Beware 2: The Comeback Page 3

  But I’m weak.

  I can’t.

  Not yet.

  Turning my head to the left, I lock eyes on the desk in the corner. I stare at it for a while, rocking on the heels of my tennis shoes and chewing on my bottom lip, debating whether to go towards it or go back up the stairs and cling onto my new life as much as possible.

  I glance back, deathly afraid of the silence.

  Then, I look forward, taking slow steps toward the black desk. It always wins. There’s a leather chair in front of it, but I don’t sit. I glower. I wait, as if the drawers will pop open and everything will come tackling me to the cement ground.

  I admit, I’d love to feel that—feel something from what I knew. But all I feel is fear and loneliness. All I feel is vacancy and desperation. The past is dark and terrifying, yet I incessantly remind myself of it. Why?

  Taking the final step forward, I sit down in the chair, lowering my line of vision to the locked drawer to my right. I pull the key out of my pocket with cold, trembling hands, lowering it down to the lock. It clinks when it’s unlocked, and I flinch from the echo. The sound seems much louder this time around.

  My eyes seal. I pause. I know this is wrong. I shouldn’t be torturing myself like this, but doing this makes me feel a little human deep down.

  The drawer is pulled open. Quivering hands linger over the purple box. I pull it out by its handle, carefully placing it on top of the desk. Paranoid, I take a quick look back. Nothing.

  I sigh.

  I know Greg will be calling once he reaches the station, so I just go for it. I pop the box open, and the lid falls back. I blink hard and slow as I look from the black velvet bags containing at least three hundred million dollars worth of diamonds, to the folded letters and notes, and then to the photos, purposely flipped upside down.

  I pick the pictures up first. The first one is the picture Jonah had in his apartment in New York of our family—me, Jonah, Mom, and Dad. We were at a waterpark. So happy. So free of all the worldly bullshit.

  I place it down, moving onto the next. The pad of my finger runs across the glossy finish. It’s a photo of Jonah and me after my graduation in Atlanta. He’s smiling, and I do the same, but my smile slowly begins to diminish the longer I stare at it. I notice how dark and cloudy his eyes are, his tense shoulders. His uneasiness. That’s when he’d let his problems become too much to handle.

  I should’ve noticed it then. I should’ve spoken up. I could’ve prevented his death if I wasn’t so worried about Ace and why he was around. If I’d been paying a little more attention to my brother instead of Crow, I most likely would’ve noticed something was wrong the minute I laid eyes on him.

  Instead, I was distracted by a glorious man in a suit and a blood-red tie that seamlessly matched his bloody and murderous demeanor. I was pulled into the midst of lust, trapped by his honey eyes and hard, penetrating glare. I was lost in the realm of Ace, the worst one yet.

  I place our picture down and move onto the last one. It’s Ace. Bianca cut it out of the New York Times and gave it to me. It was all she had. Ace hardly ever took photos.

  Ace’s story was all over the news, and the lies they told—the rumors—were heartbreaking. They didn’t know Ace the way I did, so all the reporters could do was judge him and make shit up. They didn’t know Ace was trying to leave and start a new life—in fact, they thought Ace started the shootout. They called it the “Drug Dealer’s Showdown”. They made Ace and his men out to be the perpetrators when, in fact, he was the victim. Pablo’s men were after us. They killed him. He died because of me.

  Without even realizing it, I slam a fist on the desk, fighting a sob. Tears spill all over his photo, and when I realize it, I put it away quickly, refusing to ruin it. I shut the box and stuff it in the drawer, locking it with haste. The last thing I need right now is to read the letter that was given to me while I was in Greece. I can’t. I stand to my feet, swiping at my eyes and breathing deeply.

  “Pull your shit together, London,” I scold myself. “You have a new life. A new purpose. Aden. Greg.” I turn towards the staircase and make my way up. Once I reach the top, I take a final look back, knowing that’ll be the last time I ever open that drawer again.

  ***

  Midnight arises.

  The moon makes my skin glow. Milky and pure.

