Black Collar Beginnings: New York (Black Collar Syndicate) (5 page)

She makes a noise of protest and he gives her a slight squeeze. “Go on, princess. It’s fine. You’re safe.”

She glances up at him and nods.

The first few steps away from Caleb are difficult. Sshe shakes with nerves, and the gut-deep desire to wheel back into his safe orbit. Instead, she adds a little swing to her walk, her face blankly unreadable, and strides to the table where Mark and Rico and the others sit.             Alyssa is in David’s lap, her eyes a little glassy. Emma pauses, and gives the dealer a warning look. She leans into his space while Alyssa sways drunkly. “If you hurt her, Caleb won’t kill you. But I’ll make sure you never go anywhere in this syndicate. Do you understand?”

Amused respect flashes in his eyes, and he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

She grabs the shot out of Alyssa’s hand and downs it without letting herself think about the consequences. Coke is pounding through her, a counterpart to the music, and she grabs her friend’s hand. Alyssa grins, sloppy drunk but still down for a good time.

“Come dance, Lyss,” Emma orders, and the girl wiggles free of David. Clutching each other’s hands, they weave their way to the dance floor.

Emma loves dancing. There are few things that make her feel as alive as the sound of the music and her body swaying to it, surrounded on all sides by strangers. The alcohol swims in her blood, a sexy, dirty song coming on. Alyssa is swaying next to her, hands up in her raven black hair and Emma slows her motions to match her friend, maintaining a sexy grind that seems to slow time. The music fades under the roar of coke in her veins, and she lets her head fall back as Alyssa leans into her, lips skimming her neck.

Give them a good fucking show.

A hand wraps around her waist and she laughs, twisting to—

Not Caleb. The high of the dance fades, leaving only panic and adrenaline fueled by speed as she stares at the man holding her.

Tall. Aggressively attractive, with a self-satisfied smirk that makes her angrier than it does worried. No ink.

“Pretty little thing—you should dance with someone that could actually take care of that hot little pussy.”

A slow smile curls her lips as rage lights her up and she leans into him, up on tiptoes to whisper, “So what the hell are you doing bothering me?”

His expression turns ugly and she feels a tiny thrill of fear, something she isn’t used to.

Fearing her uncle is good sense. But it’s nothing like this—the knowledge that
he
might truly hurt her.

Lightening in a Bottle. New York City. October 8, 2012

He sees her, but what Caleb focuses on—what he really sees—is the hand on her, gripping the bare back her dress exposes, fingers digging.

Caleb sets his drink down, slowly, and stands. “Get everyone,” he orders, and then he’s moving across the space that separates him from his cousin and the asshole who’s holding her.

Very deliberately, he circles them so he can see her face. As much as he wants to take this fucker to pieces, he won’t—until he sees her face, and the fear that’s battling her anger, and he moves. Rico is there, catching her and pulling her a safe distance away. The guy makes a incoherent noise as Caleb grabs him by the back of the neck, bringing his face down on his knee.

She makes a choked noise, and he whips around, searching her face. Emma’s eyes are wide, terrified and furious, her face so white he feels a moment of worry.

But none of the happiness. None of the easy smiles he had seen from her in the car. That pisses him off, more than anything else. That this piece of shit scared her so much. Icy calm wraps around him and he releases a breath, forcing the rage away to offer her a lightning-flash smile. “It’s okay, baby. Rico, get her out of here. David, take the other ladies into the car. Now,” Caleb says softly, then he jerks the man away from Jimmy and hauls him toward the exit. Emma shouts suddenly, jerking away from Rico to collide with his chest.

He wraps an arm around her without thinking. She’s shaking, and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or fear; he just needs it to stop. Caleb glances at Rico, holding the fucker who touched their princess.

He remembers her fear, at his flash of temper. And his father, who could make everything a lesson.

“Bring him,” he says, softly, and turns Emma toward the back door.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” the guy shouts, and security appears. “Get this asshole off me!” he yells, indignant.

The security stares at Caleb, and he nods shortly to Rico, still steering Emma forward. The younger man sighs, and fishes a thick wad of cash from his pocket. The exchange happens smoothly, while he watches with ice-cold eyes, his hand petting down her hair softly. The security steps away and Caleb gives them a grim smile, before pulling her forward.

They don’t emerge on the carpet walkway he brought Emma in through. This is a black alley, lit by one streetlight almost fifty yards away. It’s rank, and Caleb can hear rats skittering away, chittering angrily as they are disturbed. The door to the club clangs shut, killing the thrum of music.

“What the fuck, dude?” the asshole says from where Rico sends him sprawling on the dirty alley ground. He scrambles to his feet, lunging into Rico’s face. He swings, and the enforcer ducks quickly, jabbing at the man’s ribs. He goes down with a muffled yelp.

“Hold up, Rico,” Caleb says, barely raising his voice. Rico eases out of his tense posture, and Caleb pulls Emma away from where she’s huddling against his chest.

She whimpers, and he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to be the one who has to do this. But Gabe is dead and Seth is gone. There
is
no one else.

“I scared you the other day,” he says, forcing her chin up so she is staring at him. Her eyes are wide, and confused, and he waits until he sees what he’s said sink in. She bites her lip and starts to speak. “Don’t. Stop. You’re a smart kid, Emma. You know we’re dangerous—in theory.”

She nods, her eyes glassy.

“Boss, what are we doing?” Rico shouts, and she flinches.

Caleb swallows the urge to tell Rico to fuck himself—and the urge to walk her out of this alley and away from this moment. There isn’t a way to go back from this.

“I’m going to show you why we’re dangerous. And why
you
will never be in danger.”

