Читать книгу The Game Never Ends - Zaire Crown - Страница 9

Chapter Two

By the time Tuesday made it home, dusk had descended and the landscape lighting bathed the limestone facade of the big Grecian mansion in a luminous white. The portico over the front entrance was supported by huge columns with decorative acanthus capitals. Out front, statues of Aphrodite and Athena stood post on either side of a wide, reflecting pond where a fountain sprayed water jets into the air that resembled arcs of gold coins when dazzled by the moonlight. Tuesday often thought that their house looked like something that should sit atop Mount Olympus rather than be a home for ordinary mortals.

She parked her white SLS AMG Benz beneath the portico behind Marcus’s black G Wagon SUV and the two-tone Rolls Royce Wraith they shared. The rest of their toys were kept in the attached garage. She sighed when she saw her stepfather’s Bentley Mulsanne, only because she had hoped to avoid him until tomorrow.

Tuesday killed the engine but didn’t get out. She wasn’t quite ready to face her family. For a second she just sat there behind the wheel of her two-hundred-thousand-dollar car, looking out over the grounds of her thirty-million-dollar estate.

Life was good. In fact, life was so damned good that it was easy to forget how hard things used to be. Just three years ago, Tuesday would spend months plotting a lick that might only net her twelve grand when now she could easily spend ten times that in a single trip to the Hermes store. She had forgotten about those lonely nights in her one-room condo, eating microwave dinners with only her cat for company: no family, no man, and so horny that she was going through fresh batteries every few days. She promised herself that she would never take Marcus and the girls for granted, but that was exactly what she had done. That was why she had to cut Shaun loose.

Tuesday never hid the fact that she was bisexual; she and Marcus had even tag-teamed a few thots. Those times had been just for fun but Tuesday broke the rules when it came to Shaun. First, she had kept her a secret, and second, she had gotten emotionally attached. She knew it was no excuse, but the past few months had produced a change in her husband. He was more reclusive, opting to work from his home office rather than be at Abel. Marcus had never kept many friends but he was being less social with the few people in his inner circle.

While he was physically more available to Tuesday and the girls, spending lots of time with them, mentally he still seemed to be elsewhere. Even when he was laughing and playing tickle-monster with Tanisha, there would flash a far-off look in his eyes that gave Tuesday concern.

Their sex had even suffered, but only because Tuesday felt like he wasn’t connecting with her emotionally. There was no drop-off in his skill or stamina, in fact, over the past month Marcus had been wanting her more than ever, and he still earned a standing ovation from that ass whenever he hit it from the back. Still, Tuesday didn’t enjoy it as much because she sensed he was only using her as a distraction from some problem he was secretly dealing with.

Tuesday’s repeated inquiries were met by casual dismissals. A few times he offered simple explanations that she knew were only to shut her up.

Although Marcus was being distant, Tuesday knew that it didn’t justify her creeping with Shaun. Marcus had done so much so for her that she felt he could ignore her for a year and it didn’t warrant her sneaking behind his back. This was selfish and potentially dangerous considering what happened to the last woman who cheated on him.

Her husband did so well at disguising himself as Marcus King, respectable entrepreneur and philanthropist, that Tuesday sometimes forgot about his alter ego, Sebastian Caine: ruthless drug lord. An ex-fiancée had done him dirty in the past and gotten her head chopped off because of it. Tuesday didn’t think Marcus was that person anymore but knew betrayal could bring the worst out in people.

Many women who went both ways often used the saying “eatin’ ain’t cheatin’” but Tuesday didn’t subscribe to this. She knew if she caught Marcus with a young side-piece, Tuesday would kill that bitch even if she was only sucking his dick.

But she never had to worry about this because Marcus was fiercely loyal. She knew how rare that was in a man and it made her feel even worse.

A flawless fourteen-carat cushion-cut diamond dominated her left hand. She glanced at it, feeling unworthy of the ring or the man who gave it to her.

After a little more self-loathing, Tuesday finally let up the gull-wing door on her AMG and entered the house. They had twenty-two thousand square feet under one roof: eight bedrooms, fourteen baths, two elevators, two indoor pools, a gym with a sauna and a home theater. Carrera marble ran throughout the first floor, and the grand staircase in the foyer was adorned with custom brass balustrades designed by Versace. From the ceiling, twenty-five feet above, hung decadent chandeliers made in Paris by some designer with a name Tuesday still couldn’t pronounce.

There was a time when Tuesday had been intimidated by the big white house, but it quickly became as comfortable as an old slipper.

All the staff had already gone for the day so the house was quiet and still.

Tuesday had been gone since breakfast and had eaten nothing the entire day—except for Shaun. They had two kitchens, a gourmet kitchen plus an executive chef’s commercial kitchen, which they only used to cater formal gatherings. The first was the smaller of the two and where Tuesday immediately went for a snack.

