Beware 2: The Comeback (2 page)

Blue Ocean Floor - Justin Timberlake

Present Day – Three Years Later

I never thought I’d see the day—the day the storm would finally pass.

It passed many months ago; I just never gave it much thought with how busy my life has been. Each day, I hoped
he
would return. I hoped that all the information, all the proof, was a lie and he was still out there, somewhere. But three and a half years have gone by, and the waiting, hoping, became tiresome a long time ago.

It was time to start a new life.

Time to build myself up again.

Although the first eighteen months after he died were the toughest to get through, I was glad I could smile again. I could laugh. For moments, I felt free.

But then, I’d see Aden’s face, and some of that happiness would fade—not because of him, but because my son, Aden, was a spitting image of his father. Sometimes he acted like him—as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be. I loved him, and I hated that I couldn’t explain to him who his father was.

I know, one day, once he gets old enough to figure out his skin is a few shades darker than mine and his hair is raven-like, he’ll ask who his father is. I’m afraid of that day. I don’t want it to come.

How am I to explain that his father was one of the most ruthless men I knew? He was a drug dealer. A gun dealer. A liar that tricked me into going upstate with him. There were good qualities within him, but those rarely surfaced, certainly not enough for me to brag about. The only good thing I could say was that I loved him, and that I would never stop loving who he was.

Ace… my Ace. Long gone now.

My thoughts are interrupted as a warm hand presses on my waist. He reels me into him, and his 4 o’clock shadow rubs across my shoulder. I smile, tilting my head back and indulging in his embrace. Slowly, his fingers run down my hip and ease their way to the curve of my ass. He cups it, gently squeezing.

“Morning gorgeous,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice sensual and warm.

“Morning,” I whisper. He continues touching me, moving his hand from my ass to the middle of my thighs. He stops right before reaching my womanhood, and I absentmindedly constrict with need. He chuckles low and deep, knowing how much I can’t stand the torture of being teased.

I turn in his arms, draping mine around his waist, and he stares down at me, his baby blue irises sparkling from the rising sun filtering in through the small window above.

Greg.

He’s sweet and extremely affectionate. He treats me like a glass doll, making sure to never hurt me in any kind of way. After everything I’ve been through, I can appreciate that. He’s everything Ace isn’t. He allows me to forget, even if it happens to be temporary. He’s the Captain of the small town of Creole, California for goodness sakes. A pure and good guy. The polar opposite of Ace Crow.

“You’re up early for a day off.” I adjust in his arms.

He kisses my cheek. “Yeah. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to make you breakfast and take you and Aden to the park for a nice walk, but first”—he strokes my cheek—“I need
my
breakfast.” His gaze lowers to my teal panties. His tongue runs across his lower lip, and my eyes expand as his body descends, flipping me onto my back along the way.

“Greg,” I pant.

“Shh. It’s okay.” He spreads my legs apart, kissing the insides of my thighs with sensual need. My skin buzzes, tingling with pure delight. I clench.

Ache.

Throb as he kisses me repeatedly, still teasing.

And then, when I can no longer take it, he flattens his tongue and runs it across my anticipating clit. A heavy moan escapes me, and he groans in pleasure, reaching up to toy with my nipples. They harden beneath the cotton camisole. I take a look down, watching him watch me.

I breathe harder, my body bucking, legs locking around him. I’m close, writhing against his unwavering tongue. In less than a mere minute, I cum, crying out softly. Greg grins as he kisses my sensitive lips then pushes himself up to get above me, placing a damp kiss on my forehead.

Lowering his head, he presses his mouth on mine, and I smile behind it, grateful for his early morning generosity. He then climbs off of me and off the bed, adjusting himself, but as he does, the door creaks open and in walks Aden.

“Mommy?” he calls.

I sit up just as Greg covers the hard-on in his boxers. A laugh bubbles out of me as I yank my panties up beneath the sheets and hop off the bed, picking Aden up in my arms. “Hi baby,” I coo.

“Hi.” He hugs me tight around the neck.

