Page 37 of Real's Love

My head snapped up as the door opened. Dr. Ruskin peeked in.

“You all right in here? You seemed like you were extra tired, so I just wanted to check on you,” she explained.

I smiled at her, glad to escape the questions in my head that I couldn’t answer. One more quick stretch and I folded the throw before standing up.

“I’m good. I actually think I’ma get some fruit out of the breakroom,” I said, crossing the room.

“Good. That should give you a little energy.”

We walked out into the hallway where one of the office assistants was headed our way.

“Ev, hey! I was just looking for you. I put your food in the breakroom on the table because it was still in the bag. But it is clearly labeled,” she said.

I frowned. “Food? I didn’t order anything.”

“It’s definitely for you, Ms. Lady, you know your name is distinctive.”

Before I could ask anymore questions, she was gone. Confused, I headed toward the break room, Dr. Ruskin on my heels. I opened the door and crossed to the rectangular table. A bag sat near the center, an envelope with my name clipped to the outside.

“Ooh, Two-Step Barbecue. If that’s brisket, somebody loves you, girl,” Dr. Ruskin said.

I rolled my eyes at her as I opened the envelope. The note was short.

Ev,

Keep pouring into your patients, love. I’ll be in charge of pouring into you.

Montréal

I wanted to melt. I couldn’t melt. So, I just sighed.

“A rest break and good food. I hope that helped you to relax and refresh,” Dr. Ruskin said softly.

I bit the inside corner of my bottom lip as I thought about Real’s relaxation techniques and his promise to continue them in person. My plans to go to bed early were gone, and I didn’t mind one bit.

“Something like that,” I murmured.

(A few minutes earlier…)

As I leaned back in my office chair talking to Ev, I heard the echoing footsteps of Targen and Ghazi approaching. They dragged someone with them—a man whose muffled protests could be heard even through the heavy door. I sighed, pushing myself upright. Another day, another problem.

The door swung open with a metallic clang, and they entered, half-carrying, half-dragging a struggling figure between them. The man's eyes darted around the room, wild with rage and confusion. His loud complaints ruined my conversation with the beautiful woman on the other end of the phone.

“Sit yo’ ass down and shut the fuck up,” I ordered.

Turning my attention back to the phone, I said my goodbyes, promising to finish what I’d started later. Then, I focused on this place and this situation. The underground facility hummed with a low, persistent buzz. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow on the polished concrete floors, while the scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. It was a rare hidden world beneath the Texan soil, a place where morality twisted and turned like the winding tunnels that led to it.

We were in my office, a cramped but perfectly organized space tucked in the corner of the facility. It was a world of difference from the sunlit, wide-open workspace I inhabited aboveground. Here, the walls were lined with medical texts and digital monitors displaying endless streams of data. It kept the darkness in which my team and I thrived alive so that we could continue amassing the fortunes of my family’s legacy. The hum of machinery was a constant companion, a reminder of part of the life my family and I had chosen.

When we’d finally inherited part of our lying ass father’s empire, my siblings and I were astounded by not only the legal wealth, but the illegal fortune as well. His life as a struggling student had been a façade. Ismail came from wealth and multiplied it. His above- and below-ground portfolios were extensive, with everything from real estate to one of his most lucrative endeavors—harvesting organs. Ismail made fucked up personal choices, but the inheritance he provided took a bit of the sting out of how his decisions flipped our life upside down at one point. We took what was provided and expanded.

I thought of how my father’s legacy sometimes caused more problems than the money was worth, especially in the form of Aaqil. I was tired of offering grace, so now I was at the point of making examples. Some people didn’t understand when mercy was offered to them. Sometimes they needed a visual aid to stand down. Gerard had been one. Today, there might be another.

I looked back at my brother with a scowl on my face. “Ghazi, you got one job. Why is this nigga in here?” I asked. “You coulda handled this shit.”

Ghazi sucked his teeth as Targen laughed.

“Say, you really be letting that big brother shit go to your head. I don't work for you, Real. I just agreed to help in this capacity ‘cause you spread a little thin. You still the president or CEO orexecutivedirector of enforcement. And I need you to make anexecutivedecision about what to do with this mothafucka exactly,” Ghazi snapped.

---