Don
Sunday | 8:07pm
The smell hitme the second I walked in. Cheap whiskey, fried grease, and the kind of stale tobacco that lived in the walls. It was the kind of place no one would expect to find me in, and that was the point.
I kept my head low as I moved through the bar. The ball cap on my head was pulled down and the hoodie on my back was zipped halfway over a plain black tee. Big difference from the suit and tie I’d just had on in the ballroom. I had no security detail or entourage. It was just me and this fucking dark cloud over me.
I chose a booth in the back corner, farthest from the jukebox and close to the emergency exit. The leather seat wascracked, and the table rocked every time I shifted, but I didn’t care. It was dark and quiet. Just what I needed.
I checked my watch, trying not to give in to the nerves. I couldn’t afford to look nervous, even if I felt like my whole life was unraveling by the hour. I flagged down the help and ordered a double of scotch. When the glass hit the table, I stared at it for a few seconds before taking a slow sip. The liquor wasn’t smooth. It hit hard and immediately.
I shifted in the booth, checked my phone, then put it back down. Wiping my hand across my jaw, I looked around again. This muthafucka was late, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I wasn’t used to this shit. I was used to tailored suits, security teams, flashing cameras, and people listening when I talked.
Hell, I was pushing forty-one, running for reelection to the city council, and had a bright future running for mayor one day. That was still the plan, and I’d be damned if some thug ass nigga was going to deter that plan. Zeke swore he was “handling it,” but the way I felt this shit slipping made me sick. I gripped the glass tighter and took another drink as I thought of Princess.
She was supposed to be mine. She wasn’t just a political move or a polished accessory to make me look good in front of the press. She was the one I actually wanted. I had wanted her ass for years. The way she carried herself and the fire behind those eyes, even when she tried to hide it, was a turn on. I waited for the right time, and it came the second Zeke found himself caught up in that bullshit with the police department.
His ass was soliciting prostitutes like he was invincible. He was going to lose everything if that story hit the press, but I made it disappear. There was no scandal or headlines. There was only one thing in exchange for a future with his daughter. That was the deal.
That’s how it became official that Princess would become my wife. And now, this muthafucka Nyce had ripped her away from my grip like she was disposable. Her ass was mine, and I was going to get her back no matter what I had to do or who I had to bury.
Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps alerted me, and I looked up to see Detective Morris Tate. We grew up together, although we weren’t exactly friends. He was just my kind of weapon, though. He was crooked, blunt, brutal, and just far gone enough outside the lines to be useful.
“Don,” he said with a nod, sliding into the booth across from me. He was dressed down in plain clothes just as I was.
“Detective,” I murmured, lifting my glass in greeting.
He rested his elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the room even though we were alone. “So, you got a problem by the name of Nyce, huh?”
I hated hearing that fucking name. “I don’t have a problem,” I said flatly. “I have anobstacle. One I need removed… quietly.”
Tate smirked like he was expecting that answer. The help brought him a bear, and he took a slow sip. “Nyce ain’t just some corner boy. That man’s got infrastructure. Loyalty. Money. Youmake a move on him and miss, he’ll come back swinging, and you won’t see it coming.”
I set my drink down. “Nigga, I didn’t ask for your analysis. I’m asking for results.”
He laughed low under his breath, shaking his head like I was a rookie in this, which I was. “See, this is where you people fuck up. You think because you sit in some office, got people hanging onto your every word, that the whole city jumps when you say so. But Nyce? He don’t give a fuck about your polls or your donors. You send the wrong message, and he’ll light a match under your whole career.”
I leaned forward, eyes locked on him. “And what if I’m ready for that kind of fire?”
Tate paused as he studied me. He leaned back against the leather, one hand running over his scruffy beard. “What’s your real issue with him? This about the girl? The preacher’s daughter?”
My grip on the glass tightened, but I didn’t answer right away. “She belongs to me,” I said through my teeth. “She doesn’t belong in some criminal’s compound like a pet. She was promised tome.”
He gave me a look that was somewhere between amused and unimpressed. “I highly doubt she’s begging to come back to you, councilman. Fine as she is. Young… smart.”
My blood burned. “She doesn’t know what’s best for her,” I snapped. “She’s mine, and I’m not letting some gangsta embarrass me like this.”
“So this shit is personal.”
“It’s aboutcontrol,” I said. “Nyce made me look like I don’t have any, and that ends now.”
Tate nodded slowly. He understood that much, at least. Men like us couldn’t afford to look powerless. Not in public. Not in private. Everything ran on fear and respect, and once either of those slipped, you were finished.
“Alright,” he said after a moment of silence. “I got people. Those who know how to move without bringing heat back to the department, but it ain’t gonna be cheap.” I didn’t flinch as I reached into the pockets of my sweats and pulled out the envelope. I slid it across the table, and he picked it up, fingers flipping through the bills with quiet appreciation. “You must really want this done.”
I looked him in the eye. “Make it happen. And when it’s done, I don’t want ashes. I wantnothing. You understand?”
Tate smirked as he slipped the envelope into his coat. “Consider it handled.”
“Oh, and I want Princess untouched and returned safely tome.”
Nodding, he stood up, casual as ever, like we’d just discussed a landscaping job instead of a hit. As he walked away, I leaned back into the booth and gulped down the rest of my drink. I signaled for help for another round and exhaled.
I was fully aware of what I’d just done. I knew the risks. Nyce wasn’t some amateur. This could start something bigger than a debt and a missing bride. But I wasn’t worried becausein the end, there’s only one man meant to run this city, and it sure as hell wasn’t Nyce. It was me. And I’d burn this whole muthafucka down before I let someone like him forget that.
