Chapter 38
Indigo
It took me almost two hours driving south from Clearwater to get to Gasparilla Island.
The whole ride, my hands stayed clamped tight around the steering wheel, my thoughts moving entirely too fast for the road beneath me.
My daddy’s estate sat tucked behind a fortress of manicured palm trees and wrought-iron gates in one of those ultra-rich, white neighborhoods.
Daddy loved this place. He always said all the old money and heavy police presence made it safer when Miami got too hot.
Nobody ever expected high-level criminals to hide between yacht clubs and luxury golf carts.
I pulled through the back entrance and parked my car right beside a matte-black Range Rover. To my surprise, my old security keycode still worked on the side door.
The exact second I stepped inside the house, my fingers wrapped around the grip of my Glock, pulling it from my waistband on pure instinct. The estate was dead quiet except for the distinct sound of water running upstairs. I stepped out of my Nike slides, leaving them by the door.
I moved through the grand hallway carefully, my bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. I kept my gun raised as I followed the rush of the water toward one of the main guest bedrooms.
The master bathroom door was cracked open just an inch. I pushed it wider with the barrel of my gun—and stopped dead in my tracks.
Diamond was bent completely naked over the marble counter, moaning while Cooly fucked the hell out of her from behind. His right hand had a firm grip on the roots of her fresh silk press. Steam curled through the air, rising from the giant rainfall shower pouring beside them.
All three of us froze.
Diamond’s eyes widened first, the breath catching in her throat. Cooly just looked caught—like I was his actual girlfriend and he’d been busted cheating.
I blinked once. Then, a sharp snort escaped me.
“Damn,” I spat, my voice dripping with cold disgust. “This might actually feel like a betrayal if I gave a single fuck about either of you.”
Diamond immediately scrambled back, pushing herself upright and trying to cover her chest. Cooly finally pulled out slowly, completely unconcerned about his own nakedness. He casually grabbed a plush towel off the counter and wrapped it loosely around his waist.
“Indigo, this ain’t—”
“What the fuck are y’all doing in my family's house?” I cut him off, the weight of the Glock still leveled in my hand.
He let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Three years ago, I heard from your father that you ran from Malachai,” he said, his voice dropping into that smooth cadence. “I sent her to watch out for you when you got to New York. She works for me, Midnight.”
Diamond folded her arms tight over her bare breasts, looking awkward as hell under my gaze. “Everything was real, Indigo. I just… I watched you, too.”
I laughed, a short, ugly sound that rattled my chest. “So my whole friendship in New York was a setup? What about Malik?”
Diamond opened her mouth to explain, but I looked straight into her eyes, cutting her off before she could start lying. “And why the fuck were you pushing him on me so hard if you were the one fucking him?”
Cooly answered for her before she could even find the words. “This is just what we do. She got Malik. I want you. I’ve got needs. It's simple.”
I stared at both of them, my gun hanging heavy at my side now. “So you never actually went back to New York,” I said, my voice dead flat. “This is some deeply fucked-up shit.”
Cooly shrugged his shoulders like it was a minor detail. “Business and pleasure, Midnight. They cross lines sometimes.”
I shook my head, a sickening wave of disappointment hitting my gut. “Y’all really had me out here thinking I had real friends. Real people in my corner who actually gave a fuck about me.”
Diamond took a small step forward. “I do care. That part wasn’t fake, Indigo—”
“Save it,” I snapped, cutting her off cleanly.
Cooly leaned his weight back against the marble sink. “I didn’t shoot your husband,” he said quietly.
“I know. Or I would have shot you the second I walked through that door. But you still ain’t explained why the fuck you're in my daddy’s house.”
Before he could respond, another voice cut through the steam from behind me.
“Put the gun down, little sis. Don’t nobody here mean you no harm, jit.”
I turned instantly on my heel.
Zaire stood right in the bathroom doorway behind me, a heavy pistol already trained directly on my chest. He had those same hard, unrelenting eyes as Daddy.
The exact same unreadable face. It had been six long years since I’d last seen him, and looking at him now, I felt absolutely nothing.
He was the one who let Daddy marry me off like property, and he left me for dead when I finally ran from Malachai.
The only time I’d even heard from him in those six years was when he was begging me to talk Malachai out of putting a bullet in his head.
I slowly lowered my Glock, though my grip didn't loosen. “What the fuck is going on here, Zaire?” I demanded.
Zaire completely ignored the question. “Daddy’s downstairs,” he said flatly, his gun lowering but remaining in his hand. “He wants to see you.”
I looked back over my shoulder at Cooly. He was watching me entirely too closely, his eyes tracking my face like he already knew exactly how this conversation downstairs was about to go.
Zaire jerked his chin toward the open hallway. “Give us a minute,” he told Diamond and Cooly.
Cooly nodded once, his expression shifting back to that calm mask. Diamond still wouldn’t look me in the eye. Zaire reached out, grabbed me firmly by the upper arm, and walked me down the grand staircase.
The double doors to the study were already thrown wide open.
Daddy sat behind the massive, dark mahogany desk, lazily smoking a thick cigar. The gray smoke curled toward the ceiling. And standing right behind his chair—with long waist-length braids hanging down her back—was Nadege.
My favorite cousin. Looking exactly like the blurry traffic cam pictures Kael had shown me in the hospital room.
Zo in Creole meant bones. That’s what everybody in the family called her, because she was cold down to the marrow of her bones.
She was always right there with me and my brothers growing up—climbing gates, fighting boys in the street, learning how to shoot targets before either of us were even old enough to drive.
Until around eighteen, when she suddenly stopped moving like she cared about life and started moving more like Zaire.
Dangerous. Lethal. Dead inside. She was the type who would shoot you dead before having a conversation if you crossed her line.
Daddy started sending her out to handle the family's heavy business after that.
Little enforcement jobs at first. Then bigger ones.
Collection runs. Deep-south punishments.
Problems that could only be solved in blood.
She was so beautiful that nobody ever expected her to be so entirely vicious.
I snapped the Glock up, pointing the barrel straight at her face instantly.
“You know I’m 'bout to fuck you up about my husband, right?” I said, my voice dropping. “You know that, Nadege?”