10 Years Ago
Welcome to Amar’s World.
This book will explore love, grief, moving on, a secret world of magic, shifters, vampires, fae, and the jinn.
Assume all chapters are written in Amar’s P.O.V. unless explicitly stated otherwise. This book will have many twists and turns. Prepare for the ride.
10 Years Ago
Breathe, Amar. You got this. Just remember where you came from.
I gathered my briefcase and stepped out of the vehicle. My name is Amar Night, and I was currently with Ronald Lite (my adoptive father) and Dorian Alastor to see about a pro bono case I thought we should take.
Dad is the oldest one in the group and the founder of Lite Law, the firm that the 3 of us work for. He is about 6′4, with silvery blonde hair, forest green eyes, and sun-kissed skin. Dorian was a 6′2 African American male with short black curly hair and a beard. He was a 1st year, rising 2nd year law student, a summer associate.
I stood 5′7 tall, with olive-toned skin, with dark-brown, long curly hair currently placed in a ponytail. I was 18 years old, a summer intern, starting law school in the fall. I skipped 4 years of school and graduated from college a year ago.
All of us were dressed in suits. The three of us lined up as we walked up the broken pavement and up to a large, shabby-looking house. I knocked on the door and we waited. A teenager, a little younger than me, opened the door.
“Who the f*ck are you?” he asked.
“Names none of your business, we’re here to see Tyrone,” I replied, showing no fear, but on the inside, I was shaking.
Please let me be right.
“Don’t know no Tyrone.” He tried to shut the door, but I stuck my foot in the way.
“I know for a fact that Tyrone Jermaine Black is in this house. You go tell him he has a visitor from his past downstairs who wants to talk to him ASAP.” I replied.
“Listen, b*tch—” he started, but another guy dressed in all black rushed in.
The whole interaction was clearly being monitored via camera.
“The boss says bring ’em to the first-floor office,” the new guy said.
The exterior looked rough, but inside? Gorgeous, everything was state-of-the-art. On the left—black leather couches, 80-inch TVs, every gaming system imaginable, a pool table. Everything was decked out in black and gold. To the right, a formal dining room. The living room? Big wooden table, no chairs.
We were led into an office: a black leather couch, a sleek black desk with a computer, a large screen showing all the security cams, two black guest chairs, and one massive leather chair behind the desk. The guy in black stayed, eyes on the cameras.
“Y’all can sit,” he said, not looking our way.
Dad and Dorian both took a seat. The young man gave me the side eye for not sitting. “I would rather stand,” I replied.
“I’d rather stand,” I said.
The door opened. In walked a 6′5" Black man, all muscle, decked in black with a gold and diamond chain.
“How the f*ck you know my name?”
“Why wouldn’t I, T-Bear?” I finally turned to face him. The guy watching the cams snorted.
“The f*ck you laughin’ at? Get the f*ck out, Sam.”
Sam’s face froze, then went neutral. “Sorry, boss. Sure thing.” He dipped.
“Who the hell are you to call me T-Bear? Who told you that name?” Tyrone was getting closer, angry.
Dorian moved to stand. I waved him off.
“I gave you that nickname, remember? You really don’t recognize your little sis, T-Bear? Oh, wait—you forgot about me six years ago when you ran off.”
His eyes searched mine. Then came the flicker of recognition.
“Lil Wiz? That really you?”
“Sure is, big bro.”
Dorian’s head snapped toward me. Dad stayed calm—he already knew.
Tyrone called me “Lil Wiz” because I got us out of trouble with charm and wit. I even did his homework.
“Sh*t, Amar. Look at you. All grown up,” Tyrone said, pulling me into a bear hug. Dorian stared. Dad raised an eyebrow—I didn’t usually let men touch me, aside from him.
Tyrone glanced at them. “Who are they?”
“This is Ron Lite, my adoptive father and founder of Lite Law, where I intern. Dorian’s a summer associate.”
“Law school? You’ve always been smart, Lil Wiz, but how you startin’ law school already?”
“Graduated high school four years ago, college last year, took a gap year to travel, starting law school in the fall.”
“That’s wild. I’m glad you got adopted. When’d that happen?”
“A month after you left.”
“That’s great—”
I cut him off. “I only got adopted by the Lites because you left. And you’re not gonna like why.” I said.
I took a deep breath. Ron and his wife already knew. Dorian didn’t. I hated talking about it.
“Kovak—he snuck into my room after you left. Tried to rape me. I jumped out the window. A stranger found me and rushed me to the hospital. Dr. Lite did emergency brain surgery. She and her husband adopted me after.”
Dorian glanced between Ron and me, clearly shocked.
“That sick motherf*cker wait until I get my hands on him—” He started.
