Fall (Fate Series Book 2) Read online

  “Mamá cannot find out about this. It would kill her.” My tone is gentle but laced with a bite. He winces visibly, as if my words come as a physical blow.

  “I don’t know what you want from me. I told you it’s none of your business. I love you, but I’m a grown ass man.”

  My little brother has always had confidence dripping off him like sweat. The metaphorical stench can be unbearable, but still the ladies flock to him.

  “Stop worrying about me. I’ve got it handled.” He leans in, placing a small kiss on top of my head.

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Throwing a cocky smile over his shoulder, he pushes through the torn screen door with more force than is necessary. The old hinges creak and the slap of the thin wood amps up my anxiety.

  Alex has made playing with fire a form of art. But he just doused himself in kerosene and doesn’t even know it.

  My little brother is seven years younger and nearly a foot taller than me. Apparently, I took after mamá and he took after dad. Alex was their miracle baby. Mamá had a condition called Endometriosis and was told I’d likely be her only child. However, the universe had other plans because out popped that little shit. God knows I love him, but he knows how to push every one of my buttons. He didn’t get the luxury I had of meeting our dad. He died when Alex was only a few months old. He went to the convenience store on the corner to pick up diapers and walked in on a robbery. Such a senseless tragedy. It’s just been us and mamá since. I moved out on my own when I turned twenty, but I’m starting to think Alex will never leave home.

  Unless it’s in a body bag.

  Jesus.

  Pushing that unfathomable scenario from my thoughts, I flop my tired form onto the outdated floral couch. Mamá’s house isn’t fancy, everything she owns she’s collected from decades passed. But it’s always immaculately clean and smells like home.

  Looking around, I take in the terra cotta tile, billowy floral curtains, and walls of family photos. Every inch of available space serves as a place holder for fond memories. One of little Alex on a beach building a sand castle catches my attention. He must have been two or three, his toothy grin brightening his face. A sharp pain burrows into the walls of my chest as the reality of the situation settles around me. I knew he was hanging around with the wrong crowd. I just never thought he’d be dumb enough to join a gang. They beat him in just a few days ago. That’s how it’s done around here. If you survive, you’re in. The only way out is in a bag.

  Our mom worked hard to keep Alex off the streets. She grew up here and knows exactly how easy it is for the street to swallow you whole and spit you out. He’d always been a good kid, made good grades, played sports, finished his chores… Shortly after I moved out, things began to change. He friended a new group of kids and things started to spiral from there. Mamá knew she should have gotten him out of Opa Locka sooner, but even working two jobs, she couldn’t afford to. Even with the changes in his life, he managed to keep his head on, for the most part. Until recently, anyway.

  Mamá worked her ass off every day. Hell, she still does. She’s down to one job now, but that didn’t change who she is. She doesn’t know how to slow down and relax. I’ve tried so many times to get her to quit her job cleaning the hotel and let me take care of her for once, but she refuses. She’s a proud woman who refuses to take a handout. It would kill her to know that her rent is so cheap because I own the house. I put the small amount of money she gives me into a retirement account for her.

  Who would have thought I’d been raised by such a stubborn woman?

  It took a miracle to get her to move to a better neighborhood. She finally caved when her elderly neighbor was killed in a drive-by. Mr. Jackson had been sitting on his front porch with his evening coffee when a new inductee to the Tri-Locka gang, rained fire down the block. It busted Mamá’s windows and shook her up pretty badly. But she was safe. It was just the push she needed. The next day she asked me to help her look for an affordable place in a better neighborhood.

  The same fucking gang that my brother just gave his life to.

  They are called the Tri-Locka gang because of the nine-block wedge of the city they terrorize known as the Triangle.

  The sound of her ’92 Pontiac pulls my attention back to the present. I came over hoping to surprise her and take her to dinner. I never expected the bombshell my brother dropped on me.

  Damnit, Alex! How am I going to get you out of this one?

