Before thoroughly enjoying my victory, I went to the vanilla candle on the dresser and lit it. Several news clippings of my brother, Tate, were taped to the wall. They were last year’s clippings of his high school basketball team. Any time he was mentioned, I cut the article out and kept them wherever I went. Basketball season would begin in a few months. They were guaranteed to win this year.
I planned to finally be at a game.
Your sis did that shit.
I kissed my fingertips and then pressed the kiss onto my favorite clipping—the one where Tate boldly showed off those pearly white teeth and held last year’s state championship trophy in his hand.
One day, you’ll come to my mansion to stay.
I rushed to the bed. The mouse scurried away.
I’ll have a basketball court so you can invite your friends. It’ll be so awesome.
I opened the big bag, reached into it, and pulled out a fist full of money. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I flung some of the bills up in the air. “You did it, Nix. You really did it.”
The crumbled bills poured down me and fell to the bed. Some toppled to the pea-green carpet. Giggling, I scooped the money up and tossed it back in the bag.
Alright. Back to business.
In the morning, I would go to Hussein. He would give me a good deal on the jewelry.
I kicked off my sneakers.
Then I’m out of here.
To not get depressed, I visualized myself in a high-end suite where the mattress didn’t boast blood stains, mice didn’t crawl under the bed, and the hot water actually worked. “Just one more night of this shit palace.”
Tate, you should have seen me. It was crazy, but I did it anyway.
I thought back to earlier. I pictured the big leader’s smug expression as he worked with his guys in the robbery. I’d been terrified when he came close, but I acted with confidence. I smirked. I gave him slick words and a bold posture.
But I was scared as fuck, Tate. Shaking on the inside.
In seconds, that guy’s smugness shifted to shock when I wrapped my string of jewels around his neck. It had been damn near impossible to keep the choke string around that big neck. Plus, he was no weakling. He could have flipped me over. He could have found a way to twist around and destroy me.
I was crazy to even do it, Tate. But. . .sometimes crazy is okay.
For a few wicked seconds, I considered Quin’s question about his dick.
It’s probably big as fuck. He’s already huge.
There was no denying that in another time and place, the night would have ended completely different for the two of us.
I wasn’t blind or stupid.
The man had raw animal magnetism—he was the kind of gorgeous that got into the bones, that seeped into the skin, that pierced the soul. So tall and big, I yearned to climb him. Heavy muscles and an alpha glare. He gripped those guns with deadly fierceness like he could eat pussy with precision. Like he would fuck me hard one way, switch position, and slam his dick in me so hard my esophagus would spill out.
That image hit my head.
I frowned.
Well. . .maybe not fuck my esophagus out. That doesn’t sound enjoyable.
Either way, I would have loved the challenge of mastering him, even if it were for just one night.
And it would have been just for one night.
Bad boys weren’t for long-term anything. A smart woman tried the dick, then threw him back in the ocean to fuck up some other chick’s life.
I’d learned that lesson the hard way from my ex, Chris.
No. No. We won’t think about him tonight.
I stiffened. Fear crept up my spine just from thinking his name. My bottom lip quivered. My pulse raced. Even long gone, the thought of him incited terror in my chest.
Stop. He’s dead. He can’t hurt me ever again.
In this life, I’d never had much of a chance to be anything else but poor and desperate.
I’d been born to poverty, born to a toxic family, born to abuse and neglect. I ran off at fourteen and lived on the streets. I united with runaways.
During the winters, we hid from the cold and slept in Victory Park’s bathrooms.
During the summer, we camped out on the beach.
At sixteen, I met Chris on the beach, hanging around us runaways.
He was twenty and knew better. He got in my head, and I thought he would save me. He trapped me to him for seven years, teaching me how to rob and con, showing me the way to survive, yet suffocating me at the same time.
Stop it. He’s dead. Don’t let those memories ruin the night.
I rose from the bed and flipped on the air conditioner. The old machine rattled and shook the wall as it blew out air. Torn wallpaper flapped back and forth. A little smoke lifted out from the air conditioner’s vent.