Expired by Evie Rhodes Page A

in the office was neat and in place, including the stacks of cash, sorted by denomination and lying on the desk.
    Whiskey knew he had to get straight to the point when he went into Tracie’s office. After all, business was business. Stepping through the door, he closed in on Tracie. He leaned close to whisper in her ear, “I have another shipment. I need immediate storage. I haven’t heard from you.”
    Tracie pulled her ear away from his whispering range. “I know. I just lost my baby son and—”
    â€œBusiness is business, Tracie. The guns have to disappear from the street. There’s not much time.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a big girl.” He touched a lock of her black, silky, wrapped hair. “And you’re a survivor,” he told her. He moved closer to her and brushed her ear with the soft whisper of a kiss.
    â€œI don’t think I can,” she said.
    Whiskey touched a finger to her lips. “Shush. There is nothing a beautiful woman like you cannot do, Tracie.”
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box, placing it in her hand. Tracie stared at the box, not speaking. Whiskey walked over to a plush chair in her office and sat down crossing, his legs. “Go ahead. Open it.”
    Tracie flipped open the lid. A pair of glittering pear-shaped diamond earrings twinkled at her. She estimated they were at least five carats each. She sighed. “Whiskey, I’m afraid I can’t accept these.” Distressed, she ran a hand through her silken hair.
    Whiskey stood up. He was not in the mood to be toyed with. Her boy’s death had already kept his goods on the street longer than was safe. He would not wait one minute longer.
    â€œYes. Yes, you can. And you will. Those diamond earrings have a lot to measure up to.” Whiskey’s voice was deceptively soft. He gave her a pointed look.
    Tracie took a deep breath. She finally shook her head, hitting him with a sultry, seductive smile. Sometimes dealing with Whiskey was extremely trying. His spirit was black, but it was covered in a veneer of rough charisma.
    She knew she had to be careful. Whiskey was a dangerous man. Playing with him was not an option.
    He reached over her. He hit the button that lowered the silver blinds over the glass window in her office, effectively shutting out the salon. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope bulging with cash. He held out the envelope to her.
    Tracie accepted it.
    â€œTonight,” Whiskey said. “The usual time.”
    â€œTonight,” she agreed.
    Whiskey walked to the office door and turned the handle. His gold pinkie ring flashed rainbow hues, playing against the office lights. He looked at Tracie. “It’s too bad about Randi. Maybe one day there’ll be other babies. Say hello to Michael and Dre for me.”
    The scar on the side of his face pulsed against his skin. He swept Tracie from head to toe with his gaze. Then he was gone.
    Tracie went back to her desk. She immediately began counting the cash from the envelope. Satisfied, she stored it according to denomination into the already neatly stacked bills. Softly she caressed the bills as she sorted them.
    Money was the only thing in her life that made her feel powerful. It had lifted her out of the projects. Taken her away from other people’s jobs, and it had made a great many of her dreams come true. It was the only thing in life she trusted.
    Because she knew that with money most things, possessions as well as people, could be bought. But most of all, what money supplied for her was power. It was the greatest symbol of power she had ever received. It had an all-knowing eye. Money was the great equalizer.
    Tracie finished counting the money. She turned her thoughts to the night ahead.

11
    L ater that night, after the drop-off, Tracie watched from the back door of the basement as the truck pulled out into the street.