Ethic

Ashley Antoinette

Recommendation From The Author

This book is a spin off from my novel, Moth to a Flame. If you have not read it, STOP. It is advised that you do so BEFORE beginning this book.

If you have read the Prada Plan series and Luxe series it will enhance your enjoyment of this book, but they are NOT required before beginning ETHIC.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my fans, but especially to the ladies who have fallen in love with ETHIC. You guys love him so much that I was forced to write a book where he was the focus. I created this character in 2009 and I am so honored that he still resonates with so many women, years later. He is timeless and I hope you enjoy this ride as you continue to fall in love with ETHIC through my words.

-xoxo-

Ashley “Ash” Antoinette

1

The sound of crickets serenaded the cemetery, as Ethic sat on the white blanket, his knees up, his arms wrapped around him, as he clasped his wrist with one hand, while digging his heels into the ground. He watched his two children read, as they leaned against her headstone.

“I am a little, black king. I can do any…” his son, Ezra, paused, as he looked up at Ethic. “Da- what’s this word?” he asked, as he turned the book towards Ethic.

“Anything,” Ethic confirmed. “Try the sentence again.”

“I am a little, black king. I can do anything,” his son read.

“Good job, Eazy,” Bella coached, affectionately calling him by his nickname, as she looked up from her Harry Potter book.

“Keep reading,” Ethic urged. “Your mom wants to hear you finish the entire thing.”

It was their thing. It was how they stayed connected to the beautiful Raven Atkins. Although Raven wasn’t Bella’s mother, Bella was used to the routine. Her own mother had died when she was just a baby and Ethic had started the practice with her. On the first of every month, they went to the cemetery and visited both graves, taking a blanket, a basket of food, and books in tow. It was how they stayed close to one another and to those they had lost. It was always a hard day for Ethic, but it made it easier for his kids, so he did it faithfully, never missing this time with them. Ethic was a cursed man. Falling in love with two women and losing them both, tragically. It seemed that death followed him wherever he went. Ethic had been so guarded and secluded since Raven’s passing. He had tried to find someone to fill the void. Only one woman had piqued his interest over the years and he had met her by chance. Disaya Morgan. She had been a great distraction from the pain, but she hadn’t been fully available to love him. She had a situation of her own that she couldn’t abandon, thus leaving him alone to mourn a ghost that no one could compare to.

The sun began to set, illuminating the cemetery in an orange hue, letting him know their day was coming to an end.

“Let’s pack up,” Ethic said, as he watched his children climb to their feet. “Put everything in the car. I’ll be there soon,” he told them. He watched them walk toward his Range Rover that set a few yards away, and then he knelt in front of Raven’s headstone. “I miss the shit out of you, Rae. Every day, every moment. You’re a hard act to follow, ma.” He placed the bouquet of flowers he held directly in front of her headstone. Kissing his fingers, he placed them to her name. “Until next time, love. Rest up.”

Ethic blinked away his emotion and swiped his hands over his face. When he stood, all traces of vulnerability were erased from his expression. He never exposed his melancholy to his children. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, as he headed back to his car. They drove through the city, a place he both loved and hated.

Flint, MI was home. Within the perimeter of the city, Ethic was the crowned king. It wasn’t a title he boasted proudly. e He didn’t, particularly, like the reputation at all. Claims like that are what led to the downfall of a lot of men before him, so he let the hood whisper, without ever verifying anything. His younger years of mobbing through the city as Benjamin Atkins’ lieutenant had earned him a reputation. No one knew that he was, actually, Benjamin’s connect. He made the streets freeze with the snow he brought to town, but that was a long time ago. He never liked the limelight that came with the game. He preferred to get money quietly, which is why he allowed people to think that Benny Atkins had been the man on top. Even now, when he was trying to walk a straight line and keep his hands clean, his exit from the game was never acknowledged. He had turned in his walking papers, but still, the game wouldn’t leave him alone. His breed of hustler was rare, and the young ones admired him. Often, doing whatever it took just to be in Ethic’s good graces. Ethic disguised the wealth he made in a distribution trucking company, several, automotive repair shops, and other real estate investments throughout the Midwest, but he hadn’t been able to truly rid himself of the reputation he had rightfully earned. At 34 years old, his priorities had changed and the risks that came with the lifestyle were no longer worth it to him. As Ethic’s strong hand gripped the expensive leather of his Range Rover, he studied the streets he used to rule. They had changed over the years. Businesses had tanked, causing the former gold mine to become a ghost town where there was no code of conduct. The rules had evolved, and the players had revolved to what was now an all-out war zone. Flint wasn’t the same and he did 80 miles per hour to get his children out of the city limits and back to the suburbs where he could keep them safe. Flint was where the lawless reigned. He wanted his children to know nothing of that part of his life. Ethic peered into his backseat, as Bella read her book and Eazy transitioned to his hand-held video game. His children didn’t have a care in the world. They were his reasons for flying straight and the smiles on their faces reminded him that they were the only constants that mattered. He tucked his turmoil away, as if it was an old piece of clothing that he could put in the back of his closet and forget about. He couldn’t dwell in his feelings. That was what women did. Sulking about what he couldn’t have wouldn’t do anything but keep him stagnant. As he pulled into the driveway to his home, he noticed the C-Class Benz that was parked curbside. He sighed, as he threw his Range Rover in park. He almost didn’t want to get out. He didn’t have the energy to put up the charade with the beautiful woman, waiting faithfully for him in her car. She was always there, waiting, hoping that he would choose her; and although they had been on and off for years, he never settled down. She was never his pick. Dolce was just someone warm to lay next to – sometimes - on the cold, Michigan nights. As he processed the empty feeling that weighed on him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of guilt over the way he handled her. Do I give her this feeling? Is her loneliness caused by me? He thought. What torture the world would be if hurt was just one, big cycle. Were men and women going around loving the ones they could never have and neglecting the ones right in front of them? Damn, Ethic thought. His mind was complex. The smallest notion could leave him reeling, as he dissected the possibilities of its merit. Love was one of those puzzles that left him exhausted and frustrated. He just could not solve it.

