The Family Business 3 (4 page)

Even as I listened to LC fill Paris, Sasha, and Rio in on the Brother Xavier debacle, I felt like I could finally breathe again. For the first time since Junior told us about Sonya being married, I had my entire family safely under the same roof. As a mother, nothing was more important to me, especially after Vegas informed us that our situation with Xavier was far worse than we'd expected. In spite of the fact that Minister Farah was a high-ranking member of the Nation of Islam and a mentor to Vegas, it turned out that there was little he could do to help us other than make a few pointed phone calls. For all intents and purposes, we were now on the verge of war with a lovesick Islamic radical who had an army of well-trained Black Muslim hit men at his disposal.

As LC spoke, I felt a pair of strong hands massage my shoulders. I turned, smiling at Orlando, my middle child and our company's CEO. He leaned down and kissed me. My momentary calm was interrupted as Harris stomped into the room with a scowl. Not that it should have worried me. As legal counsel and the only immediate family member who wasn't born a Duncan, Harris always seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Today was no different, except his facial expression and body language told me that something was horribly wrong.

He motioned for Orlando to join him then headed across the room to LC. “We've got a big problem.”

“What now, Harris?” I could hear the stress in LC's voice. This whole situation had him under a lot more pressure than he wanted to admit, and it was starting to show.

“I just got a call from one of my guys with the New York State Department of Corrections. Charles Brown, aka Brother X, escaped from prison four hours ago.”

“What do you mean, he escaped? I thought we had people with eyes on this guy twenty-four/seven, Orlando?” LC turned to our son.

“We do, Pop,” Orlando replied, maintaining his calm. “At least we're supposed to. I'll check with our people.”

“You do that,” LC demanded. “Harris, how reliable is your source?”

“Very. He's one of the deputy commissioners.”

“Yeah, I'd say that was pretty reliable.” My husband scanned the room, making eye contact with everyone present. He had their attention. “Okay, nobody leaves the compound without a bodyguard and my consent. And that especially means you, Paris. We're the hunted, not the hunters this time. I don't want anyone going off the reservation until we know what we are up against. Is that understood?”

LC locked his gaze on Paris until she nodded. “Yeah, I understand,” she said, “but why don't you just let me and Sasha take his ass out? I don't like the bitch, but she does come in handy in a fight.”

Sasha rolled her eyes as LC answered Paris. “Because killing him will only make him a martyr to his men. The last thing we need is for them to take up his cause. That would be even worse than blindly following his orders like they do now.”

“He's right, Paris,” Harris said. “But what I wanna know is where the hell is Junior? It'd be nice if we had our head of security to coordinate things, considering this is his mess.”

“He drove Vegas and Marie to the airport about an hour ago, Daddy,” Paris replied.

My heart sank as I realized that I did not, in fact, have all of my children safe at home with me. No one had even told me that Junior and Vegas were going out.

Apparently LC was not pleased either. “Rio, get Junior on the phone. I don't want him taking any detours on his way home,” he said grimly.

“What is Vegas doing at the airport?” I was trying to stay quiet and listen, but I didn't like the direction things were going. With this man Xavier escaping from prison, I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to realize his next stop was to put a bullet in my son's head. This was not one of those times I was going to sit back and shut up.

“All I can tell you is that Marie was sporting a dope-ass DKNY sundress, Tory Burch sandals, and a fly-ass pair of Prada sunglasses, like she was going somewhere warm,” Paris offered.

Sasha stood up and handed LC what looked like a postcard. “Uncle LC, Vegas said to give you this if you asked where he was. He said you'd understand.”

LC glanced at the postcard then over at me. He hesitated for a moment before he said, “I need to speak to your mother alone for a second.” His tone and facial expression told everyone in the room that he was not to be questioned right now. Still, that didn't stop them from protesting silently with frowns and worried glances. Orlando went so far as to open his mouth, but LC shut him down before he could get a word out. Orlando left reluctantly with the others.

When we were alone, LC walked over and sat on the arm of my chair then turned the postcard toward me. It took me a second, but I gasped when I realized what the picture of Israel meant. “Jesus Christ, is this for real?”

“Evidently Vegas thinks so,” LC responded. “Otherwise he wouldn't have taken off.”

“You do know this could be a trap. We should call the pilot and have him turn that plane around,” I said desperately. I grabbed his arm, pleading with him to get my son out of harm's way, but he just sat there, stone-faced. “He's just come home, LC. I don't want him getting himself killed. I worked too hard and pulled too many strings to get him home in the first place—no thanks to you,” I added bitterly.

“I know that, Charlotte,” my husband countered. “But we both know we can't stop him. He'd never forgive us.”

