled a him on him and called him on FaceTime, forcing his hand.
Brooks exhaled and rubbed a hand over his beard slightly as he stared at her incoming call. For a moment, he considered letting it ring through. Then he remembered the way she’d looked at him in Denver, like she could see the parts he never said out loud.
He answered, his face filling the screen with a grin. “What you mean TF? We cussin now?”
Taylor had got a little dip on her chip, gotten sassy since they came back. It was cute until he wasn’t in the mood.
“Brooks, that doesn’t count.” Her voice was steady but too calm, a controlled counterpoint to the chaos inside him. It was exactly what he needed right now because he was everything but calm. Even through the screen, she cut through his bullshit. “What’s going on, handsome?”
“You ain’t gotta be here for this. It’s just business shit.”
She watched his face shift on screen. He didn’t want to talk, but she wasn’t letting up.
“Oh, so you can carry my weight, but I can’t carry yours? Nope. Try again.” Her expression shifted, those big eyes holding his without flinching. “And you know I got Jesus on the mainline. What’s going on?”
Silence stretched between them. His chest rose and fell his chest moved with the weight of something deeper than breath, but he didn’t argue.
“You crazy for that. But you don’t mind me venting to you?” He never wanted to be a burden to her, only a solution. But he was frustrated and liable to do something dumb if he didn’t calm down.
“Tell me what happened,” Taylor encouraged softly. She could see the tension in his forehead, the stress etched around his eyes. She didn’t like seeing him like this, and she was afraid of what that might mean for whoever had him ready to burn the city down.
“The city’s trying to shut my bid down.” His voice came out clipped, bitter as unsweetened coffee. “Some backdoor bullshit. They wanna give my contracts to a company that don’t even know these streets or deserve the shit. White people shit, I swear.”
He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face, feeling the day’s stubble rasp against his palm.
“I ain’t never asked nobody for shit, Tay. Never wanted to. Built everything I got brick by brick. And now, these motherfuckers just…” The words caught in his throat, anger making it hard to articulate the betrayal he felt.
“So, let’s fight them.”
He stilled. His eyes narrowed, searching hers through the screen, looking for the punchline.
“And how the fuck we supposed to do that? I got my lawyer on it, but no promises.”
“Together.”
The simplicity of her answer hit him like a physical blow. He should’ve known she’d check in. Their trip had changed things between them. Taylor was no longer just leaning on him. She was showing up for him, seeing him, reading his moods even through text messages.
Taylor was silent for a beat, her brow furrowing in thought. “Which company is it?”
“Premier.”
She clicked her tongue, recognition flashing in her eyes. “That raggedy-ass towing company with the F rating from the Better Business Bureau? I know the city lying with that one.”
Brooks huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, that one. ”
“I know them,” she muttered, and he could see her mind working, connecting dots he couldn’t see. “The hospital uses them sometimes. And every time, it’s a damn disaster. We’ve had ambulances delayed because of them. Patients waiting for hours. Records of complaints thick enough to choke someone.”
Brooks straightened, the fog of rage beginning to clear as possibility dawned. “Say that again.”
“The hospital, Brooks. We have receipts. Complaints. Official documentation with timestamps, incident reports, everything. If they’re getting the city contract, that means they’ll be towing for first responders, which includes us. And that puts patients at risk. I don’t play that.”
Brooks’ mind was already working through the angles, the pieces falling into place. This wasn’t just about his contract anymore. This was about public safety, the kind of angle that even corrupt officials couldn’t easily dismiss if he made enough noise.
“Taylor.” His voice dropped low, urgent, the anger transforming into focused determination. “I never ask for anything, but you think you can get your hands on that paperwork?”