Love and Law (10 page)

“I knew you were a shady bitch,” she mutters under her breath and turns to walk away.

Thinking of Ben, I bite my lip to keep the slew of cuss words I want to say to her safely in my mouth. He didn’t want me to fight with her, and I’ll try my damnedest not to.

Moments later, when I’m letting the hot water run down my back and shoulders, I try to figure out how I’ll get myself out of this situation. I like Ben. A lot. But what we have is an unacceptable relationship. Why is it that I can think clearly when I’m away from him? What would Miguel think about me fucking this drug dealer? He’d hate the very idea of it—and probably me too. What would Sommerhaul do if he knew? He’d fire my ass on the spot and I’d probably earn myself some fines or jail time. Shit, this is bad. I need to hurry and find the leader of this cell, gather my evidence, and get the fuck out before I do more damage than good.

But when I think about Ben’s hard body pressed against mine, pushing his thick cock inside me, I’m overcome with desire. I want him. Bad. So bad that I slide my wet hand down to my pussy and begin stroking myself.

My feelings for Ben are clouding my judgment and blurring my normally clear lines of right and wrong. And that’s the last thought I have before I once again imagine Ben’s sexy self and succumb to my final orgasm of the night.

I’VE NEVER KILLED A MAN. It’s not in my genetic makeup to ever desire to do so. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not dangerous. I’ve beaten plenty of assholes to within an inch of their lives. And every single one of them deserved it.

One idiot straight-up stole money from Oculus. He sold the drugs and then attempted to disappear. Oculus told me to “take care of it.” Deep down, I think he knows that I would never kill someone, and he never has put me in the position to do so. But I did take care of it. CJ and I found the fucker, beat his ass, and took his two-hundred-dollar pair of kicks for restitution. They just so happened to be CJ’s size, so he gave Oculus the money the guy owed and proudly strutted around in those fucking sneakers until the soles wore out.

“He’s so fucking pissed,” CJ murmurs, stating the obvious.

And he should be. Blaze is fucking with his territory. His business. It won’t end well—for Blaze, that is. I ignore CJ’s comment and stomp up the stairs to Oculus’s office. We keep the ‘management’ side of things separate from the ‘operations’ side of the business, so his office resides several blocks down from where Maya and the other girls are. If there’s ever a bust, it would be in our best interest not to have all the drugs and money in the same place.

CJ scoots past me and knocks on the door. The asshole from earlier answers the door looking like a fucking idiot with his busted nose. He wisely doesn’t make eye contact and steps aside so we can come in.

I glance over at Oculus, and his hands are clasped neatly together on the desk. To anyone else, he’d seem calm. But I can see the rage boiling below the surface. One reason Oculus and I have always connected so well is that I know when to shut the fuck up. Right now, I know he’ll have orders for me. Until he delivers them, I’ll wait patiently.

Finally, after a few moments, he lifts his stare from his hands over to me. “When I find him, I will choke the fucking life out of him.” His voice is low and menacing.

I have no doubt he’ll do just that. Where I’ve been adamant about not killing anyone, Oculus has no fucking problem at all. If the offender is high profile in his eyes, he always wants them saved for him to finish the job.

I simply nod at his statement, knowing that he’s not finished. CJ has been my wingman long enough to take good notes as he stands quietly beside me.

“He has someone on the inside. There’s no other way he’d have known about Val and the guys down near Mack Street.” He narrows his eye as he works out his thoughts.

At the mention of the guys near Mack Street, I wonder briefly if the college kid got killed too. What a fucking drag. It’s times like these that I hate this job. The very idea of Grammy having to identify my body at the morgue and discovering my ‘other’ job makes me sick to my stomach. That kid, if involved in the drive-by killings, will inevitably have a very sad family left behind.

“Kid, are you their fucking mole?” Oculus snaps at the asshole with the busted nose.

His eyes widen, terrified at Oculus’s sudden ferocity. “N-n-n-no, sir!” he stutters out.

“I’ll find out who it is and fuck them up,” I promise, finally speaking to him.

Angry eyes—or eye, in Oculus’s case—soften. “I know you will, boy. You always do.”

Pride fills my chest. Even though I’m not particularly in love with this job and I’d rather be in the basement building shit, I can’t help but bask in the fatherly praise he gives me. Even though I haven’t had a father all these years, Oculus has filled that role for me.

Nodding over at him, I turn and stalk out of the office—ready to find the fuckers raining on our parade.

It’s been a long fucking week. I left CJ in charge of training the girls and getting them set up in their districts. Maya and I haven’t seen or talked to one another since I left her naked on that fucking desk. Just the memory of her curvaceous, satisfied body hardens my cock. She’s probably so fucking pissed at me. I’m pissed at me. Unfortunately, duty calls. And as much as I’d love to be balls-deep in her tight pussy twenty-four-seven, I have a job to do.

Since their last fight, there hasn’t been any more drama that I’ve been made aware of. CJ says that, now that they have their supply and jobs to do, those two haven’t caused any trouble. I won’t lie when I say that I’m proud that my girl is selling the most and the fastest. If I were a buyer, I’d give a girl that fucking gorgeous all my money—whether or not she gave me any drugs in return. Female dealers have been extremely good for business.

