Chapter Three
Jayla
I knew Deon Carter was going to waste my time when he spent twenty minutes explaining why women considered him attractive.
Attractive men rarely needed presentations.
Still, I allowed him to escort me into a private album-release party because he had promised to introduce me to Nova Banks.
Nova was a Grammy-winning rapper preparing to launch her own sneaker line. One conversation could put Bennett Originals in rooms I had only seen online.
Opportunity had brought me there.
Deon believed it was his charm.
He wore dark glasses inside the building and greeted everyone like he had personally contributed to their success.
“I told you I had connections,” he whispered.
“You know the man checking wristbands.”
“That’s still a connection.”
The party occupied the top floor of a converted warehouse in Dumbo. Music shook the glass walls while celebrities, influencers, and people pretending to be both floated between displays.
Sneakers sat inside illuminated cases like museum pieces.
I forgot about Deon for several minutes.
This was what I wanted.
Not simply to customize shoes in the back of a narrow studio while begging clients to pay their balances. I wanted my work displayed beneath lights. I wanted children who drew on their sneakers during class to understand that creativity could become a career.
Grandma Evelyn had believed that before I did.
Deon placed his hand against my lower back.
My body tightened.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine.”
The word came automatically.
I had become skilled at saying it while my nervous system screamed something else.
His hand moved lower.
I stepped away.
“Don’t do that.”
He raised both palms.
“My fault.”
The apology came easily, but irritation flashed across his face.
I focused on the display.
Touch had been complicated for me since I was seventeen.
Back then, my boyfriend Malik had been the first boy who made me believe being different didn’t make me undesirable. He studied with me, carried my books, and listened when I rambled about art.
One night after a school dance, he took me to his cousin’s apartment.
I trusted him.
That trust disappeared the moment he locked the bedroom door.
Malik and his cousin ignored every no that came from my mouth. They pulled at my dress, held my wrists, and laughed when I cried. I escaped only because someone in the apartment began pounding against the door.
The assault didn’t go as far as they intended.
For years, I used that fact to convince myself I wasn’t allowed to be traumatized.
My body knew differently.
Afterward, Malik warned me that everyone would believe I had willingly gone into a bedroom with two boys. I already felt too Black in some spaces, not Black enough in others, and too strange everywhere.
So I stayed quiet.
Grandma knew something had changed, but I never told her.
Kenzie was the only person who knew the entire story.
She held me while I cried and promised she would never allow anyone to hurt me again.
Maybe that was why I ignored so many things about her.
She had protected one of my ugliest secrets.
I wanted to believe she would protect me too.
“You want a drink?” Deon asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Loosen up, Jay.”
“I’m here to meet Nova.”
He sucked his teeth.
“You’ve said that about ten times.”
“Because that’s why you invited me.”
“I invited you because I like you.”
“You told me this was a business opportunity.”
“It can be both.”
Nova appeared near the stage before I could respond.
My heart jumped.
“There she is.”
I reached for my portfolio, but Deon caught my wrist.
“Later.”
“Why?”
“She’s busy.”
“She’s standing alone.”
“I said later.”
I pulled free.
“You don’t control when I speak to someone.”
“Damn, why are you always so defensive?”
His words carried enough volume to draw attention.
I lowered my voice.
“Can you introduce me or not?”
Deon looked toward Nova and then back at me.
“I don’t know her like that.”
I stared at him.
“You told me she requested to meet me.”
“I said I could probably make it happen.”
“No. You said she saw my work.”
“She might have.”
“You lied.”
“I got you into the party, didn’t I?”
I closed my portfolio.
“You got yourself into the party and brought me along because you thought I owed you something.”
He laughed.
“Here we go.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Jayla, stop acting like a child.”
I walked toward the elevators.
Deon followed me into the hallway.
“Why are you embarrassing me?”
“I’m the one who should be embarrassed.”
“I spent money on tonight.”
“You borrowed your friend’s car and got free wristbands.”
“I still made an effort.”
The elevator took too long.
I headed toward the stairwell.
Deon caught the door before it closed.
“Don’t walk away while I’m talking.”
“I’m done talking.”
He followed me onto the landing.
The music faded when the door shut.
“I really like you,” he said.
“You lied to get me here.”
“Because you always have a wall up.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to manipulate me.”
He moved closer.
“You’re the type of woman a man could build with.”
“Then why are you behaving like demolition?”
His smile vanished.
I reached for the door.
He planted his palm against it.
“Move.”
“Give me a kiss.”
“No.”
“One kiss, and I’ll take you home.”
“I can take myself home.”
“Why do you act like somebody touching you is the end of the world?”
My chest tightened.
“Move away from the door.”
Instead, he grabbed my face and pressed his mouth against mine.
For one second, I was seventeen again.
A locked room.
Hands holding me still.
Somebody laughing at my fear.
Then Grandma Evelyn’s voice cut through the memory.
Make noise, baby. Your no deserves to be heard.
I drove my knee upward.
Deon folded with a strangled groan.
I shoved him away, opened the stairwell door, and ran.
“You crazy bitch!” he shouted.
I didn’t stop until I reached the lobby.
Outside, cold air struck my face.
My hands shook while I ordered a car. When the driver arrived, I sat in the back seat hugging my portfolio against my chest.
I wanted love.
That was the humiliating part.
