No More Mr. Nice Guy

by Carl Weber, Stephanie Covington

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Ripped from the pages of his New York Times bestselling Family Business series, Carl Weber brings you No More Mr. Nice Guy, the origin of Niles Monroe, the super-bad hitman who will one day become Paris Duncan's one true love.

Niles has just returned from eight years of serving his country as a Special Forces sniper. He's looking forward to a consulting job with Dynamic Defense and spending time with his family, including his bi-polar mother, Lorna, and his hard-drinking uncle, Willie. What Niles doesn't know is that Dynamic Defense is actually a CIA front. He's not interested in joining them, but they won't take no for an answer.

Bridget St. John is one of the most beautiful women Niles has ever met, and she is also the most deadly. It is her job to recruit Niles to the Dynamic Defense team by any means necessary. When Niles is arrested for a murder he does not commit, Bridget makes him an offer he can't refuse: working for Dynamic Defense in exchange for his freedom.

With Niles on board, Bridget begins to train him in ways he never imagined. Sometimes, however, the student becomes the teacher. Before she realizes what's happening, Bridget falls in love. When circumstances in his personal life collide with his work, Niles is forced to use his military skills to protect those closest to him.

Release date: December 18, 2018

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Sargent Monroe, my name’s Frank Bush. This is my colleague, Lance Rodgers. Sorry we had you waiting so long at such a late hour, but our business is twenty-four/seven. We had to put out a small fire with our guys in Afghanistan,” the salt-and-pepper haired man said, offering his hand.

“Not a problem.” I shook their hands, but I knew they were full of shit about the reason for making me wait the last hour and a half. That move was straight out of the Marine’s sniper school playbook for testing a man’s patience. “And call me Niles. I no longer wear Uncle Sam’s stripes.”

Bush, who sat across from me, was probably a retired Army officer. His partner, Rodgers, was a well-built brother. He was definitely Army, probably Delta Force like me. Neither of them carried themselves as if they’d seen any real action in quite some time.

“So, Niles, I have to admit I’m impressed. You’ve got quite a resume,” Bush said, looking up from a folder. Their company, Dynamic Defense, LLC, a defense contractor, had flown me up from Fort Bragg for a consulting job interview after hearing from my commanding officer that I had just retired from the Army and was looking to settle back home in New York. “Six years special forces with the Rangers, two in the Night Stalkers. Airborne, and you graduated top of your class in sniper school. You’ve had quite the career.”

“Thank you.” It was obvious these boys had done their homework, and I was glad. Nothing I hated more than having to toot my own horn. People who bragged about themselves always made me wonder what they were hiding.

Rodgers, who was sitting on the edge of the desk, leaned in close to me. “That was some first-class shit you did down in Syria. How the hell did you carry both of them out without being seen? That must have been fifty fucking klicks.”

I was about to react, but Bush jumped in. “What I wanna know is how you made that shot in Qatar last year. What was that—four hundred feet against the wind?”

“Four-fifty to be exact. But both those missions were classified.” The fact that they knew about top secret missions was making me suspicious.

“Yeah, and so was the one in Colombia, Cuba, and the one in Taiwan, but who’s counting? Bottom line is you’re real good at what you do, and we can use your services. How’s two hundred grand a year to start?” Rodgers asked.

The way they were staring at me made me think they were expecting an immediate yes to their large offer, but the whole situation was making me feel uneasy. I was starting to think this was some kind of set up, and there were few things I hated more than being blindsided.

“How the hell do you know all this?” I stood up.

“Hey, have a seat and I’ll explain.” Bush motioned to the chair. “This is a big company with a lot of friends and resources. We don’t just pay anyone two hundred thousand dollars. We needed to know everything about you. How else are we going to utilize your skills in the field correctly?”

“What exactly do you mean by utilize? My CO told me that I was interviewing for a consulting job. This sounds like wet work.”

“You are a remarkable soldier, Mr. Monroe. Why would anyone waste your talent consulting?” Bush said matter-of-factly. “Hey, I know it’s a little overwhelming, but don’t worry. We’re the good guys.”

He was trying to reassure me, but I was no longer so sure I was interested in the job. I didn’t try to hide my skepticism, and Rodgers picked up on it, jumping in to try to convince me.

