Chapter Nine. Ember #6
“I don’t want to hear that shit, Kareem.
And I’m not talking to you,” he says without removing his gaze from Michelle.
“Let’s get one mu’fucking thing straight, Michelle.
Just because you popped that pussy for Marcus doesn’t mean I didn’t earn this seat at the head of the table.
You married Marcus for yourself—for his money and to elevate your status so you could be stuntin’ on those hoes who looked down on you.
It wasn’t about me or Kareem but always about you.
So don’t ever fix your mouth to tell me I owe you.
This is the only pass you’ll get with me.
I’m the head of Cross first and your son second.
For your health and safety, don’t confuse the two, and don’t ever question my decisions.
You understand me?” When she doesn’t immediately reply, he tilts his head, and I have to stop myself from running over there and jacking her head up and down.
Anything to alleviate the murder stamped on his features.
His shoulders seem to broaden, chest seems to deepen—shit, he just seems to grow with his anger.
“Are. We. Clear?” he repeats, slower, quieter.
“Yes,” Michelle finally grinds out between clenched teeth.
Asad stares down at her then, and after a weighty, intimidating pause, steps back.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, as for your concern.
Kareem”—he turns away from Michelle and directly addresses his brother—“yeah, you’re my brother and I acknowledge and appreciate your loyalty.
That’s not, nor has ever been, in question.
It’s your experience that’s lacking. Marcus had you working for HoC, not the underworld side.
Eli has his hand in both. And Makeda has been under me for the past three years.
Maybe not officially because of the gender restrictions, but she’s been there.
Still, I want you to be with me, and not just with House of Cross.
That’s why I made you a street boss. You’ll continue as Senior VP of marketing, but you’ll also work directly under Eli and gain the experience needed in the drug operations.
You have leadership skills, which is why you’re not starting as a lower-level soldier, but I can’t make you my second either.
It’s your choice though, Kareem. You can remain as VP and have nothing to do with this side of Cross, and I’ll respect it. What do you want?”
“I want in,” Kareem says without hesitation.
“Good.” He nods, then switches his attention back to his mother, whatever warmth that had seeped back into his face and voice from talking to his brother leached clean now.
“I had you here because you’re Marcus’s widow and my mother and you have ownership in this company.
That alone affords you respect. But it doesn’t automatically give you a position in either the company or the organization.
When have you worked, Michelle? When have you wanted to work?
I’m not in the practice of dropping titles on people like a fucking fairy godmother.
Everyone here works, they earn their shit.
And you pushing me out your shit gets you a thank-you but not a corner office.
You want to know why Ember is here? Because she deserves to be.
True, Marcus was a bitch-made muthafucka who hid her existence and her contribution, but none of that changes the fact that she’s the reason this family isn’t trying to compete in an oversaturated market.
Cross is one of one, and that’s owed entirely to Ember. ”
It takes everything in me not to sink into the chair behind me. My trembling legs fight the good fight and manage to keep me standing upright. But inside? Inside, every organ, muscle, and bone—the very breath in my lungs—quivers. My ears and soul ache with the echo of the rattling.
This is the very first time in my life that anyone other than my mother and Sam has defended me. Especially from the person most responsible for my pain and abuse. And for that person to be Asad, the other person who tormented my dreams with his treatment …
Confusion and an emotion that’s too murky, too … uncomfortable to mentally touch or attempt to decipher swirl in my chest, my head.
Why? Out of all the volatile words we’ve lobbed at each other like dirty bombs …
Out of all the painful and terrifying acts he’s committed that’s left behind keloid scars on my mind and psyche …
Out of all the enmity and disgust that exists between us like a third in a sick-ass ménage …
Why would he champion me with Michelle of all people, the person who was his favorite partner in crime?
“You’re standing here defending this bitch?
” Michelle’s head jerks back as if his palm went across her cheek.
Her voice trembles, but not with tears or hurt.
No, pain doesn’t suffuse her face; rage does.
She glances at me, and there’s death in that dark, narrowed gaze.
I’d like to say I’m unfamiliar with that look, but it’s as recognizable to me as the reflection that stares back at me from a mirror.
