Adored by a Brooklyn Drug Lord 3 Read online

  Contents

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  Synopsis

  1. Kelsey

  2. Quill

  3. Kelsey

  4. Quill

  5. Briana

  6. Kelsey

  7. Peace

  8. Drea

  9. Kelsey

  Untitled

  10. Kelsey

  11. Peace

  12. Quill

  13. Briana

  14. Kelsey

  15. Quill

  16. Kelsey

  17. Quill

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also By Tya Marie

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  Published by Royalty Publishing House

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  Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the author or publisher. This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+ only.

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  Synopsis

  Reeling from the aftermath of her kidnapping, Kelsey is forced to confront the very demons that chased her out of New York City five years ago. The chip she’s carried on her shoulder has become uncontrollable, causing her to live in a constant state of trauma. If she wants to successfully run The Trust there is no room for weakness. Resilience becomes her preferred choice of drug as she slowly takes back her life, starting with her seat at the head of the table. As if her professional life wasn’t trying enough, Kelsey’s personal life takes a hit as she and Quill work to find a balance between her overnight success and his steady come up. However, an old flame reappearing places a strain on their relationship. Peace is on a mission to make Kelsey his, and he doesn’t care how many bodies have to drop for him to claim her. The attraction between the two has always been present. The question is, will Kelsey turn down temptation in the name of true love, or will she submit to Peace, who leaves a path of anything but in his wake?

  While some may have no idea what the future holds, Quill is very aware of how his story will end. Every facet of his life leads him down the same road of uncertainty that is death. Quill’s days are numbered by Bull, who grows hungrier for his spot with each passing day. The cash flowing in is enough to keep Amos satiated, until it isn’t. But most importantly, Quill knows his relationship with Kelsey will act as a catalyst if he doesn’t learn to keep his emotions in check. Though his love for her is pure, Quill struggles with emerging from Kelsey’s shadow in order to give her the life she deserves. Kelsey’s rise to power was a staircase, whereas Quill’s is a steady climb, the jagged edges of betrayal threatening to destroy everything he’s amassed so far. However, all it takes is one secret bubbling to the surface to change the tide of their relationship. Quill stands to lose the very reason he’s still breathing, and if that isn’t bad enough, everything she’s created crumbles with his demise.

  The series finale of Adored by a Brooklyn Drug Lord is a story of lies, secrets, and redemption. As Kelsey delves deeper into the underworld comprising of The Trust, she’s forced to learn hard lessons when it comes to matters of the heart. Quill discovers what it means to make the ultimate sacrifice. In the mix is Briana, who will either drive the couple together or tear them apart.

  1

  Kelsey

  The very first time I was abducted, I was frightened out of my mind, crying and begging to be set free. I was willing to do anything if it meant the possibility of spending another night in my bed. Every noise terrified me, each passing minute pressed a heavy weight into my chest, I thought my life was going to be over. However, this time around, the exact opposite happened. I laid in the trunk of the car quietly, listening to my surroundings. The backdrop went from tranquility to the bustling noises of Downtown Brooklyn. I felt the familiar bumps of the BQE, subsiding and switching back to silence. Either we were in a quiet part of Brooklyn or—

  “No,” I said into the scarf tied around my mouth. “No, no, no.”

  I had killed the Jinetes, all three of them. Nicole and I disposed of their bodies, making it impossible for anyone to know we were behind their demise. The thought of being taken out of the country again was enough to have me flipping out, kicking the trunk, screaming in the hopes of someone hearing me. I rocked from side to side as the car slowed to a stop. My heart was pounding, punching my ribs as I listened to the engine die. The car doors opened, the sound of hushed voices reverberating throughout an open space. I wasn’t at a hangar; the acoustics were reminiscent of a warehouse. With my eyes bound with a blindfold, my ears were starting to adjust to the loss of a sense. Straining to listen, I could’ve sworn I heard a woman’s voice.

  “We say nothing around her,” one of my captors hissed. “Do you understand me?”

  “Listen, you don’t run shit,” another voice hissed back, this one unarguably male.

  Why wouldn’t they want to speak to me? I asked myself. The trunk opened, and I was hoisted out of it onto my feet, their pitter patter overshadowed by the stomps of whoever was manhandling me. He had big arms, those befitting of a bodyguard, not one of the muscle used by the Jinetes. Behind us were more footsteps—belonging to two people to be exact—and I knew whoever took me was a duo. Their whispers continued for a few more minutes, agitating my ears the longer I walked. I was so busy trying to catch more snippets of their conversation, I was unprepared for being let go of and shoved onto a mattress. A fresh blanket suffocated me until I was rolled onto my side. Another conversation in hushed whispers took place. The mattress dipped, and I was assaulted by a familiar scent. Men’s cologne. Expensive.

