Sutton stood in front of the mirror hanging on the back of her office door as she worked lotion into her smooth hands.
“You can’t fall for him. He’s a Sinclair. He represents everything you hate,” she told herself. West was so rich that he didn’t even know how entitled he was. It wasn’t his fault. He was guilty by association, but the power of the privileged sickened her. What had been done to her sister turned her stomach. No one had even uttered Ashton’s name after her incident. Sutton hadn’t heard from one detective. The crime had just been swept under the rug, like the almost-deadly assault of a black woman hadn’t even occurred. Sutton was determined to strip August of that power. She was going to break their company down to its bare bones, bankrupt them, and then buy them out just because she could. She wished West weren’t attached, but his presence didn’t change the plan. There would be reckoning for the pain her sister had suffered and she knew the only pain wealthy people felt was financial burden.
She looked at the tweed Chanel business skirt and blazer she wore. The cameras would be present today. Every national media outlet in the country was covering the oil spill and the first efforts of the cleanup would be captured worldwide. West would be in attendance. At her urging, he was spearheading the cleanup initiative.
Ashton knocked on the door but pushed it open without invitation.
Sutton snickered. “No point in knocking if you don’t wait until I say come in.”
“It’s just a warning, not me requesting permission. I’m barging in regardless,” Ashton answered, smiling.
“Ever since you were a kid,” Sutton replied. “How are you feeling?”
“My body is healing just fine; it’s my mind that’s killing me,” Ashton admitted.
Sutton gripped her sister’s chin. “Your mind is strong, Ash. You couldn’t overpower the niggas who did this to you, but you can outthink them every time. I got us. You just stay out the way. I don’t need August seeing you. You just heal and if I need you to come off the bench for anything, I’ll let you know.”
Ashton nodded. “You better go. Don’t want to be late.”
Gadget and Honor were already en route. Sutton rushed down to the lobby and as she walked out of the glass doors, she smiled. She didn’t even mean to. The sight of West just made her giddy. He stood outside the black SUV. His suit was designer and fit his athletic build. He was such a man. Tall and strong. Sutton just wanted to climb him.
She walked directly up to him. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I need you next to me today. All day. Twenty-four hours of you next to me. It’s going to be a lot of cameras, a lot of pressure, all eyes on me. When they see me, they should see you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“So the whole world knows that’s me,” he answered.
The way her face heated she was sure she turned red despite her melanin.
“After we make it through today, we should talk,” West said.
Sutton hated the way her heart raced around him. He was such a grown man. She wondered how she could separate him from August. She knew she couldn’t, however. They weren’t just business partners, but brothers. Ruining one would ruin both.
His hand on the small of her back guided her into the SUV.
“Hi, Leslie,” she greeted.
“Ms. LaCroix,” the driver replied, tipping his hat as he glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
Sutton was tense but West’s hand on her thigh eased her tension some. He placed business calls the entire way as she sent off confirmation emails to the media, ensuring their attendance. By the time they pulled up to the Galveston pier, a full-fledged animal rescue event was underway.
Cameras flashed as West helped Sutton from the car.
“West,” she said, gripping his forearm as she looked out into the ocean. “The water’s black.”
She had known the spill was bad; but seeing it up close was heart-wrenching.
West squinted as he looked out at the damage. He grabbed her hand, shocking Sutton, and she looked up at him in wonder.
“Let’s go do our part to fix this shit,” West said.
“You don’t actually have to get your hands dirty. Just make sure we let the media get some photo ops of you helping, make it look good, and let the real environmentalists do their job.”
West came out of his suit jacket and handed it to his assistant, who approached him eagerly.
“Trenton, I’m going to need some of those mud boots and protective gear,” he ordered.
“Right away, sir.”
“You manage the PR for me? I’m going to dive in where I’m needed,” West said. Sutton nodded as she watched West walk toward the chaos.
Not many people surprised her; but in this moment, the compassion West showed was mind-blowing. Sutton motioned for West’s assistant.
“Yes, Ms. LaCroix?”