“Look, kid, Uncle Sam taught you well and gave you a very valuable set of skills,” Rodgers added. “We can help you put those skills to work and make you a wealthy man in the process. Two hundred grand to start ain’t nothing to sneeze at, and when you add in the bonus money, you could easily clear three, four hundred thousand your first year.”

“You show us your worth, and the sky’s the limit,” Bush added, leaning back in his chair confidently. No doubt they assumed a brother like me would jump at their ever-growing salary offer.

Well, I had learned a long time ago that all money ain’t good money, and to kill for my country was one thing, but to kill to put money in my pocket wasn’t an option. It would just make me a thug.

“Thanks for the offer, gentlemen, but I’m no soldier of fortune. And to be quite honest, after what I’ve been through the past few years, a desk job sounds pretty good to me. I just want to lead a normal life.” I took a step toward the door.

“Niles.” Rogers’ commanding voice stopped me.

“Yes?” I spun around on my heels to face him.

“Guys like us don’t lead normal lives.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell gonna try.” I walked out the door.

“Please! Please, no!” Lydell Washington pleaded as Majestic clamped a giant hand around his neck. I almost felt sorry for Lydell as Majestic removed him from the back of my Navigator and dragged him out into the open. I’d seen that deadly look in my best friend’s eyes before, and all I can say is I wouldn’t have wanted to be Lydell. “You know I’m not no snitch. I swear I didn’t say shit.”

“That why you been hiding from us?” I asked, emerging from the shadows of my truck with one of my signature mint toothpicks between my lips.

I glanced down the Robert Moses Causeway to make sure we were still alone. I’d known Lydell most of my life, and, up until a few days ago, I’d thought he was one of my friends. A lot had changed in the past three days, and most of it was no good.

“That why you disappeared after getting caught with that package?” I asked Lydell. “That why your ass is not in jail and standing in front of us?”

Dude looked like he was about to shit himself.

“You think you can snitch on us and get away with it?” Majestic’s deep, growling voice made him appear even bigger than his six foot six, 350-pound frame. My man was so damn big he looked like a handsome refrigerator.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lydell cried. “I swear I would never talk to the cops about you. That goes against everything I stand for. You cats are like family. Whoever told you that shit is a liar.”

I had to give it to him. He said the shit with real conviction, but I still knew it was a crock of shit, because I’d gotten the information from the source myself. I spit out my toothpick and stepped up in Lydell’s face.

“You calling me a liar, motherfucker?”

“Naw, Bruce, man, I’d never do that.” The way Majestic’s meaty hand was clasped around his neck, I was surprised he could even get the words out of his mouth, but then again when you’re fighting for your life, I guess you find all kinds of ways to get your message across.

“Then why you been hiding?” Majestic asked, the veins on his neck throbbing the way they always did when he was furious.

We’d surprised Lydell when we busted up in his girl’s uncle’s house about midnight. Little did his dumb ass know that I’d been fucking his chick just as long as he had. I just wasn’t stupid enough to make her my girl. She hadn’t even hesitated to call me when she found out where he was hiding. I guess we know who’d been fucking her better over the years, don’t we?

Lydell shook his head, or at least that’s what it looked like he was trying to do, but like I said, he was limited in his mobility by Majestic’s massive hands. “Majestic, me you, and Bruce, we’re like brothers, man.” Lydell coughed, struggling to catch his breath. “I’ve followed you to hell and back. I’m a loyal dude. You gotta believe me.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t let you take us down. We ain’t dealing in nickel and dime shit no more now that we’re with El Gato. This is the big time, and Bruce and I got too much to lose. You shoulda kept your mouth shut, Dell,” Majestic explained calmly.

In one smooth move, he lifted Lydell up off his feet like a paperweight and dangled him over the guardrail of the bridge. Of course, Lydell’s ass went crazy.

“Please! Please, Majestic, man! You’re the godfather of my kids. You can’t do this, man. We family. Shit, please don’t do this! I don’t wanna die.” Dude was crying like a little bitch.

“You better stop moving or I’m gonna drop you for sure. It’s a long way down.”

