Page 7

T h e m o r n i n g a f t e r the wedding, I woke up after a couple of hours of resting my eyes feeling more alert than I had in weeks. It was a new day. A new chapter. And my wife was still locked away in the guest room, probably thinking she could ignore reality a little longer.

I let out a low chuckle, sitting up and rubbing a hand over my face before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Rising up, I made my way to the bathroom, taking my time under the hot spray of the shower. I let the water beat against my muscles, thinking about the day ahead. Today was about setting the tone. Parker needed to understand what it meant to be a Mosley, what it meant to be mine.

After throwing on a black fitted tee, black jeans, fresh Timbs, and my chains, I grabbed my Glock, checked the clip, and tucked it into my waistband. Business was waiting. And so was my wife. I knocked once on her door, then used the key above it to unlock it. She was still in bed, wrapped up in the covers like a damn burrito, her dark curls spilling over the pillows.

“Time to get up,”

I said, voice rough from the first words of the morning.

She groaned, shifting beneath the covers but not making any real effort to move. “Go to hell.”

A smirk tugged at my lips. “Already been there, baby. Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

Parker peeked out from beneath the covers, eyes narrowed, voice still husky with sleep. “For what?”

“You’ll see.”

I walked out before she could argue, making my way to my home office. I dropped down into my chair, rolling up a blunt while I waited. Forty minutes later, she walked in. Annoyed. Beautiful. Her long legs were on full display beneath a fitted black dress, and her skin glowed even under the dull lighting.

I exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting my gaze drag over her before I leaned back in my chair. “Took you long enough.”

Parker folded her arms. “I’m only coming because if I stay here, I might actually break something.”

“Try it and see how that works out for you,”

I said smoothly, pushing up from my chair. “Come on.”

The moment we were in my car, I laid down the law. “You’re my wife now, so let’s get some shit straight.” I gripped the wheel with one hand, the other tapping lightly against my thigh. “You’re gonna act like it. That means no fucking around with other niggas, no embarrassing me, and you keep all that ratchet shit to a minimum.”

Parker let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, so I have to be your obedient little wife now?”

I glanced at her, amused by her sarcasm. “You’re catchin' on.”

She rolled her eyes. “This ain't the 1800s, . I might’ve been forced into this marriage, but you can’t force me to play the role you want.”

I smirked. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, tension simmering in the space between us. She was fighting this with every ounce of strength she had, and I respected it. Hell, I liked it. But at the end of the day, it didn’t change a damn thing.

When we got to breakfast, the spot was quiet, filled with the kind of people who didn’t need to look over their shoulders but did anyway. Power sat in every corner booth, concealed behind designer suits and hushed voices. Parker sat across from me, posture rigid, arms folded as she scanned the menu like she was reading a death sentence. She ordered a fruit bowl and a cappuccino without looking up.

I smirked, setting my menu down. “That’s all you gettin'?”

“I’m not hungry,”

she said coolly, placing the menu back on the table with a little too much care.

I nodded to the waiter. “Get her somethin' more than that. Eggs, toast, bacon.”

“I don’t eat bacon.”

“Fine. Whatever bougie shit she eats.”

I waved the waiter off before settling my attention back on her. “You should eat.”

She met my gaze, eyes flat. “Don’t pretend like you care.”

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. Silence stretched between us as she lifted her cup to her lips, sipping slowly. Her fingers curled around the porcelain, nails perfectly shaped, polished, unchipped. Every inch of her was manicured, perfected, controlled—except her mouth. That was wild and reckless. I like that shit.

“Tell me somethin',”

I said after a beat, dragging my thumb across the condensation on my water glass. “What kind of man would you have married if it wasn’t for this arrangement?”

She tilted her head slightly, gaze unreadable. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.”

I shrugged. “Just curious.”

She exhaled, setting her cup down. “Someone who didn’t force me into a marriage. Someone who respected me.”

I smirked. “Respect is earned, not given.”

She rolled her eyes. “How original.”

The waiter returned, placing a plate of eggs, toast, and avocado in front of her. Parker eyed it like it had personally offended her before lifting a piece of toast and tearing off the smallest bite possible.

I shook my head. “You always eat like a damn bird?”

She chewed slowly, setting the toast down like she was done with it already. “You always pry into people’s lives like you give a fuck?”

I let her little jab roll off me, watching her closely. “You ever been in love?”

She blinked, clearly not expecting that question. “What?”

“Love,”

I repeated, picking up my coffee. “That shit people write songs about. You ever had it?”

Her shoulders tensed, but she covered it up well. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“So that’s a no.”

She clenched her jaw. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say yes either.”

I grinned, leaning forward. “Come on, Mrs. Mosley. Tell me. You ever been in love?”

