Kaci

 

I twisted the knob of the hotel room door, my face, lips, and body already set in the “You're the most handsome man I've ever met, and no, I'm not just saying that because of the money” style I'd been practicing for the past four years.

 

I cocked my hips out to one side, arched my back, and pouted my glossy lips. My heavy eye lids dropped another fraction of an inch, making sure my James would get to fully experience my bedroom eyes before we even made it that far, and I ran a hand through my auburn hair to muss my tresses up a little more. Nothing quite like giving them that “just fucked” look before they even get you out of your dress.

 

“You're early,” I said with a smile as I swung the door open. “I wasn't expecting you for-”

 

“Kaci? Oh my God, I knew that was you in the lobby!” My words caught in my throat as the boy on the other side of the door pushed his way past me and into the room. Dumbfounded, I just watched him as he came into my room. “I just knew it was you!”

 

Finally, I found my words, despite my shock. “Rommy?” I asked, my mouth finally working.

 

My little brother, Romeo Sizemore, had just pushed himself into the hotel room where I was about to fuck a random stranger. I hadn't seen him in going-on four years, ever since I'd run away from the house the night of Momma's funeral. And, wow, he'd changed. He'd grown almost a foot, it seemed, and his face had started to really look like our Daddy's. Same cheek bones, same strong jaw, same dark brown eyes. Now sixteen-years-old, he looked down at me for the first time in our lives.

 

My heart leaped for joy even as it sunk deep in my chest. He had no idea who I really was anymore, or what I had to do to make it in this world.

 

Four years can be rough, especially when you start that time by living on the streets. I'll say one thing, though. Paying for rent by working on your back is a hell of a lot easier than living under an overpass. Especially when the rains start up in spring.

 

He looked around the room, taking the whole thing in. “Sis, you're doing real well here, ain’tcha?” he asked as he ran a long, graceful hand through his tussled brown hair. I'd gotten Momma's dark red hair, he'd gotten our Daddy's brunette. We'd both gotten her lips, though, the little cupid's bow.

 

“Rommy,” I said, going over to him, my legs wobbling a little in my high heels, “you gotta go. You gotta get outta here.”

 

“Why?” he asked. “Think Raymond's right behind me or something?”

 

“Well, yeah,” I said. Raymond Paxton was our abusive stepfather, the one I'd been running from after Momma died, and the thought had occurred to me. But only mildly. My bigger concern, honestly, was that I was on a job just then. The next man at my door was going to be either my next James, or my pimp Abram. It wouldn't do to have either of them walking in while Romeo was here, even if he was my little brother.

 

“Don't worry, sis,” he said, coming over to me, arms outstretched for a hug. “He's in jail, and he ain't coming back. Bastard's going to prison”

 

“What?” I asked, shocked for the second time that night, as my brother took me into his arms and gave me a huge hug, the type of hug I hadn't felt in years. It was the type of hug only a kid brother can give an older sister. Warm and strong, with no judgment or malice. The kind of hug that told you the hugger couldn't care less about your past, or that you may have let them down all those years ago.

 

It was just the kind of hug that said, “I love and miss you.”

 

I rested my painted-up face against his chest, felt some of my base and powder come off on his shirt.

 

“He was driving drunk,” he said, and I could almost hear the grin in his voice, “and hit a cop car.”

 

I stifled a laugh and pulled back from his chest. I looked up into those dark brown eyes of his, marveling at the way they matched mine so perfectly. Four years, come and gone.

 

“So, you can come home, Kaci,” he said, squeezing my shoulders. “If, you know, you want to.”

 

I stepped back, breaking his grip, and turned away from him. “Rommy,” I said.

 

“Or, you know, you don't have. I could come out here, you know.”

 

For a moment, I realized how much I wanted to go home, to go be with him, or to bring my little brother our here to New Orleans with me. He was alone now, with our stepfather going to prison.

