The Game Never Ends Read online

  Tuesday never hid the fact that she was bisexual; she and Marcus had even tag-teamed a few thots. Those times had been just for fun but Tuesday broke the rules when it came to Shaun. First, she had kept her a secret, and second, she had gotten emotionally attached. She knew it was no excuse, but the past few months had produced a change in her husband. He was more reclusive, opting to work from his home office rather than be at Abel. Marcus had never kept many friends but he was being less social with the few people in his inner circle.

  While he was physically more available to Tuesday and the girls, spending lots of time with them, mentally he still seemed to be elsewhere. Even when he was laughing and playing tickle-monster with Tanisha, there would flash a far-off look in his eyes that gave Tuesday concern.

  Their sex had even suffered, but only because Tuesday felt like he wasn’t connecting with her emotionally. There was no drop-off in his skill or stamina, in fact, over the past month Marcus had been wanting her more than ever, and he still earned a standing ovation from that ass whenever he hit it from the back. Still, Tuesday didn’t enjoy it as much because she sensed he was only using her as a distraction from some problem he was secretly dealing with.

  Tuesday’s repeated inquiries were met by casual dismissals. A few times he offered simple explanations that she knew were only to shut her up.

  Although Marcus was being distant, Tuesday knew that it didn’t justify her creeping with Shaun. Marcus had done so much so for her that she felt he could ignore her for a year and it didn’t warrant her sneaking behind his back. This was selfish and potentially dangerous considering what happened to the last woman who cheated on him.

  Her husband did so well at disguising himself as Marcus King, respectable entrepreneur and philanthropist, that Tuesday sometimes forgot about his alter ego, Sebastian Caine: ruthless drug lord. An ex-fiancée had done him dirty in the past and gotten her head chopped off because of it. Tuesday didn’t think Marcus was that person anymore but knew betrayal could bring the worst out in people.

  Many women who went both ways often used the saying “eatin’ ain’t cheatin’” but Tuesday didn’t subscribe to this. She knew if she caught Marcus with a young side-piece, Tuesday would kill that bitch even if she was only sucking his dick.

  But she never had to worry about this because Marcus was fiercely loyal. She knew how rare that was in a man and it made her feel even worse.

  A flawless fourteen-carat cushion-cut diamond dominated her left hand. She glanced at it, feeling unworthy of the ring or the man who gave it to her.

  After a little more self-loathing, Tuesday finally let up the gull-wing door on her AMG and entered the house. They had twenty-two thousand square feet under one roof: eight bedrooms, fourteen baths, two elevators, two indoor pools, a gym with a sauna and a home theater. Carrera marble ran throughout the first floor, and the grand staircase in the foyer was adorned with custom brass balustrades designed by Versace. From the ceiling, twenty-five feet above, hung decadent chandeliers made in Paris by some designer with a name Tuesday still couldn’t pronounce.

  There was a time when Tuesday had been intimidated by the big white house, but it quickly became as comfortable as an old slipper.

  All the staff had already gone for the day so the house was quiet and still.

  Tuesday had been gone since breakfast and had eaten nothing the entire day—except for Shaun. They had two kitchens, a gourmet kitchen plus an executive chef’s commercial kitchen, which they only used to cater formal gatherings. The first was the smaller of the two and where Tuesday immediately went for a snack.

  The granite countertops were spotless and the stainless steel appliances shone like polished chrome. Dinner was typically prepared by their personal chef and Tuesday figured that the family already ate without her. She found a veggie lasagna in the refrigerator and reheated a slice. For dessert she stole four of the walnut chocolate chip cookies their housekeeper Esperanza baked especially for Marcus. Tuesday was at the center cook island nibbling on one with a glass of milk when Brandon entered the kitchen.

  To the world, Brandon King was Marcus’s father and the face of their legitimate empire. In truth, he and Marcus were not even related—a secret known to no one outside the three of them. Brandon had played the right-hand and enforcer to her husband back when he was known as Sebastian Caine. People would look at this handsome elderly gentleman with his tailored pinstriped suits, salt-and-pepper curls, and friendly smile, thinking he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine. They would never suspect that he had once been one of the most notorious hit men in the country.

  He perched himself on the stool next to hers. “We missed you today.”

  “Sorry, I had an appointment that ran long.” Tuesday was staring straight ahead trying to avoid the judgment in his eyes. “When I knew I wouldn’t make it, I sent you a text and told my secretary to take notes. I’ll look ’em over tomorrow.”

  The appointment she was referring to was at the salon. Tuesday just wasn’t in the mood to deal with work this day. While the rest of Abel Incorporated’s senior staff was taking care of business, Tuesday was out with her girlfriend getting their hair and nails done.

  His tone was sympathetic: “Hey look, I get it. Boring ass three-hour meeting and you decided to play hooky. Who wants to listen to stuffed suits go on and on about Pakistan’s changing export regulations and how they’ll affect our market share? Shit, I wish I could skip ’em too. But as the chief executive officer, and one of the Kings to boot, that’s not a good look for the company or the fam.”

