Chapter 1 Lesley #3
He followed my eyes to the street, then looked back at me. “You standing outside watching taillights on the best night of your life.”
“One last night, because we gotta tighten up nigga.”
“Heard. We can figure this shit out another night.”
Instead of getting lost in my thoughts and ruining the celebration for my niggas, I pulled off, lying to myself about figuring it out another night, pretending I could forget. But forgetting Colecion Outlaw was already impossible.
The Next Morning
The phone yanked me out of restless sleep at 9:30 in the morning. I hadn’t really slept anyway. I’d gotten back from Club Velvet after three, showered, lain down, and stared at the ceiling thinking about how the combination of cherry and almond had scrambled my thoughts.
So when Malice called, I was already tight. I silenced it at first.
The bedroom was quiet, exactly how I preferred it.
Blackout shades covered my large window overlooking the city.
I’d retreated to my penthouse downtown instead of my home in Vireaux Pointe.
Gray light was creeping in, reminding me how early it was.
I rose from the bed, grabbing my chain from the nightstand before putting it on.
If Malice was calling, that meant I needed to start moving.
The Glock was peeking from under my pillow, so I grabbed it before heading to the bathroom.
My suit pants were folded on the chair because even when I was careless, I stayed organized.
I could still smell the cigars and weed from last night.
My phone rang again.
“This better be important,” I growled, stepping to the sink. I tossed the phone down and placed it on speaker. I started to take care of my hygiene so I could get my day started. I was up now and probably wouldn’t see sleep again until the next morning.
“Boss, we got a situation.” Malice’s voice was calm, professional. “That lady from last night? The event planner?”
My father’s voice crept into my head. I could hear his “I told you so” coming.
He’d said no loose ends. Handle it the first time, or it’ll handle you.
I was raised on that principle and lived by it until Colecion Outlaw showed up.
Now I had two problems: the business, and the woman who made business look insignificant.
I picked my phone up, immediately alert. “What about her?”
“I’ve been watching her crib like you asked. About an hour ago, some dude showed up. He’s still here with her now. At first, I thought it was a delivery person, but it’s been a minute.”
“What the fuck, Malice? An hour ago?” I was already up, reaching for clothes. “Why the hell didn’t you call me immediately?”
“Boss, I... it’s not the feds or anything dangerous. Just some regular dude. Tall, he’s clean-cut, driving a nice Lexus. Poindexter type nigga. Looks like he belongs in her world. No funny shit.”
“I don’t give a fuck what he looks like or what he drives, nigga!
” I snapped. “When I tell you to watch someone and report back, that means everything. Every person who walks up to her door, every car that parks outside her building. She sneezes too hard. I want to know. Everything! Especially a nigga that looks too comfortable.”
There was a pause on the other end. Malice didn’t understand, and he obviously wasn’t catching the hint. Now I was even more upset that she had me moving like a sucker.
“Boss, are you... I mean, this is just her boyfriend or whatever. Not a threat to business.”
“Just stay on the situation. I’m on my way.”
“You’re coming here? For her boyfriend?”
I cut him off. “Don’t worry about the nigga in her house. Worry about me. If he’s there when I pull up, it’s already too late for him.”
Silence stretched. Malice had been with me five years, seen me handle threats, eliminate problems, but he’d never seen me like this, letting a woman get under my skin.
“Grim…”
“Did I stutter?” My voice dropped into that dangerous register that made smart people shut the fuck up.
“Nah. I’ll keep eyes on her.”
I hung up, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
Some random man was in her house right now, maybe hearing all about her night, maybe comforting her, maybe learning things that belonged to me alone.
Or maybe they were doing other things entirely, and that thought made darkness overshadow any light I held. She had her fuckin nerve.
I dressed without thinking about it: black tee, black sweats, clean sneakers. I rubbed a little oil through my beard and brushed my waves down. Although I didn’t know what the fuck she was thinking I still needed to look good when she saw me.
The Lamborghini Urus purred to life in the private garage beneath my building, but I didn’t pull out right away. The city above me was already in motion, sirens stretching down 5th, delivery drivers arguing in broken English with the front desk. Normal city noise. But my thoughts were louder.
I let the engine hum and told my thoughts to line up, one by one.
I didn’t like variables. I didn’t like the idea of a man I didn’t know learning or even knowing her routines.
