Black Collar Syndicate : November 2014

Friday, November 7, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Part 5

EEEP! It's the last day of our short story!!! And today we get to see Caleb and Seth with their favorite cousin--Emma! Who else is excited?? :)

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry
Everything in the Morgan syndicate is poised on the edge of change, and no one understands that more than Caleb. A senior in high school, he’s balanced between a false legitimate life and the deadly one as head of the family’s weapons division.
When an attack comes out of nowhere, the two sides of his world collide and the effects of that will touch everyone in the family…

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry Part 5

Morgan Estates, New York City.

The elevator dings, drawing Caleb's attention. He stands slowly--a stiff soreness has settled over him that is irritating as fuck. It would probably be gone by now, if he would take it easy and rest but he’s been busy at the office—and learning how much he hates the office—and with his division.

Heels clack on the marble foyer, and his steps slow.

He has no desire to greet his aunt.

A low voice is speaking and his lips twist, bitterly amused. Of course. Beth wouldn't come to Gabe's home without Mikie. His father steps out of his office and catches Caleb's eye. Caleb goes still, waiting, and Gabe nods once in silent approval before he steps into the hall, and his siblings' view.

"Mikie. Beth. I didn't realize you'd be stopping by tonight." Gabe says, warm reservation in his tone.

"What the hell are you doing, Gabe?" Beth snaps.

There's a quiet gasp, one that stirs Caleb to move despite the silent order to stay out of this. Because only one person in the family makes that noise, and he won’t leave her in the middle of the volatile temper of her mother and his father.

"Emma," Caleb calls, stepping out of the shadow and into the foyer. His aunt is glaring at Gabe, while Mikie leans quietly against the wall. A quick glance from his uncle acknowledges his presence, but Caleb is focused on the small girl standing between them.

She's in her Irving Prep uniform, her black Mary Jane's polished. Knee high white socks emphasize her long skinny legs. Her blue eyes, already big in her pale face, widen at the sight of him.

Belatedly, he remembers his bruises, still dark and vicious looking. He tips his head back, deeper into the penthouse and reaches a hand to her. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's let them talk, huh?"

Emma hesitates for a moment, her wide eyes darting to Gabe for assurance. Caleb doesn't need to see
his father's face to know it's softened and warmed—he can see how it effects Emma as his cousin musters a tiny smile and her shoulders relax as she shifts forward, scurrying to Caleb. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives Gabe another quick, questioning look.

The subtle approval in his dad's eyes shouldn't mean so much. But it always does. It always has.

Emma leans into him as he pulls her deeper into the penthouse, away from the tension boiling in the foyer. Tension he caused by his decision to quit school. To Beth, he's making the whole family look bad. He doesn't have to hear the argument to know how she feels about it, just as he doesn't have to be there to know his dad is defending his decision, despite his own disappointment.

"What’re we doing?" She asks softly.

Caleb looks down at his cousin. The baby of the family and the only one who has only ever sparked his protective instincts. The only one who looks anything like him.

"What do you want to do?" he asks. Emma shrugs awkwardly against him and he grins. "Come on.
Let's find Seth."

There's a slight hitch in her stride that makes a laugh bubble in the back of his throat. He swallows it and steers her past the family areas, toward Seth's bedroom. He knocks once and then pushes the door open and pulls Emma inside. The bedroom is messy and dark. Dirty jeans and shirts take up one corner, a stack of textbooks sit ignored on the desk. There’s a half empty bottle of tequila on the floor by his bed. Two pictures are propped on his desk—a profile shot of Nicolette, and a picture of Gabe and their mother. Two Glocks sit near the photos on his dresser, and Caleb eyes them briefly before focusing on his younger brother.

Seth is sprawled on the bed, smoking a joint. He smiles when he sees Emma, sitting up and dropping the roach in an ashtray. "What are you doing here, Em?"

She blushes, fidgeting as Caleb backs away and gives her space. “Mother came to see Uncle Gabe.”

Seth frowns, his dark gaze darting to Caleb. Caleb doesn’t acknowledge his brother’s silent question, just shifts his gaze to their anxious cousin. She’s watching them, her eyes too knowing for her age.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, softly. Seth shifts on the bed, grabbing her hand and pulling her down to sit next to him, an arm around her waist so she can’t squirm away. Emma goes red, but doesn’t fight the embrace.

“Nothing, Em. Everything is fine.” Seth says.

She elbows him, hard enough that Seth huffs and lets her go. Emma scrambles to her feet, and this time, the red in her cheeks is more anger than it is embarrassment. “Don’t lie!” she snaps, glaring. Seth blinks, startled, and Emma paces away, to stare at the pictures and guns on the dresser. Caleb watches her, and Seth falls silent, waiting.

“Everyone lies,” she says softly. Furiously. “About everything—Isaac and Daddy. Aunt Miriam. Everything.”

“We're not lying, Em,” Caleb says.

She flicks a look at him, pointedly tracking over his bruises. “Then what happened toyour face?”

Caleb hesitates long enough for her to push her nose up in the air, and say, “See?”

Caleb reaches for his cigarettes. He shakes one out but doesn't bother to light it. Just having it helps. He doubts anyone else in the family has ever seen it, but she mimics her cousins so closely when she is alone with them, when she feels comfortable and safe. It makes him proud, and yet simultaneously feels like a blow to the chest. He stares at her and shrugs. “I got into a fight, baby. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Her expression eases, and tears fill her eyes suddenly. Caleb reaches for her, and she sniffles as she goes to him, wordlessly nestling against him. Her shoulders shake and he forces himself to stay calm, quietly rubbing her back as she sobs.

“Hey, Em,” Seth says. He moves, crouching next to her. She peeks at him warily, and he gives her a slow smirk. “Come on. I’m gonna teach you to play poker.”

“I don’t want to,” she mumbles, ducking back into Caleb’s shirt. Seth’s hands clench, helpless anger, and Caleb makes a low noise in his throat. Seth glares and straightens.

“Seth is a pretty shitty card player, baby. I think we could beat him.” Caleb coaxes. “And he could use it, don’t you think?”