“Morning, kiddo,” Greg says, swiping his upper lip. He makes his way towards us, ducking just a little to reach Aden’s eye level. “Hey, how about some of your favorite?”

Aden scrunches his face. “My favowit?”

“Yeah. Flapjacks, scrambled eggs, and bacon?”

Aden’s face lights up. “Pancakes!”

“That’s right, baby. Pancakes,” I laugh. Greg knuckles his chin then reaches for him, tossing him onto his back and jet-planing his way to the kitchen. I laugh, absolutely in awe of how Greg treats Aden.

He treats him as if he’s his own. He didn’t have to be okay with the package deal, and it wasn’t like I told him I had a son when we first met at Maxi’s bar on 3rd. But when he met Aden, he just so happened to click with him. They bonded just as well as we did.

He makes us smile. He takes us shopping and to the park whenever we just need to get out of the house. He’s a great role model for Aden. Someone to look up. He’s an amazing boyfriend, but deep down, I know he’ll never be able to cast a shadow over the one that still owns my heart.

I’ve settled with Greg, not because I feel lonely and miserable, but because he’s good to me. To us. He’s what I need in this crazy, fucked up world. Someone simple, with a nine to five job. Someone who doesn’t own a closet full of skeletons and is a really good guy all around. Although his job can be a risky one when he’s not behind his desk, it’s nothing in comparison to the former.

I sit on the edge of the bed, pressing my hand to my forehead and staring at the polished floorboards. Footsteps start a few seconds later, and I perk up just as Greg steps around the corner with Aden on his shoulders. Greg meets my eyes, and I force a smile. He takes notice of my blue mood, and his face wrinkles with worry. “You okay?”

I smile, this time like I mean it. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. I just need to freshen up.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Well go ahead. Me and Aden will be waiting for you in the kitchen.”

I step forward, kissing both his and Aden’s cheeks. Aden giggles, telling me to stop it as I give him raspberry kisses on his face. “I’ll see you two at the table. Save some pancakes for me.”

“You better hurry! You know how this pancake monster is.” Greg tickles Aden’s bare feet, which causes Aden to laugh hysterically. They laugh their way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen again. With each step they take, my smile fades.

I enter the bathroom, turning the knobs to start the shower. Then, I walk over to the sink and stare into the mirror, watching my depressed and watery eyes until the glass fades behind a veil of fog. A tear skids down my cheek.

I think of Ace and what we were. How we used to banter and pick fights. How we used to just have fun around one another, enjoying each other’s presence. It was far from simple, but somehow, we made it work. Our relationship, although unique and hectic, was utterly amazing, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing—well, other than the fact that he’s dead.

First, I laugh at myself. Then, I press the palms of my hands over my face, sobbing into them. I think of how fucked up my life was and wonder what it would be like if he were still alive.

I think of Jonah.

The diamonds.

That cold-blooded lifestyle, and then, there’s now. I lower my hands, peering through the openings in the fog, looking at my red-rimmed eyes, studying my flushed cheeks and frizzy hair. Everything is peaceful now. I know it’s insane to say, but now that everything is back to normal—now that my life is steadily pulling itself back together—it feels like something is missing.  A part of me feels empty, and I’m not sure if it’s just the fact that I miss Ace and never got to say goodbye, or because with him, every day was an adventure.

I should be happy, but I’m ungrateful.

I should be head over heels for Greg, but I’m not.

I love him, but it’s not the same, unforgettable love I cherished once before. It’s… different. Safer but different.

Cold Blooded – Kid Cudi

I’ve been counting the drops from the leaky faucet for years now. Three years and two months to be exact. I’ve been keeping track of how many days I’ve spent in this hell hole. One thousand one hundred and fifty-six days. It’s the same faucet that never lets up, no matter how hard West twists the cracked spigot.

“Rusty fucking shit,” West mutters, flinging the water from his grizzly hands. My head lifts slowly as I stare at his back¸ narrowing my eyes as he pushes a hand through his slicked back, greasy black hair.