“Hey, you,” Dolce said, as he stepped out of his car. Ethic took his time replying. He took his time doing everything. The world seemed to wait with baited breath as it anticipated his next move. He paused because he knew it would be easy to deflect what he was going through onto her. Her unannounced visit had thrown him. Her unrequested presence annoyed him, but he had to ask himself if the slim, leggy woman with an inviting smile and wanting eyes would have irritated him if he hadn’t just come back from visiting the gravesite of the love of his life.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, his tone even, as he opened the back door of his car. Bella bounced out.

“Hey, Dolce!” she greeted, before running across the massive lawn to Ethic’s home, heading for the front door.

Ethic reached down to grab Eazy, who was dead weight in his strong arms.

“I thought you would need a good meal and some good company?” Dolce said, as she held up the single, plastic, grocery bag she carried. Ethic wondered why he found it hard to take her seriously. She was a decent woman who offered something convenient. It may not be everything he required in a woman, but at least she was there. At least she put him above all else. When she bit into her bottom lip and added, “And I need some good…”

She let her words linger and it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. Ethic sighed, as he remembered why she just didn’t do it for him. She was too available, too easy; too much like a replica of every woman he crossed paths with these days. Her weave was long, her waist was unrealistically shaped, her ass too fat. Her brain too empty, he thought. He would rather appreciate the value in a dinged-up quarter than accept a shiny penny. Dolce was shining but her worth was insignificant.

He took the plastic bag from her hand, holding his heavy child with one, strong arm and the groceries in the other. Despite his lack of enthusiasm regarding her presence, he was still a gentleman. There were no thrills in causing her embarrassment. He nodded his head toward the house. “I’m a little tired, but dinner I can do,” he said.

Just the mere thought of being in his space, under his roof, at his dinner table put a hope in her eyes that Ethic hated because he knew he would never give her the more she sought.

He walked into his home, eager to see the face of his oldest child, Morgan. She looked so much like Raven; he often found a sense of peace just from the mesmerizing beauty in her amber eyes. It was like Raven had left a piece of herself buried deep inside her little sister and she was growing up to look just like Raven. In the eyes of the law, and by the decree of the adoption papers, Ethic was Morgan’s father, but he was truly her big brother. He could never, and had never tried to, take the place of Benjamin Atkins; but he would take care of Morgan with unconditional love, as long as air filled his lungs. She had made it a challenge every step of the way, however, and today was one of those days.

“Where’s Morgan?” he asked Bella, who came racing down the stairs.

“She’s not in her room.” Bella shrugged.

“Where’s Lily?” Ethic asked, referring to his nanny. The elderly, black woman had been a godsend to him, helping to take care of his children and keep his home intact, for years after Raven had died. He had allowed Morgan to skip their monthly cemetery visit, because he knew visiting would upset her. He hadn’t expected her to be gone upon his return.

“She must have gone home for the night. She’s not here either,” Bella responded.

“Relax,” Dolce said. “Morgan’s 17. She’ll be a grown woman soon. You can’t keep the leash so tight. Lily doesn’t need to keep an eye on Morgan. You have to start trusting her to make some decisions for herself. She will only try harder to pull away from you, if you don’t. I’m sure she’s fine. You put Eazy down. I’ll start dinner.” Dolce took the bag from Ethic’s hand, but her words did little to soothe him.

He ascended the stairs to the castle he called home. The 7000 square feet of luxury were more for the children than for him. He had spared no expense in getting it built from the ground up. He had purchased it to give them a foundation and to remind him that all his ill deeds in the streets had been for something. He wanted Bella, Eazy, and Morgan to be protected behind these walls, but Morgan seemed adamant on playing outside the safety net he had provided. No matter how much he gave her or how far he moved them away from the hood, she always found her way back. It was like the streets called her. As he opened the door to her room, his jaw flexed in impatience as he smelled the remnants of marijuana in the air. He laid his son down on the soft duvet and then pulled his phone from his pocket.

Be home in half an hour, Mo. If you’re not here, I’m putting word out to have you brought home. It will be much less embarrassing if you head home on your own.