“Save it. He’s dead. Turns out he’d assaulted other little girls, too. Sentenced to 15 to life. Prisoners found out what he did,” I said, giving him a knowing look. Made him pay. He killed himself a couple of years later.” I said.
“I’m sorry, Lil Wiz. I had to go. Some sh*t went down.”
“You being there kept him away longer than I realized,” I said quietly, my hand resting on his back like I used to when we were kids.
He pulled me into another hug, tighter this time.
“I still shoulda beat his ass one more time before I left,” he mumbled.
“It’s all good. I found a real family. I’m doing big things now.” I smiled. “But this reunion ain’t why we’re here,” I said.
“Sit, little sis. Let’s talk.” He said.
I sat, and he went behind his desk.
“We’re looking for two of your boys.” I pulled out a folder. “Trayvon Scarsbrough and Julius Stevens. We’ve been looking for a week. Word is, they’re with your crew,” I said.
He looked at the photos. Recognition quickly masked.
“Why you looking for them?”
“They were arrested last month on BS charges. Released on bail. Now? Gone. We came to offer help.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“Doing the right thing and Good PR,” I replied.
“Go on.”
“We’ve got footage— from a different angle—proves dirty cops set them up,” I said.
“How much?” He asked.
“Nothing. Pro bono.” I replied.
“Nah. Ain’t no such thing as free.”
“I want to sign you as a client. Flip your business. No more dealing—go legal. Sell weed legit.” I said.
“Who said I’m dealing?” He asked.
“Cops are dying to catch you. A rival snitched, hoping for a deal.” Dorian chimed in.
Tyrone’s eyes darkened. “What the f*ck you say?”
“Someone snitched. I’m specializing in criminal defense. Got ears everywhere. That’s why Am brought me.”
“Her name’s Amar. And stop looking at her like that,” Tyrone snapped, stepping toward Dorian.
“It’s okay, Ty. He’s a friend. I told him he could call me that,” I said—total lie.
Dorian had never shown much interest. I’d always found him attractive, but figured the feeling wasn’t mutual. He probably felt bad after hearing about Kovak. No one at the firm knew. The Lites and I kept our lives private. No social media. Strict professionalism.
Ty started to relax.
“I mapped out a business plan for you to go legit in 18 months.” I pulled it out of my bag and handed it over.
“But first—we help your boys.” I slipped back into the old dialect we used. The Lites taught me to speak “proper,” but I’d always been a brainiac.
“You got a draft agreement for Tee and Jay?”
“Yup. That’s why I brought Ron—to close the deal. Call them down.”
“Who says they’re here?”
“Who says they’re not?”
We were at a standoff. Then he pulled out a walkie-talkie.
“Send down Tee and Jay.”
By the time we left, we had all three signed: Trayvon, Julius, and Tyrone.
Back at Dorian’s Cadillac Escalade, Dad smiled. “Great work, honey. Sit up front. I’ve got some paperwork to do. And Dorian—keep what you heard today to yourself. Amar’s past is her story to tell.”
“My lips are sealed,” Dorian replied.
“Thanks, Dad. And you owe me $300.”
The cat was out of the bag. I was drained but proud—I didn’t even cry. My past still haunted me, and I usually used religion as an excuse to avoid contact with men. My only exceptions: my adoptive father and, now, Tyrone.
Dad handed me three crisp $100 bills. I buckled in. Dorian raised an eyebrow.
“We bet I could get all three to sign today.”
He chuckled. “Remind me never to bet against you.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes, soft music playing.
“So... Tyrone’s your foster brother,” Dorian said.
“Yeah. We were in the same homes from when I was five to twelve. Bounced between three homes together, which is rare. My first adoptive parents died when I was four. So I got thrown back into the system.”
“Oh.” He said.
“Don’t pity me,” I said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Though it does explain a lot,” he muttered.
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his voice.
“Why you’re so guarded. Don’t like being touched. Never hang out with guys alone. Hell, some folks thought something was going on between you and Ron.”
“That’s disgusting,” I whispered, cringing.
“I’m glad I came today,” he said, turning the volume up slightly.
“Me too.”
“So that makes Rachel your sister?”
“Yup. That’s why she calls me ‘sis.’ She’s my adoptive sister. One of the few I let call me Am. Ty got mad that you called me Am because Amar means ‘moon’ in Arabic. I don’t like nicknames unless we’re close. I was told my birth parents were of Arab descent. I was born under a full moon. Apparently, I was ‘as pretty as the moon,’” I said.
“You’re prettier,” he said softly.
I blushed.
A few quiet minutes passed before he spoke again.
“We’ll be at the office soon.”
Did... Dorian Alastor just flirt with me?