She met my gaze, eyes sharp, defiant. “Once. When I was younger.”

“What happened?”

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Life.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s vague as hell.”

“So are most things in life.”

A slow burn of frustration coiled in my chest. She was being difficult on purpose. Playing this little game of hers, giving me breadcrumbs, trying to see how much patience I had. I drummed my fingers against the table, watching her carefully. “You’re testin' me, Parker.”

She sipped her cappuccino, completely unfazed. “Am I?”

“Yeah,”

I said, voice low, amused, but laced with warning. “You wanna see how far you can push me. You wanna see if you can get a rise out of me.”

She tilted her head, faux innocence dripping from her voice. “And am I succeeding?”

My jaw ticked. For a split second, I could feel it—the urge to shatter that calm, collected demeanor of hers. To grab her by that delicate throat and make her feel the weight of the world she just got trapped in. Something must have flickered across my face because for the briefest moment, she went still.

Her fingers tensed around her cup. Her breath caught. Fear flashed in her eyes. I let the moment stretch, let her feel it. Then, just as quickly as the moment came, I reined it in.

I relaxed, rolling my shoulders back, forcing the smirk to return. “Nice try, baby. But you’re not ready to meet the monster yet.”

She exhaled slowly, blinking a few times before masking the fear with defiance again. “Maybe the monster isn’t as scary as you think,”

she challenged, though her voice wasn’t as steady as before.

I chuckled, tossing my napkin onto the table. “Or maybe you should pray you never find out.”

She swallowed, looking away. I picked up my cup, taking a slow sip, letting her sit with that.

I d r o v e i n silence for a minute, my hand gripping the steering wheel like it owed me money. Parker sat to my right, arms folded, legs crossed, that dress still hugging her curves perfectly. Her mouth had been slick all through brunch, and if we wasn’t in front of people, I’d have reminded her who the fuck was running shit but I let her be.

“Listen, I’m not one of your little soldiers, Sebastian,”

she snapped finally, breaking the silence. “The barking of orders? That needs to stop.”

I smirked. “Ain’t nobody barkin’, Parker. But you better learn the difference between my tone and your options.”

She rolled her eyes, turning toward the window. “You got serious issues.”

I was about to say something slick when my phone lit up on the dash. The name flashing made my jaw tighten. It was Ren, my right hand. I picked up on speaker. “Yo.”

His voice came through urgently. “There’s a situation. That barber—Dewayne? The one we paid to keep quiet? He went on a fuckin’ podcast. Started runnin’ his mouth about what he seen at the warehouse last month. Ain’t say names, but it’s too close.”

Parker’s head turned slowly. I could feel her watching me. I inhaled through my nose. “Where he at now?”

“The shop far as I know. Want me to—”

“Nah,”

I cut him off. “I got it. Text me the addy.”

The call ended. My hand stayed locked on the wheel, vision narrowed as the anger set in. I didn’t speak. Just made a hard right turn, tires screeching against the asphalt.

“Where are we going?”

Parker asked, her voice low but cautious.

“Handle somethin’,”

I said, my tone flat.

“What kind of something?”

I didn’t answer. Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to a run-down barbershop tucked behind a liquor store in the Southside. I killed the engine. “Don’t get out this car for shit,”

I told her.

Parker gave me a look. “What are you about to do?”

Ignoring her, I got out of the car and walked inside like I owned the block. The bell above the door dinged, and Dewayne looked up from the chair, clippers in hand, eyes wide.

“. Yo, I ain’t mean—”

I raised the Glock and popped his ass in the chest twice. He screamed and let out ragged breaths.. “No, no, no. I ain’t say your name. I swear—”

I didn’t give a fuck. “You went on a podcast, my nigga,”

I said, stepping closer, pressing the muzzle against his lips. “Talked about shit you ain't built to speak on.”

“I… was drunk. I was—”

Dewayne’s brains splattered the mirror as I let off another shot to his dome. His body dropped like dead weight, shaking the floor. Blood pooled under him instantly, hot and steaming. I didn’t blink. Just exhaled slowly as I turned and walked out of the barbershop.

I wiped the barrel of the gun clean with a cloth from my pocket as I trekked back to the car. Parker’s eyes locked on me through the windshield. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I turned to her. She was pale, lips parted, and her whole body was pressed up against the passenger door like she was trying to create space between us that didn’t exist.

“Did… did you just… kill—”

“You don’t get to feel sorry for him. He chose his fate.”

She stared at me, eyes filled with something between fear and confusion as I drove off. I kept my eyes on the road and lit a blunt. All that shit she was just talking at the restaurant. Parker wasn’t ready for a nigga like me but she would be. Eventually.