Ethic pressed send and swiped his face in exasperation, as he blew out a sharp breath. He didn’t want to be that guy. It disappointed him that he had to result to such strict tactics to get through to Morgan, but the only way to keep Morgan safe was to keep her removed. He had seen firsthand how the streets of Flint could swallow a girl whole. It had happened with Raven. He couldn’t sit back and let the same happen to Morgan. If he had to be uncool in her eyes… so be it. He knew his ways were overprotective, but it was a byproduct of losing Raven. Or was it a result of losing his mother? Or was it a reaction to losing it period? Did he hold on too tightly out of fear of losing the women he cared for? Ethic didn’t know, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He lacked patience when it came to her safety, and there was no leniency when it came to that. He just wanted Morgan home; and if she didn’t walk through the door in the next half hour, Ethic had no qualms about sending word to the block to retrieve her.

The smoke from the Kush-filled blunt danced in the air, as Morgan grooved to the vibrations of the speakers that sat behind her. The fact that she couldn’t hear the music made her love to dance even more. Other girls danced to the beat, in a predictable way, trying too hard to be cute, swaying to the music more for attention than enjoyment. Morgan was completely different. The way her hips rode the beat was awkwardly beautiful but natural. Even though she didn’t seek attention, it came to her effortlessly. She bopped to the beat of her own drum, using the heavy bass that vibrated her chest as her guide, while snapping her fingers between the rotations of the blunt that was being passed around. She closed her eyes, as the pulsations from the music traveled up her spine. She was in a vibe. She may not be able to hear the music, but she could feel it. She was standing in a circle full of pretty faces, but she was the only one that shined.

Her bohemian-chic box braids hung down her back and the tiny, diamond stud in her nose complimented her well. The red scarf she tied Tupac-style around her head put some grit behind her baby face. She tried to draw on her maturity with expensive cosmetics, accentuating her pouty lips with red lipstick. She was Benjamin Atkins’ youngest daughter, and although her father had died years ago, his legacy lived on. Because of it, Morgan was royalty. She couldn’t help but feel like she was princess by default. None of this shit is for me. This is hers. This love is just residual from Raven. They don’t even really know who I am.

Morgan felt her best friend, Nish, tap her on the shoulder, as she held up a plastic soda bottle filled with purple liquid. Morgan focused on her lips. “You on this?” she asked. Morgan had gotten used to reading lips. She could spy on an entire conversation from across the room - just by paying attention. The things that other people missed, Morgan usually picked up on. Her perception was keener because it had to be. She took the bottle and passed Nish the blunt, before lifting it to her lips. She didn’t even get to taste the concoction before the bottle was taken from her grasp. She lowered her head, angrily, her eyes shooting daggers until they fell on his.

“Let’s go, Shorty Doo Wop,” he said. Messiah stood in front of her, face cross in irritation. His icy demeanor made his smooth, dark skin even more attractive. She loved the way his lips curved when he called her that...when he called every, pretty girl that. She had seen him refer to countless girls with that nickname. It seemed to be his nickname for the beautiful ones. She was just glad she made the cut.

It was moments like these Morgan wished she had the confidence to use her voice. She hadn’t tried to speak since she was five years old. She still remembered the flush of embarrassment that filled her when her kindergarten classmates had laughed at the way her voice sounded. She hadn’t spoken since that day. Hundreds of thousands of dollars had been poured into surgeries and therapy to help restore her hearing. First, her father, and then Ethic had poured money into different, innovative technology over the years. They had done all they could to help her, but the fact that she couldn’t hear herself made her afraid to allow anyone else to hear her speak as well. She didn’t want her words to come out jumbled or awkward. She didn’t want her tone to sound weird or to highlight her handicap; so instead of saying something flirty to this god of a man in front of her, she rolled her eyes and smirked. She snatched the bottle back and he pointed a stern finger in her face. “Don’t play with me,” he said.

All I want to do is play with you, she thought. She handed over the bottle and threw up two fingers to her friends, as Messiah led the way out the party. She knew Ethic had sent him. He had a way of tracking her down that made her feel like she wore a leash. Morgan just wanted to live her own life. She didn’t care if she fucked it up, as long as she had the freedom to make her own choices. She desperately wanted to fly free.

“You gon’ make a nigga have to body something out here,” Messiah said. “Got your stomach and shit all out. Why the fuck your shorts so small, man? You ain’t got to carry it like that. That face is enough to get you all that attention you’re begging for.”

So, he does think I’m pretty, she thought. Morgan didn’t miss the insult that accompanied the compliment, but she would accept anything if it was coming from him. If he was passing out baby daddy passes and food stamp cards, I’d be first in line. That thought made her laugh aloud.

“Now I’m funny, huh? Got me up in here, pulling you out of clubs and shit. How’d you get in anyway, with your young-ass,” Messiah said, a small smirk playing at the side of his lips. He was too stubborn to reveal a full smile, but the way his mouth tugged upward at one corner was the sexiest thing Morgan had ever seen.

She shrugged, knowing he didn’t know sign language, so there was no need for her to try to respond.

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