Lydell glanced down at the water, and reality set in quick. All of a sudden, he was as stiff as a board. I mean he got real still. Majestic turned and locked eyes with me. A look passed between us that, had Lydell seen it, would have made him even more afraid.

“What you think we should do with him?” Majestic asked.

“We do all go way back,” I reminded him. “But, on the other hand, you know how I feel about snitches.”

“Come on, Bruce. Don’t do me like that, brother,” Lydell pleaded. “How many times have I saved your ass over the years?”

“That’s all good, but here’s my problem: You disappeared after getting knocked with a package.”

“That don’t mean I snitched.”

“Maybe, but my people at the First Precinct and the Suffolk DA’s office say you’re the witness against us for the Johnson brothers hit we did for the Duncans a few years back. Somehow they found the bodies and have a witness to connect us to it. Problem is, nobody knew about that shit but the three of us.” Lydell’s eyes grew wide.

“Now,” I continued, “since the cops are looking for me and Majestic, that only leaves you. Do you know how that makes us feel to think that you would turn on us? And what’s really pissing me off is that you keep lying about it.”

Lydell finally recognized that his bullshit lies weren’t going to work. “A’ight, a’ight, look. I ain’t had no choice. I got three strikes. They were gonna lock me up for good if I didn’t talk,” he sputtered.

“We all got choices!” Majestic yelled in his face. “You should have just done the time, man. We would have got you a lawyer and taken care of your family.”

I turned to Majestic, twisting my lips. “Man, you was right. Drop this motherfucker.”

“With pleasure.” He let go of Lydell, and we watched him fall, screaming all the way down. He hit the water with a loud splash, and then there was silence.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure there hadn’t been any late-walking witnesses, then gazed down at the water again until the circle where Lydell had disappeared stopped rippling and the water was calm.

“What if he’s still alive? I’ve seen white kids jump off this bridge a dozen times,” I said, but that only made Majestic laugh.

“Yeah, but they could swim. That Negro’s from the projects. He ain’t never learn how to swim. His black ass is down there sinking like a rock.” Majestic belted out a deep belly laugh.

I shook my head, agreeing, then put the whole incident out of my mind. I was already thinking about our next stop. “A’ight, now that Lydell’s out the picture, you sure about this?” I questioned because once we did it, there would be no changing course.

“Positive.” He smiled like it was no big deal, although we both knew this shit was a huge deal. Had it been anyone else, I would have tried to talk him out of it, but there wasn’t another human being on the planet I trusted more than Majestic.

We got back in the car and headed toward Lindenhurst, Long Island, where I pulled up in front of Suffolk County’s First Precinct.

As we headed inside past all the blue uniforms about to start their morning shift, the balding desk sergeant stood up and approached us.

“Can I help you?” Guess it wasn’t every day two well-dressed black men stepped through those doors. They were used to the low-level criminals that are featured on the local news every day.

Majestic took a step closer to him like he was about to shake his hand. “Yes, my name’s Majestic Moss, and I hear there’s a warrant out for my arrest.”

“Good morning, Ms. St. John. My name is Nadja. The deputy director has told me so much about you. Is there anything I can get you? Coffee, tea, a cold beverage perhaps?” The perky Persian woman with a little more T and A than the job required greeted me as soon as I stepped off the elevator. She seemed awfully eager to meet my needs, so I guessed my reputation preceded me.

“Fuck the pleasantries. Where is Jonathan?” I barked, rolling my eyes.

“Excuse me?” Nadja stiffened with shock, her face flush with embarrassment.

“Look, don’t act all offended, honey. You want to make it around here, you not only have to be smarter than them, but you better learn how to cuss like a sailor, fight like a man, and screw like a rabbit. That’s the only thing these Neanderthals understand.” I shook my head as I realized that I had actually rendered her speechless. This one wouldn’t be here long. Way too weak.

“Now, where the hell is Jonathan?” I repeated.

“He’s in observation room C. Follow me.” She ushered me into a room where Jonathan sat with two tech geeks, wearing headphones and studying individual computer monitors. When I entered the room, the geeks stayed glued to their monitors, but Jonathan took off his headphones and turned to me.

