Page 176 of The Fire We Make

Occasionally Ace broke their seamless assembly line to place a trail of kisses down her neck or run his hands up and down her wet body.

This is nice, Joy thought.

This was something she could get used to.

Billie Holiday transitioned into Nat King Cole and Joy felt the rumble of Ace’s humming against her back.

Her phone vibrated beside her cleaned brass knuckles and Ace’s glock.

Assuming it was Mel asking if she planned on coming home tonight, she turned in his arms, reaching over to grab it.

She giggled as Ace took the opportunity to feel her up which erupted into full blown cackles when she settled back in his arms. He kissed a path down the side of her face and nuzzled her neck, the hair of his goatee tickling her.

Instead of a message from Mel, she found an encrypted message from Glock lighting up her screen. She opened their thread and her laughter immediately ceased.

Glock: A few of our DFW guys got pinched, but nothing crazy. Cleve lost his fucking mind and switched up your distribution system and it got a whole warehouse caught up.

Her body stilled as her blood heated in a way that had nothing to do with the bathwater.

Joy: WTF????

Glock: Yeah… Your pops is working with the lawyers but he pretty much exposed us. I’ll keep you updated.

Joy: Please do.

Ace noticed her shift in demeanor. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice hard and his body rigid like he was prepared to fight any threat for her. Fight with her.

Joy threw her phone back down on the towel and brought her hands to her face, water sloshing with her movements.

“Rose. What’s wrong baby?” Ace asked again, his arms tightening around her.

After a deep breath, she lowered her hands and turned to face him. “That nigga Cleve is gonna run my shit into the ground.”

“How?” Ace asked.

Joy recounted the few details she received from Glock as Ace listened intently.

“I created a flawless system. One that kept us out of law enforcement radar for years. I’m gone for a year and he’s tearing down my shit, for what?” she exclaimed.

Ace didn't speak, just rubbed her back while he let her vent.

“I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” Joy shook her head. “That motherfucka has always undermined me. Always questioned me. He’d throw his own mama over a cliff if he thought it’d spite me.”

Her eyes focused on the candle flickering on the counter, memories of her childhood training coming back to her in wave after traumatizing wave.

“What did he do to you?” Ace asked, watching as she zoned out.

Joy chuckled. “Where do I even start? He humiliated me more times than I could count. He sent me on dangerous missions alone to prove I didn't have what it took. When my father put him in charge of training, he’d set the bar higher for me than the boys. Sometimes I’d leave feeling like I got hit by a truck because even when I beat everyone, he wouldn't let me stop.

“He undermined and questioned me at every chance he could. Anything to prove that my spot should belong to him. All that and the motherfucka eventually got what he wanted and look what the fuck he’s doing to my organization! With my spot!”

Joy’s fists clenched.

“Is that what you want?” Ace asked. “Your spot back?”

Joy looked up from where she was still watching the flame of the scented candle dance, staring Ace dead in the eye. She bit her lip, shaking off the words and anger that threatened to spill out of her.

“Say it,” Ace urged, but it sounded more like a dare.