This was the thing about us being together; Dakota didn’t need me to take care of her. Not financially because she wasa fuckin’ Donovan with a seven-figure bank account before she could even crawl. Not with her career because she’d always known some sort of science was her thing and she’d built Apocalypse into the brand and financial success it was now. And not really mentally because despite the trauma of her past, she knew exactly who she was and who she wanted to be.
I was the same. Different route; same successful result. So we met on equal terms. Came together because of a mutual desire. But we clicked because she filled the darkest, most secret place in me. She fed the most vulnerable part of the beast. With just her smile or the unintentional way her bare feet slapped across my tiled kitchen floor while she cooked cheesy eggs and fried bologna the morning after we first slept together. How her brain fired on all cylinders whenever I spoke about my plans for the company and how she worried over KC with the same intensity that I did even though his blood didn’t run through her veins.
That’s how I knew she was my one. She was that piece to the puzzle that I’d sworn my mama had swept up and tossed in the trash because I forgot to clean my room. She was my light, my fire, my all.
Her legacy was built on the Donovan brothers’ stable hands whose work ethic and integrity garnered the gift of land that eventually struck oil. It was of a Black family breaking barriers, standing through adversity and thriving in a world that wouldn’t respect or protect them.
Mine was of brothers by choice who realized the illegal path was their only hope for fruition. Two like-minded individuals fed up with the systemic chaos created to keep Black people in a place of hopelessness and despair. Of an enterprise designed to feed those trapped in bindings not of their own making while using the same devices created to break them. Did the Ryders do illegal things? Yes, back in the day prohibition and racketeering provided the funding for what would eventually become foodbanks in poor cities, day care centers so single mothers could make a living to feed their children and group homes for teens on the verge of corruption. Cocaine and pills eventually entered the scene, but my pops wasn’t about the continuous poisoning of his people, so his focus was always on expansion and meaningful connections. That took the Ryders into pharmaceutical clinics that catered to the wealthy who wanted a cleaner but still effective habit. Chop shops where instead of corner boys they trained elite thieves once again targeting the rich who flaunted but never considered sharing their wealth. From there, money laundering, casinos and weapons morphed into the Ryders’ main sources of income.
Now we were an empire with more legal ventures than illegal and more influence than most politicians who barely worked for their generous paychecks. And Dakota ran an upstanding biohazard cleaning company that serviced universities, government contracts, hospitals, and the underworld. Did I mention we were a match made in heaven?
Clapping around the table jerked me from my thoughts and my gaze shot to the screen where the Pantheon Collection was featured. Midway down the table, Nash grinned and nodded, accepting the ‘congratulations’ and ‘good jobs’ being tossed his way. I smiled because I was proud of what he’d produced as well. I was about to tell him so again when my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I didn’t allow phones out during our meetings, so there was nothing on the long conference room table except for notepads, pens, and cups of coffee or glasses of water.
“I want one of each, all in black,” KC said from the other side of the table. “That Isis one is sweet!”
“It definitely is,” Isabella replied, shifting her full attention to KC.
When he returned her gaze with a lustful look of his own, I shook my head. Now I was gonna have to pull his ass up again about getting involved with our staff. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a sexual harassment lawsuit, and the last thing KC needed was another fuckin’ stalker. His longtime on again, off again girlfriend, Joy, was going to kill him one of these days. I liked Joy, so I didn’t want to have to put a bullet in her head for hurting my brother.
“The rollout for the collection needs to be stellar,” I said to break their eye-fuckin’ session. “Let’s see what your team has come up with.”
Clearing her throat, Isabella quickly turned her attention back to that clicker in her hand. “Yes, yes. That’s up next. The rollout starts in four weeks. We’re going to focus on a hybrid strategy of high-quality digital engagement and local community integration.”
The slide shifted, and everyone’s attention was once again on the screen. All except for KC who shot a look my way. Shrugging like his ass was innocent had me frowning. He was such a jackass. An unapologetic one. If ‘do what the fuck I want and don’t give a damn about the consequences’ was a person, it would be my brother. He was smart as shit though; knew everything there was to know about computers, tech shit, and guns. KC could take a gun apart and put it back together again when he was ten years old. By the time he was fifteen he had built his own gun. Of course, he shot himself in the hand with that homemade contraption, but the concept was genius level.
My phone vibrated again.
I wasn’t trying to be the one breaking my own rule, so I attempted to ignore it.
Staring straight ahead, I tried to get my head back into what Isabella was saying. The rollout for the new line was well planned. I was more interested in the community integration.
“We can sponsor festivals, that’s not a bad idea,” I said. “But I want to go bigger. We create our own festival.”
KC and Nash gave me their full attention while Isabella’s assistant scribbled my words on a tablet.
“We already have a circle of clubs we were doing community events with back in Destine. It’s time to take that up a notch. Invite industry professionals, conduct safety seminars. Get someone from each club to test ride one of the collection. Sponsor some smaller clubs to travel and attend week-long festivities.”
Nodding, KC said, “Blackbond Bike Week. That’s hot!”
“Riding classes and vendors,” Nash added, tapping his pen on his notepad. “We host it in Destine since that’s where this all began for us. Put the local businesses on the forefront.”
With one hand on her hip, Isabella pointed toward her assistant’s tablet. “Get Natalia involved, she’s a social media guru. Live coverage, key posts targeted to our specific demographic.”
“Scholarships,” I stated. “I want to give something besides the show.”
“That’s wassup,” Steven from KC’s team said. “We can start up some driver’s ed classes in the local schools.”
“Yeah.” KC was sitting forward, his elbows on the table, completely locked in now. “Like we talked about in our last quarterly meeting. Getting kids to get their licenses early to cut down on so many of them driving without it.”
Sitting back in my chair, I rested my elbow on the arm, then ran a finger over the smooth hair of my goatee. “This is good. I like it a lot. The priority is the collection, but this festival will be the vehicle that keeps the Blackbond name on the ground in this industry. We get Anubis on the race circuit. Sponsor a talented rider to go win us some titles.”
“We’re making money hand over fist,” KC said.
“Yeah, we are,” Nash added.
“Y’all need an office on the marketing floor?” Isabella asked with a chuckle.