Her hate brings me joy. “I don’t give a fuck about this not owing me bullshit.
I’m your mother. Your blood. You owe me your loyalty, your allegiance.
Not Marcus. Not Cross. And for damn sure not this whore—”
“I’ve been a bitch and a whore. I’m not going to be too many more of either.” I calmly interrupt her tirade. A whole grown-ass woman up here having a tantrum. Make it make sense.
“And what’re you going to do about it? Whore.” Michelle sneers.
Heat flares beneath my skin like someone twisted the knob on a gas range and the flames leap high, licking at me.
My heart crashes against my chest, the beat pounding out a primal rhythm in my ears.
In one instant, I’m leaning against the conference table and in the next, I’m climbing on top and launching myself at my stepmother.
“Shit,” Kareem hisses.
But he’s too slow. Too late. I’m on his mother. Taking her to the floor. Punching her in her slick-ass mouth. Wrapping my hands around her neck, digging my fingernails into soft skin and squeezing—squeezing so hard something fragile yet vital snaps under my fingers …
I blink.
I still stand on this side of the table, Michelle unharmed, her neck intact.
Just a vision. A wish. A deep-seated need.
Inhaling a low, measured breath, I slowly release it.
And smile.
“The fuck are you smiling about?” Michelle snaps.
“Just thinking about your question.” I tilt my head.
“By the way, do you have any idea the number of poisons that are tasteless and odorless? Just imagine it. You’re eating dinner or lunch …
or maybe having that must-have after-dinner old-fashioned, and suddenly your chest tightens to the point of excruciating pain.
Then your eyes start to tear because they’re on fire while your lungs collapse, and you drown in your own fluid.
And all that is before your bladder gives up the ghost and you wet yourself like a geriatric with incontinence.
Just asking though.” I smile again. “But hey, be careful out there.”
Michelle’s lips part, and I can see her need to snap back at me.
It’s in the fierce frown darkening her expression.
The hike of her shoulders. The digging of her nails into her thighs.
But I also spy the flicker of fear in her gaze.
And the power that rushes through me … It’s fucking euphoric.
It’s a high that hits harder, is more addictive than anything that we could possibly peddle on the streets.
“We’re done here,” Asad says into the tension-filled silence. “Kareem, I’ll get up with you later. Michelle, I’ll call you.” He bends down and brushes a kiss over the crown of her head, but the thread of steel in his voice leaves no room for argument.
Kareem slaps hands with Asad, and then they pull one another in for a half hug. For the first time since I entered the room, he gives me a small smile, then turns to his mother and cups her elbow. “C’mon, Mom. I’ll walk you out.”
“I don’t need to be handled, Kareem.” Michelle snatches her arm out of her youngest son’s grasp. “Asad, we’ll talk later.” She doesn’t bother glancing my way before marching from the room with Kareem trailing behind her.
The door shuts, leaving me alone with Asad. At one time, this would’ve been my biggest nightmare.
It still is. But for far more complex reasons now.
I turn to him, and we face off.
“Is there something else you needed to say to me? ’Cause if not, I need to get back to my lab. And somebody needs to come get the dead person on aisle one,” I say into the stifling, taut quiet, tipping my head back.
He doesn’t immediately reply to me, but that stormy gaze runs over me, and I force myself not to flinch from the nearly physical touch of that too-intimate survey.
My muscles quiver with the effort. But I already ceded a battle to Asad when I submitted to the greedy, bloody lust he elicited in me last night, transforming me into an insatiable creature I didn’t recognize—one I cringe just thinking about in the cool, too-clear, and accusatory light of day.
Letting him know just his eyes upon me affects me as much as his hands on my skin is another skirmish I can’t afford to lose.
Not when I intend to win this long-standing war between us.
“What did you see today?”
My head slightly jerks back, and I frown. “Huh?”
Yes. A Mensa member, holder of several degrees, and a leader in my professional field, and all I can come up with is “Huh?”
Asad arches a dark eyebrow. “If you can ‘huh,’ you can hear. Answer my question.”