She sneaks a look at him, and his heart twists. Her big blue eyes are bright and red-rimmed, tear tracks down her face.

“I know what you’re doing,” she mutters. “I’m not stupid.”

Caleb shakes his head slowly. “No. You never have been.”

She flushes, a slow blush that rises across her cheeks until she steps back, and dips her head, letting her red gold hair fall down in a wave. She’s done that her entire life—hidden in plain sight.

It bothers him that she would hide now, from him. From them.

He stands and Emma smoothes her skirt as she stands. “My room,” Caleb says.

She follows him into the hall, and from the front of the penthouse, they hear Beth. Emma flinches as her mother’s shrill voice reaches them, and Seth puts an arm around her shoulders, moving her with the momentum of his body until she’s in Caleb’s room.

Emma sits on the edge of the bed, primly, and Seth laughs, a dark husky noise that makes Emma blush. He hooks an arm around her waist and tugs her deeper onto the bed. “Get comfortable, Em,” he murmurs.

Caleb sends Seth a warning look, and Seth grins. Emma huffs quietly, a little indignation and temper showing before she settles against the headboard, adjusting her skirt neatly. Caleb sits on the end of the bed and shuffles the cards, watching Emma carefully. She’s gotten a grip on her emotions, tucked the sadness away as she sits there with all the grace of a queen. She’s young and awkward still, but she’ll shed that eventually. He can see it already, the hints that will mature into a natural Morgan beauty and charm.

She would break hearts. Vaguely, as he deals the first hand, he wonders if he or Seth will be forced to break bones when some prick hurts her.

They would. Of course they would.

“Promise you’ll tell me?” She asks abruptly. “If things go wrong? If someone is gonna die again?”

Seth sucks in a sharp breath, and Caleb goes still. That’s what this is about. He looks at Seth, quickly. His younger brother has gone still and tense—a sure sign he’s furious.

“Yeah, baby. We won’t lie about that. This is stupid shit—your mom is pissed I’m leaving Irving. But no one is in danger.”

Seth glances at him, startled by the simple truth in his brother's words, but Caleb keeps his gaze trained on Emma. She deserves this honesty, and no one else will give it to her. She watches him, and her eyes are old—so old. She nods slowly, and Caleb summons a smile. It hurts like hell, the bruises on his face pulling, and the too recent pain of his mother’s death like a perpetually open wound.

Momentarily he wants to get that bottle of tequila from Seth's room just to blunt the trauma, but that would give him away to his ten-year-old cousin.

“Those were accidents,” Seth says, his voice tight and low. “You know that’s different from the family, right?”

She shrugs, and her eyes are cold, and bitter. That is one lesson she will never need to be taught. Beth’s daughter learned it very young. “Doesn’t matter, does it? Dead is dead.”

Seth nods, and there isn’t any of the pompous shit that Caleb has seen so often from his brother. This is solemnity and seriousness—Seth setting the childish bullshit aside for the sake of their favorite cousin, and the confused grief she is facing. Seth glances at his brother. Caleb gives him a slow nod, and Seth goes still, his eyes wide and startled at the rare display of approval – so far from the hard plea atop the Empire State Building. It takes a moment for him to refocus on Emma. “It is. And it fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

The language, rare from Seth in front of Emma, startles a laugh from her, and Caleb’s shoulders ease. The tight knot of anger loosens a little.

Caleb smiles for his cousin, and deals the cards. “So, black jack.”

Seth scoffs, and Emma’s gaze lightens, going to him. “That shit’s easy, Caleb.”

“We’re starting easy, asshole.” Caleb snaps, without heat. A smirk tugs on Emma’s lips, and her eyes are almost happy as Caleb settles down to teach her the art of gambling.

Thank you so much for stopping by and reading this story. We hope you loved it as much as we did!! The Morgans return in April with BLACK COLLAR QUEEN.

Catch up on the series now!!

Black Collar Empire:

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000026_00051]

After two years away, Seth Morgan has returned to New York, desperate to honor his father’s dying wish for a unified family. But the heir’s welcome is sadly lacking: his family’s criminal empire is divided, the woman he loves hates him, and his brother Caleb has become a cold stranger.
When a brotherly spat becomes a vicious misunderstanding that ends with Caleb dead, Seth is left reeling, and unsure who to trust.
Emma Morgan grew up while her closest cousin was away. She’s been sheltered her entire life from the realities of their family—something Seth has every intention of changing upon his return.
But not everyone in the syndicate is happy to have Seth home, and there are secrets surrounding Caleb’s murder. The deeper Seth and Emma dig, the clearer it becomes that not everyone shares their dream for the Morgan Syndicate, and not everyone wants the heir to ascend.
Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Black Collar Beginnings: New York
Caleb Morgan is the black sheep of the family. Two years of his brother’s absence has left him cold and alone—except for Emma, the youngest Morgan. Because with Seth gone, there is no one else to teach—or protect—their innocent cousin. But teaching isn’t always pretty—not in family who peddles in crime. Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

Black Collar Beginnings: Cuba
Alone in Cuba, Seth Morgan isn’t mafia royalty—he’s a thug with a gun, and everything to prove. When the shadowy kingpin behind the Cuban syndicate finally takes notice, nothing in Seth’s world will ever be the same.
Before the Empire, there was exile. A novella, set just before Black Collar Empire.
Goodreads | Amazon | BN | Kobo | iBooks

Part 1—Monday, Nov 3^rd.

Part 2—Tuesday, Nov 4

Home Is Where the Wine Is Book Blog | Can't Talk, I'm Reading | Addicted Readers | Best Book Boyfriends | One Last Page Book Blog

Part 3—Wednesday, Nov 5

Part 4—Thursday, Nov 6

Part 5—Friday, Nov 7

Author Bio: 
AN Latro loves good wine and the ocean, and prefers to write with both. She has a passion for bad boys in books, and stories that make you feel. She can most often be found along the Florida coast.
Twitter | Facebook | Author Goodreads

Enter AN's giveaway:
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Blitz Part 4

Yesterday we saw a softer side of Caleb and Seth, which was so much fun. Because the brothers do love each other, and sometimes it's easy to forget that in the drugs and crime and violence. So lets see where we go today!!

