“This is my husband, Arjen Vallin,” I announced in a boisterous tone, ensuring they heard his last name. Arjen nodded towards the group, not bothered by any of their behavior, even as a few snarled like dogs.
Half the table had the presence of mind to know the name, and stared in awe between Arjen and me, knowing what a marriage between us could mean. I noticed Johnathan, ‘Ja Ja’ punch his cousin, Shawn ‘Shockey’ in the arm to get his attention before he leaned in to share his knowledge.
Some of the group were too in their feelings to let the Vallin name spark the flame that should have ignited in their brains. Once Shawn was informed, his eyes widened before his intrigued gaze landed on Arjen and stayed on him, observing with newfound respect. At least more than half of them knew the name and were smart enough to connect the dots.
“I don’t believe this shit. Tell me you haven’t gone and married a white boy?” came Marshawn’s outburst.
“Yes, I have gone and married whoever the fuck I want,” I replied. My voice was low, but my eyes were cutting his ass into bite-sized pieces. I stared at him, unblinking, my glare saying, Keep-fucking-questioning-me.
Marshawn was one of the hardest workers in our group, but I had warned him many times that that mouth of his would get him in a world of trouble. Also, we had hooked up once when I was twenty-two, and he presumed it gave him extra privilege and an elevated level of authority.
He was a few years younger, so fucking me had inflated his ego even more than it already was. Although it had happened once, four years ago, he had never given up the quest to get me back in bed with him. He wasn’t a bad bed partner compared to what I had gotten tangled up in but sleeping with him was a rookie mistake on my part.
“No, I don’t believe this shit either,” Marcus, Marshawn’s cousin, stated, following in his cousin’s footsteps with the unnecessary mouth action. They weren’t real cousins, but they had been aces long enough that they claimed it.
I reached down, taking my time, fingering my shoes off. The audience at the table, as well as Arjen, watched, curious as to what I was doing.
The purple designer pantsuit I wore, highlighted my curves. The jacket was cut to flash a little bit of cleavage that I had just given them a glimpse of when I bent. The action quieted the last hints of chatter. There were times when I enjoyed being a woman. We had the ability to control men without them even realizing it.
Without my extra four and a half inches, I didn’t tower above them like I wanted, but a bunch of grown toddlers complaining, and the shoes pinching my left baby toe had me about ready to blow the hell up and lose the little bit of chill I had.
“Does your uncle know what kind of ratchet ass bullshit you’re out here pulling?” Marcus continued, showing out in front of his play cousin.
Before I could catch myself, my red bottom heel went flying at Marcus’s head, but unfortunately not connecting with the big ass target he provided. The other shoe went flying at Marshawn, who dodged it before it caught him in the eye. I had done my best to blind their asses. It was too bad I wasn’t a better shoe thrower.
The rest of the group, including Arjen, were unable to hold in their laughter, but I stood in place, steaming. The mean glare I cast at the cousins quieted everyone else’s laughter. One was staring back at where my shoe had landed, attempting to hold in a laugh, while the other cast deadly eyes in my direction.
“Next time, it will be a fucking bullet. Now get me my fucking shoes before you make me do something I’m not going to regret.”
HB sat snug against my back, begging for a chance to demonstrate his talents. He gave a motherfucker seventeen reasons not to piss me off. HB had been with me since I was nineteen, and although I owned a cache of other weapons, he kept me protected better than any of the others.
HB also had the most bodies on him. If he came out, he would eat because I rarely denied him a meal. This group knew of the havoc me and HB were capable of stirring.
The silence in the room came alive. When they knew I was pissed or getting pissed, they jumped serious, knowing it was crazy Mecca coming out. The one they had seen take men out without batting an eyelash. The one whose name was whispered about and looped with the word ruthless and insane. The one that was always packing and ready to live or die by the oaths of the streets.
These mouthy fuckers had made the good Mecca go bye-bye, and they were left with the one that didn’t have one worthless fuck to give about how they felt. Zero to crazy. There was only so much I would take, and I prayed my husband was paying attention.
“This is Arjen Vallin, my husband. In case you were too fucking ignorant to know, he is the head of the Vallin family, and one of the head men in the Ferali Syndicate.”
The mouths of the ones that were finally making the connection fell open.
“Yes, that syndicate. For those of you that don’t know Latin, Ferali means, deathly,” I informed their asses, my hard glare on Marshawn in particular. He and Marcus sat slack-jawed, eyes blinking like trash had been blown into them by a hard wind at the realization of who was standing beside me.
I pointed a stiff finger and shook it in their direction.
“Know who the fuck you’re dealing with before you run your fucking mouth. And I don’t need anybody’s permission on who the fuck I marry. You got a problem with it; write to your congressmen so he can call you back and tell you about the fat ass stack of cash I send him every month.”
Arjen stood in place as quiet as the men staring holes through us. Having to explain myself to them had my damn blood pressure about to blow my head clean off. I changed the subject quickly and proceeded with information about Black Saints business, like my news about my marriage hadn’t just stunned them.
“I received intel that we’ve been using a couple of underaged runners. If they’re not eighteen, they gotta go. Hire them to babysit, or do your housekeeping or some shit, but they can’t be involved in this business, in any way. I don’t care if they turn eighteen tomorrow, send them home and tell them to come back at midnight.”
A couple of faces fell into deep frowns before their hands went up. They had a problem with the guideline because using the younger kids was cheap labor, and they could influence them easily.
Raymond had loosely implemented the rule when I had suggested it three years ago. Now that I was running things, I wanted to make sure it happened. The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for the life of someone’s child. It was bad enough when adults were killed.
“What?” My hot glare was slung at Marshawn.
“Two from my crew are under eighteen. If I let them go, we are not going to be able to cover our territory.”