  Guilt slumped her shoulders; she offered a nod. She knew that what she did at Abel reflected back on Marcus and Brandon, which was why fucking with Shaun was doubly stupid. The two of them had worked extremely hard to conceal their pasts and build the Kings’ reputation. They were proud of the name even though neither of them were born with it.

  Tuesday swallowed more milk. “Why is he doing this? He knows I don’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea of what I’m doin.’ Most of the time I’m just sittin’ in my office, looking stupid and signing shit I barely understand.”

  “It was his decision,” Brandon said, breaking himself off a piece of her cookie. “It’s not like he listens to me. Just made me pour another hundred million into the scholarship program. I told him it would kill our third quarter profits but I’m just the puppet; we both know who pulls the strings.”

  Being in charge was something Tuesday never wanted. When she first came to California, Marcus hadn’t just set Tuesday up with a new identity; he gave her a job in his company. It was an advisory position that basically allowed her to collect a six-figure salary with no actual responsibility. In fact, Tuesday never had to even show up at the office.

  Then after years of allowing Brandon to run the company while Marcus played the background, he stepped in and made Brandon hand the reins over to Tuesday and demoted Brandon to executive vice president. The old man didn’t think it was wise and Tuesday was in full agreement but for some reason Marcus had insisted.

  She said: “The only business I ever ran was a booty club and it did so bad I still had to rob niggas on the side. Why in the hell does he think I can handle running a big ass corporation?”

  “Do you remember the very first conversation you and I had? It was when I picked you up from that police station just as he was going on the run.”

  Tuesday remembered. It was three years ago, her last night in Detroit. The feds had held her for an entire day sweating her about Marcus but she gave up nothing. When she saw the suave assassin pull up in that Maybach, Tuesday had first thought Brandon was there to kill her.

  “One of the first things I told you about my boss is to never try to figure him out,” he reminded her. “You’ll never be able to do it and you’ll only drive yourself crazy in the process.” Brandon playfully nudged her with his shoulder and Tuesday smiled because he was right.

  “He been actin’ weird lately,” she said, serious again. “It’s somethin
g he ain’t tellin’ us.”

  “Of course there’s something he’s not telling us,” the elder said laughing. “Did you forget who he is?”

  Tuesday understood that her husband was better than most at keeping secrets. He had survived the game at the highest level for over two decades by being clandestine. Sebastian Caine had done business only through intermediaries; buyers and suppliers never got to see his face. Even the people within his organization never dealt with him directly. This was how he eventually became known as The Invisible Man.

  Brandon pecked her cheek then stood to leave. “And if I gotta’ sit through those meetings bored out my mind then you do too. If he asks, tell ’em I got on your back about not showing up.”

  Tuesday agreed that she would.

  Even though he wasn’t Marcus’s real father, Brandon had come to be a father figure to her. He was the one who held down Tuesday and Danielle that first year. She was pregnant with Tanisha while Marcus was running from a federal indictment. Since then, Brandon had served as a sounding board and counselor.

  She sat there a while longer thinking, relishing the combination of chocolate, walnut and brown sugar. Despite the warning, she couldn’t help but try to understand why her husband would hand over his Fortune 500 company to a woman who didn’t attend high school. Even Tuesday didn’t think her pussy was that good. She sensed some angle Marcus was working just beyond her comprehension. Either Brandon couldn’t see it either or was in on it and just role-playing. She couldn’t decide which.

  After the final cookie, she made sure to wipe the crumbs from her lips.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday entered the family room to find her husband on the sofa and Danielle on the one that sat adjacent. Like most nine-year-olds, Danielle’s attention was consumed by her phone. Tuesday didn’t know if she was texting a friend or playing a game.

  “Dani, I’m so sorry I missed your thing but—”

  The girl just stood up and brushed past Tuesday before she could finish the apology. Danielle left the room without saying a word. She didn’t even throw Tuesday a “fuck-you” glance.

  Whether justified or not, Tuesday felt totally disrespected by that and started to go after her until she was held up by Marcus.

  “You might wanna give that a minute,” he said, never looking up from his book. “After the way you left her hangin’ today, she straight on you right now.”

  “I get she’s mad but damn, to just walk off while I’m trying to talk to her is some other shit! I’m out here running errands and looking at real estate and just got caught up.”

  Marcus knew that Tuesday had been looking to open a boutique that sold fashion-forward clothes for women with her body type, and for six months had been checking out different commercial properties. Lately, however, the store search had just been her cover for spending time with Shaun.

  He turned a page. “Just lost track of time. Happens to the best of us.”

  Tuesday wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. She thought Marcus would make an excellent poker player because the nigga had no tells.

  She asked, “Did her school win?”

  He nodded. “They had a little struggle but baby brought it home for her team. She calculated the square root of a number I couldn’t even fit in my head.”

  He switched gears. “See Brandon before he left?”

  “Yeah, I talked to ’em.” She made a point to add in: “And got cursed out for missing the staff meeting.”

  “Should’ve been there.”

  “I told you I had a crazy day,” she said defensively.

  Marcus was cool. He just continued reading for a while then said, “I see you got your hair and nails done.”

