Chapter One
Prince's eyes glazed over the string of dental floss that most of the girls wore. Their swimwear was a sea of solid colors that had already been solved by many hands. Bored with the flesh on display, he looked down at the cube in his hands.
Prince had solved his first Rubik's Cube at eight-years-old. At that young age, he'd known intuitively that if he repeated certain patterns, he could solve each color, side by side. Twenty years later, his fingers worked the cube until he'd made a cross-pattern with the yellow blocks. Then he executed a sequence of turns to make L-shapes with those same blocks. A few more twists and turns and he'd have a solid yellow side. The simple algorithm was so ingrained in his mind that his fingers solved the problem without the aid of his eyes, allowing his gaze to once again take in the party around his next door neighbor's pool.
His gaze fixed on a tasteful 1950's style bikini that fully cupped a pair of generous breasts and completely covered a heart-shaped ass. It was the complex color pattern that caught his attention. A Rubik's Cube had six faces. A bikini had three; four if you counted the back.
Fuck! He was looking at her ass. Prince turned back to the array of dental floss.
He could look at any ass, except hers. But the pattern on her bikini bottom stuck in his mind and he snuck another glance. On the fabric were blocks of the colors; white, red, green, blue, orange, and yellow — just like a Rubik's Cube. The yellow blocks would make a cross-pattern if she just turned to the right. Two twists to the left and the necessary L-shape would form. He worked out the pattern at the apex of her thighs. He knew the exact sequence to solve the triangular pattern on her left breast. He only needed to reverse it on the right breast.
When his gaze met round, pink lips that revealed pearly white teeth, he was stumped. He'd come to the end of the algorithm. He knew that returning Gabby's smile would be a miscalculation, so he looked away.
"Fuck, if I don't love the smell of coeds in the spring." Prince's best friend, Chief, leaned back in the lawn chair and surveyed the field around the pool. His plaid shirt was open revealing copper-toned chest hair that matched the purposefully shaggy red mop on his head and the sculpted ginger mass on his chin. His legs were spread as his light eyes looked over his domain like the Highlanders of his ancestry.
"Coed is another word for jail bait," said Sully. The other man tilted back a light brown beer bottle and then leaned forward in his chair. But his dark eyes locked on the shapely legs of a scantily clad brunette like she was an icicle in the desert sands of his homeland.
Prince's eyes found Gabby again. His attention always came back to her, a pattern from his youth. Five minutes of quiet and he'd have to look up to see what mischief the little girl next door was getting into. If he heard a light trickle of giggling followed by an indignant screech, he would know that his date had found gum in her hair, or a bug in her salad; all the handiwork of little Gabrielleia Hernandez, upset that Prince gave anyone but her his attention.
But those childish games were a thing of the past. Gabby was no longer an adolescent. She was a grown woman. He was too old to play with her like they used to and she was far too young to be anything but jailbait.
"College-fresh women are completely and wholly legal," said Chief. "Tell him, counselor."
Chief directed the comment at Prince. Prince twisted the cube in his hand and pulled on his legal training. "Technically, the federal age of consent is twelve."
Sully choked on his beer.
Chief dry heaved. "What the fuck, Prince? I said prove me right, not make my balls shrink."
"Once someone reaches eighteen," Prince continued, "they can consensually have sex with another person who is at least eighteen and neither party can be prosecuted for said sexual activities."
Prince's eyes went again to that nineteen-year-old pert ass. A man's hand was on Gabby's ass, passing to the right instead of the left. Prince felt the corners of the Rubik's cube dig into his palms. He'd been working the red face of the puzzle. That color bloomed in his mind as he stared at the hand on the ass, wanting to twist it until it popped out of its socket and off his property.
The word mine sounded in his head. Prince clenched his fists. He shook his head. He took a deep breath in, then relaxed his fingers. But the thought wouldn't budge.
Gabby had been his. Or rather, he'd been hers. She'd claimed him when she was just five years old, telling anyone who would listen that she was going to marry Prince when she grew up.
