Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Blood and sweat mixed together and dripped into Joy’s eye from the cut above her brow. Her lip throbbed from the gash in it and she could feel it swelling from the blow she’d taken to the mouth.
Still, she continued fighting.
She was sure she’d be reprimanded later for not protecting her face but she didn’t have time to think about that now.
Her opponent was three years older than her 13 years and almost a foot taller but Joy wasn’t going down easy. Not with Byron watching.
When she failed to block another hit, her vision swam and all Joy could think or feel was pain. She wanted to stop but knew the only way out was through.
She coached herself to stay upright. To stay sharp. She blanked her mind, forcing herself to disassociate from the pain exploding in her head and abdomen. She felt nothing as she jabbed, bobbed, and weaved. Fighting like her life depended on it.
Her only goal was to put down her opponent before he did the same to her.
When she saw an opening, she kneed the older boy in the sensitive space between his legs then kicked her feet under his to throw him off balance and bring him down. They tussled for a while, rolling around on the mat and Joy took a few more hits to her face and body but she didn’t feel them.
Once she’d gained the upper hand again, she channeled all of her remaining energy through her fist, sending what should have been a final blow to his temple to send him to sleep.
Joy didn’t stop though. The boy was unmoving beneath her as she continued raining punches on him until large hands lifted her up and stood her on her feet.
She stood in the middle of the ring. Cheers from the crowd of onlookers fell muffled on her ears like she was underwater. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath but her expression remained blank as she did her best to coax herself back into her body.
It wasn’t until her dad took her sore arm and lifted it in triumph did she snap back to reality.
“Y’all see this? Everybody get a good look at this face,” Byron’s voice boomed across the room to the dozen young boys training alongside Joy.
“This shit right here is what I wanna see. You lay a motherfucka down and you pull no punches. No remorse. No emotions. This is what a Thibodeaux Cartel soldier looks like. A motherfuckin’ demon.”
Joy ignored the pain radiating through her body, basking in her father’s praise.
Joy woke up with a start. Sweat dripped down her forehead and made her clothes stick to her back. Her heart raced as she swung her head from side to side taking in her surroundings until her brain recalled where she was.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
She chanted her mantra to herself until her heartbeat slowed. She put her head in her hands taking deep breaths to coax air into her lungs.
She lifted her phone to see the time.
4:37am
Still too early to start getting ready for work but she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Not now.
She navigated to the social media apps on her phone and logged into her burner account. Going to the search bar, she typed in Cleve’s username.
Up and down his page were photos of him living his best life, one hand and all.
Women, cars, clubs, money. He was doing it all.
The only thing that had been standing between him and living the lavish lifestyle he wanted with the status that came with it was Joy.
With her in New York, effectively outcast from the Cartel, she was no longer a threat.
“Captain Hook looking bastard,” Joy muttered in disgust.
She continued going through the digital lives of people from her past. Old friends who were no longer around. Old associates who no longer wanted any connection. Old soldiers whose loyalties never truly lied with her. Everyone who had abandoned her and seemingly moved on without a second thought.
Going to her brother’s page, it was more of the same. The graduation that she’d missed and the wedding she wasn’t even invited to — Byron Junior hadn’t skipped a beat.
That came as no surprise. Joy had always had a tumultuous relationship with her older brother.
Much to their father’s chagrin, BJ didn’t have the stomach for Byron’s world that Joy did.
He took more after their mother, being sensitive and mild mannered.
As they got older, he resented her for being the favorite. Joy looked down on him for being weak.
Now look who’s weak, a voice in her head taunted her.
Joy’s eyes stung, not in sadness but in unplaced anger. Joy’s world had stopped. She had been broken beyond repair meanwhile the people that had benefited from and encouraged her downfall all got to move on with their lives.
It wasn’t fair.
“Ahhhh!” She placed a pillow over her face and screamed out.
For the first time since her first night in New York, she allowed herself to cry until she had exhausted and dehydrated herself.
This time of rebuilding was supposed to be helping her get back to normal but all it did was make her feel more broken.
She longed to go back to the days when she didn’t feel so alone.
When she had family and friends and a purpose.
Even Mel, though she loved her, kept trying to “fix” Joy.
It was clear her time in the mental institute hadn’t fixed her.
She was beginning to think she was beyond fixing.
She would likely walk around with this mental illness for the rest of her life but what did that mean?
Would she remain exiled forever? Would Mel give up on her? Would she ever have her life back?
Joy shook her head, not even wanting to entertain those thoughts.
If she couldn’t be normal, she’d need to learn to fake it better. She’d hide her anger and keep her violence on a leash, keeping all of the dangerous, ugly parts of her that made her unlovable and disposable locked up until they withered away — or she did.
Her father had not only exiled her from her home but his rejection doomed her to a life of isolation.
Joy had been proud of the name he called her.
Lil Demon became her nickname and she wore it like a badge of honor because he had given it to her.
He’d said it with pride, like a compliment so she accepted.
Little did she know the same qualities, and that same name would be his basis for ripping her from everything she knew.
Her 5:30 alarm snapped her out of her thoughts and she absentmindedly began getting ready for work.
In the shower, she let the spray run over her, letting the water put out the last remnants of the fire raging within her.
She floated through her morning ritual like a zombie, steeling herself for her day and renewing her vow to regain control.