 

Sure, Raymond was an abusive piece of shit and a total creep. The reason I'd left . . . let's just say a father shouldn't look at his daughter that way. They'd been bad before Momma passed, but were steadily getting worse even before we put her in the ground. But, with Romeo, at least he'd just beat him. He'd still made sure he went to school, had a roof over his head.

 

Now, who was going to do that? Who was going to take care of my little brother? Me?

 

I bit my lower lip. Yeah. Me. I could do it. I just had to get away from Abram, first. Hell, I'd run from Raymond four years ago. Why couldn't I just run from Abram, too?

 

“Kaci?” Rommy asked from behind me. “You okay, sis?

 

“Yeah,” I said, smiling a little. My brother. I realized then how much I'd tried to stop missing him so much, and how I'd finally managed to. I turned around, that little smile still on my lips. “You're right. Let's go. Lemme grab my purse.”

 

“Just like that?” Rommy asked, grinning from ear to ear. His sister had just come back to him, of course, and he sure as hell had a reason to smile that way. “But, you've got this room for the night.”

 

I chuckled a little, shaking my head at my brother naivety. I went over and grabbed my purse, then put my hand in his and tugged wholeheartedly for the door.

 

“Why not just stay here?” he asked as I looked back at him.

 

“Because, silly,” I said. “If you're going to start a new life, why wait? Just go and do it!”

 

He laughed, his voice happy and full, echoing in the room. “Sure, Kaci. Yeah, you're right, let's get going.”

 

My hand went for the door handle, but stopped half-way. I heard the lock's electronic tumbler disengage with a loud click as someone inserted a keycard into the room's reader.

 

“What's up?” Rommy asked.

 

“Bathroom,” I said, my voice a quiet hiss as I turned and began to shove him in the room's bathroom. “Get in the bathroom and don't come out.”

 

“Kaci,” my brother said, his voice lower than before but still too loud. “What the fuck're you doing, sis?”

 

“Just stay in here and shut the fuck up,” I hissed again.

 

There was only two men who would be opening the door like this. My next James, or Abram, my pimp. Having Rommy in the room with me if it was the first one wouldn't be too bad, but having him here with the second would be suicide.

 

“Kaci?” Abram asked from behind me as I shut the bathroom door on my little brother. His thick, Russian accent filled the room with its bravado.

 

“Right here,” I said, surprising him from being so close.

 

Abram was tall and lean, like an old fence post. Scars covered his hands and, even in the well-tailored suits he always seemed to wear, he looked like a thug. Something about the way he walked, the way he appraised a room or the men he met on the street, like he was sizing everything up to see what kind of threat you would be. And, if you weren't determined a threat, too bad. That just meant you were easy prey. Tonight, with his black suit and gray shirt, he looked even more like a predator than usual. Like a lean wolf, or a hungry shark swimming around the beach.

 

He took a step back and looked me up and down, like he was appraising me and my looks, determining whether I was up to his snuff.

 

Abram had picked me up from another pimp a year or so before. I wasn't sure of the exact details, just that he'd shown up at the apartment I shared with one of the other girls, and told us there were going to be changes. When Sydney, my roommate and best friend, asked about what happened to Carson, our old manager, Abram just told us not to worry. Carson wasn't around anymore. He'd had an accident.

 

There wasn't a funeral, and nobody was ever found. We never reported him missing, either. Carson had been kind of a dick, and hadn't exactly been gentle if you were short on money. Abram, though, made lots of threats. But at least he never beat us.

 

With his eyes poring over my body, I sucked in my stomach a little, lifted my chin higher, pushed my shoulders farther back. I knew I was hot, I knew I was dripping sex appeal. I just hoped it was good enough for Abram, good enough to satisfy him so Rommy and I could get out of here.

 

“You alone here, koshechka?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, Abram,” I lied, “of course I am.”

 

“I heard a man,” he said. “No man in here?”

 

“No,” I said, furiously shaking my head. “My James hasn't shown up yet.” God, if he found Rommy in the bathroom, I didn't know what he'd do. Beat him? Toss him out? I'd probably get some of his fists, too.

 

His eyes bored into mine, seemed to reach into my soul.

