Chapter 27
Indigo
The bass thumped low through the private studio room, slow and sensual. Four of my advanced students were on the poles, hips rolling to Usher’s Little Freak, playing like they were trying to summon something unholy. Sweat glistened on dark skin under the low lights. I loved this shit.
One of the girls, Tasha, grinned at me mid-spin. “Indigo, you move like you used to get paid for this shit. Be honest… you were a professional stripper, weren’t you?”
The other girls laughed. I smirked, wiping sweat from my collarbone.
“Mind your business,” I joked. “Focus on your pole, Tasha. Your grip is slipping.”
I turned toward the mirrored wall to demonstrate a slow drop—and froze.
Cooly stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching me like I was the only thing in the room.
Tailored black shirt. Locs pulled back. He had the same hungry stare he continuously blessed me with in New York.
I couldn’t help it. Having a man who looked like him looking at me like I was a feast he’d been denied for too long made the air in my lungs turn to liquid.
My stomach flipped.
Midnight clawed at the inside of my throat.
I could feel the girls' eyes gazing between us; the rhythm in the room was stumbling now that he had entered. It was fine; I was fifteen minutes over the hour-long class anyway.
“Class is over for today,” I said, my voice harder than I meant. “Good work, ladies. Same time next week.”
The girls gathered their things, giggling and waving at Cooly as they left. The second the door clicked shut, I wiped my hands on a towel and walked over to him.
“What are you still doing in Florida, Cooly? Or should I call you Chinedu?”
He smiled, slow and easy. Today he had just his bottom grills in, and they were shining under the studio lights. “Business. And you. And Cooly works fine.” He was back to his New York accent—that deep, gritty rumble that always made him sound like he was telling a secret.
I exhaled. “I’m sorry about the party. Malachai pulling a gun on you in front of everyone… that was fucked up. I didn’t know he would do that.”
Cooly shrugged like someone pointing a gun at him was just another Tuesday. “I’ve had worse. You are married to a hitman, Midnight. It was expected.”
“You didn’t tell me you were Black Axe royalty.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You didn’t ask. And I liked the version of you that didn’t know, because that ain't me, that’s my daddy.”
He leaned in, his shadow swallowing mine against the mirrored wall. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body, making the sweat on my neck feel cold by comparison. He smelled like something good to eat.
“But I would have used him if you’d taken me up on my offer to handle the Russians for you,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine. “And you could still have your freedom. You wouldn't be back in that house with a man who lies to keep you.”
I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew the answer, but the question felt like it needed to be asked anyway, for my ego. “Why would you have done all that for me, Cooly?”
He reached out, his thumb catching a bead of sweat on my temple and dragging it down my jawline.
I should have pushed his hand away, but I just stood there.
“You know why,” he said, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back to my eyes.
I cleared my throat. “I need to go home. I don’t have any more classes.”
He tilted his head. “Come grab a bite with me. You owe me at least that.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… I do. Let me shower and change.”
We ended up at a quiet waterfront spot in Tampa. Over grilled snapper and wine, Cooly got straight to it.
“I can get you out,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on mine. “For real this time. New name. New life. You say the word and I can make Malachai be just a memory to you.”
My chest tightened. A few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes without blinking.
“I can’t,” I whispered. “We've got issues, but running away ain't going to solve anything and will only create more.”
Cooly didn’t look surprised. He just leaned back, studying me.
“Then friendship,” he offered, the same easy smile from New York sliding back into place. “Like before. No pressure. I didn’t only come down here for you anyway. I’m expanding my business. Half of New York and Cali are in Tampa now. It’s a good market.”
We talked for almost two hours—about New York, the club, dancing, everything except Malachai. He flirted without pushing. It felt… safe. Familiar. Like breathing air that didn’t taste like possession.
By the time I got home, the sun was going down.
The house smelled like vanilla and sugar. A sleek white cake sat on the kitchen island with fresh strawberries and edible gold flakes. Welcome back, little bird was written in elegant script across the top.
Malachai leaned against the counter in a black button-down, sleeves rolled up, watching me.
I stopped in the doorway. “What is this?”
“A celebration,” he said simply. “First day back teaching. I asked Maya what you’d like.”
I stared at the cake, then at him. “Is this part of your ‘trying something new’ plan?” I didn’t know how to feel about this.
He pushed off the counter and walked over to me, stopping just close enough for me to feel his body heat.
“Haven’t I always tried to give you everything?
” His voice was low, calm. “The cars you wanted. This house. The studio I kept open for three years even when I didn’t know if you’d ever come back.
The morning after we got married, I put every asset I owned in your hand.
You’ve never wanted for anything I could give you, Indigo. ”
I couldn’t argue with him. He was right. Terrifyingly right.
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering on my jaw.
“I’m not good at the soft parts,” he admitted flatly. “But I’m learning what works. For you.”
He was right. I swallowed hard. I had made Malachai think he was forcing me to stay, and I would never tell him, but I decided to stay after he told me about what happened with Dame. I don’t know why, but I could never hate him as much as I wanted to.
A lot of misunderstandings had brought us to where we were, and even after everything—the way we got married, the lies, Sasha, the baby, the stabbing, the blood on the floor, the three years I ran—I had never stopped wanting him.
Not really. I wanted the version of us that existed before Sasha walked into our bedroom.
I wanted the dangerous calm in his eyes when he watched me dance.
I wanted the man who would burn the world down for me.
I would be a fool to leave my husband over my attitude.
If I broke something, he bought another.
If I destroyed a room in one of my rages, he simply had it remodeled.
I set his car on fire, fucked up his shoes, slapped and bit him, and he let me.
When I stabbed him in the chest, he let me.
He stood there and took it just so I could feel better.
Who the hell does that? Gao, my brother, none of the men I knew had ever shown that restraint for the women they said they loved.
Was it love, or just the thrill of chaos? I don’t know, but it is what it is. On top of that, he had bent himself to apologize to Maya. That went a long way with me.
“You know you can tell me what you need or want,” he said. “And I’ll hand it to you.”
He leaned down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to. I didn’t.
“I know,” I whispered.
I reached behind me, swiping a finger through the smooth vanilla icing on the cake. I lifted it between us, holding it just in front of his mouth.
His gray eyes darkened.
I pressed my icing-covered finger to his lips. He opened for me without hesitation, sucking the sweet frosting off my skin with deliberate slowness, his tongue warm and rough against my fingertip. The heat in his gaze never left mine.
The second my finger left his mouth, he closed the distance.
The kiss was deep, slow, and hungry. I kissed him back.
Cooly had just offered me a clean exit. A new name. A new life. Freedom that didn’t come with conditions or control.
And I still came back here.
Back to this house.
Back to him. I could bring myself to leave again.