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He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he didn’t know what to say. I saw the moment something clicked in his head, the way his eyes lit up and his mouth curved into a sudden smile.
“So serious tonight,brother. Usually, you and your striped friend laugh at me. Even when I visit the properties that I will one day own, that I will take from you, you act as if I am beneath you, a joke too lowly to be taken seriously. But yesterday, something was different, yes? A pretty, bountiful something. No wonder it is the first time you have thought I was worth a visit.”
“Stay the fuck away from her. Stay out of her face, out of her neighborhood. I don’t give a fuck what my mama says or what Ismail wants. I will fucking kill you,” I promised.
He chuckled lowly. “See? That response. I wanted to know what caused that response. We followed you one night. And then, I realized how many nights you visited. I had to see what had the… what is the word? Playboy? Player? Yes. I had to see what had the infamous player Montréal Hamilton fascinated. I will learn all your weaknesses. She is one. And I understand why.”
I didn’t answer, but he must have seen my jaw tighten. He laughed, a fucked-up sight with his purpling eye.
“I do not blame you. She smelled so good. And she was so soft when that body ran into mine. I had to squeeze her a moment longer than necessary. I can imagine what it is like to fuck her. Those big breasts and full legs… you are in heaven, brother, no? I will be, too, when I slide between those thick thighs, making her forget about yourweak ass dick?—"
My Glock and I went upside Aaqil’s head a few times. He was barely standing by the time Targen called my name. He swayed, trying to hold onto consciousness. I let go of him, and he stumbled backward. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and still, he laughed. I had to give him credit—he never showed fear. But he wasn’t cut out for the life he was trying to live. He’d spent his life as a wealthy heir, educated at French boarding schools and a British university, according to our research. Aaqil would always lag behind us when it came to the grimier side of life.
“Not as invincible as you present,mon petit frère(my little brother). Humbled byla beauté, huh?”
“Stay the fuck away from her,” I gritted out, knowing I was revealing too much.
Hell, I was doing too much. Ev wasn’t even officially mine, and I was acting like a man obsessed. Still, the thought of Aaqil touching her turned my stomach. I scowled at him again.
“Play with me if you want to. You gon’ see how serious I can get.”
For a moment, the room was silent as we glared at each other. The woman’s eyes darting back and forth was the only movement until Targen suddenly clapped his hands.
"Whew, shit just got awkward, so I know we about to slide," he said, standing from the couch with a stupid grin on his face. "It was nice to meet you..." he looked down at the license in his hand before tossing it to the woman. “Cherie Witherspoon of 6118 Spring Oak. Aaqil, you might wanna untie them niggas in yo' hall closet. Might be dead from circulation issues, anyway. I tend to tie a li’l tight."
He shrugged and headed to the elevator while Aaqil made a strangled sound. Targen gently grabbed the heavily jeweled, egg-shaped treasure from the shelf.
"You have lost your fucking mind! That is priceless! Put it down!" Aaqil thundered.
Targen scoffed. "Nigga, fuck you. This my birthright. I'm half Russian, hell. Damnmudak!"
I clapped his shoulder. “Ay, I like that, how you cussed him in Russian, like you emphasizing yo’ point.”
“I know. I felt like it would give it that little extra something,” he said, looking smug as hell.
He pushed the down button as I looked at Aaqil one last time.
"This was a friendly warning. The only one you gon' get," I said before stepping onto the lift and beginning the descent that would lead me back to the South Texas streets.
I lovedthe hustle and bustle of a hospital and the busy but strange peace of the delivery room. Still, I was determined to support people throughout the whole experience of pregnancy. For that reason, I worked a couple of days at a practice, learning about the patients and their experiences. I liked seeing the whole process, the inside view of the prenatal, labor and delivery, and immediate postpartum periods, doing clinic and hospital work gave me. So, I loved my job at the Oh, Baby Pregnancy Health and Wellness Center. But damn, it made me tired sometimes. Today was one of those days. Sighing, I stopped in the doorway of the exam room my patient had just walked out of and stretched with both hands pressed against my lower back.
“Cute scrubs,” Dr. Ruskin said as she passed by. “I love Gracie. You going on break?”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, holding back a yawn.
“Enjoy!”
I planned to. After working a double at the hospital yesterday to help a co-worker and waking up at five this morning, I was too tired to even eat. Instead, five minutes later, I was curled up in one of the comfortable recliners in the relaxation room, under a throw I brought for times like this, fighting off a nap. My phone rang and I groaned but fished it out of my pocket. I was surprised to see that it was Real; he rarely called during work hours, and we hadn’t talked since Sunday’s events—it was now Tuesday afternoon. I answered almost immediately then drew in an uncertain breath.
“You there, love?” he asked.
“Yeah. Hey,” I replied softly, the tip of my index finger slowly drawing and re-drawing a figure eight on my thigh.
“Hey. You busy?”
“On break.”
“You eating?”