  Pulling into the deserted parking lot in front of Curl Up and Dye, I can’t help but be reminded of my mother. She dislikes the name I chose. That’s the thing about mamá, she doesn’t have it in her to hate. Every time I see it, it makes me chuckle a little. I mean… Runaway Bride is a classic.

  I can’t help but beam with pride. This pile of drywall and timber is mine and I earned it. Every tear, drop of sweat, sleepless night, and Ramen dinner was worth it. It’s a small price to pay when you live your dream. Before Dad passed, we used to sit on the front porch, sipping lemonade while we asked each other questions. Our favorite question to ask was “What do you want to be when you grow up?” He would tell me he wanted to be a superhero or an astronaut. I knew daddy was already grown, but I secretly liked to think that he grew up to be what he wanted to be. He was a superhero to me and that’s all that mattered.

  Being the girly-girl I was, I wanted to make people feel beautiful. Nothing made me happier than dreaming about the look on someone’s face when they regain that lost confidence and genuinely feel good about themselves. Why wouldn’t I want to share that with the world?

  He had such confidence in me. He was certain I was going to have my salon and that it would be a success That’s the strongest memory I have left. And it’s one I cling to with a passion.

  I hope I made you proud, Daddy.

  My salon might not be in the best neighborhood South Beach has to offer, but she’s not doing too shabby. I kept the décor true to the spirit of Miami with lots of white, vibrant color and Art Deco design.

  My eyes land on an overly cheery Bennie and I grumble. I love him, I swear, but that boy is just too much before caffeine. Immaculately dressed as always, he leans casually against the stucco building, pearly white smile on full display. Not a single strand of his perfectly coiffed blonde hair is out of place.

  “Good morning sweet cheeks. You look like a shit sandwich.” He leans in, air-kissing my cheeks.

  “Thanks, I feel so much better about myself.”

  “Oh, stop. You know it’s all love. Unlock this door and tell Bennie all about it. Oh, wait!” He turns to face me, arms flailing dramatically. “Tell me this isn’t about Alex again.” His eyes turn soft and I can see the genuine sincerity there.

  For all our Mean Girl laughs, Bennie and I share a bond and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I can always rely on him.

  “Yeah,” I respond with an exasperated sigh, “he really messed up this time, Ben.”

  All levity is sucked dry at the sound of his name. He knows I mean business when I refer to him as Ben.

  Unlocking the door, we step in and start the usual opening procedure of turning on the waxes and such, before he speaks.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not this time. I don’t think anything can get him out of this one.”

  “It can’t be that bad, Sweets.”

  “Tri-Locka got to him.”

  His eyes go wide but he doesn’t speak for several moments. He knows just as well as I do how bad these men are. Maybe even more so. Bennie and I grew up next door—we’ve known each other our whole lives. As kids, everyone was sure we’d end up together. But Bennie and I kept his secret as long as we could. Which, after puberty, wasn’t long. Some things you just can’t hide.

  It wasn’t easy for him to be the blue-eyed, blonde-headed, white kid on the block. Things didn’t get any easier when everyone learned that Bennington Parks is gay.

  “Fuck.”

  Yea
h, fuck. Because, what else is there to say?

  Chapter Two

  Celeste

  “¡Tienes que estar bromeando!” I yell aloud to myself as I stare down the empty container that should, in fact, contain coffee.

  If I don’t find some coffee like, yesterday, I’m going to rip someone’s head off. My stress levels are through the roof today. On top of Alex and all his stupidity, I just had to throw out a customer who thought it was okay to touch Taylor’s hips when she stood in front of him, cutting his hair. Bastard’s lucky she didn’t cut a finger off with her shears.

  Why do some men think it’s okay to touch a woman just because she’s beautiful?

  “You finished it off on Friday,” I turn, scowling, as Taylor smirks at me from the doorway.

  I need to get it together. I’m frazzled and just about useless today.

  “Look, we will hold down the fort. Take a break, go get some coffee, walk around the beach for a while and decompress. You’re wound up tight and, frankly, I don’t want to clean up after you snap and go all She-Hulk. That shit ain’t pretty.”

