Page 13

I barely held back a smirk as I slid into the backseat of my Lambo, the door shutting with a solid thud behind me.

Parker’s ass was pressed. I saw it all over her face. The way her eyes had darted to my neck, clocking the hickeys like she had a right to be mad. The way her lips had parted, ready to go off, only for me to strip down butt ass naked and step into the shower in the en suite guest bathroom like she wasn’t even there. I could eat, shit, shower and sleep anywhere in that fucking house. It was mine.

She hated it and hated the silence even more. She hated that I’d been gone for three days and not knowing what the fuck I was up to. Good. Her ass needed to learn. I was her problem now. Her headache. And I’d break her down piece by piece until she fell in line.

Truth was, I hadn’t been doing shit but handling business and teaching her a lesson. And yeah, I needed to get my dick wet, so I hit up one of my old hoes. But the crazy part? I ain’t even enjoy the shit like I should’ve. The whole time, I was thinking about Parker. That smart ass mouth. That attitude. That body. The way she looked at me when she was mad like she wanted to swing on me and fuck me at the same damn time.

This marriage wasn’t just a game to me. She was mine and she was gon’ learn what that meant.

Pulling out of the garage, I reached for the blunt I’d rolled up when my phone lit up in my lap. The number was unknown. I answered on the second ring. “Talk.”

“Boss—it’s Gino—I—I ain’t know who else to call,”

the voice stammered, frantic, panicked.

I narrowed my eyes, my gut already tightening. Gino wasn’t built to panic unless shit was really sideways. “What’s the problem?”

I asked, my tone flat, trying to stay calm..

“The shipment… the guns… we—we got fuckin’ hit! Couple crates gone. Some niggas are dead, man.”

I sparked the blunt with one hand and pushed my whip with the other. “You still at the spot?”

“Yes, sir,”

he rushed out.

“Aight.”

I hung up before he could say another word. The streets blurred past me as I gripped the wheel tightly, my trigger finger already itching. I called Ren on the way. “Hit on warehouse seventeen,”

I barked before he even said hello.

He huffed, already knowing it was about to be some shit. “Say less.”

By the time I pulled up behind the warehouse, Ren was already waiting in his matte black Jeep, engine humming low, headlights off. He hopped out, a semi-auto in one hand, another piece tucked into his waistband. We moved around the back, staying low, our steps silent across the gravel.

I could see Gino pacing near the loading docks, jittery as fuck, his head snapping around like he was waiting to get popped next. He spotted us and jogged over, damn near tripping over his own feet. “They—they got two of the crates. They left out the back in a black Escalade.”

“You see their faces?”

I asked coldly.

He shook his head, sweat pouring down his face even though it was cold as hell outside. “N-no. Masks.”

Ren sighed, disappointed. “Niggas always get bold with masks.”

I lifted my chin toward the warehouse. “Anybody still inside?”

Gino swallowed thickly. “One. Damen’s still breathin’ but barely.”

I nodded once. “You got anything else to tell me?”

I asked, voice low.

He shook his head frantically. “No, boss. I swear.”

I stared at him, the weight of the silence making him twitch harder. This nigga was trembling, looking nervous as fuck. My gut told me something wasn’t right. I hated snakes, and I hated weak men even more. Gino had been a part of my warehouse crew for years and I never thought I’d see the day his ass would try to play me.

“I can smell a setup a mile away. You know that?”

I asked, pulling out my Glock and thumbing off the safety. “You done disappointed me, Gino.”

He stumbled back, hands up. “P-please, Boss! I—I’ll fix it! I’ll-I’ll bring—”

Boom.

The bullet tore through his forehead before he could finish. He dropped like a ragdoll, blood pooling under him, soaking into the dirt.

Ren reappeared at my side, casual as hell. “Cleanup?”

I stared at Gino’s lifeless body.

“Yeah,”

I said, shaking my head. “Get the drop on the niggas who hit my shit and send this nigga home to his mama in a body bag. Let her deal with this snake ass muthafucka.”

Ren nodded. “Say less.”

We made our way inside the warehouse, the stench of blood and motor oil thick in the air. Bullet holes riddled the walls. Empty crates were scattered everywhere. I crouched down by one of the busted crates, running my fingers through the sawdust and splinters.

“Can’t believe this nigga,”

I muttered. “Gon’ set up my shit to be hit? Worst mistake.”

I stood, sliding my Glock back into my waistband. We left the warehouse without looking back, the blood of traitors still wet on the ground behind us.

M y s t o m a c h w a s damn near touching my back as I pulled up to a breakfast spot and ordered a spread with steak, eggs, pancakes, the works. As I waited, I found myself ordering something for Parker, too. I knew she probably hadn’t eaten shit all day, just sitting around being mad, writing in that little journal of hers or plotting on how to piss me off next.

The cashier handed me the bags, and I peeled off, heading back to the penthouse. When I stepped off the elevator and into my space, the first thing that hit me was the music. Loud as hell. Some R&B song about niggas not being shit, and I smirked before even seeing her. Oh, she’s still mad.

I walked into the kitchen, setting the food down just as Parker came storming in like she was ready to fight. She was in a cropped tank and some tiny ass shorts, her hair up in a messy bun wild, skin still dewy from a fresh shower. And she was looking at me like I was the problem.

I took my time pulling out a chair, sitting down, rolling up a blunt while she stood there, arms crossed, lips pursed. The tension was thick. I licked the blunt slow, sealed it, then finally met her glare.

“You gon’ sit down, or you just gon’ keep mean-muggin’ me?”

I muttered.

Her eyes narrowed. “Three… fucking… days.”

I sparked the blunt, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke roll from my lips. “So, you can count.”

Her jaw clenched. “You left.”

“And?”

She sucked her teeth, stepping closer. “You had hickeys on your neck.”

I exhaled, watching her. “You were out shakin’ your ass with your little friends.”

Parker scoffed. “I’m your wife.”

I smirked. “Act like it then.”

She was fuming. “You left,”

she said again, voice tight. “Didn’t call, didn’t text. Just vanished. Then you come back like nothing happened?”

I took another hit. “Pretty much.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

I shrugged, gesturing to the food. “Eat.”

She glanced at the bags, hesitating. Her body betrayed her, stomach growling loud as hell, and she looked so pissed about it. I chuckled. “Come sit down, Parker.”

For a moment, she stood there, still mad, still trying to hold on to it. But then she sighed, snatched a plate, and sat across from me. I smirked to myself. Good girl.