“Can you find another set of gear?” she asked. It was brought to her in minutes.
She quickly slipped into the protective wear and joined West beside the PETA staff as they washed oil from the feathers of hundreds of ducks.
“This is a real mess. You don’t really grasp it until you see it with your own eyes, you know?” West said. “You want to give it a try?”
Sutton reached for a basket where one of the rescued animals lay covered in oil. It flapped its wings, causing Sutton to scream in surprise and drop the duck. She scrambled to pick up the frantic animal and West laughed. He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her body, invading her space with the scent of his cologne. He placed his hands on top of hers to help secure the duck.
“You’ve got to be gentle,” he said. “She’s already scared. You’ve got to show her that you won’t hurt her.”
His lips touched her ear as he spoke, and Sutton’s stomach tightened in angst as she held her breath. She was sure they were no longer talking about the duck. She took the hose and began to rinse the oil from the duck’s feathers as West held it still.
Her heart was beating so hard she was positive he could hear it.
“Mr. Sinclair, a picture?” A photographer aimed his lens before West had time to respond and snapped a photo of the two of them with the rescue duck.
“Thank you for this. For the game plan to salvage my family’s company,” West said.
“It’s my job,” Sutton answered. She had to say it aloud to remind herself this was, in fact, a job. She was there with a motive. Falling for West Sinclair was not her agenda. She had to rein in this emotion he brought out of her.
“Sutty!”
Sutton looked up to see her sisters coming across the parking lot. They maneuvered through the sea of people and Sutton took a step away from West.
“Let me introduce you to my partners,” Sutton said. She hugged her sisters and then motioned for West.
“West Sinclair, meet the other parts of my firm. They’re responsible for arranging all of this. This is Gadget and this is Honor.”
“The infamous LaCroix sisters,” West said. “It’s a pleasure. Gadget? That’s an interesting nickname.”
“I’m good with all things computers,” Luna replied. “I’ve always been somewhat of a nerd.”
“I don’t know any nerds who look like you,” West said. Luna was stunning. Honor too. The LaCroix sisters were a double threat. Beauty and brains.
“Let’s get you to the stage. You should definitely make a statement. It’s important that you control the narrative,” Sutton said.
She already had reporters in the crowd on her payroll who were tasked to annihilate West once he stepped up to the lectern. She had given them all the ammunition they needed to ruin his image. After the press conference, West would have to step down as CEO. It would be the first of many bricks she’d underhandedly dislodge from the foundation of this company.
Sutton felt his hand on the small of her back as he led her through the crowd. She never missed how he secured her when he was around. She really wished they had met under different circumstances. Under this one, he was on the other side of the battlefield and Sutton was firing shots his way. She wasn’t sure he deserved it.
Sutton ascended the stage first and approached the lectern.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please,” she said, smiling. “Thank you all for attending. I would like to bring Mr. West Sinclair to the forefront. He has stepped in as CEO after the tragic death of August Sinclair Sr. and his beloved wife, Abigail. A lot of speculation has been spread through the media about where the future of Sinclair Enterprises lies. I’d like to invite him to say a few words.”
West stepped up to the microphones and as Sutton started to step back, he grabbed her elbow, pulling her close and leaning down into her ear.
“At my side,” he said. It was a command.
Sutton looked at him, shocked, and as their eyes met, she saw he needed her. Like he could handle this if and only if she were next to him. A king who needed a queen.
He turned to the lectern and Sutton stood at his side.
She felt like shit as the journalists she had given scoops to went in for the attack.
“Mr. Sinclair, do you still have plans to drill through American Indian tribe land? What about those tribes that rely on the water sources in the area?”
Before West could answer that question, another reporter fired off. “The investigation report from the explosion shows the blast was not accidental. What underhanded dealings led to the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair? Is there dirty money tied into the history of Sinclair Enterprises?”
Sutton watched West stiffen. He cleared his throat and finessed his goatee before finally speaking.