“Bridget St. John.” He smiled, undressing me with his eyes. “You’re looking exceptionally good. Why don’t you let me take you to breakfast? I have a few things I’d like to run by you.”

“Cut the bullshit, Jonathan.” I dropped my briefcase on a nearby desk. “What was so damn important that you had to drag me all the way down here at three in the morning while I’m in the middle of an assignment?”

“Breakfast with me not enough? You used to love when I made breakfast—and I love the way you cook my sausage.” He gave me a lecherous smirk.

I took a deep breath. Some men should never have the opportunity to get really good pussy. They just can’t handle it. Jonathan was one of those men. He completely confused casual sex for a relationship. Sure, we may have fucked back in the day, but there wasn’t anything serious about what we had. As far as I was concerned, we were just passing time.

“Look, its late,” I spit out. “I don’t have time for your games, so get to the point or deal with the director, because fucking with me when on assignment is a no-no and you know it!”

“Relax. I’ve got something to show you that I’m sure you’re going to wanna see.” He turned back to the monitor like he was ready to get to business, but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was pouting like a little boy “There used to be a time when you could take a joke.”

“That was a long time ago, when I was your assistant and I didn’t know better.” I wanted to get the hell out of there before I followed through on my desire to cause him some bodily harm. “I run my own division now, and I don’t have to laugh at your stale-ass jokes anymore. You should remember that.” I glanced over at the newbie Nadja, desperate to make a good impression. It was hard to believe I was once that naive.

“Well, if we’re going to be putting things on the record, then maybe you should remember exactly who recommend you for your high and mighty new position,” Jonathan said.

“Yeah, yeah, and if I hadn’t killed Miguel’s brother Santos, you wouldn’t have made assistant director. What does this have to do with me being here?”

He hit a button on his computer, and the fifty-inch flat screen on the wall lit up, revealing a closeup of an exceptionally handsome, light-skinned brother probably in his late twenties or early thirties. He was quite the physical specimen.

“So, what do you think?” Jonathan asked.

“He’s cute. I think I’d like to fuck him. Is that why you called me all the way down here, to introduce me to potential sex partners?”

I saw his anger rising, but he quickly recovered.

“Not exactly. I was hoping tonight was going to be our night,” he continued, raising his eyebrows a few times suggestively. Men were such damn children.

“Why are you wasting my time? You can bet your ass the director’s going to hear about this.” Interrupting an operative on an assignment for some nonsense crossed a real line. I snatched up my briefcase and headed for the door.

“He’s the guy who took out Akbar in Syria last year, Bridget.” His words stopped me in my tracks. In no time, I was back in front of the screen to get a better look.

“He took out Akbar?” I asked, admiring this fine brother for much more than his looks now.

Jonathan hit a button, pulling the camera back on the subject to reveal the room where he sat. Frank Bush, the head of recruiting, was sitting in front of him, along with Lance Rodgers, a man I despised. Lance was the head of field operations. He and I had started with the company around the same time, yet we couldn’t have been more opposite. While I worked my ass off in the field with Jonathan, Lance brown-nosed his way up the ladder, so to speak.

“His name is Niles Monroe, and he’s our top recruit. As you can see, Lance is interviewing him right now.” He handed me a folder, and I began to thumb through it. I’d never seen anyone with a more impressive jacket.

“Iraq, Syria, Sudan, Hong Kong, Colombia, this guy’s off the charts. He’s the real deal,” I replied.

“Without question. I’ve had my eye on him the past three years. He’s just become available.”

“I hope you’re not planning on giving him to Lance,” I said as I continued to study his folder. “This guy’s special. With the proper training, he could be one of the best.” I tried to remain professional, but I was sure my hatred for Lance was coming through. Still, I meant every word I said. This Niles Monroe had true superstar potential.

Jonathan shook his head. “No, this guy’s out of Lance’s league. Truth is, I’m thinking about giving him to you to train.” He paused with a slick grin. “If you’re nice to me.” I could tell he was holding something a little too close to his vest, so I remained silent to see if he would give it up.

