Page 26 of The Fire We Make

She didn’t breathe freely until she was behind the closed door of the dark apartment. All she overheard from the man’s conversation was “cops” and “bodies” and that was enough to have her slipping away and high tailing it out of there. As soon as she hit the threshold, she began stripping herself, starting with her coat and heels then peeling the little black dress off of her.

Left only in her panties and bra, she lit the fireplace watching the flames come to life. As she lifted the dress, she caught a whiff of the cologne the man from the roof had worn and a tiny moan slipped from her. It was spicy and sweet and the scent mingling with her own fragrance made her core thump. She stole one final whiff then, snapping out of it, threw the dress in the fire, letting it incinerate the fabric and any traces of DNA that may have been left on it.

Once satisfied, she went up the stairs in search of the shower to wash the night off of her. Turning the water as hot as she could stand it, she let the steam fill the bathroom as she removed her undergarments and pulled her disinfectant soap from her cabinet.

She watched residual blood from the nameless men wash down the drain and it reminded her of the last time she was in a similar situation. Only that time it was Cleve’s blood washing down the drain in the bathroom at the Greyhound station Darnell had dropped her off at.

Her chest tightened and the familiar ache rose at the memory of how her father had spoken to her the last time she saw him. How he looked at her. Not with warmth and pride the way she was used to, only contempt and a bit of fear. Like she was a problem he needed to do away with.

While her hands worked the exfoliating glove over her slick body, her mind drifted back to the man from the roof. The way his hands had felt on her. Just like his physical presence, his smooth skin, smug smile, and hazel eyes bullied their way behind her lids like he had a right to be there. Her lips still tingled from their heated kisses.

She had to admit he was the finest man she’d ever seen in her life. His skin was a deep brown, reminiscent of a shot of quality espresso. His black dress shirt strained over his large arms and wide shoulders, the top two buttons undone revealing a bit of his tattooed chest and glittering chains. His low cut with a fade and deep waves would surely make Destiny’s Child proud. His goatee was lined to perfection and surrounded a pair of full two toned lips.

Joy hadn’t planned on getting comfortable with the man, but the moment she looked into his eyes, she was stuck. They were a golden hazel that contrasted his deep skin and gave him an ethereal, almost menacing appearance that she found attractive. The heat she saw in his honey orbs was so unsettling, it was almost comforting and she wanted to cozy up next to its warmth.

He exuded power and sex and Joy wanted a little bit of both from him.

For a few fleeting moments, she was able to forget. He had unknowingly pulled her out of her solitary sulking. It was almost like he could tell she was lonely before she could and clung to her like he was lonely too. She had wanted to put them both out of their misery. At least for the night.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her so intently and touched her so tenderly. His desire for her was evident in his gazes and touches. Joy had been on the defense the moment he approached her, anticipating the fear, disgust or pitying looks she’d grown used to.

He hadn’t looked at her that way at all. In his arms and under his gaze, she felt beautiful and worth something for the first time in a while.

That’s because he doesn’t know you, the voice in her head reminded her.

Joy sighed. Making out with a stranger hadn’t been on her agenda for the evening but it was a welcomed detour. A nice distraction to dispel the images of the woman from the alley’s face. For the several minutes that she’d spent with him she’d almost, almost felt normal.

When he offered his lips to her, she accepted, not out of obligation or manipulation but because she wanted to know what they felt like.

And then his friend approached and Joy was reminded just that quickly who she really was and what she was capable of.

Reluctantly, Joy put thoughts of the man out of her mind. Right now, her focus needed to be on the plan. If she wanted any hope of returning home and getting her life back, she needed to prove to her father that she could be normal.

She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the police had arrived before she could fall deeper into whatever it was that passed between her and the mystery man. Something about him made her uninhibited and sooner or later, that would only reveal the parts of her she’d been working hard to suppress.

Scrubbed nearly raw and moisturized, Joy lit a single candle in her bedroom and under its dim light, she disassembled and spread out all of her guns and knives. After dropping her bloody brass knuckles into a cleaning solution, she commenced cleaning them thoroughly and sharpening the blades, a relaxation ritual she’d enjoyed since she was a little girl.

She picked up her baby, the short barrel .45 semi-automatic desert eagle pistol with gold finish, a gift from her father on her 16th birthday. She’d earned it after catching her first body. Her fingers closed around the handle and a sad smile spread across her lips as she cleaned the dried blood from it.

She wondered if her father knew he was creating a monster back then and didn’t care so long as it served him, or if he truly thought he could put a young woman through the fire and she’d come out unscathed.

One Week Later…

A ballroom in the Brooklyn Heights was filled to the brim with the most dangerous and powerful people on the east coast. Members of the Afro Crime Council had all come to pay their respects and bear witness to the King Family’s transition of power.

Bosses, associates, soldiers, and family members associated with the five Council families created a colorful array of attendees.

The Afro-Italian De Leone Family.

The Afro-Dominican Reyes Family.

The Jamaican Toussaint Family.

And the Black American King and Kincaid families.

Over 30 years of reluctant alliance for the sake of peace created a cordial yet wary gathering.

Light mingling took place throughout the extravagantly decorated ballroom with attendees dressed in their finest formal attire. They all indulged in the champagne and hors d’oeuvres being walked around by waiters on platters as they awaited the beginning of the ceremony.