Chapter One
Onyx
Absently, I flipped the zippo lighter in my fingers, open and shut, open and shut…waiting, listening to the sound of the click each time. I fucking hated waiting.
I looked at my shiny silver watch seeing each second tick by. Eighteen-oh-three. Jacob was three minutes late. Three minutes of my time wasted. One hundred and eighty seconds passed without my employee here.
Timeliness was a particular thing for me. An associate being late was an agitation I didn’t need. It showed their lack of respect for me, and that wouldn’t be tolerated under any circumstances. I ran the show. They were on my schedule, not the other way around.
The quiet, dimly lit restaurant being closed for the night was the perfect meeting place, no interruptions and no prying eyes. The smells of tomato sauce and garlic filtered through the air, embedded in the walls from years of use. This family-owned place, not mine of course, knew the need for discretion in my business. As for family, mine didn’t exist; at least by any blood relation that I claimed.
Standing, I slid the lighter into my pocket and made my way to the front door just as Jacob found his way inside, the door jingling from the small bell up above. With his face flushed and a look of fear, a feeling that he should have for being behind schedule, as he waltzed in, trying to hide his emotions, only pissing me off more. Late didn’t register to me—no matter who it was—ever. Everyone around me understood and accepted—I was in power, in control, the king to my disciples. Don’t disappoint me, don’t make me wait, and damn sure don’t piss me the fuck off—everyone knew, including Jacob Cole. It’s the first matter we discussed when someone came to work for me and they signed it in blood—their blood.
Jacob stood in front of me, but I didn’t look at him. Instead, I gazed just beyond him as if he didn’t exist, because to me he didn’t—not anymore. He had his chance to have my attention, to do his job. There were no second chances. There were no ‘get out of jail free’ cards in the game of life we lived. One time was all it took, and he decided today was his day. This shit was done. He was done.
“Bossman, I’m sorry, I was negotiating,” he muttered, and the words assaulted my ears like needles poking into the center of my eardrums, making them bleed.
I had just started moving and halted immediately at his statement. Instead of giving him my full attention, I maintained my eyes locked beyond the man just to my left, rolling one word around in my head. One word that should never come from anyone’s mouth except mine.
Before I managed a reply, the man whined on, “The buyer wants to bail if they can’t see the merchandise now. Even a 3-D imaging will do they said. It’s an empty threat, but they want reassurances of the item. It’s their first transaction, they’re just a little nervous and needed a little more.”
Turning my head, I stared at the trembling young man in front of me. Disgust, anger, and absolute disdain clouded my vision. To me, he was red. We were far from evenly matched, nowhere near equal levels—both physically or metaphysically. At six-feet-four-inches tall, Jacob stood a solid ten inches shorter than me. I was a ruthless businessman. He was a peon in over his head. So I glared down on him in more ways than one, proudly. It’s how I preferred it, and very few could match me in height to look me dead in the eye. Even those people had a hard time keeping my gaze.
Jacob had a slightly receding hairline and kept the rest of it short, probably in preparation for losing it completely. Drops of sweat rolled down his face where his cheeks visibly quivered from his fear. I could smell the fresh menthol of his recently smoked cigarette. It drove me insane. What an absolute waste he was!
Three minutes late… three minutes he probably spent puffing away on his tobacco stick, trying to calm his shit down outside, when he should’ve been in here facing me. Three minutes of my time he wasted for a cigarette. Fuck that shit.
He could smoke on his time, not mine. My time was money. My time was power. My time was mine… not his or anyone else’s.
“What did you say? You were negotiating?” I asked him, my voice firm.
He nodded then, thinking better of it, shook his head back and forth right behind it. Indecisive motherfucker. Which was it, yes or no? None of it fucking mattered; he was a dead man walking, his time about to end.
“Did you say the word negotiating?” I questioned again, demanding more than a stupid fucking head bob. “Be clear, Jacob. This is a precise business. The answer is simply yes or no.”
“Yes, Sir,” he stammered, hands trembling as the sweat continued pouring down his face soaking his white-collared shirt.
His fear, I fed off it.
His terror, I relished in it.
My reputation in this town demanded respect. I owned it hard and fierce.
In a swift movement, I slid the blade from the hidden wrist cuff built into the sleeve of my shirt. Settling the metal in between my middle and ring finger, I gripped the shaft knowing the blade was sharp and ready to pierce. From there, I swung my fist down in a forward motion catching my intended spot as I curved up.
I never missed a target.
My intention was pain, a slow torture, and to wake this motherfucker up so he knew without a doubt what was going on. My business was mine. He didn’t have the authority to negotiate with a client. No one did, and Jacob would be a fine example to spread word around town to my people, far and wide to the world, expanding and reaching the depths of the underworld. Everyone would remember not to fuck with me. It was a simple reminder—they worked for me, not the other way around.
I held the power of life or death.
My hand settled only when the blade could go no further inside his flesh. His thighs shook around my fist like he might not be standing much longer. “Your cock lays to the left so you feel the pain straight to your balls right now,” I told him calmly while he cried out in agony. “Jacob, this business takes balls. Ones you clearly don’t possess.”
I yanked the blade out and stepped away from my victim, leaving him standing in a puddle of his own piss and blood. Red trailed from his cock and balls, all the way down his legs as he crashed down to his knees harshly on the tile flooring.
He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, but unable to speak. I was certain the pain was unbearable and excruciating, which it was intended to be. He blinked rapidly, no doubt fighting to sort himself out, wanting to plead for mercy, yet fearing to in the same thought.
“Consider your services rendered. Your exit package will be delivered shortly, Jacob.”
He opened and closed his mouth absently before he could finally form words. “Please, Onyx. Please, give me another chance.”
Fucking pathetic.
Begging, not something I wanted to hear, ever. The only time I would listen to someone beg was a woman with luscious curves down on her knees wanting my cock.
A grown ass man begging with my name off his lips, that shit only pissed me off more by the second. When did men become such pussies?
“Onyx, please, I’ll do anything.”
Immediately, I shook my head. “No. Let me be clear since you have issues understanding. Your exit package will be delivered shortly—get your affairs in order, Jacob. Quick.”
The way he’s fucked up this deal, I should deliver the death blow myself. He knew what he was getting into when he came into the depths, just like every other individual in my association. The man assigned to Jacob’s exit understood his job, his role, and wouldn’t listen to a single word the man before me pleaded with to save his sorry ass. This was how my association worked—we each had a job to do, and we did it.
And we all made a fuck load of money in the process. We knew the fucking score and took that shit like grown men do. Jacob, he had gone soft. It’s a shame because when he started he had balls of steel. Alas, he made his bed, now he would lay in it.
Grabbing a cloth napkin from the nearby table, I swiped the blade clean before tossing the fabric back to the table. Sure, I would get a bill for the clean up, but nothing that just occurred inside these walls would ever be spoken outside of them. The consequences for crossing me were severe and unwavering. Everyone knew it and followed accordingly.
Slipping the knife back in its holder inside my shirt cuff, I made my way to exit the restaurant. Jacob reached out grabbing at my legs like a damn toddler, to which I shrugged off, turned around, and nailed him in the face so hard he fell to the ground completely.
“Be a man, Jacob Cole.” Those were my parting words as I stepped out into the cool night air.
On to the next. This was my life, my world, and it was all completely under my thumb.