“Then let's send Sasha or Paris to back him up,” I implored.

“I wish I could, but you know I can't. Not with this Brother X on the loose. We spread ourselves too thin and a man like him will pick us off one by one. With Vegas gone and Junior's head in the clouds, Sasha and Paris are our best offensive and defensive weapons. Have you forgotten the man has just escaped from a maximum security prison?”

“I haven't forgotten a damn thing. It's all I can think about,” I snapped angrily. “I don't want any of my children hurt over this, LC.”

“Neither do I, but this Brother X is not like the people we usually deal with. This isn't about money or power to him. This is a matter of principle. More importantly, it's a matter of the heart.”

“What about the Russians or the Italians? Can't we go to them? They're the ones who employ the man, and we put a lot of money in their pockets.”

“I already tried,” he said. “All of our mutual friends and contacts say this is a matter amongst Blacks. They don't want to get involved. Frankly, I think they're just as concerned about Brother X and his army of killers as we are.”

“You do know there's only one way to avert this, don't you?”

He shook his head. “I know what you're thinking, but I thought we decided—”

“No!” I cut him off, giving him a pointed look as I stood up. “
You
decided! I kept quiet because you said you and the boys would come up with a solution. Well, you don't have a solution, and I'm not keeping quiet anymore. I'm putting a stop to this craziness, whether you or anyone else likes it. I will not allow my family to be sitting ducks for this man.”

He didn't bother to try to assert his authority over me. We'd been married long enough that he knew I meant every word I said. I would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of my family, regardless of what anyone said to try to talk me out of it.

“Have you even thought about the consequences of what you're suggesting?” he asked.

“Of course I have, and compared to the alternative, I'll take them every day.” I turned toward the door.

“Charlotte! Charlotte!” He called after me as I left the room, but he didn't follow. He might not have liked it, but I was sure he knew, just like I did, that what I was about to do was our only way out without bloodshed.

I walked into the kitchen, where my oldest daughter, London, was preparing the last touches of dinner with Sonya. They turned in my direction when they heard me enter with a loud sigh. I'm sure they knew I was not a happy camper, but each kept to her task and remained silent.

“London, honey, could you give Sonya and me a minute, please?”

Sonya's eyes were pleading with London not to leave her alone with me, but my daughter was smart enough to know not to get in the middle of what was to come. She gave Sonya a sympathetic glance but turned to me and said, “Sure, Ma. These are the last plates for dinner anyway.” She lifted the tray of steaks and headed for the door, leaving Sonya to face me without backup.

“I'm not going to pretend like I'm happy about anything I've heard the last few days. Now, I've done everything in my power to make you feel welcome, because I like you and I know you love my son and he loves you. Besides, I'll be the first to admit that we're not your average family, and it takes a very special person to be a part of it.” I could see her relax ever so slightly, but I wasn't finished with her yet. “You could have told me that you were married,” I snapped, stepping closer.

“Mrs. Duncan . . .” I didn't let her get more than a few words out before I shut her down. She was taken by surprise when I pushed her against the refrigerator, snatching up the knife London had been using and pointing it at her throat.

“Don't bother trying to explain,” I hissed at her. “Now, you may not know this, but your husband has escaped from prison.” Her eyes went wide with fear. “So I don't have the time or the patience for you to be sugar-coating shit.” I pressed the blade against her throat.

As I saw tears welling in her eyes, part of me felt sorry for her. I really did like Sonya; however, she was the catalyst for a very dangerous situation, and all I cared about was protecting my son and family, even if it was at her expense. “I have some questions that need to be answered, and I need them answered now.”

Her voice cracked with emotion as she asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Your husband, is he planning on killing my son? Is Junior in any real danger?”

Tears fell from her eyes. “Yes, I think so.”

“What about the rest of my family? Are they in danger?”

I could see how much it pained her to admit the truth. “If any of you get in his way, he will kill you all. He's relentless when he puts his mind to something.”

I lowered the knife, about to lay down the law, but she spoke up first. “I'm not going to put you or your family in danger, Mrs. Duncan.”

“And how the hell do you suppose you can promise that?” I barked.

“I'm leaving Junior. I love your son too much to risk his life and the lives of everyone he loves. I couldn't live with myself if something happens to him or to any of you. I'm just going to need you to keep him away from me.”

I laughed out loud at her naïveté. “You don't have to worry about that. I'll keep him away.”

“I want you to know I love your son. I love him more than life itself.”

I knew she meant it, but my family was in danger, and there was no time for sentimentality. “Well, then I'm sorry things didn't work out,” I said curtly. “But you're making the right decision. I'm glad this didn't have to get any uglier than it already has. Can I call you a cab?”

