Chapter 22 #2
Akeira nodded. “You let him know he gotta earn your trust even as you open up to him. That’s different from just giving in.”
“And keep your eyes open. Love ain't about being stupid,” Emory added.
Hyacinth raised her glass. “Hallelujah. Asé and amen."
Emory glared her. “All that over liquor, Hy?”
“It ain't like God don't know we in a bar,” Hyacinth shot back.
I giggled, tipsy as hell. That girl was incorrigible, irreverent, and just plain ignorant, but I wouldn't trade her for the world.
Epiphany smiled at me. “Don’t give up on him yet.”
I laughed again. It was a little drunk and a little too emotional. “Y’all making it sound like I’m in one of my own books.”
Hyacinth snorted. “Baby, we told you. Your life been dramatic enough to get optioned for a blockbuster.”
I was about to answer when a shadow fell over me.
“Excuse me.”
Ugh. I looked up and immediately knew I didn’t have the patience or sobriety for this. The man standing there was handsome enough with his nice suit and his blindingly white veneers. He also had eyes that had already overstayed their welcome on my chest.
“Yes?” I asked flatly.
He smiled wider. “I just had to come tell you you’re the most beautiful woman in here.”
Hyacinth leaned around me to look at him. “And yet somehow, she was surviving without that information.”
I bit back a laugh.
He glanced at her, annoyed, then looked back at me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I held up the one I had. “I’m good. Probably done had too many.”
“Probably?” Pip muttered.
She was on one tonight.
“Maybe when you finish that one.”
“I won’t want one then, either.”
He chuckled like I was flirting. I hated men like him.
“Come on, pretty. Don’t do me like that.”
Epiphany took a leisurely sip and said, “Oh, she definitely about to do you like that.”
He ignored her. “You here with somebody?”
Before I could reply, Hyacinth smiled sweetly. “Yes. Death. She's here with Death.”
“Hy!” Ev hissed, half laughing.
“What? I’m trying to help him.”
“And she’s actually not lying,” Pip added.
The man frowned. “I’m just talking.”
“She just declined,” Emory said coolly.
He finally seemed to realize a whole row of women was not on his side, but for whatever reason, his common sense still hadn’t kicked in. He braced one hand on the bar beside me and leaned closer.
“I think you can speak for yourself.”
I looked at my hand, then at him. “I can, but so can this big ass rock and this pretty ass band on my finger.”
His smile dimmed, like he was getting irritated with his entitled self. I wondered briefly why none of the guys were intervening, then decided they knew the Miller women could handle this.
“I mean, you look like you drowning your sorrows over that nigga. I can show you something better if you stop being stuck up for no reason.”
Hyacinth sat up straighter, annoyance showing on her pretty face. “Nah, she stuck up for several very valid reasons, one of them being her giant, homicidal husband. What part of 'Death' do you find confusing, sir?”
The man laughed. “A’ight.”
But he still didn’t budge.
And then a deep voice behind him said, “Move.”
Every hair on my body stood up. The man turned slowly.
Targen stood there in his dark suit looking just like what Hyacinth had called him—Death…
if Death was fine as fuck. Damn, what did Magic put in that tequila?
I shook my head and looked at my husband.
His face was hard, eyes cold as fuck. He was beautiful when he was furious.
I was so fascinated by him that I barely noticed the bartenders leaving their station and everyone who wasn't a Miller backing away from the bar top.
I couldn't really focus on two things right now, hell.
Mikhail was behind Targen, unreadable as always.
And just off to the side, Juvie looked equally amused and unconcerned, which was not what I needed from his crazy ass at all.
“Hi, hubby!” I sang, lifting my shot glass.
That damn Magic. I fucked with her the long way. Targen looked at me, stone-faced as he peeled the shot glass from my hand and swallowed my tequila. I frowned, about to argue, but the man straightened up and had the nerve to look like he was pissed. This could not be good.
“Chill, my nigga. We were just talking,” Mr. Veneers said.
I giggled at that name. I was so clever sometimes.
“No. You were bothering my wife after she told you no,” Targen said calmly.
The man blinked. “Wife?”
I closed my eyes briefly. This fool was not about to pretend we didn't tell him that.
Targen’s hand settled on the back of my barstool, not touching me, but close enough that I felt caged in by him. I shivered… but it was a good shiver.
“Seems to me like you need to check yo' girl cuz she out here not saying shit about that,” Mr. Veneers lied.
I gasped, shocked and appalled at his audacity. Shocked and appalled. I'd always wanted to use that phrase in the right context. The writer in me was proud. It was kind of overused though.
Juvie popped up then, all long limbs and bad timing. “Okay, my guy, I'ma help you out. This yo' exit music. Don’t make it a funeral march.”
I laughed. I really did, right there in the middle of what could turn into a disaster for this lying, big-teethed bastard. I was tipsy and tired and emotional, so I laughed.
Targen’s eyes cut to me for one second, and he shook his head. But one side of his mouth tilted up. Then he went right back cold as he looked at the man again.
“Fuck that. Nigga tryna check me when he should be checking his lying ass bitch—”
And that was that. I heard Real say, “Ahh, fuck.”
For a moment, I thought Mr. Veneers levitated. Then, I realized my very big, very angry husband had picked him up.
“Shit,” Hyacinth cursed and yanked me off the stool but not before I saw Targen hurl the man—I mean, he really just threw him—behind the bar.
I heard the crash of glass and closed my eyes as some flew over the bar top.
I watched Targen's feet round the bar. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help it.