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry
Everything in the Morgan syndicate is poised on the edge of change, and no one understands that more than Caleb. A senior in high school, he’s balanced between a false legitimate life and the deadly one as head of the family’s weapons division.
When an attack comes out of nowhere, the two sides of his world collide and the effects of that will touch everyone in the family…

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry Part 4

Irving Prep, New York City.

“So what you're telling me is that you have no proof I had anything to do with it, but you're kicking me off the team anyway?”

It's Monday morning. Caleb's in the Headmaster's office. The swim punks had lied about where they got jumped. Caleb maintains that he wasn't at Grind – the all-ages dance club near Times Square - on Friday night, and that he had proof. Hell, he's never been to that club. Dr Klien is not interested in his proof.

“Those boys were viciously injured,” says Klien.

“Is it as bad as this?” asks Caleb furiously, standing and lifting his shirt to reveal his sculpted, and heavily bruised midsection. The Headmaster clears his throat, and averts his eyes. Caleb throws his shirt back down and glares at the old man.

“That's not the point.”

“Not the point? How do you figure?” Caleb asks, his voice just a shade less than yelling. His blood is boiling. “Five on one, headmaster, is that the kind of behavior you condone in this school? Because I'd say that's rather unbecoming of a leader of this high institution.”

“Frankly, Mr. Morgan, one off the team is better than six, and the only reason you're not being punished further is because your father made a healthy contribution to the athletic program just this morning. I'd advise you to watch your tone.”

Though his temper flares, Caleb forces it into the quick calculation he has learned from his illegal responsibilities. In his concentration, his body falls still as he has been training it to do. If he can pull off the deathly calm he learned from his dad, he can take the upper hand. He crosses an arm around his abdomen, and touches his lips with the index finger of the opposite hand. It's an overdramatic show of sarcasm, they both knew it, but it's not fear, and neither can deny that either. Caleb cocks his head to the side, just to be sure, and a grin tugs at one corner of his lips.

“Let me get this straight, you're telling me that my sixteen-year-old brother helped me beat up five seniors. You have no viable source other than the victims, and yet you want to kick your best swimmer off the team? Frankly, Mr. Klien, that sounds like a big fucking pile of bullshit.”

Klien’s eyebrows shoot up and he gasps, and in his cultured disbelief, he's too slow.
Caleb moves forward, which further startles the Headmaster, who abruptly scoots his big chair backward. Caleb leans down, rests his hands on the edge of the desk, and looks down with a mixture of contempt and pity. This is it, the slick capture of the flag.

He says, “You know what else just doesn't sit right? You never even asked me why they jumped me. That says to me that maybe you don't really give a shit about your students.” Caleb stands up, slides his hands into his pockets, and lets his grin unfurl. “That says to me that maybe you care about my teammates' parents' prestigious money more than the fact that I earned my place at the top of that team. That says to me that you don't know what it's like to earn anything, that maybe you live so fat off of all the bribes you get, that you can afford to act a little immorally every once and a while. Because you know damn well what you're doing to me isn't right.”

Klien rolls his chair backward, as if he can guess that Caleb wants to vault the desk between them. He says, “Those boys are from old money, solid names that give this school good publicity – not the rabble that follows your name. I have to consider what's best for this school, and that's not to pander to delinquent trash.”

Caleb's eyes widen, and his fists ball painfully. Trash? His words are venom when he says, “You soulless piece of shit. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Get out of my office,” snaps Dr. Klien, but his voice shakes and he cowers in his chair, as if there were a pit bull growling in his blanched face.

For a long stretch, Caleb just stares down at the old man. He lets it linger until his smile turns bitter. His exterior is all calm, but surely the Headmaster can see the violence that wants to surface in the blazing blue eyes of the Morgan son.

“I deal with fucks like you all day long,” Caleb says, softly. “Every one of them just out to take advantage where they can to get theirs. Hell, I'm one of those people, too, but at the end of the day I sleep soundly, because I don't fuck people over. Especially not the ones with a lot of money and influence. Something tells me you don't sleep very well, Headmaster.”

“Get out, before I have you removed.”

“I'll do you one better,” says Caleb with the coldest, most vicious sentiment the old man had ever seen from him. “I don't need your shit school to learn greed. You can give my dad his money back, because I quit. Fuck you, and fuck this place.”

In a daze of adrenaline and control and fury, Caleb turns on his heel and sees himself from the office. He doesn't stop walking once he's past the school gates. His adrenaline is a steady rush in his ears and he thinks if he slows his pace, it will tear him apart. It's quite a walk to his dad's office, but it seems he won't be going to swim practice today, so the exercise is welcome, and he doesn't think he could tolerate another person in his presence in the wake of his fury.

The morning is beginning to warm, and the sun is making an appearance from behind smog-laden clouds. The warmth on his face dulls the anger, takes him back to just a year ago, when things were so much more simple, and the sunshine was a comfort and a promise of a good day.

The world where his mother was alive, and he could still hide in the shelter of childhood.

That was a world that could have lasted just a little longer, one he is choosing to leave behind. He can't believe in it any more—hasn’t since before the accident that killer her. Seth can't begin to understand the disillusionment that has been growing in Caleb since well before he turned eighteen and was initiated into the top ranks. Seth can't understand the implications of what they did, when they had exploded into a crime-friendly bar and laid waste to some extremely white-collar spawns of the city's money. Caleb had known what he was doing, he had recognized and disregarded the rules of the social ladder.

He points himself toward the Morgans' headquarters. He'll be damned if his father finds out about this through the grapevine.

* * *

By the time Caleb reaches the high-rise, he has worked himself into a good sweat and a steady pace that his well-oiled body can handle. The exertion helps him calm down, and the cadence of his steps brings order to his thoughts. His adrenaline has become a smooth hum, and his grand insolence in the face of Dr. Klien lends him a particularly cocky buzz. Even if he's walking into a harsh sentence from his father, he won't feel shame for standing up for himself. If his family's money couldn't save him, his resilience might.