 

Inwardly, I was sweating bullets. Outwardly, I just shrugged. I bit my lip a little, tried smiling to reassure him.

 

“Dah,” he said, nodding a little. He pushed past me and went to stand in the middle of the room, just like Rommy had a scant few minutes before. He turned to me and made a gesture with his hand, ordering me to turn around for him. He liked to inspect his wares before they were delivered.

 

I spun around for him, my skirt riding up a little on my butt.

 

“Good,” he said. “Very good. Want you pristine, perfect for The Don when he get here.”

 

“The Don?” I asked as I took a step forward, my curiosity piqued despite my nerves being on edge about my little brother hiding in the bathroom. “Who's the Don?”

 

“Trump,” he said, laughing.

 

I shook my head, not getting the reference. “Who?”

 

“Joke, joke,” he said as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. He took his phone out, fiddled with it for a moment as he spoke. “Here, this the Don.” He handed me the phone, a picture of a man pulled up on the screen.

 

I felt an almost unfamiliar tingle as I looked over the image in front of me. He was handsome, with chestnut hair combed back from his face and pale blue eyes. His beard was full, but trimmed well, and I could see how strongly defined his jaw was. Something about him just had a devil-may-care attitude to it, too. Maybe it was the way his full lips were set, almost like they were in a permanent half-smirk.

 

Whatever the reason, I immediately thought to myself that being a working girl sometimes had its perks. It might even be worth it to stick around one more night, if it meant I got to meet a man like the Don for once. I could leave with Rommy in the morning, just as well as I could right now. Right?

 

Abram must have seen the look in my eyes, because he let out a deep chuckle as he pried the phone out of my hands and took it back. “Ready for the Don when he come? Yes?”

 

“Yeah, Abram,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest.

 

He passed me and headed off to the door, grabbed the door's handle. “Good,” he said. “You my number one koshechka, Kaci. Real good girl, eh?”

 

“Yeah, Abram,” I said as I joined him at the door. “Number one,” I said, nodding.

 

Satisfied I was both alone and ready, he pulled the door open and went to leave.

 

“Home free,” I thought. One more night, maybe, but free after that. Now, all I needed was Abram to walk out that door, then I could push my kid brother out after him.

 

I took a deep breath. Home stretch. We got this.

 

But then, it all came apart. Romeo sneezed. There's nothing out there like a sneeze, no sound of plumbing or a fan coming on that could be mistaken for it.

 

Abram stopped in his tracks and released the door, letting it slam shut in only the way a hotel room door can.

 

My heart may have stopped in that moment. I pressed myself into him, screaming. “Abram! It's not what you think! It's just my brother in there!”

 

He threw me off him, pushing me back into the room. “Lying shylukha,” he shouted as I sprawled on my back on the thick hotel carpet. He reached inside his black suit coat and came back out with a pistol, a big, heavy looking automatic.

 

“Kaci?” Rommy asked through the door.

 

“No, Rommy!” I screamed.

 

But, hearing the commotion, Rommy came bursting out through the door.

 

The sound of the gun going off was like a roar of thunder, so loud and so complete, it felt like the world itself was shaking at its roots. Eyes wide, my little brother stumbled back into the bathroom. He reached back out, into view, and gripped the edge of the door frame with a bloody hand, almost as if he thought he could pull himself back to the moment before he'd sneezed, back to that instant before the gun had fired and he'd had his whole life ahead of him.

 

Abram, his eyes distant, followed after Rommy and stepped into the bathroom, the look on his face almost one of disbelief.

 

My ears ringing from the gunshot, I climbed to my feet. I didn't realize I was screaming until I'd run into Abram as he came out of the bathroom, a look of shock on his face as he dropped the pistol between us.

 

I reached down faster than him, and he stepped back as I brought the gun back up, both hands clasping desperately to the big pistol.

 

“Fuck you, Abram,” I screamed.

 

# # #

Micah

 

“Still don't think this is a good idea, Micah,” Gov said as he leaned back against the elevator wall. We were riding up to the ninth floor of the New Orleans Sheraton, on our way to meet what may have been our new man on the inside. “This Abram guy sounds like he ain't offering us anything Bradley can't.”