I got out of bed carefully, so as not to wake Marie. The last thing I wanted was for my girlfriend to start questioning me about where I was going. It had taken four good orgasms and a sleeping pill in her wine, but she'd finally fallen asleep. Being the boyfriend of a beautiful madam with an ultra-high sex drive was fun, but not an easy job. When it came to sex, Marie was more like a dude than any woman I'd ever met. She wanted it when she wanted it, and that seemed to be all the time. Since I'd been released from prison six months ago, we'd end up doing it two or three times a day—four, if I'd let her. Now, don't get me wrong. I was flattered that she loved the dick, and the pussy was outstanding, but there were other motives behind her trying to drain every drop out of me. Marie wanted to have my baby, and getting pregnant had become her top priority. Not that I was putting up any stop signs. I loved the idea of having a kid too.

I slipped on a black wife beater, pants, and sneakers, along with a white button-down shirt that I kept open, before heading out of the hotel room toward the elevator. It was quarter to one, which meant I only had four and a half hours of darkness left to accomplish my real mission in Saint Martin. I'd already spent two days more than I should have away from home. By now I was sure Sasha had given the old man the postcard Minister Farah had given to me. Pop hadn't blown up my phone or sent anyone down to stop me, so he must have approved of, or at least accepted, my plan of action.

I stepped off the elevator and was greeted by a very attractive, exotic-looking, short-haired sister behind the front desk. I'd caught her sneaking a peek a few times when I was with Marie over the past few days. Now that Marie wasn't with me, there was no shame to this woman's game. Her gaze followed me from my first step off the elevator, so I thought it only right that I returned the favor, locking eyes with her. By the time I reached the counter, the poor woman looked like she was about to melt.

“Good evening, Mr. Duncan. You're up rather late.” She spoke in the heavy Caribbean accent that made my blood hot. “Can't sleep?”

“I've got a lot on my mind. Thought I'd put the top down and take a drive along the coast. It's a full moon tonight.”

“It is. Too bad I don't get off for another hour, or I'd take that ride with you.”

I chuckled. “I don't think my companion upstairs would appreciate that.”

“Her name is not on the reservation. Yours is,” she said, her voice dripping with sensuality. “The hotel management has made it very clear that you're a VIP on the presidential level, so my job is to make sure you have the best experience this resort can offer. And I'm very good at my job.” She gave me a smile that could have tempted an angel. No beating around the bush for this Caribbean chocolate drop.

“Oh, I can only imagine. But I'm good for right now.”

“Okay, then,” she said, not hiding her disappointment. “How else can I help you tonight?”

“There should be a package down here for me.” I handed her a luggage receipt.

She typed something into a computer then nodded. “Yes. Just give me a moment to retrieve it.” As she turned and walked away, I couldn't help but follow her perfectly round ass as it went through the door. If I didn't have a woman like Marie upstairs, I would have loved to play in her playground.

A few minutes later, she returned with an oversized briefcase. “Is this what you were expecting?”

“That's it,” I said, taking the case from her. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. My name is Kimberly. If there is anything I can do to help, just call.” We both knew that she truly meant
anything.

I walked out of the lobby and into the warm Caribbean night, headed toward my rental car, a black-on-black European edition BMW 650 convertible. Placing the briefcase on the passenger seat, I let the top down and pulled out into the night air. Not long after, I was crossing from the Dutch side of the island to the French side, headed to Orient Beach.

When I found a quiet place to park at the beach, I discarded my white button-down under the seat and scanned the area for the occasional late night dog walker, or perhaps a couple looking to get in a moonlit quickie on the beach.

With nobody in sight, I turned my attention to the briefcase, lifting it onto its spine. Running my fingers along the lock, I spun each wheel until I had the proper combination, then pushed the two buttons on either side of the briefcase. The locks clicked open, and I was soon staring down at my two guns, Bonnie and Clyde, which were securely placed in foam cutouts next to clips, cartridges, ammunition, and other accessories. Bonnie was a Smith and Wesson M&P 9mm, which I favored over the Glock 9mm, while Clyde was a .500 S&W Magnum, by far the most powerful commercially made handgun in the world.

At the top of the case, there was more ammo and a custom-made double shoulder holster, which I slipped on. I screwed a silencer onto Bonnie and snapped in a clip before placing her in my holster. I then reached for Clyde and snapped in a five-bullet cartridge before sliding the gun into my holster. There was no need to silence Clyde, because when I reached for him, I didn't care who heard me. The next five minutes was spent tucking clips, cartridges, and ammo into their various homes on the holster. Once all of that was done, I took a deep breath, feeling complete for the first time in years. It was now time to do what I did best. I stepped out of the car and slipped into the shadows of the warm Caribbean night.