  He stated this as if it were just an observation but Tuesday read an accusation into it. She knew how fucked up this looked: on a day where she bailed on work and missed their daughter’s academic contest, to then stand in front of him with a fresh hairdo. She couldn’t even tell how he noticed, being that he hadn’t turned away from his book since she walked in.

  Tuesday started to craft a lie that would explain it all then thought better of it. Her husband was the sharpest person she had ever met and anything she concocted would only insult his intelligence. Rather than dig a deeper hole, she just let the matter drop.

  Marcus was wearing what had basically become his uniform as of late: a crispy wifebeater, long hoop shorts and ankle socks. He was in the house so much that Tuesday hardly remembered the last time she’d seen him dressed in anything that didn’t have a Jordan logo.

  She took the opposite end of the sofa, kicked off her shoes, put her feet on the cushions and tucked them underneath his thigh for warmth. Marcus just tossed her a side-glance then kept reading.

  “’Nisha sleep?”

  “She crashed around seven thirty.” He consulted a Chrono-swiss timepiece Tuesday bought for him last year. “So she gone be up about two in the morning, full of energy and ready to play. Have fun with that.”

  She rolled her eyes and gave him the finger. When he seemed too consumed with his book to feed into it she asked, “What’cho reading?”

  “Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. He was the emperor of Rome in the second century, and one of its most brilliant field generals. He was also last of the great stoic philosophers.”

  “I know who he is,” she lied. Tuesday had practically grown up in the strip club and gained her knowledge from the years spent there and in the stick-up game. On the other hand, Marcus had an intelligence that went beyond the hood. While he obviously had enough street smarts to get heavy in the dope game, her husband had also been to college and was a voracious reader. He was never condescending to Tuesday, but talking to him sometimes highlighted her eighth-grade education, and made her feel inadequate.

  She said, “It ain’t like I don’t read stuff too.”

  “All the time,” he agreed. “You ever finish the book I gave you?”

  Tuesday couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “I’m working through it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m gonna finish it.”

  He turned another page. “Okay.”

  She hissed, “With everything I gotta do at Abel, I just don’t get a lotta time to read.”

  He shrugged. “Take your time.”

  It irritated the hell out of Tuesday when he acted like this, nonchalant like nothing she did or didn’t do mattered to him either way.

  She erupted, “I’m not stupid, Marcus. I just got a lot I’m dealing with right now.”

  He finally put down the book to look at her. “Who said you’re stupid? Bae, we both know your head is the main reason I’m with you.”

  Tuesday didn’t miss the joke. He did that goofy little grin that brought out his dimples, and it was that easy for him to defuse her attitude, to make her smile.

  “Oh, so now I’m just a trophy wife who’s only job is to pleasure you?”

  “A trophy?” He laughed. “Winners get trophies—you’re a punishment. What fucked up contest did I lose to deserve you?”

  Tuesday clubbed him with a sofa pillow and their playful wrestling match quickly turned sexual. Tuesday was sitting across his lap while his large hands roamed her body, squeezed her titties and rubbed her thighs.

  This was what had attracted her to Marcus from the very beginning: their chemistry. The way they played with each other and slipped one another; for Tuesday it was like being with her best friend. Lately he had been withdrawn, and she could still tell something was weighing on him, but none of that had taken away his appeal. Tuesday was still absolutely crazy about him.

  Growing up she had been that light-skinned girl who always crushed harder on the darkest boys. Marcus was a well-built six-foot-three with skin the color of Hershey bar chocolate. He stayed clean-shaven other than a thin mustache and goatee. Healthy living and exercise made him appear ten years younger than his forty-four.

  Marcus slid his hands up her skirt but when he went in for a ki
ss, Tuesday turned away from it.

  “Boy stop. What if Dani come back in here? Plus, why you wanna kiss me if I’m such a horrible punishment?” It was a clever diversion. Tuesday had just been with Shaun and wasn’t so dirty as to kiss her husband with another bitch’s pussy on her lips.

  She wanted him but needed the opportunity to clean up first. So when she said, “I’m going to take a shower,” it was an invitation for him to join her.

  Her husband looked suspicious. For a long moment he just stared at her, his eyes narrowed. Then he said, “You ain’t slick muthafucka. I know why you don’t wanna kiss me.”

  Tuesday’s heart suddenly shifted from first to fifth gear. Her mouth went dry and it seemed harder to breathe.

  “I know you been in there eatin’ my damn cookies,” he said through a smirk. “Esperanza make those just for me. Everybody know how I feel ’bout my walnut chocolate chip joints.”

  “I’m sorry bae,” she said after a relieved gasp. She covered her mouth as if embarrassed. “I only got you for a few of ’em.”

  He shook his head. “Yo’ greedy ass.”

  She grabbed his dick and massaged it through the thin nylon shorts. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you how greedy I really am.”

  “Go on up. Just let me knock out the rest of this chapter.”

  Tuesday snatched the book. “I got something more important I need you to knock out.”

  “C’mon bae, I’ll meet you up there in twenty minutes.” There it was again, that far-off look flashed within his warm brown eyes.

  Tuesday could feel his stiffness in her hand so she knew he wanted to fuck, but she returned his book also knowing the time he required had nothing to do with his interest in the Roman emperor.