When he enters the front glass doors, his suave exterior is in place despite the still darkening bruises. His senses are heightened by anger and adrenaline, and his light cologne burns with his pheromones. The receptionist fumbles the papers in her hands when she sees him, and he smiles at her.

“Good day,” he says, and a blush instantly colors her lips.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” she says, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

He doesn't stop, doesn't have to. He has the highest clearance here, and has since the first time he wandered into headquarters alone. Everyone knows him. He always makes it a game to see how many chicks check him out on his way upstairs. Now, on his way to a situation that could turn very ugly, it's no different. He flashes glances at the young interns and presidents alike. He knows exactly what he is. He has never had Seth's innocence. He knows he was blessed with exceptionally good looks. He knows his lean, hard body helps matters. The attention is like a planet to his gravitational pull, and the praise bolsters his cool demeanor.

All too quickly, he passes them by, and he's staring at the elevator. It doesn't take nearly long enough to open, unload, and usher him inside. The other people waiting suffice themselves to wait until the next comes, lowering their eyes respectfully. He mashes the button to the executive office, and the doors trap him in. Long breaths, he tells himself, which helps sooth the small riot of nerves that rise.

When the doors open, he strolls into the office as he had into the building, like he owns it all. He ignores the assistant's plea for his attention, and walks up to the open door of his father's office. Gabe is behind his big cherry desk, and one of the family's lawyers is in the seat across the desk.

Gabe stops talking mid-sentence when he sees his eldest son. He stares for just a few seconds, then looks to the lawyer. “Will you excuse me?”

The lawyer glances back, and stands quickly. Even a lawyer who has served the family for years doesn’t have any desire to be between father and son just now. “Yes, of course.”

He collects his briefcase and slips out the door. Caleb doesn't have to wait for his dad to tell him to come inside and close the door.

“Why aren't you in school?” Gabriel asks as soon the latch clicks. His tone is pregnant with quiet fury. It usually takes longer to push Gabe into this kind of anger.

Caleb looks his dad in eye, and says, “I quit.”

Silence descends and the eye contact becomes like lead. This is the ritual, always. Caleb doesn't waver, shows no doubt. Except this time, Gabe lets his anger seep ever so slightly into his hardened eyes.

“You did what?”

“I quit.”

Again, before Gabe can say it, Caleb takes the seat where the lawyer had been. He doesn't slouch, doesn't take on the air of automatic guilt that has been his way since childhood. His posture is that of a prince.

He has earned that title, more than any other royal born into the family.

“Klien kicked me off the team. So I told him to give your money back. That place is a joke.”

Gabe lets another long stretch pass as he studies his son, during which he doesn't move. He doesn't look like he's breathing. He's pissed. It's a rare thing, but Caleb has seen this before – the way his dad falls to stillness in order to reign in control of himself.

It’s where Caleb learned the same skill.

Gabe's breath is a thin hiss, then he says, “That place is a prestigious academy. Who exactly do you think you are that you're above it?”

Caleb's frail high from the walk is crumbling, losing an epic battle to his temper, which rises hot in his cheeks. He's not even close to being able to mirror his father's self-control.

He leans forward. His words come sharply edged.

“Because I'm such an academic, right Dad? I don't belong there and you know it. You had to know it the first time you taught me how to shoot a gun.”

Gabe's hand smacks down onto the desktop, and true fear laces all the rest of Caleb's emotional mess. This moment, the pendulum swings. This could get ugly indeed. For all the rage his dad keeps in check, when the coin flips, it's a terrifying thing.

“I taught you to protect yourself. That school is a shield, an appearance of normalcy that keeps the attention away from the truth about this family,” Gabe rumbles. “And you would be selfish enough to compromise that? We all have to fake it sometimes, Caleb. That's what adults do.”

Caleb jerks as if he's been struck. Selfish? If there's anything he is, it's not that. No, that's Seth. He springs up to a stand. He didn't make the decision to do it, but his composure is unraveling so fast.
He's not quite yelling when he says, “People drop out of high school every day. It's not so fucking strange. That bastard Klien isn't even going to punish those pricks. He didn't give a good goddamn about me, that I was the star on that team. And apparently neither do you."

Gabe stands swiftly. Caleb readies himself for a blow he would never dare return. But his dad just pins him with a glare, and says, “Sit down, Caleb.”

Caleb's mouth snaps shut, and his knees fail him. He falls back into the arm chair like an abandoned puppet. He stares up with wide eyes, full of more hurt than anger. He can't know how much his blue eyes against those ugly bruises pains his dad to see, but he does realize – in his muddy thoughts – that his own pain is reflecting in his father's gaze. Now, the guilt comes.

Gabe straightens his tie, and sits back down. Some of the tension has eased from his shoulders. He pulls open one of his desk drawers, and pulls out an ashtray with a big cigar stub left there. Caleb looks like his boyhood self, taken by his dad's presence. Gabe doesn't smoke often. The silence that settles is less aggressive, and Caleb just watches as Gabe pulls out an engraved silver lighter, and sparks it.

Gabe takes a couple puffs to light the thing, and through the smoke, he says, “Go ahead. Have a cigarette.”

Caleb just stares. His father has always been vehement about his smoking habit. He moves slowly, half expecting his dad to still slap his pack of smokes out of his hand. But the moment doesn't come. He lights his cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter.

The smell of the cigar overpowers Caleb's smoke, and it fills the room. At length, Gabe sighs.
He says, “You were dealt a huge loss and a great responsibility at the same time. Things have been hard since your mom died. You barely had time to grieve before you took Emilio’s division.” Caleb swallows hard. Losing his mother and uncle in one freak accident had been devastating. The loss is still fresh, a sharp pain that goes deeper than he ever thought possible. He swallows the grief as Gabe continues. “I know that, but there's one thing you need to understand. There will never come a time when I don't care about you. When it comes down to it, you and your brother are my world.”

Silence. More introspective puffs, and heavy, anxious pulls from Caleb – whose expression has turned into a crumpled glare, some mask against the inevitable pain. Gabe continues.

“You're an adult. The decision is yours to make. That doesn't mean I have to like it.”

