Page 3 of Buy Back My Love

“For the building.”

“What about it?”

I stared at him. “You know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Lee, I bought that for you.”

“And I appreciate it, but I don’t want to owe you.”

His face changed a little at that. “You don’t owe me.”

“Then take the money.”

“Nah.”

I pushed the envelope closer to him. “JB.”

He leaned back like that settled it. “I said nah.”

I went back and forth with his hardheaded ass until I finally got tired of talking. So yeah, when people said JB bought me my shop, technically they weren’t lying. He bought the building, but I was the one who turned it into Love-Lee, and five years later, every chair in the place was full.

I sprayed my table with disinfectant, wiped it down, and called my next client over. Outside, a black SUV rolled slowly past the storefront. I barely paid it any attention. With the shop packed the way it was, I figured somebody was looking for somewhere to park. Then another one passed a few seconds later, followed by a third.

One of the girls looked through the front window. “Damn, what’s going on out there?”

“Probably somebody got pulled over,” another tech answered without looking up.

That was enough of an explanation for everybody, including me. We went right back to work like nothing was happening. A minute or two later, Hannah, one of my nail techs, walked over and handed me a cupcake with a sparkler sticking out of the icing.

“Happy anniversary, boss.”

I laughed as I took it from her. “You trying to make me fat?”

Before she could answer, the front doors exploded inward. Men and women in black tactical vests rushed inside with guns drawn, and the whole shop went from loud as hell to complete confusion in seconds.

“Federal task force! Nobody move!”

My brush slipped out of my fingers and splashed monomer across the towel underneath my client’s hand. Somebody screamed, one customer dropped straight to the floor, and one of my nail techs started crying before anybody had even touched her.

“What the hell is going on?” I yelled.

Agents rushed past us toward the back of the shop.

“My office back there! What are y’all doing?”

Nobody answered me. One of them slammed something heavy into the storage-room door, cracking the frame on the first hit. He swung again, then again, until the door flew open. I stood there watching because none of this made any damn sense. There wasn’t anything illegal back there. My licenses were straight, my taxes were paid, and every bottle, receipt, invoice, everything connected to Love-Lee was clean.

Then one of the agents swung straight through the sheetrock between two studs, sending pieces of drywall all over the floor.

“What the fuck are they doing?” I whispered.

He hit the wall again, knocking out enough of it for another agent to reach inside. When his arm came back out, he was holding a vacuum-sealed brick. For a second, I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at. Then another brick came out, followed by another. Somebody dragged out a duffel bag, unzipped it, and started pulling out stacks of cash bundled tight with rubber bands.

I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at the hole in my wall and everything they kept pulling out of it. JB had his life and I had mine. I knew what he did. I wasn’t stupid, and I knew exactly why my mama had spent years warning me about him. I just never thought any of that would touch Love-Lee.

He knew what this place meant to me. He knew how hard I had worked for it, and I couldn’t make myself believe he would bring that shit here and hide it inside my walls.

A rough hand closed around my arm. “Leona Davis?”