Free Blood Relations by Michelle McGriff

is you need to decide. Since, you know, I’m not really a factor in your little family decisions.” She was pouting, but didn’t care.
    â€œStop it, Rashawn. You’re blowing things outta proportion,” Chance said without getting up to comfort her. She noticed that. He just sat there finishing his breakfast. “Nita just asked me to extend Junior’s visit and I think I will. I mean, she could use the break, and—”
    â€œWhat?” That did it. Now Chance was defending Juanita. When he came in last night from taking Junior home he was acting funny. Of that Rashawn was sure. He didn’t even give her a kiss, but instead went in and changed his shirt before dinner. All she noticed at the time was that Junior was not there. Maybe she should have noticed more.
    Glancing at his watch, Chance stood. “Come on, guys, I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”
    â€œI thought we were riding in together. I’m leaving tomorrow. I had hoped we’d spend time together and ...” Rashawn went on. The kids gathered their books quickly and rushed toward the door. A ride to school was not a common thing—it only happened when she and Chance fought during breakfast. Okay, so it happened a lot.
    â€œI’ll swing by your office for lunch. How’s that, baby?” he said before heading out the door, not waiting for an answer.
    â€œPeachy,” she said aloud to herself looking at the messy table that she had only moments to clean. Just then, Reggie’s cell phone went off in her pocket. She hesitated, but pulled it out enough to glance at the number. The number was blocked. Picking up the fancy gadget, she pushed talk and put it her to ear. “Hello?” she said.
    There was only silence before the caller hung up. “Whatever! I don’t care if nobody ever wants to talk to me again!” she yelled, shoving the phone in back into her pocket. She emptied the table quickly before she too found herself running out the door as if on fire. She was late.

Chapter 14
    â€œMy life depends on this being kept secret,” he said, rolling down his sleeve after securing the bandage.
    Hap Washburn was a new surgeon—a hungry, eager one. Hap’s girlfriend had died suddenly and he hadn’t so much as mentioned it. He hadn’t mentioned the money that Craven Michael had secured, either—money that Hap probably stole when he found out she was dead. Hap was hungry or, better yet, greedy. Roman could see it all over his face when he was attempting to explain why Craven not being in this plan was a “better idea, easier,” he had said. “Less complicated,” he had pointed out. Not an ounce of grief...
    Roman was impressed, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he could trust such a desperate man. But if nothing else he’d shown his avaricious side, and Roman knew, with that, as long as he offered Hap what seemed like a little fame and notoriety, Hap would be loyal. “I understand that. My career depends on this being kept quiet as well.”
    Apparently, the thought of a surgery like this one made his juices marinade, and being the only surgeon on the case made it all the juicer. Sure, this surgery was as illegal and unethical as hell, but if successful he would make medical history for sure. And for a black doctor, even in this day and age, making history was where it was at! He was down for this, as the young people often said. Roman enjoyed young people. He had enjoyed being young—for the most part. There were portions of his young life that he hated to remember; one part in particular was being raised with his half brother, Blain. He hated Blain like no other person on earth, and was glad when Rashawn Aims killed him. Sure, Blain was killed for something of which he was innocent, but no matter.
    Roman had been trying for years to find a way to kill his brother. Maybe it was a violent way to get what he wanted,