“I’ll give you that.” Eli stares ahead, his eyes squinted. For the years I’ve known him, that’s his tell for him being in deep thought. “Why kill him? What’s the motive?”
Damn if I know. If I had to gather a list of criminal heads to murk—and let’s be clear, I have—Marcus only made my top five because I want his spot. I can’t see him charting anyone else’s though. Was Marcus a ruthless asshole? Yeah. But shit, what CEO isn’t at least a little sociopathic? That doesn’t mean all them out here getting Luigi’d.
“Power. Money. Revenge. And if that’s the case, you got mad people to choose from. Shit, start with everyone named in his will, including me.”
“Facts. You know once the news of his murder goes public, most people are going to be looking at you, ’cause to them, you gained the most from his death. Then your people,” Eli says.
Ask me if I give a fuck.
Maybe Eli reads the answer in my silence because he laughs, shaking his head. He knows what type of time I’m on.
“You still plan on having that dinner at your place tomorrow night?” he asks.
“Yes, Mars got everything in place,” I say, referring to my executive assistant. “Only thing left to do is let Michelle and Kareem know about it.”
And Ember. I’ll need to shoot her a text about her required presence.
“Prince, man.” Eli blows out a breath. “This shit is a logistical nightmare, you realize that, right? Listen, I’ma give you credit that you’re not holding this at your main residence. Ain’t no way that many people should know where you lay your head. Especially ones we don’t trust, for real. Still”—he shakes his head—“you got the heads of the Bratva, Yakuza, and Italian Mob, as well as all our street bosses all in one place.” He lists the namesof the other crime organizations operating in LA, California, and this side of the country. “The odds of all this going left? Man, there are better odds in Vegas of the fucking Browns winning… anything.”
“You sound like a bitch with all that whining.” I tilt my head, arching an eyebrow. Eli smirks in return because he knows just like I do that ain’t no man ever put fear in my heart. And just because they happen to be the leaders of the deadliest criminal families on this side of the country don’t mean shit to me. They bleed red just like I do. “I have to meet all of them anyway, so it’s better to get it over with at one time. And having them all together at my table is a show of power and authority they won’t be able to ignore. Introduce them to the kind of man who’s now in charge of Cross. And how that man ain’t no fucking Marcus Cross.”
The thought of all I have planned has a warm slide of anticipation skimming through me.
“Just make sure you have security in place. Hire out if you need to. I’m sure they’re going to be bringing their own men to this dinner, and I won’t be outnumbered in my own house.” Eli nods and takes out his cell. “And make sure you have someone to temporarily replace you for the evening. I need you at the table, too.”
Eli silently studies me for a moment. “You sure that’s where you want to announce this change?”
“What change?” I frown. “The will was just read last night. If muthafuckas assume shit, I can’t be responsible for their assumptions. Like I said, I’m not Marcus. I get to decide who my underboss and street bosses are. Hurt feelings ain’t got shit to do with me.”
“Even if those hurt feelings belong to your brother?”
“They family, but this is business.” I arch an eyebrow. “You saying you don’t want the position?”
Eli’s head jerks back. “The fuck? Be for re—shit!”
A blast ricochets like a nuclear boom outside of the vehicle,rocking it seconds before a hailstorm of bullets pings against the windows and side panels. The screams of metal against metal penetrate the nearly deafening and constant banging of guns.
With a curse, Tre swerves, and my shoulder crashes into the door, the shuddering impact singing up my arm, across my shoulder blade, and up the back of my neck. The side of my head slams into the window. Shoving off the interior panel, I brace a hand against the back of the passenger seat and another on the headrest behind me.
“You better keep this muthafucka on the road!” I bark.
If not for the Range Rover being completely bulletproof, we would’ve been fucked.
Tre nods, but I peep the throbbing at his temple and the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. Shit. If his bitch ass gets us caught up, he’s not gonna have to worry about catching some fucking bullets. I’ma kill him myself.
A swift but thorough glance out the window reveals a hot-ass mess. The blast of horns and panicked screams fill the air, barely muffled by the glass separating us from the outside. Cars attempt to swerve out of the way, but the thick choke of traffic and the other flustered and terrified drivers make that an impossibility. Just feet from me, a Rogue slams into the rear of a Benz. Shifting my attention away from the accident, I instead focus on the motorcycle edging up close to the Rover’s rear tire. A dark blue Hellcat with heavily tinted windows attempts to box us in from the front.
Bet.
Turning to the door, I locate the button disguised to blend into the side panel. I press my thumb to it, wait for the scanner to read my print, and then pull the panel down, revealing a store of weapons. I grab my CZ Scorpion Evo 3 and SIG P365, tucking the smaller gun at my back. A glance over shows me Eli has the other hidden compartment open, and he’s fastening an extended magazine to a Koch MP5.
“What you got?” I demand, shoving two more guns in my shoulder holsters.
“Bike and Altima right on our ass.”
Whoever sent these hittas after us wasn’t playing. Good thing I’m not either.
Rage and a hedonistic, fierce delight sing through my veins. My mouth curls into a smile. Yeah, Marcus had been grooming me for years to one day replace him as head of his criminal empire. But this shit? I lower the window and aim the CZ Scorpion at the rider with the black-and-red helmet who’s roaring up next to my side on a Kawasaki Ninja. I was born for this shit.