It was cute when she was five and he was fifteen. But when she turned sixteen and began to develop a C cup and she still proclaimed that they would one day be married, it was no longer cute. It was no longer proper. Neither was it proper that he was noticing things about the little girl who'd once been his shadow. And so he'd started making himself sparse, until finally she took the hint and moved on.
Gabby stepped away from the hand of the skinny excuse of a man she called her boyfriend. She turned and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him; a clear sign that she had little attention to give to him. She walked away, but the boy gave chase. It was clear that Gabby was done with him. And he wasn't happy about it.
Prince tensed. But he held his seat. He knew that Gabby could handle herself. She'd grown up the only girl on the block with a group of older males watching her every move. Her brother, Hawk, lounged in a chair on one side of the pool with Prince's brother, Eagle. Even if Gabby couldn't handle the skinny prick, those two would be on hand in a split second.
"Like I said," Chief was saying, "freshmen girls are legal. See, bruh, you have plenty of opportunities to put that law degree to use here at home."
"I'm heading down to Washington, D.C. for the interview with the bureau next week," said Prince.
Chief rolled his eyes. "This fucking shit again."
Any talk of Prince's plan to work with the Federal Bureau of Investigation made his smooth-talking friend clam up. Since their youth, Prince, Chief, and Sully had been united in their vigilantism against bullies and injustices. Standing up to schoolyard bullies, chasing drug dealers away from the community center, and challenging racists and bigots out in the street.
But they were all grown men now. It was past time for them to put down their capes, or motorcycle jackets, and get real jobs. That's why Prince was considering this job with the FBI, working for the Civil Rights Division in the Hate Crimes Unit.
"Both of you are selling out," said Chief.
Sully ignored Chief, like normal. The man had always been cool as a cucumber. He didn't work for the Department of Justice, but his allegiance was pledged to the United States. He was in the Army and he was soon headed off for a second tour in the Middle East.
"It's not selling out," said Prince. "We're still all about justice. It's just we do it legally and not like some cartoon comic book superheroes."
"No superhero wears a fucking badge," retorted Chief.
Chief shed his leather jacket. Prince watched as the Baztards Motorcycle Club emblem folded into a neat triangle, just like Prince had designed it to.
"Whatever," Chief said eyeing the fresh meat around the Hernandez's pool. "I'm about to show these little minnows how the big fish do it."
"If you make any of my friends cry, you'll have me to deal with."
Chief's proprietary grin turned into a pained wince. He turned and met with the arched eyebrow of Gabrielleia Hernandez. Gabby was a couple of inches over five foot. The top of her head met Chief's chest, and she had to tilt her head back to glare up at him. But the way Chief's head hung, it was as though a kitten brought down a lion.
"Aw, Gabs," said Chief. "You know I'm just talking shi-" He cleared his throat. "You know I'm just messing around."
"Hmmm," she nodded, then came close to his ear. "You see the blonde in the yellow bikini?" Gabby cocked her head towards the pool. "She's been talking behind my back all year long and then smiling to my face. Go get her."
Chief chuckled, gave Gabby a peck on the cheek, and then took his marching orders to go get that two-faced blonde. Poor girl. No one crossed Gabby without consequences.
Gabby watched Chief approach her frenemy with a wicked grin. Then she turned back to Prince and Sully. Prince held his breath, but she didn't turn to him.
"You doing all right, Sully?" she asked. "Can I get you another beer?"
"Thanks, Gabby, but I'm about to call it a night." Sully rose and pulled on his club jacket. The night was warm, but he'd rode his bike and the leather would protect him from the elements.
"Hawk says you're headed back overseas soon?"
"Yeah, second tour. Afghanistan, this time."
Gabby winced, pressing her lips together in a slight grimace, but quickly turned her frown upside down. "Can I write to you? I don't want you to get behind on The Real Housewives."
"Can't walk around Kabul not knowing if Bethany and Jill ever make up," Sully said with a grave face that made Gabby giggle.
