Chapter 6
Six
Cameron
Makayla’s legs are still wrapped around me when I grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time. We’ve been in bed most of the afternoon, a slow burn that kept catching fire every time one of us so much as breathed too close.
She’s lying on her stomach now, bare skin glowing in the low light, scrolling through her tablet. I’m tracing lazy circles on the back of her thigh when I notice what she’s looking at—Ethereum charts.
“Well, well,” I murmur, leaning over her shoulder. “Didn’t take you for the type to research market volatility between rounds.”
She smirks without looking at me. “You made it sound interesting. Figured I’d see what all the hype is about.”
I let my hand slide higher. “It’s not hype, Kay. Crypto’s just... a smarter hustle. No middleman, no banks, no trace.”
She tilts her head back, eyes meeting mine. “You saying I should get into it?”
“I’m saying you should know how it works.
” I need to be careful how I feed this info to her.
Not enough to sell her and make her think it’s suspicious, but enough for her to “do her own research” and convince others such as her brother and his friends, to invest. “Set up a wallet, diversify, ride the highs, and pull out before it tanks. Like I told you—timing is everything.” Her phone starts buzzing on the nightstand.
She glances at the screen, then flips it over. “Business?” I ask.
She hesitates. “Maybe. It’s not a big deal.”
I already know what Makayla does for income, and she hasn’t been shy on sharing what she does with me. “Everything’s a big deal in your world.”
She sighs, sitting up and reaching for her clothes. “It’s just a drop. Quick and easy. I’ll be back before you miss me.”
I pull on my jeans. “I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Not asking,” I cut in. “It’s late, you’re going to some shady spot, and I don’t trust half the idiots who operate in this city. I’m coming.”
She studies me for a beat, then shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
I know exactly who she’s meeting—one of my guys.
He’ll make the handoff, confirm the quantity, and report straight back to me.
Makayla doesn’t need to know that part. By the time we head out, she thinks I’m just playing the overprotective boyfriend.
And maybe I am. But I’m also making sure every move she makes is one step deeper into my game.
The meet’s in a parking lot on the edge of downtown, the kind of place that looks deserted until you realize there are eyes everywhere.
Makayla’s driving, I’m riding shotgun, watching her drum her fingers on the wheel like she’s just here to pick up a pizza.
We spot the car—dark sedan, windows tinted. One of my guys.
“You sure you don’t wanna just wait here?” she asks.
I open my door. “Not a chance.”
We walk over together. The guy steps out, gives Makayla a chin lift. She hands over the cash, he pops the trunk, and she leans in to check the product. Clean, quick, no drama. Exactly like I told him.
Then the floodlights hit. “Police! Hands where I can see them!”
Makayla freezes, turns to me with wide eyes. I raise my hands slow, calm. No sudden moves.
Ethan’s the first out of the unmarked unit, badge flashing, jaw tight enough to crack. “Well, well. Look what we’ve got here.”
“Evening, brother-in-law,” I say lightly.
“Cut the shit, bitch.” Ethan takes out his handcuffs and puts them on me like he just won the lottery. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what?” I ask. “Standing next to someone making a poor life choice?”
He glares at me but looks to his guys. “Separate them.”
The officer pats me down, finds nothing—because there’s nothing to find. Not on me. Not in my pockets.
“Clean,” the cop says.
I glance at Ethan. “Hate to break it to you, but you can’t cuff someone just because you don’t like ‘em.”
Makayla’s already in tears as they put her in the back of a cruiser. She’s yelling ‘I’m so sorry, Cam!’ and ‘Help me, Cam!’ with a sprinkle of, ‘Don’t tell our parents, Ethan!’ Ethan’s breathing hard, wanting so badly for me to slip.
I lean in just close enough for only him to hear. “You know what’s worse than catching me dirty, Ethan? Catching me clean.”
His nostrils flare, but he steps back. “Get him out of my sight.”
I’m escorted to another cruiser, not even glancing back. Because I know what he’s thinking—how much he wants to bury me—and how much it’s going to kill him that tonight that he can’t.
~~~~~~
THEY’VE GOT ME IN THE holding area, not a cell. Separate from Makayla. It’s not my first rodeo, so I’m sitting back, legs stretched, hands loose on my knees while the cops do their paperwork shuffle. The air smells like sweat, bad breath, and burnt coffee.
Across the way, Ethan’s in a huddle with Lisa, voice low but hot enough I can taste the irritation. I already know the verdict before they call me over.
“Page,” one of the uniforms says, “you’re free to go.”
Ethan’s jaw ticks. “He’s clean?”
“Clean,” the other confirms.
I stand slowly, smoothing the wrinkles from my jacket, and glance over at him. “Disappointed?” He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. My attorney soon joins me, along with Que and Roadie.
I take a step closer, keeping my voice casual. “Your sister is a party girl,” I say, and that’s enough to make him stop mid-stride. “She loves a good party, doesn’t she? Clubs, VIP sections, bouncing from one baller’s penthouse to the next... she’s real popular with the athletes.”