“I couldn't let them make an ass of me,” Caleb blurts. His voice shakes. Nerves and grief and fury all mixed up and leaking out. “Klien called me trash.”

Gabe makes another heavy sigh, taps the cigar on the ashtray, and sets it down. The smoke curls up into oblivion between them. He says, “That's pride, son, which is not such a bad thing. I’ll level with you on this, because I know if I try to force you into anything, you’ll rebel. It's your nature. But also because I think you're learning from your mistakes If you want to quit school, I won't try to stop you.”

Caleb gasps, all his hard edges going slack. He can't pretend to look cool in the wake of his surprise.
“Are you going to demote me?” he asks. He's a kid again.

Gabe chuckles softly. “I am not. But, if I find that you're not actively learning from said mistakes, I will take measures to see that you are humbled. The thin line you've been walking just got thinner. You want to be a man, you'll show me. Do you understand?”

Caleb can't find his voice, so he just nods. The cherry on his cigarette creeps toward the filter, left abandoned in his hand.

“Take the rest of the day off, get your head together,” Gabe says in a tone he might use for one of his rankers. “You're to be in your office by 8 a.m.”

Caleb jerks forward, stabs out the cigarette. The nerves that should have calmed make another play in his gut. He says, “Yes, sir.”

Gabe scrubs a hand over his tired eyes, and he manages to find a smile as Caleb stands. His son turns toward the door, and hesitates. He's staring at the floor when he says, “Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“I love you.”

He's so quiet. Gabe's smile warms. He says, “I love you, too.”

Caleb doesn't look back. He just goes, quietly.

Catch up on the series now!!

Black Collar Empire:

Black Collar Beginnings: New York
Caleb Morgan is the black sheep of the family. Two years of his brother’s absence has left him cold and alone—except for Emma, the youngest Morgan. Because with Seth gone, there is no one else to teach—or protect—their innocent cousin. But teaching isn’t always pretty—not in family who peddles in crime.
Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

Part 1—Monday, Nov 3^rd.

Part 2—Tuesday, Nov 4

Home Is Where the Wine Is Book Blog | Can't Talk, I'm Reading | Addicted Readers | Best Book Boyfriends | One Last Page Book Blog

Part 3—Wednesday, Nov 5

Part 4—Thursday, Nov 6

Part 5—Friday, Nov 7

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Blitz Part 3

So yesterday was pretty crazy, right?? I love seeing the brothers working together. <3 Let's see what they're up to today!!

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry

Everything in the Morgan syndicate is poised on the edge of change, and no one understands that more than Caleb. A senior in high school, he’s balanced between a false legitimate life and the deadly one as head of the family’s weapons division.
When an attack comes out of nowhere, the two sides of his world collide and the effects of that will touch everyone in the family…

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry Part 3

Empire State Building, New York City

Caleb and Seth stand staring through the crisscrossed railing that surrounds the top of the Empire State Building. The tours have ended for the day, but they've been bribing security to let them up there since Caleb was barely a teenager. The night is bright with the lights of Manhattan, yet there's a hush this far up. Seth is drunk, and he didn't want to go home. Caleb couldn't help but agree. They will be in enough trouble. To bring his sixteen-year-old brother home drunk on moonshine would be a nail in his social life's coffin. Never mind that he is also riding a pretty sweet buzz.

Seth has been quiet since they left the speakeasy. So Caleb has been quiet, too. In a world that's increasingly defined by duality, society and crime, they can always share their silence. The high of the fight and the win is dissipating into the heavy night of the city. Seth has his hands hooked around the railing, and he's staring down. The look on his face is so whimsical. That look so often stirs an anger in Caleb. Not really at Seth, but that he will eventually have to wake up to the reality of the lives into which they were born.

Caleb's phone chimes in his pocket. It's a welcome distraction; a text, from someone in his division. He stares at it for a long stretch, but it isn't a pressing issue, and the distraction he thought he wanted proves to be a disappointment. All he keeps thinking is how he had just handled a high school problem like he would handle trafficking weapons. It can't be good. He clicks the phone to sleep and shoves it back into his pocket.

“That was a pretty big deal, huh?” Seth asks, though he keeps his eyes on the spectacular scene that is their home. Their empire.

“Yeah,” Caleb answers with a warm laugh. The truth he speaks is heavy, but the ridiculously spoiled question Seth asks is too much. So he laughs his disbelief. He knows better than to think Seth had thought ahead, but still the naiveté of the question hits home for Caleb. “Yeah, it was a pretty big deal.”

“Well, what were we supposed to do?” Seth asks, the alcohol softening the edges of his words. “It doesn't make sense to live one life one way, and the other life a different way.”

“Yes,” says Caleb. He doesn't want to have this conversation, but there's no avoiding it. “It makes perfect sense to do that. We're not untouchable, Seth.”

“Aren't we?” Seth asks, the brat prince showing his head.

“No,” Caleb spits with more force than he means to. “You're so fucking sheltered. You know that Dad has to pay for the protection we have.”

Seth quiets in a way most wouldn't believe possible. Caleb knows that Seth is just now taking in the magnitude of their actions. He also knows that that means that Seth is just now measuring the amount of hot water into which Caleb has willingly thrown himself.

“So what are we gonna do?” Seth wonders, finally tearing his eyes from the cityscape to pin a wide-eyed look on his brother. Caleb laughs again. This little prick is impossible.

“I think we've done enough for the time being.” He fishes the Marlboro Reds from his pocket, the contraband he is now legally allowed to have, even if he isn't allowed to smoke them under his dad's roof. He lights one, then says, “Now, we wait to see how the cards fall. If they rat on us, they'll give themselves away that they were at Manhattan Dry, unless they lie about where they got jumped. And if they lie about where they were, we have an an alibi that says we were at the bar. Our best bet is to deny it happened until they provide proof that it was us.”

“Give me one of those cigarettes,” Seth says suddenly. He doesn't smoke, but Caleb can tell that his little brother is feeling the pressure of their actions.

“Fuck you,” Caleb answers. Seth knows damn well that Caleb won't give him one.

“You just gave me moonshine, for fuck's sake,” Seth mumbles.

“No, I didn't.”

