Enchanted-Excerpt

Prologue

The young man stood statue still.

His mind told him to run, but he was unable to make his body move. He felt as though

he was

passing

through a dream, an unreality of his own making, even though his mind

was fully aware of the

signs of life going

on around him. The sun beaming down hot on

top of his head. The cars whizzing by,

their back wind tousling

his glossy black hair.

The squeaky squawk of a female voice and intermittent

beeps coming from a radio in

the

car that was parked a few feet away. The birds in the air above him,

and when his

startling blue gaze rose to the

blue of the matching sky, he wished with all his heart

that

he could grow wings and fly off with them.

He looked down at the man lying on his back in the street, and squeezed his eyes shut,

blocking out

the pool

of blood that surrounded his head. He clenched his fists as a

loud scream reverberated inside his

mind. What in

God's name had he done?

"Dexter, let's go!"

He heard the voice of his friend, Carlos, and opened his eyes, but he still couldn't make

himself

move.

"Santangelo, get in the car! We can't stay here!"

Someone grabbed his shirt from behind and began dragging him back. Dexter

struggled to get

away. The

man needed help. Someone had to help him. "B-but w-what

about-"

"Ain't nothin' you can do for him. He's dead! Come on, man!"

Dexter pulled away and looked down at his hand. When it began to shake

uncontrollably, tears

welled in

his eyes. Sunlight glinted off the shiny black metal and

the heaviness in his hand suddenly

became unbearable.

He released his grip and

watched the gun fall to the street. It hit the paved road

with a loud metal clank and his

lips began to tremble with his efforts to hold back a sob. He glanced at

the man lying in

the street again and felt

the weight of his crime land heavily on his shoulders.

He'd done a lot of things wrong in his short life, but this was by far the worst. He had

committed an

unforgivable sin. He was a killer, and knowing that he'd taken the life of

another human being would

haunt

him for a very long time, possibly forever.

His friends called out to him again and Dexter looked up at the car parked by the side of

the road a

few feet

away. A young boy stood by the open door, his dark eyes widened

in terror. Dexter swallowed,

his throat aching

with unshed tears. The boy was an exact

replica of the man lying in the street. He had

to be the man's son.

"I'm sorry," Dexter murmured too softly for the boy to hear. "I didn't mean to do it."

This time when Carlos grabbed him, Dexter didn't struggle. Emotionally drained, he was

too weak

to fight.

The last thing he saw as his friend dragged him away to their car

were the eyes of the boy.

Eyes that had

narrowed and, despite the tears running down

his brown face, blazed with hate. Eyes that

he would remember

for the rest of his life.

Chapter 1

"That's it!"

The explosive yell rent the early morning air in the split second before a large, brown

hand wrapped

around

Tyreese Johnson's throat. Lifted bodily from the ground,

Tyreese found his feet dangling, his

back pinned to the

brick wall behind him, and his

attention wholly focused on the enraged, black glare

of Detective Christopher Mills.

Tyreese tried to nod his head. When that didn't work, he darted pleading dark eyes to

Christopher's

partner,

Donny London. Donny turned his back and crossed burly arms

over his chest as he ostensibly

surveyed the

empty street in front of him. Tyreese

Johnson was on his own.

Christopher used his other hand to grab Tyreese's chin and switch his attention back to

him. He

was cold;

he was tired, and he was not going to put up with any more of

Tyreese Johnson's nonsense.

"I've been up all

night and I've had enough of your shit.

Now, are you gonna play ball or am I gonna

kick your ass from here to

the corner of

Colfax?"

Tyreese struggled against the force of the hand holding him firmly against the wall, but

only

succeeded in

almost choking himself. Christopher tightened his grip, his

expression growing fiercer by

the second. Tyreese's

slightly glazed eyes widened in

disbelief. The man staring up at him was someone

he'd never seen before and his

expression stated emphatically that Tyreese might possibly end up a dead

man if he

didn't give up what he knew

and quick.

The problem was that Tyreese didn't know anything. He was hurting and had been

looking for a

quick fix.

He'd sought out the man because Mills was usually good for a

bill or two. That is, if the

information proved

useful. If not…well, Tyreese didn't even

want to walk that road. With the grip on

his throat making him dizzy,

Tyreese scanned

his brain, searching for at least one tidbit of information

that would pacify the man who

could,

with a flip of his wrist, snap Tyreese's scrawny neck.

He tried to swallow and found that he couldn’t. “Okay, Mills,” he finally rasped. Christopher

loosened his

hold. “I got something I think you can use.”

Christopher relented by letting Tyreese slide down the wall as Donny faced the men again.

“A shipment arrived this week with Santangelo’s name on it.”

Christopher’s gaze narrowed to black slits. “How do you know?”

Tyreese made a show of rubbing the front of his throat and taking in deep gulps of air. Christopher

pushed

him into the wall. “Spill it, Reese!”

Tyreese mashed himself flat against the hard surface, putting as much space as possible between

himself and

Christopher Mills. “I was there, man. I saw the whole thing. Five crates—marked

household goods. They came

by truck and went direc’ly into Santangelo’s warehouse.”

Christopher reached into his back pocket for his wallet. With slow deliberation, he pulled out a

twenty and

watched a smile dent Tyreese’s hollowed cheeks. “What else?”

Tyreese swabbed a dry tongue along swollen lips as he eyed the money. “Nothin’ else, Mills. I

swear. They

unloaded the crates, stashed them behind some boxes, and I waited until they split before

gettin’ my black ass

outta there. Santangelo’s people don’t ’preciate folks droppin’ in on their private

parties and I seen what they do

to uninvited guests.” Tyreese swiped the back of his hand over his

mouth, then looked down at the sidewalk. “I

don’t know nothin’ else, Mills,” he mumbled.

Christopher took in the addict's bedraggled appearance and a shiver of disquiet ran down his spine.

Drug

addiction was a powerful master and it had taken down too many educated, successful men like

Tyreese. Just a

few short years ago, Tyreese Johnson had been on the fast track to the top in the DA's

office. His life had come

crashing down the night his wife found him in bed with another woman and,

with revenge on her mind, leaked

news of his twice a day minor habit with crack cocaine to the press.

By the time the media finished crucifying him and his divorce became final, Tyreese had lost his

job, his

friends, and all of the material possessions he'd accumulated. His addiction to crack had taken

everything else,

including his self-respect, pride, and dignity. Instead of the two-story, palatial palace in

Douglas County Tyreese

had once called home, he now spread his blanket in abandoned warehouses or

sought warmth on the steam-

heated manhole covers alongside the light-rail station at 14th and Stout.

Christopher had tried many times to help Tyreese overcome his addiction, but the man never stayed

clean

for more than a couple of months. With a shake of his head, Christopher lifted one of the man's

skinny, dried up

hands, and placed the money inside his palm. He smiled. “Thanks, Reese. What

you've told me will be a big

help.”

Tyreese returned the smile, showing drug-stained teeth. He crushed the money in his hand. “Glad

I could

be of assistance, Mills. Only next time, keep yo' hands to yo'self.” Tyreese pulled at the edges of

a faded army

jacket, patted down matted black hair that hadn't seen a comb in months, and stood a

little straighter. He

moved with caution around Christopher Mills, though. Ambling away, he began

conversing with someone only

he could see. “What I tell you, man. See what happens when you try

and help a brother out. They try and jack

you up. So, you take it from, T. Don't never let nooobody—”