  I grit my teeth, preparing to defend my honor, but quickly deflate. Because once again, she’s right.

  “Out! Now!” she yells at me, her perfectly manicured black fingernail pointing toward the door.

  “I thought I was the boss?” I smirk.

  “Not today.”

  “Oooo, Tater Tot is taking charge?” I sass trying to ruffle her feathers.

  “Stop calling me that,” she snaps, but her impish smile proves the threat is empty like always.

  “YASS, Queen!” Bennie bellows with a snap from the other room as Taylor sashays away in her leather, studded boots.

  Rather than driving, I decide to walk hoping to clear my head. Aside from running my mouth, I don’t get a lot of exercise these days and the sun feels amazing on my skin.

  I stop for an iced coffee before catching a cab to my favorite spot on the beach. There are beaches all over this area, but there is just something about this one that calms me. It’s not overcrowded and watching the surfers gives me something peaceful to focus on.

  Taking a deep breath, I exhale through my mouth before taking a generous sip of my coffee. I’m not sure if there is anything better in this world than digging your toes in the warm sand, staring out into the open water. Perfection. Every problem, concern, worry, or bad mood will melt away for just a little while.

  I need to regroup. Or take a vacation.

  Either way, I need to get myself together. I know better than to bring my negativity to work. Staring out into the water, I watch a group of teenagers wade around in the distance and it reminds me of a simpler time.

  I feel like one of the lucky ones. I just turned twenty-eight, and I own my own business. Few people ever get to say that, let alone someone as young as I am. Drowning in debt? Sure, but I manage to keep my head above water. It wasn’t easy to get here, but damn if it doesn’t feel good.

  As much as I want to hate Jensen, he is a major player in the game that got me here. He might be a cheating bastard, but he’s one hell of a business man. He taught me everything I know about running a successful business.

  I first met Jensen while volunteering at a soup kitchen in high school. We didn’t attend the same school, seeing how I was from Opa Locka and he was from the richer side of Coral Gables, but I had a passion for giving back to the community and he needed community service hours for college credit. Jensen was as perfect as one could get for a blooming teenage girl. We spent the entire summer together. Hell, he even took my V card. But just like every other cliché summer fling, it came to an end. Jensen was going away to college up north and I still had a year left of high school.

  A few years later, I ran into him at a Starbucks in Miami Beach. We hit it off instantly, as if days had passed, not years. He had grown into a gorgeous, intelligent man. While I had stayed in Miami and obtained my Cosmetology Certification, he graduated with honors from Harvard’s business school. I spent my days dolling up women with purses that cost more than I make in a month, while he was acquiring failing businesses.

  Part of me felt a little inferior and I hated it. I never let anyone make me feel like I am anything less than equal. Until the end, Jensen never did anything intentional to bring out those feelings, it was just his presence—just an overpowering reminder of our very different backgrounds.

  Once he caught wind of my dream, he gave me the push I needed. He taught me how to draft a business plan, tricks for putting back money and how a business functions. That knowledge is invaluable to me.

  Our relationship moved quicker than I think either of us were comfortable with, but I knew he was the one. The problems started when our businesses started to take off. We spent more time apart than we ever did together. And the more time he spent at the office, the more uptight he seemed to get.

  Our breakup was one of the hardest times in my life. It gave me a record with the law, and nearly cost me my salon. But I survived. I always do.

  And we will survive Alex’s stupid ass.

  Looking down at my watch, I realize I’ve been sitting here for over an hour. I really need to get back. I don’t have any more appointments for the day, but it’s always busy on Fridays.

  Standing to dust the sand from my all my bits, I decide I’m going to bring treats back for Taylor and Bennie. I couldn’t function without those two.

  Feeling marginally better about life as I peruse the dessert aisle, I look for the perfect cheesecake. Bennie has a weakness for cheesecake. Taylor on the other hand, has a weird addiction to bananas. I smile at the thought. I would expect nothing less from my resident weirdo.