  I imagine caramel-colored hands running up and down my arm, comforting me. Keeping me close. I imagine his warm breath, his manly scent, and his lips pressing on my neck from behind. I want it to linger but, of course, the feeling withers and wilts like a dying rose. The room gets colder. I tug the sheets over me.

  The sound of the garage door opening alerts me, a clear sign that Greg has just arrived home. I roll over as I hear his keys jingle and a door shut quietly. His footsteps start from a short distance. He stops a few feet away, most likely checking on Aden.

  Then, they start up again.

  I clutch my pillow, forcing my eyes shut. The door creaks open, and he walks in with a long, exhausted sigh. I should feel the urge to ask him how his day went, but I don’t. I do the worst thing a girlfriend can do—I pretend I’m sleeping.

  Because right now I don’t care.

  I just want to be left alone, drowning in my own reflections.

  “London?” he calls in a whisper.

  I ignore him, keeping my eyes sealed. I grow numb to the sound of his voice, the disappointment I hear when he realizes I’ve fallen asleep. Normally, I’d wait for him to get home but not tonight. There’s too much on my mind, and deep down, I have this gut feeling, almost like something just isn’t right. My mind should be at rest. All of the problems are supposed to be gone, but here I am, stressing myself out over a few pictures and a newspaper article.

  The bed dips as Greg climbs beneath the sheets. I prepare for him to press against me, and he does, inhaling my scent. I try my hardest not to flinch, breathing evenly. I moan, adding to my sleeping performance. Right now, he isn’t the man I want pressed against me. He isn’t the man I long to share my bed with.

  Greg sighs again, kisses my temple, and then lies back. A few minutes later, snoring commences. He’s asleep. I open my eyes, staring at the alarm clock. I watch each minute tick by; each minute takes me further and further away from what I had with him.

  I want to cry, but I don’t.

  I’m beyond that. I’m older now. Wiser.

  He is the past. He is dead.

  I must remember that.

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I lift my head, spotting a text from Bianca. I smile. I haven’t talked to her in days. She’s been a busy girl, running her own clothing line with the money she collected from the diamonds I practically begged her to take and use for herself and her business.

  I open the message, expecting one of her silly reports, but instead, what she says catches me totally off guard. My heart stumbles over its beats. I stifle, go numb.

  I can’t blink.

  I can’t move.

  I can’t do anything because I can’t fucking believe it.

  Bianca: He’s alive.

  Glamorous – Fergie

  One day ago

  She still hasn’t learned, my baby cousin. You’d think she’d know by now to maintain a low profile, but it wasn’t hard finding her. I knew, after all the shit that went down, that Bianca would find her own moneymaking tactic and be happy doing it. She’d had that established before she ever decided to leave me and the Crow business behind.

  I lower my black baseball cap over my browline, standing behind the massive crowd of reporters before her. Apparently, it’s two nights before a big fashion show of hers. Cameras are all over the place.

  Models.

  Reporters.

  Everyone is here for Bianca Love. She no longer goes by Bianca Crow. Ironic. She was the last of us, and she destroyed what was left of it, killing Crow.

  She points to a man a few feet to my right. I lower my head. After she answers his question, the conference come
s to a rapid conclusion. I watch as she trots across the stage, waving at a few fans behind the short metal gates.

  Then, she meets with a man I thought I’d never set eyes on again, an old business partner. An old but very wise friend.

  His tall frame looms over her, almost protectively. Maurice Grimes. My eyes expand, pleased to see she’s being taken care of. He kisses her rosy cheek, escorting her to the black SUV waiting up front. I push through the crowd, making my way back to the Bentley I bought as soon as I tossed that piece of shit Cadillac. Once I start the car, I follow the truck, keeping my distance.

  The truck comes to a stop six blocks away. Maurice steps out first, offering a hand to Bianca as he says something. She steps out, laughing as she tightens her cheetah-print scarf around her neck, fighting the Jersey breeze. I shut the car off, watching them enter the fancy restaurant. Looking down at my faded jeans and the blue T-shirt, I realize this casual attire won’t do.

