Page 18 of Collateral Love
I watched her walk away, my mind already recalculating everything I thought I knew.
Because ambition had always driven me.
But control?
Control was something you had to build with the right people.
And whether I liked it or not, Kenya was becoming one of them.
The runner was twenty years old. Skinny. Loud when he drank. Always needed reassurance. I’d clocked him as a weak link months ago, but kept him around because he moved fast and didn’t ask about percentages.
That was on me.
I called him fifteen minutes after leaving the deli.
“Where you at?” I asked.
“At my girl’s crib,” he said. Too quick. Too eager. “What’s up?”
“Pull up,” I said. “Now.”
He hesitated.
“Zay, I’m?—”
“Now,” I repeated. Calm.
Then, “Aight. Bet.”
I hung up and drove.
We met at the warehouse off Carson. It was empty and quiet during the day. Xavier was already there, leaning against my car, arms folded.
“You sure?” he asked.
I nodded. “I got it, you just arrange cleanup.”
He didn’t argue.
That told me he was learning.
Martin pulled up twenty minutes late.
He stepped out smiling too widely, hands moving too much.
“What’s good, Z?” he said. “You good?”
I watched him approach, noted the way his eyes darted. The sweat at his temples even though it wasn’t hot.
“You nervous?” I asked.
He laughed. “Nah.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
His smile faltered.
“You've been talking,” I said.
