Chapter Eighteen #2
Holden finally cleared his throat. “I’ve had a man on the inside of Hastings’ operation for over a year.
He’s gotten close, but he’s never been able to ID the big boss.
When your friend Aja wouldn’t leave Restoration Ranch, she cut into their shipment timetable.
Before she returned and started rebuilding everything, they’d take their human cargo from Eli Bennett’s ranch and cut straight across Restoration to get to the highway and head to the port in Corpus Christi, sight unseen.
But once the Texas Rangers showed up and shut shit down, it left Hastings unable to move his cargo as frequently as he needed to. And now, he’s in a cash crunch.”
Holden pulled his eyes away from her and settled them out the window as if anything but the night waited on the other side.
“My agent knew about you and what Hastings made you do for him in the pen, so I told him to suggest that Hastings resume your former arrangement.”
“You set me up?”
Holden pulled his gaze from the window and locked eyes with Colton for a brief second. His dark eyes were cold and emotionless.
“I did what I needed to stop a monster,” Holden replied. “Dangling you in front of him so he would try to blackmail you to extort money and put it in his coffers was the only way I could connect the dots.”
Seneca began to pace. “So, my life wasn’t even worthy of consideration in your eyes?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Once you get Hastings his money, he’s gonna have you wire it directly to his boss.
My agent says if he doesn’t, it’ll probably mean his life.
All you have to do is get him the money he wants, find me that account number and a name, and I’ll deliver everything I promised to you. ”
Seneca laid both hands on her head as if she were physically attempting to restrain the thoughts running through her mind.
“You shady son of a bitch. You’re gonna get me killed and you don’t even care.”
“Stop being so dramatic.” He threw his hands in the air. “It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything you haven’t done before.”
The leash Colton had on his control snapped and he reared back, plowing all his weight into Holden’s jaw. Just like when they were kids and got to rough-housing, Holden landed right on his ass.
“Get out now while you still can,” Colton spoke through clenched teeth. “Because the next punch I land is gonna break that fucking glass jaw of yours.”
Holden scrambled to his feet, rubbing his jaw like the bratty little kid he always was and opened the door. Throwing a “I’ll be in touch when I need you, Seneca,” over his shoulder as he stepped onto the porch.
Fire still blazed through him, burning up every bit of patience and restraint Colton possessed as he turned to Seneca. “I asked you to stay the hell away from him.”
How he managed to speak so quietly, he’d never know. Especially when he could feel the blood rushing through his vessels as angry heat spread through him.
“Colton,” she sighed. “I’m not up for your bullshit. If all you’re going to do is criticize me, you can go the same way your so-called friend just did.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “You do not get to dismiss me after this colossal fuck-up of yours. Did it ever occur to you that as someone who knows Holden and works in law enforcement, I might actually know what the fuck I was talking about when I said stay away from Holden and Hastings?”
She straightened her back, cocking her head to the side, staring at him with her mouth dropped open.
Her lids opening and closing like the white guy blinking meme all over social media.
He should’ve known then that all hell was about to break loose.
He’d seen his own mama get that same look on her face anytime she was about to give someone a dressing-down.
It wasn’t just his mama who possessed this ability either.
It was something embedded in Black women’s DNA.
From real women like all of his aunties, to fictional characters like Clair Huxtable, Lydia Grant, and Harriette Winslow, all Black women gave you one hint you were about to get your ass handed to you.
It was what he called the “you done fucked up now” pose.
Like a bright red blinking stop sign, one hip jutted out with one hand on her hip while the other extended outward with a pointed finger, was a clear warning you’d overstepped.
Right now, Seneca had settled into the last pose with her finger raised like a dagger pointed in his direction.
“First of all, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to.
But whoever she is, I ain’t her. Second of all, this is my goddamn cabin.
You will not stand in it and disrespect me like this.
I’m not your child, and I’m not one of your perps.
