Page 10 of Abra's Acquisition
“His family were slaves?” I ask, stunned. “He doesn’t look black.”
“It’s there, but diluted. Same for me. We’re Creole. At least I think that’s my heritage. I only knew my father, but he never talked much about our heritage. The only thing I know is that my great-great-however-many-greats grandmother was a slave to a man who forced her to be his mistress. She gave birth to a son. That son grew up to kill the bastard who beat his mother to death. He, too, ran off to Mexico.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t know them, and their story isn’t the worst I’ve heard. He got his revenge and gained his freedom. That’s not too bad. I’ve thought about researching my ancestryto find out more, but honestly, I’m not sure I’m all that interested.”
“You’re not interested in history?” I ask.
“I’m not interested in my history,” he corrects me with a sad smile. “My family never amounted to much. My dad was a gambler and a drunk. He never held a steady job, so we called the streets our home more often than not. He’d occasionally put together enough money to rent a place, but it never lasted. He died when he chose the wrong mark and fumbled the lift.”
“But, you made something of your life. Lucifer’s Heir was extremely popular. You sold out all your showings. I know, because I only managed to get tickets one time.”
He grins down at me. “You saw the show?”
I nod. “I did. It wasn’t at one of your usual venues. You were doing a charity event for a children’s home. My brother took me because he knew I wanted to see you in action.”
He nods as he considers my words. “I remember that show. We raised a decent sum of money for the kids. It was one of my last shows.”
“I remember. I was surprised when you retired. Do you mind telling me why you decided to give it all up?”
We’d reached the bottom of the stairs by this time—Abra holds out a chair for me at the end of the crowded table. Everyone is already seated and eating soup and sandwiches. Even as I scoot my chair up to the table, a young man delivers a bowl of soup and a sandwich to me—a second man who looks similar to the first hands Abra his meal.
“Thanks, Conor,” Abra says, before turning to me. “Danny and Conor are brothers. They’re the adopted brothers of our VP, Dixie. We all went to Ireland just over a week ago and brought them back with us. They’re prospects who will eventually be patched into our club.”
I smile at them both before turning my attention to Abra. “Were you a prospect once?”
Abra smirks and shakes his head. “No. When Hex started this club, he needed members, not prospects. Dixie and Lake knew Hex when they served together. Hex met Pirate when he needed some tech help. Zip was the only one who prospected for the club, but he was only a prospect for about two months. He saved Hex’s life and earned his patch.”
“And what about you? How did you end up here?”
He grimaces before staring off into the distance. I can see he’s putting his thoughts in order, but the look on his face tells me that he’s trying to censor the story.
“You’re planning to lie to me, aren’t you?” I ask. “You don’t trust me? I get it.”
He shakes his head before locking eyes with me. “I don’t want to put you in a bad position. I did something that almost cost me my life, and it hurt someone I care about very much. If Hex hadn’t found me when he did, I’d be dead. So would my friend Cicero. Cicero saved my life, but if it wasn’t for Lake and the others, both Cicero and I would be dead. The worst part is, I was at fault for all of it. I wish I could blame someone else, but I made a rash decision and almost paid the ultimate price.”
“What did you do that almost got you killed?” I ask. I hadn’t noticed that the door to the clubhouse had opened to allow a man to enter until he plopped down in the chair next to mine and spoke up.
“He believed his own hype about being protected by Lucifer himself and took on two men who wanted to use him as a pincushion,” the man says as he spreads several papers out on the table.
CHAPTER NINE: ABRA
I slap Cicero on the back in greeting as he dumps notebooks, binders, and reams of paper on the table. “You want something to eat?”
Cicero frowns as he studies the remains of my sandwich and soup. I shake my head as I take in his slight form. He’s lost weight since I last saw him. Cicero is a lesson in neglect. Not only did his parents neglect him when he was a child, but now, as an adult, he tends to neglect himself. He rarely remembers to eat. At least he managed to shower before coming over. I make it a point to visit him three or four times a week to ensure he showers and eats something. “When was the last time you ate?”
He frowns at me. “Um…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Two sandwiches and a bowl of soup,” I instruct Danny, who nods before rushing off with a tray of dirty dishes. “Take a seat. We can talk while you eat.” Once he’s seated, I introduce him to those he hasn’t yet met. Cicero doesn’t spend much time at the clubhouse, even though Hex assured him that he was always welcome.
“Tell me what you’ve learned about the De Villiers,” Cicero says as he picks up the sandwich Danny placed in front of him.
“Wait, I want to hear about how Abra joined the Demon Dawgs. It sounds like an interesting story,” Rey cuts in.
“I want to hear how he got the name, Cicero,” Cleo chimes in. “Is that your real name?”
“You have a problem with Cicero, Cleopatra?” Hex smirks as he pokes her side.