  I collect the car keys, stuff them in my pocket, and make my way to the Men’s Warehouse right across the street. I’m fitted into a nice grey and navy blue suit with a matching grey tie. I’ve lost a few pounds. Doesn’t matter.

  “Think you can get me a few more suits in this size?” I ask the salesman.

  “Of course I can, Mr. Crow.”

  “Good. I’m going right across the street, but I’ll be back for them.”

  He nods his head, ducking off immediately to start his hunt.

  I take a final look in the mirror, glad I decided to get a haircut before meeting her. I look like me again.

  Solid.

  Real.

  Ace fuckin’ Crow.

  Adjusting my tie, I step out of the store and walk across the street. I enter the restaurant, its modern setting a place I know Bianca is fascinated with. I spot her and Maurice at a table in the corner.

  From the host, I request a table near them. At first, he’s hesitant, but after convincing him that Bianca is my cousin, allowing him to spot the resemblance, and also tossing in a one hundred dollar bill, he concedes, leading me to a table right behind theirs. I purposely hide my face, keeping my back to them.

  I’m lucky they’re chatting. She laughs. Oh, how I’ve missed her laugh. Although obnoxious and quite annoying, I’ve missed it.

  “So you’ll be at the show?” Bianca asks Maurice. “You won’t be called in for work?”

  “I took off, babe. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  She giggles. I hear a smooching noise, the sound of a kiss being shared. “I wanted London to come,” she whines. My heart stills at the sound of her name. “I called her a few days ago, but she says Greg is busy, and Aden has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning.”

  Greg and Aden? Who the fuck are Greg and Aden? Fuck, please don’t tell me she had a kid with another man? I grab the fork in front of me, squeezing until it hurts.

  “Well, she’s busy, babe. I’m sure she wanted to come.”

  “Hmm… I know. But, still. I need to go visit. I miss them.” She pauses. “God every time I see him I see so much of Ace,” she whispers.

  I blink. And then it hits me. Holy fucking shit. This… this can’t be… but how?

  “He’s so adorable,” Bianca continues, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s kind of scary when you look at him for too long.”

  “I bet,” Maurice says with a laugh.

  I turn my head a fraction, disbelieving my ears. I know this is my chance to speak up. It’s now or never.

  “You know what’s even scarier?” I ask, placing my arm on the back of my chair and twisting. “Seeing someone you thought was gone forever, enter your life all over again.”

  From the unforeseen sound of my voice, Bianca’s shoulders tense, and from here, I can see her entire face has turned ghost-white. Maurice lifts his head, staring at me as if he’s staring at the devil himself. I turn in my seat, and slowly, Bianca turns her head, eyes broad and bulging.

  She stares at me, and she doesn’t blink for quite some time. Maurice remains in his seat just as motionless. Her eyelashes bat, her honey-brown gaze securing mine. Then, she whispers in a stutter, “A-ace?”

  I press my lips to smile.

  She stands from her seat, tears smarting her eyes. I open my arms, and without a moment to waste, she runs into them, clashing into me. I stagger, but she clings on, allowing me to steady myself. I hug her back, kissing the top of her head.

  “Ace, what the fuck?” she breathes. “Holy shit! I can’t believe this!” she cries. A few people look our way, turning their noses up.

  “Unbelievable, huh?”

  She pulls back, staring up at me. She touches my face, squeezes my cheeks, and runs her hands through my hair. “Ace…” Tears stream. “Ace… oh my God. I-I can’t believe this. When…? How the living fuck…? I don’t understand.” Her voice is louder this time—wavering, but louder. She’s astounded, unsure of how to react.

  I shrug.

  “I thought you were dead… we all thought you were… dead. We saw the pictures of the burnt body, your clothes. Jewelry... everything,” she breathes. “The cops said it was you. They confirmed it through autopsy and everything.”

  “All a set up,” I mutter. “They were paid to lie.”

  Maurice walks around the table, interrupting Bianca’s next round of questions. “I told her. I knew you were still out there. I just had a feeling.” He steps forward, giving his tightest brotherly hug. “I knew a man like Ace Crow wasn’t going down without making it known.”

