Junebug had assured her that she was still in the shadows, but Midnight knew that was no guarantee of safety. Even Qadir and Tarek were not safe, and they had been protected by elite guards during the incident months ago. It had shocked the world: the royal heir of Jawahir kidnapped and his brother left for dead.
Qadir and Tarek were now healthy and safe, but Junayd might be the most tempting target for Bronislav's schemes this time. Tarek frequently visited New York, but only for very brief periods of time. He was also more experienced in these types of situations than Junayd was.
Midnight tossed the rest of her egg and cheese biscuit to a waiting seagull and climbed up the bridge, slipping unseen through the service access panel onto the walkway. Her only job tonight was locating Aaron, a teen boy who had run away.
The pay was minimal, but the job was important. His grandparents didn’t want him mixed up in a gang. They had made arrangements to send him to his aunt who lived in California.
She was going to be earning her money tonight. Midnight hated getting between gangs. The Yellow Jackets were new, but they had deep pockets, their support coming from Texas. They had been recruiting pretty heavily the last few months, dropping a lot of money, making big promises, and flashing a lot of heat. Biggy wouldn’t tolerate that kind of influence in his territory.
If she was smart, she would have told the grandparents to write off the kid, but of course she couldn’t do that. He was only thirteen and still reeling from the death of his parents.
Where’s Harlem when you need him,she dryly thought.
She remembered the way she had seen Harlem when she was a child. He was like an epic myth who was somehow real. He had shared that greatness with all the children he collected, finding their spark and training them to be formidable.
Her hand instinctively went to the scar on her face.
Midnight shook her head. Harlem was gone, her mother was gone, and she was now the next generation standing up for the little guys. Though her impact was geographically limited, it was significant to the people she helped.
Her work also meant she didn't need a job that was more social. People were something she tolerated, not enjoyed.
Except for a certain dark-haired prince,she thought.
She groaned as her thoughts came full circle back to Junayd. She cut through several alleys, heading towards the Bronx as darkness fell and the brighter, flashier lights of the city dimmed slightly. Soon, there were stores with bar-covered windows, flashing signs for tattoos and adult entertainment, and warning signs graffitied on the dividing line between the two gangs’ territories.
“Heyyyy, Midnight,” a gruff, slurred voice called.
Midnight changed directions, glancing at the sparse car traffic and nearby pedestrians before crossing the street toward the old man propped on a pile of old bedspreads. She stepped up onto the sidewalk, noticing that it was cracked and stained with the dirty residue of gum and who knew what else.
“Hey, Walt, how are you doing?” she asked with concern, squatting next to the bent shopping cart filled with odds and ends as she studied the man’s hairy, lined face.
“Staying warm,” he chuckled, lifting a half-full bottle of cheap wine.
“When’s the last time you ate?” she inquired.
Walt coughed, snorted, and thankfully turned his head before he spat. He took a swig of the wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he answered with a wheeze.
“This morning… yesterday… maybe the day before.”
Midnight opened the satchel she had draped across her chest and pulled out the sandwich she had made earlier. She offered the peanut butter and jelly sandwich to Walt. As he took it, moisture pooled in his faded brown eyes.
“You got a good heart, Midnight,” he mumbled.
“Tomorrow night try to get to the shelter before they fill up,” she encouraged.
She scanned the area again. Things felt quiet but there was something in the air that told her to be careful, a tension building that was more than the coming storm sending the clouds into turmoil. Walt must have sensed it as well.
“Trouble in the neighborhood tonight. The Yellow Jackets made a move on some of Biggy’s guys earlier. Beat two of them up pretty bad. You might want to stay off the streets tonight,” Walt cautioned.
Midnight hummed a noncommittal response, and pulled a picture out of her back pocket, holding the photo in the light from the store. Walt leaned in, squinting to focus his blurry vision.
“Have you seen this kid?” she asked.
Walt smacked his lips before replying. “I think so. He stood out because he looked scared as hell. He was with some Yellow Jackets near the overpass.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She rose to her feet, slipped the photo back into her back pocket, and took off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. As she walked, she pulled her satchel around and dug into it, retrieving a couple of switchblades. Pulling her sleeves back one at a time, she fastened the sheaths to her arms. She also retrieved the black tonfa and slipped it under her coat.