Seth huffs, but he stops arguing. His buzz must be wearing off, because his expression has gathered in the beginnings of a scowl. Finally, he says, “You know I meant it when I said I'd take the heat.”
Even if Caleb wants to be mad at Seth's innocence, he can't find his anger in the wake of those words.

A rueful smile tugs at his lips when he answers. “You know it won't work that way with Dad.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Seth asks, and his questioning gaze finds its way back to Caleb, who finally meets his little brother's eyes. Caleb's face has hardened with his thoughts.

“You really have to ask me that? Really Seth? I did it because those mother-fuckers jumped me. Because they didn't have the balls to make it fair.” He pulls hard on his cigarette, and when he exhales, he imagines that the smoke will cover all of Manhattan, and that every soul in the borough will feel his indignation. He isn't looking at Seth when he says, “Revenge. That's what we do. It's survival.”

Seth rests his forehead against the metal of the rail, and his brow draws in even more. “But you just said we couldn't live both lives like that.”

“We can't!” Caleb says sharply. “Goddammit, keep up with me. What we just did was stupid, and dangerous. We shouldn't have done it, and there's going to be hell to pay. But just this once, I don't give a fuck. I will be the one to take the backlash. And it was worth it to me, because I also won't have any pansy-assed, white collar shitheads believing they're better than me.”

Seth's head is still against the railing, but he's staring at Caleb. Seth has never understood the anger that drives Caleb. Seth never had to work for it. He is the golden son, charming his way out of a new snake pit every day. Caleb is not the type to be satisfied with what was given to him--he has always wanted more, and he flaunts that by buying street bikes, and hanging out with people who didn't go to Irving. By getting his hands dirty in his division, embracing the darkest sides of their world.

Caleb flicks his cigarette and they both silently watch it get swallowed by the darkness. That's me, thinks Caleb. That's all of us.

“Excuse me, boys,” a gruff male voice sounds behind them. Both of them spin around, ready for a fight. It's just the security guy. His eyes are wide, alarmed at their quick reaction. He says, “Uh, sorry, but we gotta close up.”

Both brothers relax instantly, and Caleb says, “Yeah, sure. Thanks, as always.”

The older man nods, and disappears back inside. Caleb takes a long breath, and waits for his adrenaline to calm. Seth is still tense, visibly shaken by the lost look in his eyes. As Seth moves to walk inside, Caleb grabs his arm as he had earlier, but gentler.

“The time when we can do shit like this is coming to an end. I'm the head of a division now, and you need to start learning how to be one. This high school shit, that's the fake life. We do it because we have to. Please tell me you understand.”

“I get it,” Seth mumbles.

He doesn't, Caleb knows it. But there's nothing he can do, so he lets go of his brother's arm, and begins to prepare himself for the trip home.

* * *

Gabriel is waiting for his sons when they come home. He's sitting in the same spot he had been in when they left. Of course he heard them leave without telling him where they were going, or even saying goodbye. Now, he's several scotches in. He pushed his reports aside some time ago, so that by the time Caleb and Seth return, Gabe has achieved a manageable level of zen quiet.

He hears the elevator ding, then the doors swish open. He waits just long enough for the boys to get into the hallway, just feet from their rooms, and he calls to them. His voice is controlled, but it carries its command to his sons. He can feel their pause, know they are exchanging “oh shit” looks. Moments later they amble into the dining area.

Caleb glances at the low lighting, and then the scotch. Of course he notices right away that his dad is no longer working. Seth is a ball of nerves. He tries his damnedest to be as casual as Caleb, but the strain in his eyes gives him away.

Every fucking time.

“Have a seat,” says Gabe, nodding toward the same two seats in front of him where they had been just hours previous.

Neither speak as they obey. Gabe is not the kind of man to scream at his kids. He is more the kind who deals with inner-familial issues the same way he deals with his syndicate and the corporation.

That he is quiet is no indication either way whether they are in trouble already, or not.

Caleb is stoic, mirroring his father's calm in an impressive blank expression. Seth just stares at the table. Gabe takes a drink and said, “You don't even tell your father goodbye when you leave now?”

“I was mad. Sorry,” Caleb answers, meticulously measuring the tone.

“Where've you been?”

“I took him to Manhattan Dry,” says Caleb.

Gabe's eyebrows hitch up a few notches, and Seth's eyes fly wide. Gabriel says, “You took your sixteen-year-old brother to a speakeasy?”

“He's been bugging me to see it --”

“It was my fault!” Seth blurts.

Caleb huffs and turned a scathing look on Seth. Why can't he just keep his damn mouth shut? One goddamned time.

“It's your fault?” Gabe asks. “Really? How is that?”

“He followed me,” Seth says. Then he clams up. He knows he's already said too much. Gabe lets his youngest wallow in his own silence, and keeps his weighted stare on Caleb, who meets his father's eyes. Anyone who doesn't know Caleb wouldn't be able to see the real emotion in his expression; indignation, rebellion, but not guilt. Gabe knows every single nuance. Caleb doesn't give a shit about consequences just now.

Eventually, Seth's guilty gaze wanders to his father, then to his brother. So much seems to pass between the two of them in moments like this, and Seth can't begin to understand. Seth does know that Caleb was right. This isn't something Seth can get them out of.

“Seth,” says Gabe, but he doesn't look at him. “Go to bed, son.”

Seth glances between them again, blinks, then opens his mouth like he wants to say something. He freezes like that while Gabe slowly turns to him. Then he closes his mouth, and leaves the table.

As the door to Seth's room closes, Gabe stands and goes to the hardwood mini-bar to refill his scotch. As he does, he pours a second shot. He puts a highball in front of his oldest, and takes his seat. Caleb stares down at the liquor. He tries to keep the disbelief from his expression, but can't, and the resulting expression mixes with his anger. It makes him look mean. Sure, exacting revenge felt good, but he's still pissed that they ganged up on him. In his world, they would die. And part of him still wants that.

“You did exactly what I told you not to do, didn't you?” Gabe asks.

Caleb finds his courage, takes a sip of scotch. He doesn't make a face, doesn't pretend he's not used to the burning taste. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“They humiliated me.”

