Bad for You 3: The Final Play (Interracial Dark Erotic Adventure Romance) by Kenya Wright

Author:Kenya Wright [Wright, Kenya]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Romantic, Multicultural, United States, Multicultural & Interracial, Erotica, African American, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B00QO2FNOQ
Publisher: Pursuit
Published: 2014-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

Initiative

[The instance when one player is making threats, and his opponent must respond to them. The attacking player is said to "have the initiative" and can often dictate the way the game develops.]

Chapter 5

Melody

I got out of my headstand and set my feet on the yoga mat.

The sky fully lightened to day. The wind picked up, brushing sand kernels along my toes. Waves crashed into each other. Birds squawked around. Several feet behind me, palm trees rustled and shook the coconuts hanging from their tops.

If we were going to take out Wicker, we’d need to do it fast, before more people got on the beach.

Tension rattled in my gut. There was no other message from my body, but that same unease. “Everything is working out too easily.”

“What do you mean this is too easy?” Panic hit his words.

“I think I want to do Plan M.”

“Plan M? What the hell do you mean? There is no Plan M.”

“When I’m involved there’s always a Plan Melody.”

“You’d better be joking.”

“As long as you’ve known Miguel, has he ever been simple to get at?”

Kane waited a few seconds, and then answered, “No.”

“So what does that say?”

“First that says that Miguel could actually be slipping. His head is messed up over you. Second, this is Wicker, not Miguel. We can expect Miguel to use Wicker as bait. No matter how we go after Miguel, there will be some traps that we walk into. What we have in our corner is the fact that Wicker is not as calculated as Miguel. He’s a dog, and when a dog sees a cat, it just runs off to chase it. There’s nothing stopping a wild animal when it sniffs out a chase. And Eddie, a sweet little boy dressed in all red and in the exact same clothes that Wicker himself had worn as a child when he was traumatized … well, that is a big fat cat for a dog to chase. No matter how much Miguel set this trap, he would never bet on us getting into Wicker’s head with a kid.”

“Because we’re supposed to have a code. No kids.”

“Exactly.”

“The best way to avoid getting your foot caught in Miguel’s traps, is to break his own code.”

I spotted a huge man jogging on my right.

Wicker.

He must’ve been over six feet tall. Even with the black hood over his head, I could make out the puckered scar tissue on his face that gave him the name. The rest of his clothes were black—from his cheap sneakers to jogging pants and gloves.

I bet you never wear red.

With dead eyes, Wicker kept his concentration right in front of him as he pumped his legs forward. He wore no headphones. I doubted a man like that took the time to make a playlist to enjoy. When it came to a murderer’s mind, other things ring within the skull. I’d had my own bouts of sounds in my head, waking me up at night—a woman’s screams, sad shrills from a baby, and the last groans of a man as he died while he came.

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