“I can’t account for any decisions that were made for this company before I took this seat. I can only speak on ways I plan to make it better. The footprint I leave on the world through the power I have at Sinclair Enterprises will be a positive one. Whatever ill deeds that have gotten us here will not carry us further. I’m not into misplacing or destroying natural ecosystems on anyone’s land. I want to work with the people of the native communities. If a pipeline benefits anyone, it should be the tribe it disrupts. If it isn’t equitable, it won’t happen. That’s my word. The reality is we need oil to fuel the comforts of our everyday lives, but the drilling can be done responsibly and with consideration. If we haven’t done that in the past, we will in the future. This oil spill is heartbreaking. It’s a disaster. It’s something we didn’t ask for; but as CEO, I won’t leave it undone. We are holding ourselves accountable. We only get one planet and we all must share it. I don’t want to do anything to destroy it.”
Who the hell is this man? Sutton thought, amazed at how well he’d handled himself under pressure. Those two questions would have destroyed anyone else. West, however, had the media eating out of the palm of his hand. He couldn’t have answered the questions better if she had written the responses herself.
“Mr. Sinclair, can you speak on your partnership with the LaCroix Group?”
Sutton’s neck swung right as that question came from a reporter she had never seen before.
West glanced at her and rubbed the side of his face bashfully. “We’re very lucky to have the LaCroix Group on our side as we begin to repair the damage that was inadvertently caused.”
The sound of subwoofers knocking interrupted the press conference as three old-school cars pulled up behind the crowd. Candy paint on the body, big shoes on the feet, tints so dark she couldn’t see the drivers. The first car had bullhorns attached to the hood. Sutton looked on, taken aback as a gang of men climbed out of the cars. It was clear who was in charge. Wearing jeans, a fitted white T-shirt, Yeezy sneakers, and enough jewels to open a jewelry store, he leaned against the body of his car with folded arms across his chest and looked up at the stage.
Sutton eyed West, who clearly knew this man. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she was looking at a standoff. Was this a threat? Were these people in danger? Was he an ally? Opposition? Sutton was at a loss for words, but her fight or flight reflexes were causing tension to build in her.
Okay, what the hell is this? she thought.
Her eyes found Luna next, who stood looking from the front of the crowd. She gave her a single nod and Luna knew Sutton wanted intel.
Sutton removed her phone and sent a text.
Sutton
Find out who that nigga is and put Ashton on him.
Sutton focused her attention back to West, who had returned to answering questions, but she was distracted. She watched Luna maneuver through the crowd and walk between the parked old schools. She already knew her sister was snapping pictures of the license plates. Within the hour, Sutton would have the man’s entire existence at her fingertips. Perhaps she had underestimated West.
He’s not as straitlaced as I thought if he’s running with them. It’s time to dig a little bit deeper into who he was before he came into contact with the Sinclairs.
“I’m not sure if you’re washing the duck or if the duck is washing you?”
Honor turned to find August staring at her.
“You want to help?” she challenged.
August looked down at his three-thousand-dollar suit and chuckled. “I think I’m good. I’m gonna watch you.”
“How’s Beamer?” Honor asked.
“He’s doing well, coming home tomorrow actually,” August said.
Honor smiled. She was glad to hear that. He was a Sinclair, but he had no dirt on his name. He was an innocent bystander.
“We’re having a welcome home party for him, at the big house.”
“The big house?” Honor repeated, frowning. “A little distasteful, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve called it that since I was a little kid. I guess you’re right,” he said. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s literally a big-ass house.”
Honor lifted her brows and nodded. “I’m sure it is.”
“I say stupid shit when you’re around,” August said, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“You sure it only happens when I’m around?” Honor asked.
August laughed. “Pretty sure, yeah.”
“Beamer asked me to invite you.”
“Wow, you’re really using your injured baby brother to get me to come to the big house, huh?” Honor asked, laughing. “That’s terrible.”
“I’m desperate,” August replied, smiling.
“I’ll come,” she said, as she placed the duck back in its holding pool and removed her gloves. She turned to August. “For Beamer.”