  “You’re not new to this,” one of my captors whispered in my ear, his baritone voice rumbling. “I heard the Mexicans got ahold of you and passed your sweet little ass around in Columbia. No need to worry about that with us; what we want is more valuable than what’s in between your legs.”

  He ripped the gag from my mouth, opting to leave me blindfolded. “Then what do you want? Money? I can get you money. Take me to the bank, and I’ll make you wealthy.”

  “If this wasn’t about pussy, what makes you think we’re looking for some money? We got plenty of that, a bankroll just as
long as yours. Everything ain’t about Benjamins; money is nice for materials, but like love, there are some things money can’t buy. Like infamy.”

  I laughed. “If you were as infamous as you thought, trust, you wouldn’t have needed me for leverage.”

  I felt the air fan across my face, parting for the slap to go across my face. My first instinct was to grab my cheek, but with my bound hands all I could do was rub it with my shoulder. The man laughed, taking my chin between his fingers and turning my face to meet his.

  “This ain’t Urban’s show anymore; you watch your mouth when you talk to me,” he warned, mushing me away from him, shoving my back into the moist mattress.

  There was another dip, and he retreated, the sound of his loafers growing faint. The room grew quiet for a moment, tricking me into thinking I was alone, and the door slammed shut. I rolled myself onto the mattress, stopping when I felt the cold wall against my arm. With a bit of maneuvering on my part, I sat up, chest heaving, body trembling. Now was not the time to have a panic attack, proving to them I was the weak child they perceived me to be. They weren’t after my body, my money, then what did they want?

  “Fuck,” I choked out, recalling my father’s words before he handed The Trust over to me.

  He spoke of the enemies I would accrue, with the most notable one being the Feds, who would seek to take everything I had. However, we had both underestimated how fast others would attempt to take what was given to me. A small set of people knew of the organization, had been part of it from the time I was in diapers, and to see me take over had to feel like a blow to the gut. I wasn’t being attacked by a foreign enemy—those days would soon come. This one was domestic. The goal was to dethrone me, take away what my father worked hard to pass down to me.

  I had been taken by The Trust.

  __________

  The sound of my growling stomach woke me up from a slumber I hadn’t even known I fell into. I hit my head against the wall, mentally cussing myself for not having breakfast with Quill. He had taken the time to order a spread for us to eat in the morning, and instead of enjoying the morning with him, I hurried home out of nervousness. Fucking your ex at night was easy; seeing them in the daytime was enough to serve as a reminder for why you weren’t together anymore. Quill had me wrapped up in his arms, kissing on my neck and shoulders as I stared out the window, thinking of how once we left here he would go back to Drea. No, they weren’t together, but we couldn’t be together in public like I wanted. I wonder if he knows I’m missing, I thought. Probably not. The same way he turned off his phone while he’s with Drea I’m sure was what he’d do to me.

  “Shit,” I whispered as I peeled myself off the wall, my shirt damp with sweat.

  Someone must’ve been listening at the door because not even a minute later, it opened. This time a waft of perfume came to me first, something French and floral. Her heels were drowned out by the chair she scraped against the cement floor, stopping right next to my foot. I was blindfolded, unarmed, and had no way of physically overcoming anyone. What I had to do was play them against each other. Neither one considered me a threat, making it time for me to assert as much without letting them know they were being played.

  “Have you spoken to my father yet?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

  She sighed. “No.”

  “Why not? The longer you hold on to me the harder you make it for him to comply with whatever you want. With the way I was taken from my apartment, law enforcement will be all over this. I’m sure NYPD has already passed this down to the FBI,” I said, adding a hint of resignation to my voice. “If your plan was to make this quick and clean, every minute you have me adds two more the FBI will be using to figure out where I am.”

  “Urban won’t let them.”

  “Will he have a choice? If you were asking for something tangible, maybe it would buy you some time…do you think you’ll have much with the Feds breathing down his back? If they even get a hint of this being about anything other than money, it’s over for everyone. You won’t be able to enjoy The Trust if everyone’s in jail.”

  Pause. “You figured it out…”

  “That’s why I was taken the last time.”