“Caleb,” she whimpers, and he kisses her forehead, quick and hard, before pulling away. 

Rico is staring at him, a mixture of disgust and disbelief in his eyes, but he steps away as Caleb approaches the guy on the ground. Caleb stares down at him, and sighs. Flicks a glance back at her. She’s shaking so hard he wonders how she is still standing. Tears are standing in her eyes, and they make his gut twist. Fear, that he can kill.

His resolve hardens, and he turns and kicks the asshole in the gut. The man whimpers, and even as she shrieks, a muffled noise, he forces himself to draw back and kick the guy again. To make it as brutal and dirty as possible—a bloody fucking object lesson.   

This. This is what the hotels and parties and nights in clubs hide—the brutal truth of their family.

“Do you have any idea who the hell you were fucking with?” Caleb says casually, and the guy moans. “Not an answer, man. You were willing to assault a lady on the dance floor, you can answer a fucking question.”

He kneels down, grabs a handful of hair and slams the man’s face into the pavement.

“A whore. A pretty dancer. Nothing,” the guy spits out.

Caleb feels a kick of respect, and amusement. It’s a ballsy answer when his face is being beaten to a fucking pulp on the sidewalk. He slams the guy’s head down and hears teeth crack against the dirty concrete.

Caleb rolls back on his heels. In a pair of faded jeans, scuffed combat boots and a vintage t-shirt, he’s underdressed for the club, but he’s at home on the street. Natural. A royal fucking thug. Bitterness twists in him, and he funnels it into his voice. “That girl is my cousin, you stupid fuck.”

The asshole manages to spit blood and teeth at Caleb’s feet. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he demands, hoarsely.

Caleb grins, a smiling face on gossip papers and police reports.

The guy pales, and Caleb laughs, a devil laugh, as the fucker’s eyes dart frantically between them. It’s far too late for that. He wonders if the idiot realizes it.

“I didn’t know—she. I didn’t know!”

Caleb shrugs. Stands. The asshole starts to scramble away as Caleb searches for something, and Rico makes an aggravated noise, stepping over to block his slow escape. 

“Problem, Rico?” Caleb asks. Rico shrugs, and gives him a small grin. Caleb grabs a rock off the ground and glances again at his cousin. “This will be messy, baby.”

She swallows hard, and Caleb nods at Rico. “Do it.”

Rico is crouched down, stretching the man’s arm out, and he’s twisting, fighting to get free. Caleb kicks him idly and drops down. He hefts the stone in one hand—it’s a broken piece of brick. Sharp and heavy and jagged.  Stealing himself, Caleb brings it down, viciously, on the man’s outstretched hand. The bastard screams, like a little bitch, but Caleb ignores him. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time, he can hear the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage, the wails of pain and vomiting. He doesn’t hear Emma, so quiet he thinks she’s fainted.

He keeps beating down until the hand is shattered so thoroughly it resembles hamburger, long after the guy goes limp and quiet. Then he let’s the rock tumble free, and stands. Rico is staring at him, his eyes dark. Emma stands a little bit away, shaking. She’s very pale, and looks like she’s going to throw up.

Caleb stands still, watching her, waiting for the disgust, for her to turn away from him. Finally she blinks, and a tiny frown turns her lips. She nods at his hand. “You need to clean up.”

The relief he feels shouldn’t make him so lightheaded. And as filthy as he is, he shouldn’t touch her. But he does. He pulls her into his arms, and she melts against him, shuddering. Over her red gold curls, he catches Rico’s eyes. “Get a crew down here to clean this up.”

Then he steers his cousin down the alley, away from the worst side of their world.

.

Bamboo. New York City. October 8, 2012

He keeps watching her, waiting for her to fall apart. She hasn’t. She turned the lights low enough that the girls don’t notice the wet stains on his knees. Her hands tremble a little—at her side, he notices what everyone else can miss—but she’s smiling and laughing.

Alyssa, drunk off her ass, pouts. “It’s too early to go home.”

Emma slides a look at him, and he sighs. “Bamboo, Brice.”

Rico shoots him a glarehe doesn’t want to decipher, so he ignores it.

This,
he thinks, leaning his head back and letting Emma fuss over his swollen knuckles,
is a bad fucking idea.

But it’s already done, and she doesn’t look like she cares. Well, of course she doesn’t. She has no reason to think she should.

He drags out his phone and taps a quick text out before pocketing it. Rico is watching him, and he leans down as Caleb shuffles in the mini bar.

“Boss, this is a bad idea. Bamboo is dangerous for her.”

“Remember whose cousin she is, Rico,” Caleb says softly.

“She’s in shock. That display was—” he hisses.

“Needed. She’s seventeen and part of the syndicate. We can’t protect her from it forever,” Caleb says, ruthlessly. Rico looks mutinous, but Caleb ignores him and leans back in his seat. Emma curls against him, and he glances down at her. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes are glassy and too bright.

“You okay, princess?” She nods, too quickly and he softens his voice. “We don’t have to stay. We can go home.”

“No, Caleb. I’m fine. I promise.” She gives him a false, bright smile, and he eyes her doubtfully.

But the car is slowing—Bamboo isn’t far from the previous club, and she pulls away from him.

“Stay put, ladies,” Rico says, pushing out of the limo. He strolls to the velvet rope barrier, ignoring the line people waiting to get inside. Talks quietly to the bouncer. Emma is watching, her eyes frankly curious. Caleb feels the first twinge of misgiving. Bringing her here is a risk, but there’s nowhere else he feels safe enough to take her. And it’s too late to change his mind now.