He bent down and gave Gabby a kiss on top of her head. She put her arms around him for a hug. Sully startled. He wasn't so good with affection and Gabby always doled it out in spades. When she released him, he nodded to Prince and then headed out of the Hernandez's backyard. That left Prince alone with Gabby.
Prince hated the awkwardness between the two of them. It had never been that way before. Gabby had been attached to his hip before she could crawl. She'd been his shadow since she could walk. She'd struggled to keep up behind him when she could run. But then her increasing breast size came between them. Her widening hips made him take a step back. Her lush lips, whose pout he used to find adorable, had his eyes glued to the floor. But looking down he saw the pink polish on her toes and it made his pants feel uncomfortable.
"Hey," she said. Her voice had been high pitched for most of her life. Now it was husky and sex-ladened. "I made these for you."
Gabby produced a small plate of sandwiches. Charcoal chicken with a homemade, creamy chipotle sauce. Prince groaned and grabbed for the sandwiches. He took a bite. It was delicious as always. Gabby was an amazing cook. He'd devoured the first one before he remembered his manners.
"Thanks, Gabs."
She grinned, and just like that he saw his Gabby. But it was strange that she didn't come any closer to him for a hug. She was always hanging on him, snuggling up under him. Not anymore and he was sorry for it.
"So, how was your first semester at college?" he asked.
Gabby shrugged. "They didn't kick me out."
Academics had never been Gabby's strong suit. Social situations, cooking, and music were.
"How's orchestra going?" he asked and then finished off the second sandwich.
"I made first chair last month," she grinned.
"That's my girl." He reached up his hand, and she slapped it with all five of her fingers. Unfortunately, it was the hand he'd used to shovel food in his mouth and he got some of the chipotle sauce on her palm.
Gabby giggled and reached for a beach towel. She wiped her fingers, and then his.
"I hope you'll come to the end-of-year concert," she said as she dropped the towel back onto one of the lounge chairs.
Prince didn't miss the hope in her voice. He also didn't miss that she held onto his now cleaned fingers. He had been a constant fixture at her concerts since she picked up the cello. He'd never missed a recital or concert.
"Sorry, Gabs." He rubbed his thumb over hers just like he'd done when she was a little girl. The move often settled her when she was upset. "I may not make this one."
Gabby lowered her lashes and pressed her lips into a tight pout. Prince had to look away. He could not resist the pout.
"I might be out of town." He might as well get this over with. "I got offered that job with the Bureau."
Her eyes widened, and the pout fell away, replaced by open-mouthed astonishment. "In D.C.?"
Prince had the urge to fold her into his arms like when she was a toddler. To kiss the booboo. To rock her to sleep. But he didn't have a chance to do any of those things.
"Gabby, can I talk to you?"
Both Gabby and Prince turned to her boyfriend. Their hands were still entwined. Prince had forgotten. For a long time, it had been so natural to hold her hand. That word sounded again in his mind; mine. But he knew that wasn't right. She could never be anything more than the little girl he used to hold, the girl next door that he used to watch over, the teen he'd watch out for. Slowly, he unfurled his fingers from the young woman's and he let her go.
"I'm going to take off," Prince said.
He didn't look back as he walked away. He wasn't ready to go home, and so he headed for the pool house. Before he went in, he chanced a look back.
Prince watched as Gabby put her hands on her hips and squared off with the boyfriend. He remembered when those hips were straight lines. They were all curves now. When she put her hands on her square hips as a little girl, there was no way anyone would win an argument against her. Now, with all those curves, well, there still was no way anyone was winning an argument against her. Gabby had always been able to bend the men in her life to her will, and this skinny prick would be no different.
Prince watched as the skinny prick's head drooped. Gabby raised a hand with her finger pointing to the gate. After the prick shuffled off, she turned back to her guests. She plastered on a smile that would make her mother proud and continued to play hostess.
Prince grinned. Nothing could shirk his girl. He shook his head. She wasn't his girl anymore. She never would be his girl. Which was why Prince needed to get out of here and take that job in D.C.