The granite countertops were spotless and the stainless steel appliances shone like polished chrome. Dinner was typically prepared by their personal chef and Tuesday figured that the family already ate without her. She found a veggie lasagna in the refrigerator and reheated a slice. For dessert she stole four of the walnut chocolate chip cookies their housekeeper Esperanza baked especially for Marcus. Tuesday was at the center cook island nibbling on one with a glass of milk when Brandon entered the kitchen.

To the world, Brandon King was Marcus’s father and the face of their legitimate empire. In truth, he and Marcus were not even related—a secret known to no one outside the three of them. Brandon had played the right-hand and enforcer to her husband back when he was known as Sebastian Caine. People would look at this handsome elderly gentleman with his tailored pinstriped suits, salt-and-pepper curls, and friendly smile, thinking he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine. They would never suspect that he had once been one of the most notorious hit men in the country.

He perched himself on the stool next to hers. “We missed you today.”

“Sorry, I had an appointment that ran long.” Tuesday was staring straight ahead trying to avoid the judgment in his eyes. “When I knew I wouldn’t make it, I sent you a text and told my secretary to take notes. I’ll look ’em over tomorrow.”

The appointment she was referring to was at the salon. Tuesday just wasn’t in the mood to deal with work this day. While the rest of Abel Incorporated’s senior staff was taking care of business, Tuesday was out with her girlfriend getting their hair and nails done.

His tone was sympathetic: “Hey look, I get it. Boring ass three-hour meeting and you decided to play hooky. Who wants to listen to stuffed suits go on and on about Pakistan’s changing export regulations and how they’ll affect our market share? Shit, I wish I could skip ’em too. But as the chief executive officer, and one of the Kings to boot, that’s not a good look for the company or the fam.”

Guilt slumped her shoulders; she offered a nod. She knew that what she did at Abel reflected back on Marcus and Brandon, which was why fucking with Shaun was doubly stupid. The two of them had worked extremely hard to conceal their pasts and build the Kings’ reputation. They were proud of the name even though neither of them were born with it.

Tuesday swallowed more milk. “Why is he doing this? He knows I don’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea of what I’m doin.’ Most of the time I’m just sittin’ in my office, looking stupid and signing shit I barely understand.”

“It was his decision,” Brandon said, breaking himself off a piece of her cookie. “It’s not like he listens to me. Just made me pour another hundred million into the scholarship program. I told him it would kill our third quarter profits but I’m just the puppet; we both know who pulls the strings.”

Being in charge was something Tuesday never wanted. When she first came to California, Marcus hadn’t just set Tuesday up with a new identity; he gave her a job in his company. It was an advisory position that basically allowed her to collect a six-figure salary with no actual responsibility. In fact, Tuesday never had to even show up at the office.

Then after years of allowing Brandon to run the company while Marcus played the background, he stepped in and made Brandon hand the reins over to Tuesday and demoted Brandon to executive vice president. The old man didn’t think it was wise and Tuesday was in full agreement but for some reason Marcus had insisted.

She said: “The only business I ever ran was a booty club and it did so bad I still had to rob niggas on the side. Why in the hell does he think I can handle running a big ass corporation?”

“Do you remember the very first conversation you and I had? It was when I picked you up from that police station just as he was going on the run.”

Tuesday remembered. It was three years ago, her last night in Detroit. The feds had held her for an entire day sweating her about Marcus but she gave up nothing. When she saw the suave assassin pull up in that Maybach, Tuesday had first thought Brandon was there to kill her.

“One of the first things I told you about my boss is to never try to figure him out,” he reminded her. “You’ll never be able to do it and you’ll only drive yourself crazy in the process.” Brandon playfully nudged her with his shoulder and Tuesday smiled because he was right.

“He been actin’ weird lately,” she said, serious again. “It’s something he ain’t tellin’ us.”

“Of course there’s something he’s not telling us,” the elder said laughing. “Did you forget who he is?”

Tuesday understood that her husband was better than most at keeping secrets. He had survived the game at the highest level for over two decades by being clandestine. Sebastian Caine had done business only through intermediaries; buyers and suppliers never got to see his face. Even the people within his organization never dealt with him directly. This was how he eventually became known as The Invisible Man.

Brandon pecked her cheek then stood to leave. “And if I gotta’ sit through those meetings bored out my mind then you do too. If he asks, tell ’em I got on your back about not showing up.”

Tuesday agreed that she would.

Even though he wasn’t Marcus’s real father, Brandon had come to be a father figure to her. He was the one who held down Tuesday and Danielle that first year. She was pregnant with Tanisha while Marcus was running from a federal indictment. Since then, Brandon had served as a sounding board and counselor.

She sat there a while longer thinking, relishing the combination of chocolate, walnut and brown sugar. Despite the warning, she couldn’t help but try to understand why her husband would hand over his Fortune 500 company to a woman who didn’t attend high school. Even Tuesday didn’t think her pussy was that good. She sensed some angle Marcus was working just beyond her comprehension. Either Brandon couldn’t see it either or was in on it and just role-playing. She couldn’t decide which.

After the final cookie, she made sure to wipe the crumbs from her lips.