  I felt the tapping of expensive loafers, vibrating the wall I had leaned myself up against. The door opened, slamming shut with a resounding thud. There was a distinct energy shift in the room. Whoever this man was had a cold energy about him, one reeking of more than greed. The hate was present, although indirect. Other than wanting to take over, this was personal on a level I wasn’t privy to.

  “I just got finished looking at the news. Due to security footage procured by the NYPD, the FBI is now leading the investigation. This nigga Urban is on TV making a plea for us to return her. Shit wasn’t supposed to go like this. I told them niggas to take her out in a garbage bag…”

  The woman was silent, and I knew my words were going through her head. “We’re going to have to ask for money. If the FBI is working with Urban to get her back, we damn sure can’t ask for what we want without destroying everything.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I need the rest of the night to think something over. By the morning I’ll have an idea—”

  “I have one,” I piped up. “I can get you The Trust right under their eyes.”

  “How?” the woman inquired.

  The man sucked his teeth. “You think this little bitch is gon’ help us without having something in it for herself? We’ll handle this ourselves.”

  “Of course I get something out of it; you’ll let me go. Listen, I took over The Trust for my father because I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt. If it means that much to you, I will hand over everything. Remember: I’m in charge now.”

  “For the sake of appearances. I know for a fact your father is in your ear.”

  “You’re right,” I lied. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t get a message to him. Let me make one phone call before you contact my father. You’ll get what you want and I get to go home.”

  The room was so silent I could hear the drip drop of water splashing onto the floor. Thirty splashes later, they had an answer for me. It was the man who spoke up once again. He asked me for the phone number. I hadn’t realized I had memorized it until the numbers fell from my lips with little trouble. I felt my stomach twisting at the random possibilities. He could’ve turned his phone off, was busy taking care of his son, or out on the streets. By the third ring I had given up hope that he wasn’t answering, when he picked up.

  “Quill,” I said, closing my burning eyes. Here came the tears. “It’s me. I need you to do me a huge favor.”

  “Anything. Where are you?”

  “I can’t say. I just need you to get a message to my father.”

  Pause. “What’s the message?”

  “I want you to tell him that I love him more than anything in the world. I love you too,” I said, saying the words I wish I would’ve if not for thinking of the future instead of the present. “I’ve been captured, and I’m being held for all the information pertaining to organization that I am now in charge of. They want my father to hand it over in order to save me and I…want you to make sure these motherfuckers don’t get shit. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  The call was cut off right at the ten second marker. I knew Quill would go to my father with this information, and they would have my location within minutes. My kidnappers knew the same. I was picked up by my throat, held in the air as I could feel the man’s eyes boring a hole into mine, and thrown onto the mattress. The small amount of cushion couldn’t compete with gravity, and I felt my entire shoulder almost dislocate.

  “You don’t negotiate with terrorists?” he roared, mounting me and proceeding to rain down blows on me, hitting me so hard in the mouth I felt one of my teeth dislodge, choking me as my mouth filled with blood. “I knew not to trust a fucking Mackenzie! Not after what the fuck your uncle did to my father! Murdered him in cold blood! All I want is for all of you
to pay the same way he did: in BLOOD!”

  The last word was met with a punch, the anger of five generations behind it. My head snapped to the side at the same time the blindfold slipped off of my face, revealing an enraged Carlos Edmonds, known in the boardroom as Mr. E. Mrs. D scrambled from her seat to stop him, but it was too late—my head was spinning and the room was growing dark. Carlos pulled his arm back and let loose, hitting me with a punch that had sent me into a sea of darkness. I woke up confused, my head pounding. Everything was dark, but my hands were free, folded across my chest. They hit padded cushion as I raised them to see where I was. My hands roamed the small space, feeling for an exit or at least a hint of where I was. With some maneuvering, I was able to scoot myself down, my feet kicking the other side of the box I was in.

  “No,” I cried, pounding on the top of the casket. “Let me out of here! LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

  I wasn’t sure how much air I had left, but I knew the longer I cried, the more of it I would waste. They couldn’t beat the truth out of me so they decided to bury me with it.

  2

  Quill

  The black Buick raced through the streets, cutting through traffic, its horn threatening any pedestrian stupid enough to be anywhere but the sidewalk. I sat in the backseat of the SUV, holding onto the handle for dear life as I was jostled around. Urban sat beside me, hands crossed over his sprawled legs, his expression unchanging. He had been silent since picking me up from my place. My phone was going off in my pocket, vibrating steadily for the past ten minutes. I pulled it out of my pocket as the call from Drea went to voicemail. On my home screen read sixty missed calls from Drea. It lit up with another call, this time from Amos.