Page 192 of The Fire We Make

“Saw you on the news with that boy. Looks like you’ve made quite a name for yourself up here.”

“I’ve tried,” Joy replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Byron nodded and after a moment of silence, spoke again. “Cleve is dead.”

“Okay.” Joy’s voice was flat and uninterested, despite the giggle that wanted to bubble out of her at the memories.

Byron’s brow rose as he eyed her carefully. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Am I supposed to shed a tear for that nigga?”

“Glad to see you’re still cold-blooded,” he chuckled.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,”Joy shrugged. “I have you to thank for that.”

Seeing that Joy wasn’t softening, Byron kept speaking. “Before he died, Cleve got a little… ambitious and got caught up. Our Dallas warehouse was raided and he and a few of our men were picked up. He’s dead now and our attorney was able to get our men out on bail but some of our higher ups are looking at 10 years and they’ve halted all of our permits.”

Joy couldn’t help it, she laughed. A full, belly laugh that made Byron look around to ensure no one came by to see what the commotion was.

“Let me get this straight,” she said once she’d calmed. “Do you remember that day in your office, I offered to put my degrees to use and prove to you that I can be an asset. And you damn near spit in my face. Now, you track me down and come up here to ask me to do the same thing. Ain’t that some shit?”

“You want a victory lap or something?” Byron huffed. “We need you for our organization to function properly. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No! I don't want to hear shit from you now. I wanted to hear that one mistake didn’t justify throwing me away like a broken toy!”

Byron rolled his eyes. “Don’t get emotional,” he chastised. Joy hardened her expression immediately and sucked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“I don’t care what you feel. The moment you get emotional is the moment people stop listening and you lose respect.”

“I’ve built a new life here. You can’t just come up here asking me to throw it all away because you’re done putting me in time out.”

Byron took a step closer, his height and bulk dwarfing Joy. “Your life is at home. You can be upset, and you can have your little feelings hurt but don’t forget who you are and where your responsibilities lie.”

“I’ll think about it,” Joy answered noncommittally.

Byron reared back. “You’ll think about it?”

The longer he looked at her the more his scowl of confusion soften into an amused smirk that made Joy’s skin crawl. “You’re in love with him huh?”

Joy looked away but her silence was answer enough.

Byron released a humorless chuckle. “Never thought I’d see the day. I told you, you’re meant for more than that.”

Joy rolled her eyes.

“You’re meant to be a queen. A motherfuckin’ boss. You think that nigga will still want you once he realizes you aren’t one of the soft ass debutantes he’s probably used to?”

“Yes,” Joy answered defiantly, her voice strong with conviction. Flickers from the night of the night she killed Cleve — the night he professed his love for her — played through her mind like movie clips.

Her conviction wavered slightly at the amused grin on her father’s face.

"That's what you hope," Byron said. "But the first time you become more trouble than you're worth, he'll leave...or he'll spend every day trying to make you into someone easier to live with."

“Like Jermaine tried to do?” she asked, with a tilt of her head. “Like you did?”

“Motherfucka, I built you,” he hissed, stepping in her face like the general he was. “I made you strong. I made you a soldier. I made you a queen.” He beat on his chest with every word, his eyes cold on her.

“Now are you gonna come home and save the kingdom we built or are you gonna stay up here playing housewife and lawyer Barbie, pouting like a little ass girl?”