“What do you think?” he pressed. “You’re always complaining that you’re a one-woman show. Now you have a chance to have our top recruit. With a guy like him under your wing, your career could skyrocket.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re giving him to me?” From what I had just read, this guy was better than seventy-five percent of our recruits, and he wasn’t even trained. Yes, I was certainly intrigued, but this was not the kind of gift Jonathan would just hand over to me. I’d spent a long time lobbying and pleading for help only to get the bottom of the barrel, so I was suspicious. Jonathan and his team kept all the best recruits for themselves. Now they were offering me their best? Sure, I knew Jonathan wanted to fuck again, but even I didn’t think the goods were worth giving up an asset of Monroe’s caliber. “What’s the catch?” I asked.

“None. He’s yours if you want him.”

I studied Jonathan like a poker player looking for tells. “And I’m supposed to believe that? What’s the catch?” I repeated.

“Dinner and drinks at my place.” He intertwined his fingers behind his head, grinning like Cheshire cat as he leaned back in his chair.

“I didn’t ask what I have to do to get him. I asked, what’s the fucking catch?” How green did he really think I was? If I had been more of a people person, I could have easily taken his job and run this division. “What are you not telling me, Jonathan?”

“Nothing. The guy’s done everything in his file. I swear.”

I leaned closer. “You want dinner and drinks and everything that comes after, then you better tell me what I want to know. What’s not in that file?”

“Fine. The guy is something of a hothead. He does not play well with others, and my guys work as a team. But more importantly—”

“Oh, there’s a but?”

“But, like someone I know, he doesn’t exactly follow orders to the letter. The fucker’s got a conscience, and he’s morally objected to missions in the past.” He finally divulged the guy’s Achilles’ heel.

For too many years, my main problem had to do with taking orders from idiots like Lance masquerading as bad-asses from their secure positions as bonafide paper pushers. It was hard to take orders from people who never had to risk their own lives.

“That I can deal with,” I concluded. “So now what?”

“Now comes the tough part. You have to convince him to join the team. He thinks he’s interviewing for a consulting job.”

The guy stood up, and I didn’t need sound on the monitor to know that he was upset. Still, Jonathan reached to the right of the screen and hit a button so that we could hear what they were saying.

“Thanks for the offer, gentlemen, but I’m no soldier of fortune. And to be quite honest, after what I’ve been through the past few years, a desk job sounds pretty good to me. I just want to lead a normal life.” He took a step toward the door.

“Niles, guys like us don’t lead normal lives,” Lance countered.

“Well, I’m sure as hell gonna try.” With that, Niles Monroe was out the door.

Jonathan turned to me. “I guess you’re up.” He pointed to the hall, where Niles was passing by our conference room.

I hurried into the hallway, determined to catch up with him at the elevator bank before he left the building.

He was even better looking in person. When he turned to notice me standing beside him, I gave him a smile. He must have liked what he saw, because as he pushed the down button and we waited for the elevator to arrive, I saw him surreptitiously checking me out. I had him by about 8 years—maybe more, but from the way he was grinning, it was obvious he knew a real woman when he saw one. Yes, I told myself as the elevator doors opened, he’s going to be fun to train.

When we stepped onto the elevator, I pushed the button for the lobby and then turned to him. “Excuse me, Mr. Monroe. My name is Bridget St. John. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a field supervisor for the company.”

“I should have known.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“Mr. Monroe, you’re an extremely talented man. If you’d just give me five minutes—”

“Look.” He cut me off, frustration evident on his face. “No offense, but I don’t want to talk to anyone from your company anymore. I’m done.”

“I do work with them, but I’m not them. If you come and work for me, then I’m the only person you’ll have to ever deal with. That way you can see for yourself that we’re not all alike.”

“You want me to take a job killing for you—right?”

I said nothing, because I couldn’t deny what he was asking.

He continued, as if my silence had answered for me. “Then I don’t want to work with you or anyone like you. I got plans for my life, plans that don’t include killing anyone. My killing days are over,” he said as the elevator arrived in the lobby. He stepped out and strode with purpose out of the building.

I stood there watching him leave. This Niles Monroe was really the most interesting person I had met in a long time. His mind seemed to be made up, but then again, I could be a very persuasive woman with a lot of resources at my disposal.

