Page 11 of Diamond In The Rough

“Tall!” Jazzy sets her elbow on the bartop, and when the bartender looks her way, she gives him her sex-kitten smirk. “She’d like a tall glass, please. But light ice. Otherwise, she’ll rage-chew it like an angry little hamster.” She winks and slaps her credit card down in front of us. “And I’ll have a vodka-tonic, please.”

3

MICAH

WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT?

Imake my way up the stairs inside CeCe’s, music thudding in my veins, and my hands clenching at my sides. But try as I might to ignore the impulse, I look over the mezzanine railing and monitor the brunette at the bar. I study the long angles of her body. Her trim, athletic shoulders peeking from her skimpy tank. The sinewy muscles obvious, despite her compact frame. Lower down, lean thighs and muscular calves promise that Ms. Hale is no stranger to exercise.

Whether she attends a gym or punishes herself with a late evening jog the way I do, I don’t know. But she knows exertion. She knows hard work.

Tiia wears cheap jewelry: a couple of bracelets that shimmer beneath club lights, and a thin gold chain around her neck. Its discoloring implies she wears it always, even when she’s sweating or showering.

I trudge along the second floor, through the VIP area and around armed men who wear crisp suits. They don’t stop me. They don’t get in my way as I continue through and watch Tiia’s sidekick, the red-headed spitfire, flirt with Gregory. It seems she likes dudes with a beard; or maybe, she just likes dudes period. Likes to flirt. To be loud.

Which, from my two minutes with Tiia, I think is the complete opposite to her personality.

She has a personality. It’s kind of outgoing, and rooted deeply in sarcasm and passive aggression… a pleasant change, considering my closest and best friend in the world, my brother Felix, lacks any sign of passivity in any form.

“Micah!” Felix sits back at ‘his’ table, the one perched in the corner, so he gets a bird’s-eye view of the club beneath, but remains shadowed and secure, so no one sees him unless he wants them to.

I peel my focus from the maybe-Hawaiian, maybe-Puerto Rican, but definitely quick-witted Tiia, and bring it across to my brother as I come to a stop in front of Michaels and Stovic—Felix’s soldiers when I’m not around.

They part, dipping their chins in acknowledgment as I pass, then I circle around behind my brother, my eyes burning into the side of Tiia’s face as she sips from her drink and listens to her friend chatter incessantly.

“Who is that?” Felix picks up his lowball glass and takes a small sip, glancing back at me a moment later when my lips remain firmly shut. “Micah?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” I snag a chair and haul it away from the table, plopping down so fast, the feet scrape against the floor. “Tiia Hale. She says she’s a New Yorker, but she looked pretty fuckin’ lost when I found her outside.” I bring my hands up and dig my right thumb into my left palm, massaging the ache that ricochets from my fingers and spreads along my forearm in waves. “She’s not a schoolteacher, dancer, artist, musically or otherwise, nor is she a journalist, according to her, but she won’t tell me what she actually does. Apparently, she lives in the East Village. Didn’t say whether she lives alone.”

Silence hangs but for the thud, thud, thud of music pumping from the speakers. The movement of bodies downstairs. The slide of women’s bodies on a stage.

CeCe’s has already turned over a million dollars in legitimate trade since we opened our doors a month ago. The cops occasionally walk through, searching for violations, but we welcome them, invite their attempt to uncover what isn’t there, then bid them a pleasant farewell when they find nothing and leave with a bad attitude.

They only get three visits before we call in declaring harassment, and a badge never again walks through our doors unless they have a warrant.

The club is raking in enough cash to keep Felix happy, and me, less stressed.

Current situation notwithstanding.

Finally, after a contemplative moment, Felix sets his elbows on the table and drags his attention from Tiia’s profile. “Are you looking to fuck her, marry her, or kill her? Because,” he taps the side of his fist against my arm, demanding my attention when I would rather watch her under the club lights. “I’m not really sure what your expression is saying right now. I’m sensing…” he sits back and shows off a lopsided grin, “attraction. But you’re mad about it.”

“I’m not attracted.” I mean… I am. I suppose. But that’s because she’s beautiful and brave. Two of my favorite things in a woman. “And I’m not mad.”

“Then why are you scowling?” He reaches across and pokes the deep line etched between my brows. “You look cranky.”

I slap his arm away, drawing the beady stares and warning gazes of every guard on our payroll.

But Felix isn’t my boss. Not in the way he’s everyone else’s. He’s not my superior, the way the media and everyone outside our world believes.

Felix took up for the family where our father left off when he died. So when a Malone must speak, Felix is the mouth; when a Malone must be seen, it’s Felix’s face that’s presented. When a decision must be made, it’s Felix that people look to.

But that’s all just about appearance.

Felix is the figurehead of the Malones, because if a Malone must be executed, then he wants it to be his back in the crosshairs.

That’s what he does. He protects his brothers.

But decisions are rarely made without joint agreement. And investments are never made without a majority vote.

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