After the drive-by that did, in fact, kill the college kid and two of his friends, things have been quiet. Too quiet. I know that motherfucker is up to something—planning his next move. But unbeknownst to him, I’ve been behind the scenes gathering information, questioning locals, driving in their territory, and trying to locate where they hide out.

Grammy has given me the cold shoulder all week. She knows that I’m up to something and have been under a lot of stress, but “helping a friend out” is no longer working to satisfy her. My grandmother is way too smart for that. I’ve barely touched any of my projects down in the basement, and the Canadian shop owner has been blowing up my email, asking when his first shipment will arrive. I’m feeling stretched in two different directions and tense as fuck. Once we deal with Blaze, I can relax again. Maybe, I can tell Oculus that I want to take a break. CJ is more than ready to take my place—the place that I am quickly becoming ready to hand over.

Snapping from my thoughts, I focus on the car parked at the end of the street. I’m in Blaze’s area of town tonight and I am not leaving until I find some information. As I approach, the young guy lifts his head and eyes me with interest as I come to the window.

“You looking to buy, homey?” he asks. This dude is high as fuck, which might work to my advantage. He’s recently just burned one and his eyes are bloodshot as hell.

“What’re you selling, dawg?” I question, resting my forearms on the top of the car and dipping my head down so I can see him.

“I’ve got it all. Name your poison. You look like an angel dust kind of guy.”

So they’ve got coke. I wonder if the shit’s as good as ours. Oculus only has the highest quality stuff. He’s got a hookup from an old buddy from Mexico. They smuggle the shit into the country via his grease-trap truck. It’s messy as fuck getting it out, but it’s never detected by Border Patrol. Even they have limits and no desire to sift through the greasy sludge to look for the carefully hidden packages sealed and hidden in the bottom of that shit. I thank God that my position is beside Oculus and not the guy who has to get that crap out.

Stoner Boy hands me a tiny baggy for a taste. I dip my pinky in and lick the dust on the end. Now, I’m not one for doing drugs, but I know my shit. As soon as the powder hits my tongue, I realize that Blaze is really fucking up to something. I’m tasting OUR cocaine. The highest quality shit that you only find from Oculus on our end of town. All the other assholes around here have funky shit. Ours is golden.

“How much?” I ask and glance either direction down the street.

This stupid asshole is sitting on Pig Row, as we call it. The cops are always cruising through here looking for dealers. I’m not about to help this guy out though.

He grins up at me, his white teeth glowing in the dark. “One G’ll cost you forty bills. Our shit is affordable,” he laughs.

It takes everything in me not to grab ahold of his neck and drag him through the window so I can kick my foot so far in his ass that he’ll feel my size thirteen K-Swiss in his throat. Not only do they have our product, but they’re low-balling us too. We charge about sixty bucks for a gram. Motherfucking Blaze is not only killing our dealers, but also stealing our business.

I pretend to look for my wallet and give him an annoyed look. “Damn dude, I left my wallet at the house. Can you spot me?” I know he won’t, which plays into my plan.

He raises his hand in mock surrender. “Fucking Blaze would kill my ass. I’ll wait here, playa. Bring me back some Cheetos and I’ll knock off five bucks.”

I laugh and fist bump him as I walk away. This fucker is blind and stupid. He clearly doesn’t see the unmarked squad car parked several houses up. If he did, he wouldn’t be getting stoned in the car and trying to make deals. I walk several houses up before I hear two car doors slam.

“Stop right there,” an authoritative voice orders from behind me. Fucking pigs.

I stop and raise my hands at my sides. I’m not stupid. I know that complying is my best bet. Knowing when to be quiet has always been a quality of mine that not many men in this industry have.

“Did you just buy drugs back there?” he asks as if already knowing what the answer will be. Stupid asshole has nothing on me.

“Nope. Some guy was getting stoned in that car and asked if I’d bring him some Cheetos,” I tell him calmly.

“Turn around and face me,” he instructs. His voice seems unusually angry for a cop trying to make a bust. I turn around and am face to face with a Mexican cop.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I go to reach for my wallet, knowing that he’ll want to see some identification, but when he reaches for his gun, I halt my movement.

“Nobody asked you to reach into your pockets,” he growls.

I refrain from rolling my eyes and mutter an apology.

“I’m going to need to see some ID.”

Now I really do roll my eyes because this cop is fucking with me. With slow movements, I withdraw my wallet and pull out my driver’s license. He jerks it from my hand and quickly inspects it with a small flashlight.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to empty your pockets and place the contents on the sidewalk.”

I drop my wallet to the ground and pull out the insides of my jean pockets to show that there’s nothing in them. A commotion from down the street draws both the officer’s and my attention toward it. Stoner Boy is having a scuffle with a white cop. The white cop manages to pin him to the ground and cuff him. This only seems to fuel the rage of the pig I’m dealing with.