I didn’t like the image of her barefoot in her kitchen, hair pulled back, pouring coffee for somebody who wasn’t me—and then telling him shit I couldn’t put back in her mouth.
The drive to Baxter Avenue took twelve minutes through morning traffic. I called Malice back when I was two blocks away.
“Status?”
“Still there. I can see shadows moving around in the house. Looks like they’re just talking, maybe having breakfast.”
Breakfast. Like they’d spent the night together. Was this normal for them?
“Boss,” Malice said carefully, “can I ask what we’re doing here? Because if you’re worried about her talking, we could handle this a lot of different ways that don’t involve you personally getting involved.”
I pulled to the curb and sat with my hand on the wheel for one slow breath, looking at the front of her home.
I didn’t hear shit he said as I walked up to her front door.
I was furious, and being tired didn’t help the rage I felt.
There was also confusion underneath all that because I wasn’t sure this was about her telling what she saw or about the nigga not being me.
I didn’t knock. I didn’t announce my arrival. I kicked the damn thing in. I was satisfied when the door gave way, slamming against the wall so hard that the frame rattled. The sound was a statement, and I let it stand. I trekked into the small home and found her in the kitchen.
Coco spun around with a shriek. Her ponytail was pulled high and slick, creating a sharp line that made her face look clean and focused.
She wore a purple camisole and matching shorts that sent my mind somewhere else entirely as I took her in.
She stood there with bare legs the color of rich cocoa, crimson polish on her toes, steam curling from her coffee like incense.
She was the only peaceful thing in a room crackling with tension.
Her eyes went wide for a second on reflex, then narrowed into heat—the kind of heat a man like me respected, even though I intended to walk right through it.
“Lesley,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut, “what the hell are you doing here?”
The man on the other side of the island turned, with his hands up in surrender.
“Who are you?” I asked him, calm because calm was the blade that cut the deepest.
Malice had described him accurately. Tall, lean, in a polo and a quarter zip on a Saturday morning. He was possibly harmless, but I needed to be sure.
He swallowed. “I’m—”
She turned her head to him sharply, with her nose turned up. I smiled, he was a pussy, and that proved it.
“Let him answer, and then you can talk,” Coco said to her visitor, stepping between us like she hadn’t been spared last night. “This is my damn house, and I’ll be the only one asking questions.”
I looked at her mouth because I was a man. Looked at her eyes because I wasn’t dumb. Then my eyes shifted back to him. She was so spicy… that shit turned me on in the worst way.
“Bruh, don’t let her get you knocked the fuck out. State your name and your business. And do it quickly, I had a long night.”
“Rashad,” he said. Voice wobbling. “I’m just a friend. She hit me late last night, and I didn’t like how she sounded. I brought coffee and breakfast to check on her. That’s it.”
“Friend, huh?” I asked.
“Friend,” he said again. “I shoot content for her sometimes. Help with installs when she’s short-handed.”
Coco set her mug down. I knew I was pushing it, and I didn’t care. I felt like she had crossed a line, having a nigga in her face so soon after meeting me.
“I didn’t tell him anything,” she said to me. “I haven’t told anyone anything. He brought coffee, and we were talking. You kicking my door in is out of pocket. Don’t do that again. The doorbell works just fine.”
“Malice,” I said toward the hall. “Call Paco. Get her a new door and shit. Today. Grade-A deadbolt. Exterior cam on the porch. Ain‘t shit secure in this bitch.”
“On it,” he said.
“Wait one damn minute. Again, this is my damn house. You don’t get to control my home because you’re having a moment,” she said, low and straight. “A moment with no basis might I add. When did you become my man?”
“I get to control anything near you because of last night,” I said back. “An unknown man in your space is variable. I don’t like variables. And I damn sure don’t like for a nigga to be in your face.”
“He’s not unknown,” she said. “He’s my friend. And this is the face of a single woman. A nigga can be wherever I want him.”
“So he knows your hours. He knows your tired voice. He knows how you take your coffee?” I asked.
“Lesley.”
I stepped in a little more. Her chin came up; she thought she was tough, and I had something to tame that. Rashad shifted, as if he might try to be a hero.
“Don’t lose your teeth or life nigga, you can go.”
“She didn’t say—”