Faithless heffa.
Michelle scoffs, waving a bejeweled hand toward me. “See what I mean? Why isshehere? This is a discussion betweenfamily. Which brings me to my second issue, Prince. Since when did we all agree to bring her in on the family business? Marcus didn’t want her here. He hid her in the basement—hid her fucking existence—for a damn good reason. And yet, here you go, introducing her as his daughter and your fiancée? Which, I might add, marrying her will happen over my cold, dead body,” she snarls. “Then you had her up there, speaking as if she’s a part of this organization. This is a betrayal, Prince. Of your father, me, your brother, and the empire Marcus left in your hands.”
God, she’s a scratched, broken-to-hell record. And so is the rage, the need to end her, to strangle her until that thin neck snaps.
“Are you finished?” he asks with no inflection in his voice. I brace myself for what’s about to come next, and I’m not even on the receiving end of it.
“No,” Michelle snaps, and I smother a sigh. I hope she’s using a heavy-duty shovel because it’s going to be needed if she’s intent on digging an even deeper hole. “You had me here for this meeting as well, but you neglected to introduce me or my position just as you did Kareem. If it wasn’t for me, Asad, none of this would be yours. None of it. Don’t you ever forget that.NowI’m finished.”
A sneer curls her mouth as she crosses her arms under her breasts, and I’m fascinated. I’m used to this rage and that attitude being directed toward me. But never Asad. He’s the golden child, the one who can do no wrong. So the scene playing out in front of me right now is just… wrong.
And captivating.
“Michelle.” He pauses and sweeps a hand down over his beard. “Michelle, you’re my mother, and that’s the only thing keeping my foot out your ass and my gun out your mouth.”
“Asad.” Kareem takes a step forward, holding out an arm as if to shield his mother from his brother’s wrath.
But Asad pushes that arm aside and moves ahead, encroaching on Michelle’s personal space and looming over her. Michelle tips her head back to maintain eye contact with her son, but even from my distance, I can see her throat move up and down as she swallows. Swear I can taste the metallic and grimy scent of fear on the room’s recycled air.
Kareem doesn’t fall back though, standing close beside his mother. “Asad, hold on. She’s our mother.” Kareem’s low reminder barely garners him a flick of Asad’s silver gaze.
“I don’t want to hear that shit, Kareem. And I’m not talking to you,” he says without removing his gaze from Michelle. “Let’s get one mu’fucking thing straight, Michelle. Just because you popped that pussy for Marcus doesn’t mean I didn’t earn this seat at the head of the table. You married Marcus for yourself—forhis money and to elevate your status so you could be stuntin’ on those hoes who looked down on you. It wasn’t about me or Kareem but always about you. So don’t ever fix your mouth to tell me I owe you. This is the only pass you’ll get with me. I’m the head of Cross first and your son second. For your health and safety, don’t confuse the two, and don’t ever question my decisions. You understand me?” When she doesn’t immediately reply, he tilts his head, and I have to stop myself from running over there and jacking her head up and down. Anything to alleviate the murder stamped on his features. His shoulders seem to broaden, chest seems to deepen—shit, he just seems togrowwith his anger. “Are. We. Clear?” he repeats, slower, quieter.
“Yes,” Michelle finally grinds out between clenched teeth.
Asad stares down at her then, and after a weighty, intimidating pause, steps back.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, as for your concern. Kareem”—he turns away from Michelle and directly addresses his brother—“yeah, you’re my brother and I acknowledge and appreciate your loyalty. That’s not, nor has ever been, in question. It’s your experience that’s lacking. Marcus had you working for HoC, not the underworld side. Eli has his hand in both. And Makeda has been under me for the past three years. Maybe not officially because of the gender restrictions, but she’s been there. Still, I want you to be with me, and not just with House of Cross. That’s why I made you a street boss. You’ll continue as Senior VP of marketing, but you’ll also work directly under Eli and gain the experience needed in the drug operations. You have leadership skills, which is why you’re not starting as a lower-level soldier, but I can’t make you my second either. It’s your choice though, Kareem. You can remain as VP and have nothing to do with this side of Cross, and I’ll respect it. What do you want?”
“I want in,” Kareem says without hesitation.
“Good.” He nods, then switches his attention back to his mother, whatever warmth that had seeped back into his faceand voice from talking to his brother leached clean now. “I had you here because you’re Marcus’s widow and my mother and you have ownership in this company. That alone affords you respect. But it doesn’t automatically give you a position in either the company or the organization. When have you worked, Michelle? When have youwantedto work? I’m not in the practice of dropping titles on people like a fucking fairy godmother. Everyone here works, they earn their shit. And you pushing me out your shit gets you a thank-you but not a corner office. You want to know why Ember is here? Because she deserves to be. True, Marcus was a bitch-made muthafucka who hid her existence and her contribution, but none of that changes the fact that she’s the reason this family isn’t trying to compete in an oversaturated market. Cross is one of one, and that’s owed entirely to Ember.”
It takes everything in me not to sink into the chair behind me. My trembling legs fight the good fight and manage to keep me standing upright. But inside? Inside, every organ, muscle, and bone—the very breath in my lungs—quivers. My ears and soul ache with the echo of the rattling.
This is the very first time in my life that anyone other than my mother and Sam has defended me. Especially from the person most responsible for my pain and abuse. And for that person to be Asad, the other person who tormented my dreams with his treatment…
Confusion and an emotion that’s too murky, too… uncomfortable to mentally touch or attempt to decipher swirl in my chest, my head.
Why? Out of all the volatile words we’ve lobbed at each other like dirty bombs… Out of all the painful and terrifying acts he’s committed that’s left behind keloid scars on my mind and psyche… Out of all the enmity and disgust that exists between us like a third in a sick-ass ménage… Why would he champion me with Michelle of all people, the person who was his favorite partner in crime?
“You’re standing here defending this bitch?” Michelle’s headjerks back as if his palm went across her cheek. Her voice trembles, but not with tears or hurt. No, pain doesn’t suffuse her face; rage does. She glances at me, and there’s death in that dark, narrowed gaze. I’d like to say I’m unfamiliar with that look, but it’s as recognizable to me as the reflection that stares back at me from a mirror. Her hate brings me joy. “I don’t give a fuck about this not owing me bullshit. I’m yourmother. Yourblood. You owe me your loyalty, your allegiance. Not Marcus. Not Cross. And for damn sure not this whore—”
“I’ve been a bitch and a whore. I’m not going to be too many more of either.” I calmly interrupt her tirade. A whole grown-ass woman up here having a tantrum. Make it make sense.
“And what’re you going to do about it?Whore.” Michelle sneers.
Heat flares beneath my skin like someone twisted the knob on a gas range and the flames leap high, licking at me. My heart crashes against my chest, the beat pounding out a primal rhythm in my ears. In one instant, I’m leaning against the conference table and in the next, I’m climbing on top and launching myself at my stepmother.
“Shit,” Kareem hisses.
But he’s too slow. Too late. I’m on his mother. Taking her to the floor. Punching her in her slick-ass mouth. Wrapping my hands around her neck, digging my fingernails into soft skin and squeezing—squeezing so hard something fragile yet vital snaps under my fingers…
I blink.
I still stand on this side of the table, Michelle unharmed, her neck intact.
Just a vision. A wish. A deep-seated need.