Page 40 of Intent to Kill
“That’s it?” Tia scoffed, throwing her jagged black hair over her shoulder.
Paul continued, “And better protection. For our share we’ll have bodyguards for each of your girls, and we’ll protect you from the goons that Blake will send.”
“Is he serious?” Tia asked Mercedes.
“Tia, how many times do you see girls bruised and bloody from a night with a client? Or worse, from what Dorian’s men do themselves?”
Tia closed her eyes, looking supremely frustrated, but if the two of them had anything in common, it was an inherent desire to protect the friends who had become family.
“Tia, you know we’re legit. We will protect you from Dorian and from any shit the clients throw at you. That way you can do your work and earn your money in peace knowing you and your girls are safe.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Tia said. “Anyone who goes up against Dorian Blake dies. Both of you should know that. I’ve already kept plenty of secrets for you, Mercedes, but I won’t put my girls in harm’s way for your ulterior agenda.”
Mercedes rubbed her head in her hands, trying not to lose her shit. What was with people insisting on being more stubborn than even she was lately? “Tia–”
“Get the fuck out of my face before you get me killed, too.”
Tia clenched her keys back between her fists and stalked off, leaving Paul and Mercedes standing alone.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Mercedes spat, kicking her boots against the puddles of rain on the pavement. “Goddammit!”
“You can’t blame her for being scared,” Paul said. “As far as she knows, the last person who tried this got themselves killed.”
“Yeah, fine,” Mercedes said.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Paul said, placing his hand on her back to lead her away.
Before they could get too far, Paul’s pager started beeping incessantly. And then Mercedes’s did, too. As if on cue, tires began screeching in the distance, squealing like they were getting closer. And closer.
Checking his pager, Paul grimaced. “Well, that can’t be good.”
A purple Chevrolet Camaro slammed to a stop in front of the club, and Adam’s head hit the headrest from the force of the slam. He was up, hanging out the window in a second. “Get in the car, baby!” He ran a panicked hand through his hair as he scrambled to the passenger seat. “Get in the fucking car!! I need you.”
8
HERE I COME
MARCH 1991
“What the hell have you done now?” Mercedes tightened her seatbelt and slammed the gas of the purple muscle car, leaving Paul gawking on the sidewalk as they raced away against the morning sun rising over the tropical city.
“It wasn’t me.” Adam held his hands in surrender. Mercedes glared at him from her side profile.
She’d bet anything that it was him.
Hands gripped tight on the wheel, she used her mirrors to survey the interior of the car. It wasn’t one of theirs, obviously, and it was filled to the brim with packs of cocaine.
“Shit,” she said.
“What?” Adam shot her a shit-eating grin. “It was a golden opportunity, T.B. walked away from his car, I made a run for it.”
“Dammit, you’re exhausting, you know that?”
Like a rattling reminder, the car jolted forward as the bumper was slammed.
“You said this was T.B.’s car?”
Adam nodded.