I am not obligated to listen to you simply because I’m fucking you. ”
If he were a lesser man, he would’ve flinched as her words sliced against him. But even though he was sure she would probably win this verbal battle they were getting into, he couldn’t drop the subject and retreat.
“So,” he asked, “we’re back to the this is just a sex thing?
” He didn’t give her a chance to answer before he continued.
“You can tell yourself we’re just fucking, but I’m not about to lie to myself or you like that.
What we have is important to me. You are important to me.
If you think I’m going to sit back and watch you do something reckless, you are mistaken. ”
“Reckless?” Her voice crept up a notch as she pulled her shoulders back. “How am I being reckless?”
“Seneca, you’re one of the smartest people I know, but your intellect makes you do foolhardy shit because you think no one else’s brain can catch up to yours. First, the hacking job that landed you in prison, and now thinking you handle this situation on your own.”
She held a hand up in the air, silencing him.
“Oh, I finally get where all of this is coming from now.” She folded her arms and locked gazes with him, refusing to shy away from his scrutiny in the least. “This isn’t about me trusting you.
This is about you trusting me. You think you have to literally police everything I do because you don’t trust me to not do something to land me back in prison. ”
“Seneca, that’s not—”
“Oh, come on, Colton. Don’t pull any punches now. I’m an ex-con who made a bad decision once and therefore will be prone to recklessness for the rest of my life. That’s what you think, right?”
When she said it that way, it sounded way worse out loud than it did in his head.
“Seneca—”
She shook her head. “If you really knew me, you’d know that I’m one of the most methodical people in the world. I’m not impulsive. And I didn’t choose to commit a crime on a whim.”
She turned away from him for a moment, placing her hands on her hips and looking up at the ceiling as if she were silently praying for strength.
“I planned that hacking job for nearly eight weeks before I executed it. I thought of every conceivable angle, planned it perfectly. Does that sound impulsive to you?”
“No,” he huffed. “But it still doesn’t explain why someone who had so much going for her would risk it all on a gamble.”
“I wasn’t trying to risk everything, Colton.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I was trying to save everything I had.” She pointed to the couch. “This is going to be a long story. You might as well sit down.”
She sat in the armchair and he sat on the ottoman directly in front of her.
“My mother was diagnosed with cancer. Any cancer diagnosis is serious. But her doctor caught it in its very early stages and believed with aggressive treatment, her outcome would be favorable. He believed she’d be an ideal candidate for this radical new clinical trial that seemed to be working miracles for other patients like her.
Mama signed up immediately and I hoped and prayed it would cure her, because losing her was unthinkable.
“After being on the trial for a bit, I noticed an outward change in her condition. She seemed to be getting better—as did other patients in the trial with her. Whenever I asked the medical team when her therapy would be completed since she was doing so well, I could never get a straight answer. I thought to ask some of the other patients my mother had become friendly with about their progress, but it always seemed like they’d disappear out of nowhere.
Whenever I’d ask about them, the answer was always that they’d completed treatment.
With no one else to talk to, I went to the head oncologist of the program to try to get some answers. He brushed me off and dismissed me.”
She folded her arms and he watched her body visibly tense as she continued.
“I was running errands for my mother one day when I ran into one of the sons of one of the other patients in the trial. I asked how his mother was doing. I assumed well since she’d completed her therapy a few weeks earlier.
He told me his mother had died. She’d seemed to be fine but deteriorated suddenly with no warning.
At that point, I began to wonder if the same thing was happening to other patients too.
I knew if I wanted the answer to that question, I needed to take measures into my own hands. ”
She leaned back into the armchair cushions, running her hands up and down her thighs like she was preparing to unload something heavy.
“I hacked into the clinic’s network to get a look at my mother’s chart and copied five charts of other patients who’d supposedly completed their treatment successfully.
A lot of it was in medical jargon and I couldn’t understand it.
So, I called a sorority sister of mine who was an oncologist in New York to take a look at them.