  Coffee, bananas, and cheesecake in hand, I cut through a beauty aisle on my way to the register. Making my way up the aisle, I watch a woman with her back to me, debating box hair color.

  Oh.

  Hell.

  No.

  “Stop and put your hands where I can see them,” I state in a firm, authoritative tone. I snap a banana off the bundle and comedically hold it out like a gun. Her body goes stiff at the sound and something about her reaction strikes me as odd. “Step away from the terrible decision and no one will get hurt,” I add.

  Hands still in the air, she turns slowly, reminding me of a mouse trying not to catch the cat’s attention. I burst into laughter, unable to take this whole scene seriously. I’d be a terrible actor.

  My laughter must be contagious because she begins to join in, lowering her arms. When her eyes move from the floor to my face, all laughter ceases. Her lip is busted, and her pale skin is decorated with varying hues of purple, black and red. She looks like she lost a fight with Tyson. Commonality tells me exactly what happened. My expression must be too much for her as she turns on the balls of her feet, hell bent on getting out of my presence.

  “Please wait,” I plead.

  “I uh, I need to go,” she responds with her back to me.

  “Please, don’t rush off. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just caught off guard. I cannot in good conscience allow you to commit such a heinous crime.” Her body tenses as she turns to face me. Weird, but I continue. “It’s against my religion to sit back and do nothing when some good-hearted soul decides to use drugstore hair dye. Lucky for you, I know just how to remedy this situation. Drink three Bloody Marys and come to confession.”

  I hand her one of my business cards. Her body loosens as she reads over the salon information. Her face splits into a beautiful smile before she speaks.

  “Well Celeste, I can honestly say it’s been nice meeting you, but I won’t be able to come to your salon.”

  “Well…” I pause, waiting for her name.

  “T-Taryn.”

  “Well Taryn, it’s been nice meeting you as well and you had better have a damn good excuse for skipping out on Confession.”

  “I think Paul Mitchell will forgive me,” she chuckles. “Anyway, like I said, it was nice meeting you.”

  “Don’t
you dare leave without at least filling me in on the cocksucker that did that.” I point in the direction of the bruising. I know it’s rude to point it out, but damn. “I’ve had a pretty rough week and it looks like you have too. I could use some girl talk. Plus, I just really enjoy imagining what it would be like to cut a man’s balls off. You know, the ones that don’t deserve them.” I wink with a smirk. “I’ll tell you what, you tell me your story and I’ll do your hair for free.”

  Sticking my hand out to shake on it, she hesitates, watching me closely. She relents, a look on her face that says she’s still not sure.

  That girl has a story and from what I just saw, it’s going to be one hell of a journey.

  On a positive note, I prevented a tragedy today.

  Super Celeste to the rescue! Saving strands one box at a time.

  That’s right—not all heroes wear capes.

  After a grueling week, I climb into my silver 2010 Volkswagen Jetta and feel my body melt into the seat. It’s been a long day and all I want to do is go home, become one with my couch, and watch a sappy romance.

  I need to get my mind off the situation with Alex. I’m slowly losing my sanity. I’ve barely slept in the last several days and I couldn’t tell you the last time I ate.

  Backing out from my parking space, my mind keeps drifting back to Taryn, the woman I met at the drugstore last week. I worried she wouldn’t come to the shop and honestly, I didn’t expect her to. When her thin frame stepped through the door, she looked like a frightened colt. Just waiting to bolt at the slightest noise. She seems like a tough cookie, and while I could tell she held back on her story, she still managed to weave a heartbreaking tale. She’s a survivor, that one.

  I genuinely hope she decides to stick around town for a bit, I can see us being good friends. Taryn is one of those women you meet and instantly know you’re going to be friends. She’s reserved, but honest. A quality that is hard to find these days.

  By the time I was done bringing her back to her roots, she was openly enjoying herself. It was amazing to watch the transformation.