It’s been years. You’d think he would give up on trying to get my money and my connections, but he hasn’t. I haven’t given him any information. He’s tried forcing it out of me with beatings from his fists, feet, and even with the gun that I’m surprised he hasn’t used to kill me yet, but I refuse. That’s
my
shit.
My
fucking money. As soon as I get out of this crusty cell I’m going back for it.

Yeah, I’m getting out. It’s taking me a while, but I know West is going to slip up one day. He’s not perfect, and he damn sure ain’t smart. I’ve been curious about him though. He hasn’t given up on trying to get my money, my connections to the trade, so why keep me alive after all these years? What more does he want? Just to see me suffer and soon die in this place? I know, sooner or later, he’ll stop feeding me.

He gives me food—a spoiled piece of fruit and water are all I get for breakfast and sometimes dinner, but it’s still food. Any man that wants my shit that bad would’ve killed me by now and figured it out himself.

My head falls, my eyes meeting the shackles around my ankles. I adjust my arms behind my back, wincing as the rusty metal pinches and scrapes me. “You should just let me out now,” I rasp. “It might spare you an agonizing death when I finally get the fuck outta this place.”

West looks over his shoulder, transitioning from serious to mocking. “You ain’t going nowhere. That ain’t clear to you yet, you
piece of shit
?”

“Oh, trust me,” I say, releasing a chuckle just as dry as my throat. “I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

He laughs. “Been dreaming too much, boy. You got it all fucked up.” He scratches his chin, kicking the silver tray that contains my uneaten lunch with his steel toe boot. The fruit flips off, landing on the gravel. “Oops.” He flashes a demonic grin before turning his back to me and walking away. The cell door slams behind him and, as always, he locks it, whistling a stupid tune as he drifts down the hallway.

Pissed off and clinging to my last strand of patience, I yank my body forward, but all that causes is a piercing pain around my wrists. The chains clink as I continue yanking. Tugging. Forcing my body forward with all the strength I have.

I’ve been in the same shackles for months on end. I know sooner or later, with all my struggling and fighting, they’ll give out. They’re rusting. Old as fuck. They have to be over twenty years old.

What West doesn’t know is that, each time he gives me water, I keep some in my mouth and spit the rest on my wrists and ankles, hoping one day they’ll rust up and fall apart. I scrape them on the brick wall behind me, hoping to grate them apart. I’ve been doing it for three years. So far, nothing. And knowing that pisses me off even more.

My forehead creases as I continue pulling. I need to get the fuck out of here. It’s been long enough. I’m tired of waiting. My patience grew thin a long time ago. London is still out there. I need to find her. I need to see her again.

I tug, thinking about what she might look like now. Did she cut her hair? Gain or lose weight? I’m sure she’s just as beautiful and just as smart as she was when she left. She’s everything I need in my life.

Hope.

Faith.

A pure soul.

Perfection.

I hope she still thinks of me.

In a way to torture my emotions, West mentioned that the word was out about me being dead. I knew if word was out, London knew, and she was no longer waiting for me. What was she going to wait for? The viewing of my dead body? She was too smart to go back. She’d most likely moved forward by now.

“You know, everyone thinks you’re dead now,” West said, squatting before me, taunting. Mocking. “They all think Donovan Ace fucking Crow is dead. And why shouldn’t they? We all knew Crow wasn’t going to win every battle. You can thank me for that,” he chuckled. “Let me tell you a little story. After your piece of shit father snitched just to kick us off his payroll and got me and my partner fired, I still had people that owed me. I had someone in the department lie on the autopsy. I had someone cover my tracks and not give a second thought to it. That pretty girl of yours… she’s long gone. She ain’t coming back. Might as well tell me what I want to know. I will do this all day, every fucking day until you give up.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, panting. I’d just gotten the shit beaten out of me, but I wasn’t backing down. “You won’t get shit from me. That’s my shit.”

Sneering, West lifted his hand and roughly brought his thumb down, smudging the blood on the corner of my bottom lip. His eyes studied mine, and for a brief moment, all went still—all but that stupid fucking faucet. “She’s a lovely one. Been thinking about getting her for myself.”