 

Gov was my best friend, my confidante, and my second-in-command of the God’s Hellfire MC. He was a real bruiser, but had as sharp a mind as any when it came to this kind of game.

 

“Look, man,” I said, running a hand back over my slicked back, brown hair, “this Abram guy's promising us a bigger haul from Petrov. Says he knows the routes, that he can make this a safer bet for us. Every time we go out and hit one of those trucks, we open ourselves. We get one of the drivers, though, a driver like Abram, we get a better, safer shot.”

 

We'd been ripping off Petrov Arms for almost the last year. We had a contact, Bradley, who worked in dispatch. They shipped the guns, we pulled 'em over. Then, we offloaded them to our contacts. Before, we'd been knocking over electronics shipments. But you just couldn't compare the price of a flatscreen TV to a clean semi-auto rifle, especially not when they hit the streets.

 

Between this little racket and Club Hades, we were pulling down a healthy income for me and all the members of the club. What we'd been making when my dad was in charge was chump change compared to the kind of numbers we were putting on the sheets, now.

 

The number on the elevator kept rising, and we followed with it as we ascended to our meeting in the sky. Gov glanced up at the numbers, at the bright digital 7 displayed, saying, “Still don't like this shit, brother. Seems too fucking easy.”

 

I looked at the floor and laughed, shaking my head. “Man, you got a fucked up idea of easy. You think knocking over semis full of guns is fucking easy, even if we got an inside man on it?”

 

“Guy’s gonna want a bigger cut than Bradley,” he said as the elevator slowed and that weird feeling of weightlessness entered my chest.

 

“Bigger cut of a bigger pie, though,” I said as we exited the elevator together. “Abram can have a couple more points than what Bradley took, as long as F&B is bringing in bigger shipments with less worry.”

 

“Down there, right?” Gov asked, pointing down the hallway. “923?”

 

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. We headed down that way.

 

“Still don't like it,” Gov mumbled.

 

“Said the same shit when I first proposed this,” I reminded him. “And look where we are now? Same risk, more reward. Just remember who the boss is, here.”

 

“Nah,” Gov said. “I get it, Micah. You're the boss, man. Ain't nobody said different.”

 

“We'll make it work, man,” I said, my voice as confident as I felt. “We got this shit on lockdown, man. Trust me. Ain't no way we ain't coming out on top with this.”

 

We stopped outside 923. It was just a room in a hotel, same as every other room in this joint. Gov looked one way up the hall, and I looked down the other.

 

There was the sound of a gunshot on the other side, then a scream, a long, pained scream. I took a step back, reaching for the gun I had beneath my vest. Beside me, Gov did the same. We locked wide eyes.

 

“Shit,” Gov whispered.

 

“Shit,” I whispered back, nodding.

 

Another gun shot.

 

Gov took another step back, tucked his pistol away, back beneath it. “I say we book it.”

 

“Good idea,” I agreed. “This shit's tits-up on arrival, man.”

 

I tucked my gun back in my jacket, and we both turned to leave.

 

Room 923's door, though, came flying open.

 

A bare slip of a woman, not much older than her early twenties, ran out of the room on heels almost bigger than her, auburn hair flying out behind her. Her eyes were wild, scared, angry, in shock.

 

Before I could get out of the way, she slammed right into me, almost barreling me over, her handbag slapping me in the shoulder and side of my head.

 

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “Hey, hey,” I said my voice calm and soothing. “Chill out, lady. Everything's going to be okay.”

 

She looked up at me with terrified dark brown eyes that peered out from a ring of heavy mascara and dark eye shadow.

 

Something about those eyes, they did something to me. I didn't know what, or why, but they just looked right into me.

 

“Are you,” she started to ask, licking her lips in the most enticing of ways, “are you the Don?”

 

“Uh,” I said as I looked at Gov, and he looked back at me, both of us shocked, “how'd you know that?”