Gabe sighs, finds solace in a sip. He is silent for an uncomfortable stretch, during which he stares into the dimness of the room. The top several buttons of his shirt are undone, and his tie is strung across the back of the chair beside him. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, then says, “Caleb, there's a world of appearances that we must uphold -”

“I know,” says Caleb. “It won't happen again.” And he takes a much larger drink.

Gabe is watching him, again with raised eyebrows. Usually he wouldn't abide being interrupted, but his expression is curious. This is the man Caleb is becoming, everything a successful leader should be.

Gabe says, “My first instinct is to make you quit the team.”

Caleb's eyes flash wide, and he looks like he really means the panic that shows in them.

“But,” his father continues, “Swimming is an excellent opportunity for you to get scholarships to prestigious schools, to go anywhere you want.”

Caleb's brow furrows. “College? Really, Dad? Am I supposed to run a division from another state?”

“Listen to me, son, if you wanted to go to college, I could arrange it. I'll do anything for you to make a legitimate life for yourself.”

The consternation turns to suspicion. Caleb narrows his eyes. “This is my life. Fuck college. I don't want to go to some uppity school with a bunch of douchebag nerds. I want to do what we do. I am doing what we do.”

Gabe weighs Caleb's response for a long time, in which he downs the rest of his scotch. Caleb does the same. At length, Gabe says, “Fine. From now until the end of the school year, every minute not spent on school will be spent with the syndicate. You'll have no room to cause more trouble, and you will at least graduate. You don't date, you don't hang out after school, and you don't sneak off to beat anyone up. One slip up and you will quit the swim team, and I will demote you to the ranks of your own division. You will be on very thin ice, and I leave you no margin for error. You want to act like a big boy, then you'll own up to it. Understood?”

Caleb takes a thick swallow. The liquor burns in his cheeks and gut, but he holds the eye contact. He has vied for respect, and now he has to earn it. As he said he would, he silently vows to take his consequences humbly. He nods, expression solemn.

“Thank you, father,” he whispers.

Caleb's expression remains a careful mask, but Gabe can see the tension ease from the boy. Not a boy anymore. A man, a tenacious and hungry head of the family's weapons trafficking division – and a damn fine Morgan.

At length, Caleb quietly says, “Good night.” And he leaves the room without fanfare. Gabe watches him go, watches the silent and dangerous creature Caleb has become. And he smiles, because he is proud of his son.

Catch up on the series now!!

Black Collar Empire:

Caleb Morgan is the black sheep of the family. Two years of his brother’s absence has left him cold and alone—except for Emma, the youngest Morgan. Because with Seth gone, there is no one else to teach—or protect—their innocent cousin. But teaching isn’t always pretty—not in family who peddles in crime.
Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

Part 1—Monday, Nov 3^rd.

Part 2—Tuesday, Nov 4

Home Is Where the Wine Is Book Blog | Can't Talk, I'm Reading | Addicted Readers | Best Book Boyfriends | One Last Page Book Blog

Part 3—Wednesday, Nov 5

Part 4—Thursday, Nov 6

Part 5—Friday, Nov 7

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Blitz Part 2

It's day two of our blitz!!! Who's excited to see what our boys get into today?? Okay, here we go!!

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry

Everything in the Morgan syndicate is poised on the edge of change, and no one understands that more than Caleb. A senior in high school, he’s balanced between a false legitimate life and the deadly one as head of the family’s weapons division.
When an attack comes out of nowhere, the two sides of his world collide and the effects of that will touch everyone in the family…

Black Collar Beginnings: Manhattan Dry Part 2

Morgan Estates, New York City.

Friday nights usually find a gaggle of Irving's elite of the elite at a hidden speakeasy called Manhattan Dry in lower Manhattan. Caleb knows this because the place is also a syndicate hot spot for sit downs and deals. The club owners get hefty payoffs so they don’t mind playing host to criminals.

As Seth and Caleb take the slow elevator ride to the underground garage of their building, Caleb dials the number to the bar.

“Hey Shawn, it's Caleb . . . yeah man, got a question for you. You remember those guys I got a round for a few weeks ago, from my swim team? . . . Yeah, the ones I said were assholes. That's them. Are they there?”

Seth can hear the deep baritone of the bartender rumbling from Caleb's phone, but he can't quite understand what's being said. He can't keep the fascination from his face as he watches Caleb work the situation exactly as he might handle the division he was recently named head of.

“How many are there?” Caleb asks, his sudden shift to a business demeanor almost alarming to Seth. Caleb smirks, “Five? w Is the blond one with the dipshit hipster glasses there? . . . Ok, I need you to tell your other customers that the owner has requested those fucks have exclusive access to the bar. High roller shit.. Whatever, get rid of them somehow. Give them their money back if you have to. Then, give those guys a bottle of something strong on me – yeah, but don't tell them it's from me. We'll be there in half an hour. We're not hot.”

When he hangs up the phone, Seth's staring in adoration. Not hot, meaning they aren't carrying guns. Caleb smirks again. “You look stupid,” he says, but he can't deny the pang in his chest of his brother's respect, something he only sees in his brother and their cousin. The elevator dings, then opens, so Caleb seizes the moment to avoid having a moment. “When's the last time you rode?” he asks as Seth trails him.

“Last time I rode with you."

“Christ, Seth, that was months ago.”

“I know.”

Caleb leads them to where his two Ducatis are parked. He picks up the helmet of the lighter bike, and shoves it toward Seth. He never rides that one, but he would never admit that he bought it for Seth.. He says, “Do you even remember what you're doing?”

“You know I don't ride alone,” Seth says as he throws a leg over and settles on the seat. It's a worthy defense. Caleb had bought another bike so Seth could ride with him, but he never has time to go anymore.

Caleb is holding his black helmet, about to put it on, but he pauses. Seth's words echo through the parking garage, and Caleb looks over to catch Seth's eye. Caleb says, “Just stay sharp. Don't do anything stupid.”

Seth rolls his eyes, and says, “Yeah, ok. I can handle it.”