The sun was shining through the windows of the cab as it exited the Southern State Parkway headed toward Wyandanch. I’d just left that waste of time interview with Dynamic Defense and was staring out the window like some lost tourist visiting for the first time. The neighborhood I’d grown up in didn’t look anything like it had when I left ten years ago, straight out of high school. It had undergone a real transformation, I thought, as we passed a strip where a small row of stores had been torn down to make way for commuter parking lots and the new apartment building and shopping complex next to the Long Island Railroad station.

Despite the new buildings and the urban renewal, some things would never change, and as far as I was concerned, Wyandanch was one of them. When we turned off Straight Path down Long Island Avenue, I spotted ten or fifteen drug boys standing in front of the convenience deli like it was lunchtime and they were giving away free sandwiches. I swear they were the same dealers who used to stand around there when I was in high school. You could put lipstick on a pig, but when it came down to it, it was still just a damn pig. I guess you could say the same thing about Wyandanch.

“What’s going on?” I asked as we turned up my block and the cab came to a complete stop. The driver began babbling in Hindi, pointing at the police cars and an ambulance blocking the street. I Wish I could say it caught me off guard, but in my hood, the police were always showing up to carry someone off to jail, the morgue, or if they were lucky, just to the hospital.

“Just pull over. I’ll walk the rest,” I instructed the driver.

“You sure?” he asked, though he looked relieved as he stared at me through his rearview mirror. This was supposed to be a hardened NYC cabbie, but it was obvious he was scared shitless.

“Yeah, my house is just up the block.” I glanced at the meter then reached into my pocket to pay the fare. I was going to let him keep the change, but then snatched it back when the son of a bitch popped open the trunk and gestured for me to get my own bags. I don’t even think the trunk was all the way down before he pulled a U-turn and gunned it down the street toward the Southern State Parkway.

With my knapsack over my shoulder and two duffle bags in my hands, I made my way up the block toward home. I hadn’t imagined I would ever wind up back here for an extended period of time. Hell, I’d only been back to visit about five times in the past ten years, but here I was, me and all my worldly possessions, along with no job and no prospect for a job. I could have done another tour and stayed in the Army, but I decided it was time to come home, or at least close to home. Truth is, I had really been counting on that consulting job so I could get a place in the city and still be close to my mom.

Speaking of Mom . . .

“You fucking devils!” An eerie voice shrieked loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. “I’m going to kill all of you!”

“Shit,” I cursed.

I’d been through hell and back as a soldier for my country, but that scream put more fear in my heart than any of the shit I’d seen in the military. You see, that scream wasn’t just random. I’d heard it many a night while growing up, and it told me one thing: The commotion was coming from my house. I broke out into a full jog.

“You fucking devils! Stay the fuck away from me!” The voice continued to get louder the closer I got to my house.

By the time I got to the edge of my mother’s property, there was a gang of nosy neighbors standing outside the house. I made my way through the crowd to the stoop, where I was stopped by a cop.

“Sir, you’re gonna have to stop right there,” the cop stated, blocking my entry.

“This is my house. Those are my people inside.” I dropped my bags, staring him down, but he stood his ground. Based on my military training, I knew there were at least two dozen ways I could take him down and get past him, but I didn’t want to do that if I didn’t have to.

“Don’t touch me!” The voice came from the house again. “I’ll kill you all!”

The cop looked back at the house like he might be needed in there. What he didn’t understand was that he had just as big a problem standing in front of him.

“Sir, we have a mentally ill person in there with a knife. I need you to stay back for your own safety.”

“Look, officer, I’m the only one who is going to be able to defuse this situation. Now, let me pass, please, so I can help you. Those are my family members in there.” I looked past him to his sergeant, who was standing in the doorway with his gun drawn

“The devil! You’re all devils!” She kept repeating. “I’ll kill you all!”

“Let him go, Stanford,” the sergeant announced, and the cop finally let me pass.

As I walked by the sergeant at the front door, he told me, “You better do something quick or we’re going to have to take matters into our own hands. You don’t want that.”

“No, I don’t,” I told him.

I entered the house to see a room full of very intense-looking cops. All of them had their guns out pointed in the direction of a panic-stricken man, who had. . .