The morning crowd of New Yorkers moved around her in a blur during her commute and it wasn’t until she was beneath the looming shadow of the King, Kincaid, and Associates building did she begin snapping out of it.
She slipped her mask back into place, softening her eyes, loosing her fists, and flipping her scowl into a smile.
Joy stood in the office kitchen gathering the items she needed to fix her coffee to her liking.
She was there earlier than usual. The nightmare and subsequent breakdown she’d had that morning left her with a new motivation to see her plan through but too drained for her morning workout.
Byron would have chastised her for operating from her feelings rather than discipline— but Byron wasn’t there.
At 7am, most people hadn’t arrived yet, leaving Joy to relish in the silence and having the kitchen to herself. Or so she thought.
“Good morning,” a deep voice spoke behind her.
She gasped and whirled around, swiping up the butterknife she’d just used to cut her muffin in half—starting her morning with a simple carb was yet another thing Byron would’ve chided her for.
She held it up ready to use it on whatever threat she encountered but when she looked up, what she saw made her heart beat faster than the threat of danger.
Ace stood there with a grin on his face and his hands up in mock surrender. “My bad. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his eyes flicking to the knife in her hand with amusement that made Joy want to stab him with it just to prove she could.
Normal girls don’t stab their bosses with cutlery, she reminded herself.
“You didn’t scare me, you surprised me,” she snapped.
Ace didn’t flinch or retreat at her attitude. When his eyes flicked to the knife still in her hand, she lowered it. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You too damn big to move that quiet.”
Joy guessed he was at least 6’5”. His frame was solid with large muscles bulging from his arms and legs, stretching the fabric of his suit jacket and slacks. Joy had to focus intently to keep her eyes off of the muscles in his thighs, put on display as he walked towards her.
Ace chuckled. “My grandfather says if you startle easy you ain’t living right,” he said, his breath brushing her neck as he reached around her to grab a disposable cup, lingering a second too long.
He crowded her space and some reckless part of her didn’t mind it. His presence was commanding, sucking up all the air, and she let him. Her body had never responded to a man this way, not even her fiancé.
The heat radiating from his body and the intoxicating scent of his cologne distracted her enough that she missed the slick comment, focusing on evening her breaths instead.
He peered down at her, one hand resting on the counter behind her and the other at his side. She could easily extract herself from his body caging her against the counter but she didn’t want to.
“You know I’d almost convinced myself I made you up the way you ran off on me,” he said. “Thought a motherfucka slipped something in my drink and had me hallucinating.”
Joy chuckled nervously. “Yeah I heard your friend say something about there being bodies and kinda freaked out and dipped,” she explained. Not a lie. In fact, it was about as close to the truth as she could get. Ace tipped his head to the side with a grin.
“I see. That's a shame, I was just starting to enjoy myself.”
Joy just shrugged. She’d stab herself in the eye with the knife laying beside her before she admitted the same.
“I’m sure there were plenty of women more than willing to fill the gap.”
“Maybe, but they weren't you,” he licked his full lips.
Joy chose to ignore the way his choice of words settled low in her stomach.
She sighed. “Listen. We had a good time but I think we should keep things professional. This is inappropriate. You’re my boss, I’m not interested in running it back.”
The smirk on his face didn’t fall.
“You’re a good actress. That shit was almost believable.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you’re trying to convince yourself more than you're trying to convince me.”
“I think you shouldn’t flatter yourself.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and the rumble vibrating in Joy’s chest.
He stared at her a moment then retreated a few paces over to the coffee machine “We’ll keep things professional then.”
“Thank you,” Joy nodded curtly.
She felt Ace’s gaze on her but pretended not to, instead dropping in a teaspoon of brown sugar and watching it dissolve.
Joy tried to focus her attention on the almond milk she was stirring into her coffee rather than the lingering warmth of Ace’s body and the spicy scent of his cologne.
“Can you pass me the vanilla syrup?” Ace’s deep tone broke the silence again. Joy turned to hand it to him, finding him standing much closer than he was before.
They stood and sipped in silence. Neither seemed to have gotten their fill of the other’s presence but lacked conversation starters.
“Where did you come from?” he asked beside her.
Joy turned, cup in hand, to face him. “Texas,” she said, giving only enough to end the conversation.
“Texas girl… What brings you to my city?”
Joy raised a brow with an amused grin. “Oh this is your city?”
Ace didn’t reply, just gave her a cocky grin of his own like he knew something she didn’t.
“Just a change of scenery,” she answered.
His gaze sharpened for just a moment, and Joy could practically feel him searching for the truth beneath her lies.
Joy cleared her throat. “I should get to work,” she said, tossing her empty cup in the trash.
“Yeah me too,” Ace said, pushing up from his position leaning against the counter. “See you around, Rose.”
Joy paused. “Rose?”
Ace motioned to her mouth and her hands that rested on her hip. “That’s what you remind me of. The red nails and lips,” he said, his gaze lingering on said lips. “Pretty to look at, but a ‘lil sharp. Like a rose.”
Joy rolled her eyes but inwardly, she liked the way the endearment sounded. The only nicknames she’d ever had were birthed out of bloodshed and were now tainted.
“My name is Joy,” she said firmly. The last thing Joy saw before she exited the kitchen was a smirk playing across Ace’s lips.