I pulled myself up and peeked over. Mr. Veneers was moaning and writhing in pain.
Targen squatted next to him. He lifted one of the shards of glass.
Yep, this was about to get bad... and I was riveted.
“No one insults my wife,” he said quietly.
His hand moved quickly. I ducked as a spray of blood erupted, but I heard Mr. Veneers’ moans become gurgles then silence.
Did that really just happen?
I cupped my hands over my eyes. A few seconds later, I squealed as I was pulled upward and gentle hands moved mine away from my eyes. I opened them hesitantly.
Targen was looking down at me. “You drunk,” he said, like he hadn't just slashed a man's carotid or jugular or whatever sprays like a fountain at the Palace of Versailles or some shit.
I was really proud of how poetic I was being today, despite everything.
I frowned up at him. “I’m not drunk.”
“You are.”
“I’m feeling a little delayed, but well-hydrated.”
Juvie laughed. “Yeah, yo' shorty full of that good juice.”
I turned on him. “Ain’t nobody asked you, Julien Reed.”
He held up both hands. “See? Drunk.”
A muscle in Targen’s jaw ticked. He was fighting not to show it, but he was still enraged, seething.
“Targen—”
“Did you tell him you were married?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
His nostrils flared as he stared down at me. “Did you tell him you were married?” His tone was soft, but nothing else about his language was.
I could argue with him, point out that saying no should've been enough, that it wasn't Mr. Veneers’ business whether or not I was married, and a woman shouldn't have to hold up her marital status like a shield to men who refused to hear “no.”
But I knew, looking into his eyes, that now was not the time. I placed my hand over his heart.
“Yes, Targen. I told him. I even pointed out my ring. I made it clear that I was... taken.”
His body relaxed, tension eased. Now he looked more irritated than murderous. “Good. They need to recognize that you are mine. They will or else.”
I guessed the “or else” was the status of the man who would no longer be flashing those shiny white teeth at anyone.
“We leaving,” he said suddenly.
I scoffed. “Well, thank God everyone else already did, since you wanna act like you in some slasher movie. Targen Jones-Sidorov stars in ‘The Bratva Blade,’” I announced, flinging my arms wide.
I ignored the snickers around me, focused on my oh-so-patient husband.
“Yeah, she outta there,” Ajani said.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Milaya?” Targen began, as he slid one arm behind my back and the other under my knees.
“Hmm?”
“You don't ever announce 'Bratva' like that. It doesn't exist, if anyone ever asks,” he explained as he lifted me.
The whole bar tilted as my head swam.
“Like... like the old school CIA?”
He stopped and looked down at me, his face reflecting his disgust.
“We wouldn't ever be as dirty and underhanded as no CIA,” he proclaimed.
I rolled my eyes. “If you existed.”
“Exactly.”
My cousins were making little, teasing sounds—laughs, "oohs," little traitorous comments.
“Put me down!” I hissed.
“No.”
“This is embarrassing.”
“I don’t care.”
As Targen carried me past my male relatives who had thankfully cleared the bar before he got all murderish, Ajani spoke. “Take care of her.”
My husband nodded once. “Always.”
Juvie fell into step beside us. “I just wanna say, this was a beautiful family meeting. Very healing. Very Black. Very illegal enterprise-affirming,” he said.
“Shut up, Juvie,” I muttered into Targen’s shoulder.
He laughed. “A’ight, Theory of Evolution. But tell yo' husband to stop walking into bars killing people. Working men just want to relax with a drink.”
“I only killed one,” Targen said.
“You know what? That’s growth,” Juvie replied solemnly.
“But ay, I'm really walking you out because we in the proletariat wanna let you know that another fucking cleanup—plus my guy Mikhail already arranged for cameras to be wiped—you gon' really have to fight Maxim this time, by the way. Anyway, all that means this labor union really about to be established.”
“Julien—” Targen started.
He stopped as Mikhail raised a fist and said, “Yes, we can.”
That got me laughing so hard I cried and prayed I didn't pee a little.
By the time we reached the door, my annoyance was almost gone. The liquor, the advice, the feel of his arms, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek—it all got to me.
“Targen.”
“Yeah, milaya?”
I swallowed. “They said not to give up on my marriage.”
He didn't stop, but I felt something change in him anyway.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And what you say?”
I looked up at him, at the scarred, perfect face of my difficult, dangerous husband.
“I told 'em I cared about you and I sometimes wanna jump your bones, which you already know, so don’t start smiling like that.”
His mouth absolutely started smiling like that.
“And?” he prompted.
“And… you got work to do, and I got shit to figure out, so I'on wanna hear about no babies and nothing like it ’til I tell you we good... if I tell you. But I’m not giving up. Not yet,” I admitted.
The night air hit us as he carried me outside. Targen stopped walking. For a minute, he just looked at me, his expression warmer and kinda hopeful. Then he bent and pressed his forehead to mine.
“Good,” he said softly. ‘’Cause I wasn’t letting you.”
I rolled my eyes even as my heart did something soft and weak. “There you go, ruining the moment with your caveman behavior.”
He smiled and started walking again. “You love my caveman behavior.”
I didn't deny it. Instead, I snuggled closer before I could stop myself.
“Julien Reed?” I called loudly.
Behind us, Juvie groaned. “What, girl?”
“Come drive! I wanna go...” I stopped, looked up at my hopeful husband again. “I wanna go home,” I finished softly.
I wasn't giving in all the way, yet. He still had things to show me. But… I felt like I might be willing to see them.