  “Screw dinner,” Bianca says, snatching up her purse. We’re going back to our hotel and ordering room service. I cannot believe this—I mean… shit! We have wayyyy too much to talk about. Oh my… fuck,” she breathes, looking me over. “I seriously cannot believe this.” She runs into my arms again. “I know you hate hugging but… holy shit, I thought you were gone, Ace. I thought I lost you… for a while I didn’t know what to do.” She steps back, another thick tear lining her cheek. She swipes it away before it gets too noticeable then grabs my hand. “Come to my hotel. We can’t chat here. Too many cameras around, and you never know who’s listening.”

  “London… Where is she?”

  She looks from me to Maurice. Maurice looks away, refusing to partake in the conversation.

  “Bianca?” I call, my voice firm.

  “She’s in California, Ace.”

  Still alive. I collect some peace of mind. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Where in California?” I ask.

  “Creole. Ace, she’s—”

  I cut her off before she can say anymore. From the look in her eyes, I can tell what she’s about to tell me will most likely kill my entire mood. I can’t get pissed in public. I need to keep a low profile. I want to know more as soon as possible, but catching up with Bianca about Bianca first is best. Something light to prepare me for the devastation.

  The heartbreak.

  Fuck.

  She squeezes my hand, revealing a gentle smile. I force one back, and we follow Maurice out to the truck, quieter than we’ve ever been before.

  ***

  The hotel is quaint and simple, the complete opposite of my baby cousin. It’s considered a four star hotel, and I assume that’s good enough for her. As we enter their room, Bianca sighs and flips a switch. A dim light sparks in the center as I shut the door behind me.

  “Who told you to get famous without me?” I ask, smirking as I tuck my fingers in my pockets and follow their lead to the sitting area. Maurice chuckles as he takes the chair with the ottoman, and Bianca taps the spot beside her, gesturing for me to sit.

  “I’m pretty sure I told you at least a thousand times that I could make it on my own.” She grins. I sit, adjusting my tie. “And I’m not famous, just well-known. You know, I wish it wasn’t that way. I wish people would just focus on my work and designs more than they focus on my personal life.” She rolls her eyes.

  Maurice laughs, standing from his seat and making his way
to the mini bar in the corner. “I told her the fast life wasn’t for her. No privacy. The price you pay when you want success.” He lifts a glass, offering. I nod.

  “So when did this happen?” I ask, looking from Maurice, as he hands me my drink, to Bianca.

  “Well I got the plans for the line started about two and a half years ago, but it didn’t really kick into high gear until about a year ago.” She beams, proud.

  “No,” I look into her eyes, “I mean when did you two happen?”

  “Oh.” Bianca’s lips seal, her cheeks burning as she looks from me to Maurice. Maurice takes a casual sip of his whiskey, shrugging his shoulders as he sits again. “Right after we thought you passed,” he responds.

  I lick my lips and nod before taking a sip of mine.

  “I got a call from the condo owners. They were bugging me, asking me if I’d seen you around. They were telling me your mailbox was getting full. Me, knowing how you are, just assumed you hadn’t checked it because you were too busy handling things with Crow. But a day later, Trent called. He told me what happened, and I went to your place as soon as I heard. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t hearing shit.” She swallows hard, as if it hurts her to talk about it. An unnoticeable wince rolls off me. I hate that I hurt her.

  “Y-your apartment was empty,” she stammers, “…and the living room was torn to shreds. Someone was looking for something. I’m not sure what.” She glances at Maurice. “So I went to the alley to see if there was a trace of you, but there was nothing. Just outlines of dead bodies, bullet casings, and blood.”

  “And when you saw that, you went to the only person you knew would take you in.” My gaze travels from hers to his.

  Maurice gives his head a quick bob. “She needed me. You’re like family to me. You know that. She wasn’t the only one that felt like they lost someone.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Anyway,” Bianca continues, “…this is the rough part.”

  I swallow thickly, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed. I’m unbelievably weak when it comes to her, but I won’t pussy out. I won’t lower my head in shame. It was my fault the shootout happened, and for that, I must pay the bill.