Page 82 of All's Fair In Love & War

“Shame,” Nova said, “Would be a lot more interesting if it was.” She slipped the cash into her coat pocket and leaned back, finally at ease.

Chyna cackled, but then her face straightened, as if she’d remembered she didn’t trust me. “So. If we say yes, do we work for you or with you?”

“For me,” I said, slow and measured so even the doubters could gnaw on it. “Let’s not get it twisted. We’re not partners. This is my shit, and what I say goes. As fast as I put a smile on my face is as fast as I’ll put a bullet in your head if you cross me. The lines of power don’t blur here.”

Ro licked her lips, a nervous habit, then fixed her eyes on mine. “If I do this, my daughter’s safe? No crazy shit?”

“You’ll be returned to her as soon as we leave tonight,” I promised, “and nobody so much as looks her way unless it’s to pick her up from practice. You have my word.”

“Then I’m in,” she said without hesitation as she pulled her cash in front of her.

Everyone looked at Chyna.

She hadn’t moved, and her expression was calm, but not passive.

“You ain’t said nothing,” Meeka said, side-eyeing her. “You in or what?”

Chyna tapped her nails on the table slowly, then finally, she looked up at me. “You said the lines of power don’t blur, right?”

I nodded once.

“You’re the boss, but we’ll be taken care of, and you’ll treat us fairly.”

I didn’t flinch. “I will.”

Chyna rubbed her hands together and slid the money off the table into her hoodie. “Cool. Then I’m in, but if you ever treat me like a weak bitch, you might as well put a bullet in my head. I’ll die about my respect.”

I smirked. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And just like that, the circle was formed.

My circle.

The beginning of something special.

Chapter 20

Play Me For A Fool

Naeem

Two of my men and I pulled into the lot beside Vital Exchange Plasma Center and killed the engine. This was Tatum’s establishment, and I had to admit, she had it booming harder than a trap house. The line wrapped halfway around the building, and men and women of all ages were waiting to trade plasma for a few quick dollars.

When she first told me about the blood banks, I didn’t see the vision. But when she explained that they mainly dealt in cash, things started to fall into place. The beauty of it was in the volume and the noise—hundreds of transactions happening daily, all small, all believable. Nobody questioned the flow because people were always struggling financially, and there was always blood to be sold.

Each donor walked in, signed paperwork, and left with a few bills in hand. What the books showed was a steady stream of legitimate payouts. What they didn’t show were the extraenvelopes slipped under the table, the inflated donor counts, and the ghost names added to the system to clean dirty money.

Tatum made sure it all passed inspection. On paper, it appeared to be a model operation characterized by low overhead, high volume, a cash-based approach, and community service. In reality, it was a front that moved hundreds of thousands a month without a single red flag.

Genius didn’t even cover it.

To top that off, she didn’t just use the place to clean dirty money. She turned a profit doing it. The plasma they collected didn’t sit in a freezer out back. It got processed, packaged, and sold off to hospitals and pharmaceutical companies for top dollar. That meant everything coming in was multiplied on the backend. She was paying out scraps to desperate folks, flipping their plasma into contracts worth six figures, and nobody thought twice about it because it was medicine. The system was airtight, legal, lucrative, and damn near untouchable.

I confirmed my weapon was hidden at my waist before exiting the car. After straightening my jacket, I made my way to the entrance. Some of the people we passed looked nervous, some looked numb, but they all seemed to need whatever they had come to get. That was what this place was good for, even if the slight financial relief was only temporary.

Once inside, I found myself nearly having to squeeze through the crowded lobby, which was alive with a whirlwind of activity. The air was thick with the hum of conversations and the shuffle of feet, creating an energetic symphony of noise. I navigated my way past the reception desk, where a young woman glanced up from her work. Our eyes met briefly, and I gave her a polite nod, which she returned with a quick, acknowledging smile.

Tatum’s office sat at the back of the building, tucked behind a long hallway lined with stacked boxes and staff movinglike clockwork. Upon reaching her door, I noticed it was slightly ajar, and I could hear someone speaking. It was most likely Riley. They were thick as thieves and didn’t often leave one another’s side.

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