“You touch her,” I rasped, “and I will fucking kill you.”

With a gruff chuckle, he stood up and cracked all his knuckles at once. He stared down at me like he was superior—like he fucking owned me. I matched his stare, refusing to back down. Refusing to cower. He was trying to intimidate the wrong one. His fat-ass didn’t scare me. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and brought the lit end down to my chest. It burned, hurt like a bitch, but I held in the pain. I would not become weak. Fuck that.

After burning me, I knew he was going to hit me again. I expected his hands, but instead, I received a steel-toed boot to my right ribcage. I buckled and wheezed, coughed until I felt a lung would pop.

West bent down, clutching my face between his calloused fingers. He smelled of beer, sweat, and cigarettes. Sloppy pig. I yanked away, a growl bubbling in the heart of my chest. Yes, I was hurt and maybe I was stupid for trying to challenge a man who wanted everything I ever owned while cuffed in shackles, but he wasn’t going to own me.

Fuck that.

I’d be damned if I ever let anyone on this earth own me. “Trust me,” West spoke, sneering, “…it’s not me you have to worry about. There are much bigger sharks out there. Bigger sharks that are out for blood and riches. Those are the ones you can’t stop. Those, my friend”—he clapped my shoulder, purposely making it sting—“are the ones you should be worried about.”

I have no clue where London is or how I’m going to find her, but all that needs to be known is that I will get to her one way or another. I’m getting my girl back.

My
life
back.

Just as that thought comes to mind, the sound of a clinking chain hits the floor.  My body plummets forward, but I stop myself right before hitting the ground, planting my palms on the rocky bottom. A slow smirk snakes across my lips as I study the hands that are finally free. The chain broke. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my water trick worked. I lift my arms, a faint smirk still on my lips.

“Oh yeah,” I breathe, catching my breath. Slinking back against the wall, I place my hands behind me as if nothing ever happened, plotting my sinful demise. Then, in a low murmur, I breathe, “He’s a dead man walking.”

***

“Wake up. Eat.” West’s voice fills the cell. I don’t budge. “I said,” he grunts, clutching my shoulders and slamming my back against the brick wall, “…wake the fuck up, you piece of shit!” He slams me again. My eyes pop open, and both hands come forward, crushing the shackles on his head. He groans as he falls back, flopping to the ground with a loud thud, and I pounce on top of him, smashing the ragged shackles into his face and head repeatedly.

Growls are conjured—growls I don’t even realize are coming from me. But I continue. I don’t stop until I’m blinded by red.

I’m murderous.

Vengeful.

Reckless.

Another helpless groan escapes him. I hit him harder. I fuck him up, blood spattering on my face and bare chest. I don’t stop until I know the motherfucker, Nixon West, no longer exists.

After smashing his face one final time, his body goes limp. I can’t make out his eyes anymore. His face is butchered—skin torn, lips busted, completely fucked up. Red is everywhere. His skin hangs from the ragged ends of the shackles, dripping with blood.

With heavy panting, I dig through his pockets, searching for Swiss Army knife he constantly used against me. Once I pull it out, I break the lock of the shackles around my ankles, take the car keys and cell phone out of his pockets, and make my way down the extended hallway, raking my fingers through my long, matted hair.

A speed bump. It was just another speed bump in my life. Nothing I can’t get past. I’ve been through worse—beaten and punished for no reason—by a man I used to love, my father. Bruce.

West was
nothing
. He tried breaking me plenty of times, but I refused to let it happen. I continued to fight. Why? Because I’m a fucking soldier. I may get knocked down a few times, but
nothing
will ever stop me.

Nothing.

A brown door appears ahead, and I burst out. The cool, crisp night air nips at my bare chest. My feet pound into the icy asphalt as I walk towards the silver Cadillac parked beneath a willow tree. Once I’m inside, I don’t hesitate to pull off. There’s nothing to look back to.

I’m moving forward.

I’m getting my fucking life back, but first… I’m getting
London
back.