They shove their helmets in place, and start their bikes, which cuts off any communication except the honesty of brotherly connection. They back out, and Seth lets Caleb take the lead. As they wait for the gate to rise and let them out, Seth realizes he misses riding, but mostly he misses riding with Caleb. Apparently, being a high school senior is time consuming, never mind the Morgan Syndicate weapons division.

The gates clear and Caleb guns his bike without waiting to see if his brother will follow. Shoving thoughts aside, he does.

About thirty minutes later, they are walking into the false store front, and Caleb is picking up the pay phone. He hits the buzzer once.

“We all set? . . . Ok.”

He hangs up the phone and takes a deep breath. He pins Seth with a heavy look. “Ready?”

Seth grins, nods. “Let's show them how the real elite roll.”

Caleb lifts a fist, knuckles in place. Seth answers, and the metal clinks together when their hands connect. The door opens, and the Morgans make their entrance. They left their coats with the bikes, and so they are the perfect image of business casual, slacks and button-downs; Seth with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows and hands behind his back, and Caleb with his hands in his pockets.

“Gentlemen,” Caleb says as they stroll in like they own the place. At the moment, they do. “That bottle is on me, to show my gratitude for proving to me what a perfect waste of space you are.”

The teammates are swimming out of their good times to realize that the situation has turned hostile, but since they have no experience in such situations, they are much too slow in their calculations. It helps that they are also quite drunk on expensive liquor, a “gift” from the “house”.

Caleb continues, as he and Seth split to circle the group and their table. “The truth is, you're jealous. But rather than work for it, you jump me like pussies. Well, here's something you don't know about me. I've worked for it.”

The group is scrambling by this point, pushing chairs back and standing unsteadily. Seth and Caleb are sober, and all the rage that they have helped each other control comes roaring to the surface. Caleb goes straight to the source, to the captain who so despises him. One hand closes around
Aidenn's throat and the other – the left – splits the flesh of his right cheek. He howls, of course, prick can't take what he could dish. Caleb has to let him go in order to dodge the sloppy punch that comes near his nose.

On the other side of the table, the other three have just attempted to jump Seth at once. To their disadvantage, he is one-hundred per cent sober, and he's the the quickest experienced fighter among them. He dances around their jabs and swings, catching one of them under the jaw with the knuckles, then smashing his opposing elbow into a nose. The third catches the misfortune of a knee to the groin, and he has knocked them all back in his first go. His eyes are alight as he sniffs haughtily.

Caleb delivers a solid right then left combination to the second teammate who tries to hit him. He hears the bridge of the guy's nose crack. Blood explodes, and he cries out and stumbles backward. Caleb turns back toward Aidenn, who is about to throw a fist. Caleb sidesteps and drives his fist against his captain's mouth. Aidenn yelps and crumbles. Caleb wants to pound his fists into his opponent's ribs until they break, but he knows that to perpetuate this could kill these yelps.

He looks over in time to see Seth land a three-hit combo in the gut of one, and nail the next directly in the forehead. Both hit theirs knees, and Seth turns to the last, who has crouched and is about to lunge.

Seth just laughs, and says, “Ok, if you think you can.”

The goon rushes – or what he thinks to be rushing – Seth, who waits until the very last second to slip to side, hook a foot around the other's foot, and shove his opposite shoulder. The momentum sends the goon sprawling backward, and as the back of his head hits the floor, Seth nails him in the liver with one quick jab.

The guy freezes from the shock of the liver hit, then drags himself onto his side and pukes. Seth stands up and rolls his shoulders. In less than ten minutes they have decimated five of the seven seniors on the school's swim team. He slips off the knuckles and flexes his right hand, then he grins.

“It only hurt a little,” he said.

Caleb can't help but smirk in answer. He flicks his head toward the bar, and they leave the swim team groaning against the floor of the bar. The bartender, a smooth faced, light eyed black man with a karat diamond in each ear, pushes them two healthy pours of legitimate Appalachian moonshine.

Caleb smirks, and says, “I didn't know this bar served kerosene.”

“Yes, you did,” answers Shawn.

Caleb laughs audibly, and takes a brave sip, nearly half the straight grain alcohol. At the same time, Seth takes a much larger gulp – that sweet, sweet innocence – and the other two can all but hear the fire in his exhalation. Seconds later, he's coughing. Caleb laughs harder, making a point to watch Seth try to recover from his audacity. “Shawn, you know my brother, Seth.”

“We've met once or twice,” answers Shawn with a brilliant smile accentuated by deep dimples.

Caleb tries to battle the face that matches the feeling of his insides burning. His breath is hot when he says, “You'll understand if we can't stay. I believe you have my billing information on file. I appreciate the accommodation at such short notice.”

He slips a roll of hundreds into Shawn's hand with a half-cocked grin. A few grand will make up for the business that is lost for the evening.

“Always a pleasure,” says Shawn, eyes bright in the knowledge that he just made his rent money plus some.

Caleb ignores the protest in his gut, and downs the rest of his white lightning. To Great-Grandpa Morgan, one of the original bootleggers. Then he says, “Come on, Seth.”

Seth eyes his moonshine warily, but forces himself to swallow it. For a moment, his eyes bulge and he doesn't move, but then he releases another cough and clanks his glass onto the bar. He doesn't speak as he follows Caleb out.

Catch up on the series now!!

Black Collar Empire:

Alone in Cuba, Seth Morgan isn’t mafia royalty—he’s a thug with a gun, and everything to prove. When the shadowy kingpin behind the Cuban syndicate finally takes notice, nothing in Seth’s world will ever be the same.
Before the Empire, there was exile. A novella, set just before Black Collar Empire.
Goodreads | Amazon | BN | Kobo | iBooks

Part 1—Monday, Nov 3^rd.

Part 2—Tuesday, Nov 4

Home Is Where the Wine Is Book Blog | Can't Talk, I'm Reading | Addicted Readers | Best Book Boyfriends | One Last Page Book Blog

Part 3—Wednesday, Nov 5

Part 4—Thursday, Nov 6

Part 5—Friday, Nov 7

Pages

Friday, November 7, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Part 5

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Blitz Part 4

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Blitz Part 3

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Manhattan Dry Short Story Blitz Part 2