I wanted a man who learned the small things about me. Someone who understood why I sometimes needed space but didn’t mistake space for rejection.
I wanted to feel safe enough to give myself willingly.
Instead, I kept meeting men who treated access to my body like payment for basic kindness.
My phone rang.
Kenzie.
I answered because I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
“Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.
“Nothing.”
“You sound like you’ve been crying.”
“Deon turned out to be exactly who I should’ve known he was.”
“What did he do?”
“He lied about introducing me to Nova, and then he put his hands on me.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“I handled it.”
“Where are you?”
“Going to my studio.”
“At this hour?”
“I need to work.”
Painting quieted my mind.
Kenzie sighed.
“I’m coming over.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That was the version of Kenzie I loved.
The one who showed up.
An hour later, she entered my studio carrying food, wine, and a garment bag.
“I brought noodles and vacation clothes,” she announced.
“I haven’t agreed to the trip.”
“Yes, you have. Your heartbreak voice means you need an island.”
“I’m not heartbroken.”
“Your disappointed-in-men voice, then.”
She placed the food down and hugged me.
I stiffened before forcing myself to relax.
“What did he do?” she asked.
I told her.
By the end, Kenzie wanted Deon’s address.
“You can’t attack everybody who upsets me.”
“Why not?”
“Prison.”
“You’re always so negative.”
I laughed for the first time that evening.
Kenzie studied the unfinished shoes on my table.
“You made progress.”
“Paying twelve thousand dollars is an excellent motivator.”
The leather had been cut and shaped. The skyline was complete, and I had begun painting the constellations.
Kenzie touched one of the gold symbols.
“Make sure these are exact.”
“Why?”
“They mean something to Darius.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know much about your boyfriend.”
“I know the important parts.”
“Like his bank balance?”
“Exactly.”
I opened the food.
Kenzie wandered around the studio while I ate. She stopped near the framed picture of Grandma Evelyn.
“Your grandmother would want you to take this trip.”
“Don’t use her against me.”
“I’m not. I’m reminding you that she wanted you to live.”
That was the problem with Kenzie.
Even her manipulation contained pieces of truth.
My phone rang from an unknown number.
I almost ignored it until the correctional facility’s automated message began.
“Nasir?”
“Jay.”
My brother sounded winded.
“What happened?”
“I’m good.”
“You don’t sound good.”
“Somebody came to see me.”
“Who?”
“He wasn’t on my visitation list. One of the guards brought me into a room, and this man was sitting there.”
Kenzie stopped moving.
“What did he want?” I asked.
“He asked about Grandma.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about her?”
“He wanted to know if she left you a key.”
“What kind of key?”
“He didn’t say. Then he asked if you finished the shoes.”
I looked at Kenzie.
All the color had drained from her face.
“Did he give you a name?”
“He said to call him Bishop.”
Kenzie reached for the phone.
“Nasir, listen to me,” I said. “Stay away from him.”
“Hard to stay away from people in prison.”
“I’m going to call your lawyer.”
“No. He said if you involve anybody, things get worse.”
The call ended.
I slowly lowered the phone.
Kenzie grabbed her purse.
“We need to leave.”
I blocked her path.
“Who is Bishop?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Jayla—”
“His company sent me twelve thousand dollars. Now he’s threatening my brother over shoes you commissioned.”
“He isn’t threatening Nasir.”
“He approached him inside a prison.”
Kenzie looked toward the windows.
A dark sedan had parked outside.
The same one I had seen the night before.
“What is inside those shoes?” I asked.
“Nothing yet.”
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
“Yet?”
Kenzie rushed toward my worktable.
I grabbed the unfinished pair first.
“Give them to me,” she demanded.
“They’re mine.”
“They’re paid for.”
“I’m returning the money.”
“You already used it.”
Her eyes flicked toward my handbag.
My passport was inside.
“You never cared whether I needed a vacation,” I said. “You needed me to carry something out of the country.”
“I was trying to protect us.”
“From whom?”
The studio lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Kenzie grabbed my arm.
“Don’t scream.”
Someone tried the front door.
Once.
Then again.
The lock began to turn.
Kenzie pulled a tiny black object from her purse and forced it into my hand.
It was smaller than a flash drive and shaped like a narrow metal blade.
“What is this?”
“Insurance.”
The door opened.
Kenzie shoved me toward the rear exit.
“If we get separated, find Malachi Devereaux.”
“You told me to stay away from him.”
“I lied.”
The front door swung inward.
A tall man entered the darkened studio.
Kenzie ran.
I remained frozen, clutching the metal key.
The stranger’s gaze settled on me.
“Jayla Bennett?”
I backed toward the rear door.
“Who are you?”
He stepped into the faint light spilling from the street.
Tattoos covered his hands. A scar cut through one eyebrow, and his dark eyes held mine without blinking.
“Malachi Devereaux.”
Kenzie had warned me about that name.
Now she had told me to trust it.
The man glanced at the unfinished sneakers before looking at the object in my hand.
“Give me the key.”
I closed my fingers around it.
“No.”
Something almost like amusement touched his face.
Behind him, another vehicle stopped outside.
Men carrying guns climbed out.
Malachi locked the door and drew a weapon from beneath his coat.
“Then stay close to me.”
“Why?”
“Because Bishop found you first.”
The first bullet shattered my studio window.