Page 179 of The Fire We Make

“Yeah. Remy said he was spotted on the traffic cameras and hasn’t moved since.”

Ace turned his phone around and showed her the black and white photo from a nearby camera showing Cleve walking across the street adjacent to where they currently stood.

Joy looked briefly, then confirmed with a nod. “Okay.”

Ace turned the phone back to himself and chuckled. “You really cut that nigga’s right hand off.”

Joy shrugged, too intent on her mission to feel ashamed.

“Okay so how you wanna do this?” Ace asked. “This is your show, I’m just backup.”

Joy grinned, turning to him and stepping into his space. “The King of New York… my backup? I like the sound of that,” she simpered.

Ace chuckled, dropping a kiss to her forehead. Her usually big hair was pulled tight into a bun at the back of her head giving him full access to the whole of her face.

“Just for you, Rose,” he said. “Just for you.”

Joy simpered, her eyes flicking down for just a moment before returning to his as she fought a grin.

She lifted on the balls of her heels, then placed a kiss on his lips before turning in the direction of the warehouse.

“Okay. Let’s go,” Joy said.

They walked across the street under the cover of the broken street light.

The street was still and quiet, the late hour meaning everyone was tucked safely in their homes for the night. But Joy knew that the day was just getting started for her men, and she’d find a bustle of activity inside.

The irony of being back here wasn't lost on her. It was the first warehouse Byron had put her in charge of when she turned eighteen and the first time she thought she was going to die.

She couldn’t prove it to her father, but Cleve had orchestrated a robbery, letting it be known that she was alone while accepting product shipments.

All of her men were placed elsewhere and Cleve had sent Glock on a solo mission that night, so Joy had no backup when 5 men kicked the front door in.

To this day, she still wasn’t sure what happened between the moment one of the men shoved a gun and his crotch in her face and the moment she called cleanup surrounded by mangled bodies.

Cleve’s shocked and disappointed expression the next time he saw her was all the confirmation she needed that he was in on it.

Joy and Ace slipped through the back door easily with the help of Remy disengaging the digital lock.

Joy walked through the pristine warehouse. The polished concrete floors, bright industrial lighting overhead, and loading bays marked with unmarked trucks was almost exactly how she remembered it. Only the guards stationed at every access point were missing but that worked to her advantage.

The familiar smell of cardboard, diesel, and gunpowder greeted her and she couldn't help but take a deep inhale to savor it.

“Y’all have a nice operation here,” Ace said, looking at the impeccably organized warehouse in admiration.

Joy beamed up at him. “Thank you. This was my idea.”

Ace raised a brow. “Word?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “The whole distribution system. Staggered pickups by territory. Coded inventory. All of it.”

Ace sighed, shaking his head in disbelief with wonder in his eyes. “You built this shit, baby. I’m proud of you.”

Joy’s eyes prickled. He had no idea how long she’d been waiting for someone to acknowledge what she created rather than just what she’d destroyed. How much she’d needed that recognition. That acknowledgement of her work and sacrifice.

The back was silent save for the crackling of the CB radios, but the closer they got to the glass-walled office overlooking the loading bays, the clearer the voices carried.

“Three territories collecting on the same night defeats the point of the rotation,” a man’s voice said carefully. “Joy set the schedule for a reason.”