“Attempted.” Tera snorts. “He’s the fucking Huntsman, Eshe. We’ve heard so many stories about him, they’re like urban legends by now. And the main one? He’s like the gotdamn Terminator; he doesn’t stop until he gets the job done. Shiiiid, I’m not a hundred percent convinced the mu’fucka ain’t been sent by Skynet. Eshe, I love you like the half sister from my daddy’s side chick, so no offense, but I’m kinda shocked you’re still breathing. How did you walk away from him?”
“I have my ways.” I smirk.
She grunts. “I don’t even want to know what that means.” The sounds of a horn and traffic hit my ears. “How far out are you? I’m pulling up behind the club now.”
“I’m about five minutes out. You parking in the alley, right?”
“Yeah. See you in five.”
The line disconnects, and I gun the engine, about to turn those five minutes into three. I turn my mind from thoughts of Abena and the Huntsman to more immediate and pressing matters.And as I veer off Atlantic and steer my ’Busa down a narrow street, I focus on the meeting—or ambush—I’m about to walk into. The odds are pretty much fifty-fifty.
I can’t even lie. A large part of me hopes for the ambush. It’s been a few days since I’ve killed someone and had the fun of watching their eyes glaze over as their spirit left their body. I’m having mad withdrawals.
Rounding the corner into an alley a couple of streets over from the warehouse where the meet is supposed to happen, I spot Tera leaning against her Kawasaki Ninja. The hood of the black sweatshirt under her motorcycle jacket is pulled over her head, but I catch a glimpse of her face as she turns toward the mouth of the alley. I slow down, easing to a stop in back of her bike. We don’t speak until we both roll our rides behind a large dumpster and cover them with a large tarp I keep in my saddlebag. Hey, I’m always prepared. You never know when you’ll need to hide something. Or wrap a body.
“Ready for this?” Tera asks, her expression darkened by a deep frown. “I’ll say it again: I don’t trust this.”
“You don’t ever trust shit. Or anybody.” I pull my own hood up and head toward the end of the alley, my boots splashing in small puddles left by an earlier rain.
“Shit, neither do you,” she points out.
“Not true. I trust you and the rest of the Seven. I also trust that at least one Kardashian gon’ fuck a Black man. Not much else though.”
She snorts. “Big facts.” She pauses as we turn onto one of the cross streets adjacent to the warehouse. We scouted out the area last night so we were familiar with it and had every exit or potential trap scoped out. “So, if you believe this meeting is suspect, why’re we doing this?”
“Because it could be legit. And we need every edge over Abena that we can get. But we’re not going into this blindly or stupidly. I don’t know this bitch. I don’t care that Dakari vouched for her,” I say, referring to one of the Mwuaji soldiers loyal to me. “I don’tput nothing pass nobody. Which is why we chose the location and have precautions in place.”
Tera shrugs, her long-legged stride carrying her swiftly down a back street. “You rocking, I’m rolling. But fair warning: This bitch even twitch wrong, I’m putting a bullet in her head before God gets the news.”
See? This is why she’s my girl. All that protectiveness and those homicidal tendencies just warm my heart.
“Understood.”
We near the warehouse and draw to a stop at the corner of the empty and pockmarked parking lot. The huge brick building looms against the gray sky like a silent, dormant giant. The windows not cracked or broken are dark and grimy. The wide steel doors and loading dock stretch across the bottom half like a big smile with dirty teeth. It’s a lonely, abandoned place. The best thing about it is the scaffolding that rims the upper level. Perfect for a person to hide and lie in wait with a sniper rifle.
“I’ll see you in there,” Tera says, before taking off across the parking lot and disappearing around the building. From our reconnaissance yesterday, I can picture her accessing the metal fire escape and slithering through a window we left cracked.
Inhaling a deep breath, I tug the hood a little tighter around my face. Then, sweeping a glance over the area once more, I approach the warehouse, pull open one of the doors, and slip through. I pause just inside, allowing my eyes to adjust to the shadowed interior. Reaching behind me, I wrap my fingers around the butt of my Glock, slowly stalking forward.
A tall, slender hooded figure steps out of the gloom on the other side of the dusty, dark space, and I pull my gun free and point it at her.
“That’s close enough,” I order, holding the gun steady and aimed at center mass. I can’t see Tera, but I can sense her. Know she has her scope trained right on the other woman. “Drop that bag and spread your arms out.”
Carefully, she lifts the strap of a black tote over her head and lets it fall to the floor. Then she follows my instructions and stretches her arms out on either side of her. Tucking my gun behind my back, I cross the space between us and quickly but efficiently pat her down. Satisfied she’s not carrying, I step back and nod.
“You good.” I cock my head and watch as she lowers her arms back to her sides. “Now, you told Dakari you had some valuable info for me. I don’t like my time wasted. Especially when I can be home streaming the new season ofP-Valley. So whatever you tell me better be worth me missing Uncle Clifford swinging around a pole, or I’m going to be very angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” I deepen my voice, Bruce Banner–ing her.
“I understand.” A low, melodic voice caresses my ears a second before she lowers her hood, revealing herself to me for the first time.
I study the older woman standing in front of me. Even though she’s a stranger and I’m certain I’ve never met her before, she seems oddly familiar. Gray hair brushes her shoulders in a sleek bob. Fine wrinkles fan out from the corners of her dark eyes and small mouth as well as crease her rounded cheeks. With her slim body clothed in a flowing black top, leather pants, and boots, she could be anywhere between fifty and seventy. She is the epitome ofBlack don’t crack. Even her voice is a husky rasp that’s both sensual and weighted with age.
“Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Don’t thank me yet. What am I doing here?”
She releases a soft sigh, but her dark gaze doesn’t waver.
“I apologize for all of the dramatic subterfuge, but I couldn’t risk my identity or my meeting with you to get to the wrong ears.”