His shoulders tighten. His fist curls before he even realizes I’m watching. He forces it open again. “Be careful, Page.”
I hold up my hands. “I haven’t said anything wrong. Just what’s widely known. She’s got six figures worth of followers—hell, I could never be that popular.”
I let a beat pass. “I also hear she’s a bit of a peddler herself.
Likes to party. A white girl peddling white girl.
.. and egg rolls.” I shake my head like it’s a damn shame.
“You’d think being in the police department, you’d want your whole family to ‘back the blue,’ fly the flag, play the game.
But no. She walks around with product on her, and you don’t bat an eye.
Guess it’s easier to chase the son of a senator—makes for a better headline.
Gets you that promotion. Maybe even an Oprah special where you cry about choosing between your badge and your family. ”
I lock eyes with him. “So, the real question is—what price are you willing to pay for that?” He lunges, and his partner blocks him. “Temper, temper,” I murmur.
“You wouldn’t destroy everything Taylor worked for just to get at me,” he says, smiling without warmth. “You wouldn’t be that stupid.”
I button my jacket. “We both know Taylor left me, so that little guilt trip wouldn’t do shit. But here’s a riddle for you...” I step in until the only thing stopping us is the human wall between us. “...what do you think will get your sister addicted quicker—my product or my dick?”
He lunges again, and I blow him a kiss. “You have a beautiful day, detective.”
A few minutes later, Makayla comes out from processing—hair brushed, back in her own clothes, phone already in hand. She spots me and walks over like we’re leaving a brunch date, not a holding cell.
“Thank you,” she says, kissing my cheek.
“Anytime,” I reply, loud enough for Ethan to hear.
“I’ll walk you out,” Ethan replies and he reassures Lisa he won’t try anything as every eye is now on our group.
We head for the exit, but I slow down until I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “Three of the women you’d burn the world down to protect? Already in my pocket. Makayla. Jamie. And Taylor.”
His eyes cut to mine at that last one, and I see the recognition—the weight of her name.
“Your sister’s loyalty is mine. Your wife’s debt is mine. And Taylor—the girl Lamont trusted you to protect like blood—is living in my building, running a coffee shop I bankroll... under your nose.”
I let that sink in, then lean just a little closer. “And just to think... all of this is happening because you falsely arrested me the day Mia was born.”
His jaw works, but he says nothing.
I smirk. “I don’t just live in your head, detective—I own the deed. And the foundation.”
I start to leave, then pause and glance at the bail receipt in my hand. “Oh, and this?” I tap the paper. “Paid in full by my people. Which means every time your sister thanks me, every time she smiles at me... you’ll remember she’s free because of me. That’s a debt you’ll never erase.”
And with that, I step into the sunlight like I’ve just crossed another errand off my list.
~~~~~
WE DROP MAKAYLA OFF, and she’s glowing with gratitude, like I just pulled her out of a fire. She hugs me tight, thanks me twice, then disappears inside. Good. Gratitude is the first step toward loyalty.
Once she’s gone, I climb into Que’s SUV. He pulls out, quiet, the low hum of the engine filling the silence.
“I planted the crypto seed,” I tell him, buckling my seat belt. “Now we wait. Let her think it’s her idea. When she’s comfortable, she’ll bring herself right into the fold.”
Que nods, eyes on the road. “Got something else for you.”
He swipes on his tablet, showing me a 4K photo of a woman—brown skin, sharp cheekbones, hair piled up like she’s about to close a deal or ruin someone’s night.
“Stephanie,” Que says. “She’s tied to our mark.”
I glance at it. “Good. She’s next.”
Que doesn’t move on. He swipes again, but this time it’s not a still photo—it’s a live feed. High resolution. His building. Taylor’s building. And there she is. Sitting on a park bench outside with Mia in her lap. Laughing. Relaxed.
Sitting next to him.
I know him before Que even opens his mouth. Long dark hair tied back, tattoo sleeves visible under a rolled-up shirt. Glasses that make him look like he should be fixing someone’s WiFi instead of playing in the kind of circles I’ve heard his name in.
“Jiro,” I say, my voice dropping half an octave.
Que glances at me. “You know him?”
“In passing,” I answer, eyes glued to the screen. “He’s lived in the building about a year. We’re not friends. We’re not enemies.” My jaw works. “That might change.”
We watch in silence for a few seconds. Then it happens—Taylor shifts Mia toward him. Jiro takes her easily, one hand supporting her back, the other bouncing her gently until she’s giggling. Something in me goes cold. Sharp.
Que notices. “You good?”
I don’t answer right away. My eyes stay on Jiro, on Mia’s tiny hands gripping his shirt like he’s someone she knows, someone she trusts.
“You think we’ve got beef with the Yakuza?” Que asks, almost joking, but testing my temperature.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I say, calm. Too calm. I watch Jiro smile at my daughter again. “There might be one now.”