Sire pulled up to his house and hit the alarm on his car as he made his way up his walkway. He had always respected West’s wishes to keep their worlds separated, but after the disrespect of missing Wasan’s funeral, Sire was no longer playing by anyone’s rules. He had shown up to the press conference just to let the world see what type of company West kept. West liked his dirt tucked away in the closet like he was too good to claim where he was from. Sire thought West could use the reminder. He hadn’t needed permission to pull up. He’d dropped the same half million West had gifted his mom back into his lap during a public forum to prove a point: they didn’t need his money, and he couldn’t deny his roots. The move would cause much speculation, but Sire didn’t care. He operated off principle. If West was his brother, he should claim the relationship all the time, not just when it was convenient.
He unlocked his front door and pushed his way inside. He turned to close the door but paused when the scent of perfume hit him. He didn’t bring women to his home. Nothing feminine should exist inside.
He drew his pistol, turning to find the silhouette of a woman sitting with her legs crossed in his living room chair. She also had a pistol in her hand.
“Before you pull that trigger, I’ll blow your head off,” she said calmly.
“Small voice, big threat,” Sire said.
“Bigger bullets,” she said. She fired a warning shot, narrowly missing his head.
“What the fuck? Shawty, a’ight, a’ight!” Sire shouted. He tossed the gun aside. “Your point is made. Who sent you? I’ll double whatever they paying you.”
Ashton reached for the lamp on the table beside her and flicked on the light. He stalled when he saw her. He recognized her instantly. His mask prevented her from identifying him.
“Sit down,” she instructed. “I didn’t come to kill you but if you make me, I have no problem doing so.”
Sire squinted in confusion. He thought she was there for one thing, but apparently she was there for something totally different.
Sire inched toward the couch. “Don’t reach for the one between the cushions, either, nigga,” another woman said, lifting it out of the side of her chair. “I already found it.”
“You a slick mu’fucka.” He snickered. “Who would have thought?”
He sat down on the edge of the couch, staring at the woman. “What happened to your face?” Her bruises were healing but not gone. A ghost had walked into his life. She was supposed to be dead. Somehow, she was holding him at gunpoint.
“I encountered some bitch niggas who were never taught to finish their plate,” she said.
Sire sat back in his seat, intrigued. “Is that right?”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Sire snickered again. “You polite with the pleasantries. Rude as fuck with the holding a nigga at gunpoint and shit, though.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Sire,” he answered.
“That ain’t what ya mama named you,” she replied.
“Sire.”
Ashton already knew his full government name, aliases, and his mama’s name. She just wanted to see if he would lie. He clearly knew the stakes were high because he hadn’t. He was smart to not underestimate her because she was a woman.
“How do you know West Sinclair?” Ashton asked. She cut straight to the point. Sutton had asked her to get answers and she wasn’t there to play games.
“Fuck you trying to piece together for?” he asked.
“How do you know him?” she repeated.
“We came up together,” Sire answered vaguely. “You can get these answers without the gun, baby.”
“The gun keeps you cooperative,” Ashton informed.
Sire snickered. “No lie, the gun makes me want to fuck you,” Sire said.
Ashton stood and walked into Sire’s space.
“Pussy all in a nigga face … better put that thang up before I do something with it, shawty.”
Ashton put the gun to Sire’s head.
“Baby better pull that trigger. I ain’t never let anybody point a gun at me and live to tell about it.” He bit the front of her jean shorts.
“First time for everything,” Ashton said, tapping his temple. Her cell phone rang and Ashton answered, putting it on speaker.
“I’ve got someone who wants to speak with you,” she said.
“We have a common enemy. That makes you a distant friend.” Sutton’s voice filled the room.
“Friends don’t hold friends at gunpoint,” Sire said.
“Associates, then,” Sutton responded. “I hear you’re the man to see about guns and dope.”
“Nah, you heard wrong, baby,” Sire answered.
The knock at the door startled him. “You fucked up. She hates to have to do in person what can be handled over the phone. She’s anti like that.”
Ashton kept her gun trained on Sire and went to open the front door. Sutton stepped inside.
“Shit just got real interesting,” Sire said, recognizing Sutton instantly. “You work for West.”
“I work for myself,” Sutton answered. “I think you and I can work together; however, I hear you move product. What’s your game? Cocaine? Heroin?”
“This ain’t the eighties,” Sire snickered. “I move pills. Fentanyl. Question is, why are you and lil’ mama over here interested in my business when you stand up at press conferences for Sinclair Enterprises?”
“I like money; doesn’t have to be clean,” Sutton lied. “I have a buyer. Sale is international and I want to use the new rig as the place where we make the drop. I want you to supply the pills.”
Sire sat up and reached out to Ashton, disarming her without thinking twice. To his clear surprise, she pulled another handgun from her back waistline and pointed it at his head.
“A’ight, a’ight.” He tossed the gun. “I wasn’t shooting, baby, I just like to break bread in peace,” he said. “Can you call your baby pit off?”
Sutton sighed and without looking at Ashton she said, “Put the gun away.”
Ashton sucked her teeth but she did as she was told.
Sire stood. “Now let’s have a drink and talk bi’ness,” he said.
He poured three glasses and passed two to Ashton and Sutton. They didn’t take one sip. He chuckled. “This some crazy-ass, gangster bitch-ass shit,” he said in disbelief. He took a sip, proving the drink was pure.
“So y’all wanna move drugs off the rig,” he said. “West will never go for that.”
“West will never know,” Sutton said.
Sutton had no intention of becoming a drug dealer. It was a ruthless game she wanted no part in, but orchestrating a drug bust on a Sinclair rig wasn’t something West could talk himself out of. He might have been able to finesse the press and dodge tough questions today, but he couldn’t shake a federal investigation and the IRS audit that would come along with a drug bust. Sire had no clue she was in it to sabotage the deal.
“What type of numbers we talking?”
“I don’t speak anything under ten million,” she said. “My buyer’s trying to supply cities, not blocks. I don’t deal in chump change. Can you handle that type of exchange?”
“Ten million ain’t exactly major, shawty,” Sire said.
“Per week,” Sutton added. The lift of Sire’s brow showed he was intrigued.
“It’s not a problem,” Sire stated. “What you need?”
“Xanies and fentanyl,” Sutton said.
“Got you covered,” Sire said. He reached for Ashton, pulling her into his lap.
“What are you doing?” she asked, pushing against him as he forced her to straddle his lap. He removed her cell phone from her back pocket and held her in place with a hand to the small of her back.
“What’s your code?” he asked.
“I ain’t telling you my code!” Ashton protested.
“0814,” Sutton said.
“Sutty!” Ashton shouted.
Sire snickered and entered the numbers then dialed himself. His phone rang.
“Now you know how to reach me. Hit me with the time and date. I’ma do my part. Make sure you do yours,” Sire said, staring at Sutton.
“Can I get up now?” Ashton asked.
Sire gripped her chin between his fingers. “I’m sorry about that face,” he said.
“What you sorry for? You didn’t put these bruises here,” she said. She had no idea she was looking into the same eyes that had thrown her into that trunk. She snatched her phone and climbed out of his lap.
He snatched her back down into his lap.
“Next time I see you, we gone make a baby, shawty,” Sire said.
“Not in your wettest dream, country boy,” Ashton said, wrenching away. She walked out and Sutton smirked while shaking her head.
“You can’t handle her, but nice try.”
Sire was sure he couldn’t handle these sisters at all. They were a different breed. He was getting money—good money—in the city, but this would be the biggest deal he ever made. He didn’t have the inventory to supply a ten-million-dollar buy. He would have to go to his plug to convince them to up his load. These pretty girls were popping big shit and he knew he was playing a dangerous game because one of them he was responsible for hurting. For some reason, he had an overwhelming urge to know her. In order to do so, he had to step his game up.
He picked up the phone and called his connect. It was time to do more than reign over Houston. It was time to take over the South.