Page 27 of Ride or Die (The Shores #1)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

FRANKY

COLTON

Once she is asleep I get dressed back in my street clothes. I watch her the whole time, making sure she doesn’t wake up. I don’t want her to know what I am doing, but I am not letting this shit slide.

I am dealing with it tonight.

Seeing that fuck all up on my girl like that, about to rape her with a knife to her neck, he’s lucky I didn’t kill him.

I may still kill him. I haven’t decided yet.

It took everything I had to just be there and comfort her while she was clearly in shock, but while calm on the outside, rage filled my insides.

I want to burn Franky’s house down.

The thing about The Shores is there’s a hierarchy that you need to respect.

Williams runs everything in the city. He’s at the very top of the domestic and international crime that goes through here.

And then there’s Franky, who is one of many drug addict fucks running things more locally in neighborhoods similar to ours.

Because the cars I steal are sold internationally, I work directly with Williams at the same level of the hierarchy as Franky.

And he knows better than to fuck with me.

Franky and I have worked together many times, pulling jobs for Williams when he was short-handed. We get along, but he is a crazy fuck. We have definitely done some wild shit together.

I just hope to fuck he didn’t know Layla was my girl when he sent that junkie after her. Otherwise, that’s a direct shot at me that will be dealt with.

I’m infuriated because that would have never happened if I hadn’t been working for Williams today. I had a feeling she wouldn’t use the money to take the cab. All day, it ate me alive that I couldn’t be there. She never would have had to find her way home and walk through that goddamn park.

Was it a setup? Did Franky somehow persuade Williams to get me to move the drugs today so he could get Layla alone? Or was that pure coincidence?

I need answers.

I kiss her forehead, leaving a note on the bedside table before I head out.

The ten-minute walk to Franky’s a few streets over takes me five.

His place is the nicest-looking house in the entire suburb, but even it is a shithole.

The things this fuck does for money is disgusting.

He’s into everything, his hand in every single cookie jar to be had here.

But his main gigs are drug dealing, his strip club, and being a pimp to several high-end escorts.

The kind of women that the city’s politicians and elite call on to get their rocks off.

I approach the house, and as always, the party is bumping in the garage and driveway. Seven days a week, this guy’s got something going on. His security guard notices me walking up, and nods at me as I enter.

Walking into the garage, I’m partially blinded by the strobe lights, a group of people dancing and laughing beneath them.

Beer bottles, full ashtrays, and garbage are strewn about the place.

I walk past a guy doing coke off a hooker’s chest on an old van bench seat and two chicks making out while they dance together.

This is the type of party you walk out of feeling like you need a shower.

I head toward the living room, or Franky’s “office”, as he likes to call it. This is where the deals go down—money, drugs, and women are traded here. I’ve even heard rumors this is where he fucks the new talent to see if they are worth his time. A job interview, if you will.

I pass through the stupid beaded curtain and there he is, the man himself, the pimp wearing a blue velour tracksuit.

Jesus, he’s an ugly fucker. Skinny with tattoos everywhere, wild white blonde hair, and terrible teeth, which he often covers with a gold grill.

The total stereotypical shady, drug-using pimp.

“Hawthorne, my man!” he says happily, opening his arms in welcome. My jaw clenches, and I feel the vein in my neck pulse. His nonchalance only infuriates me more. And he can tell, because his face drops as I storm towards him.

I grab his shirt and the back of his neck and smash him face-first against the wall. Franky couldn’t take me if he tried. He’s a skinny cokehead. I wedge my elbow across his face against the wall, holding him there. “Tha fuck man?!”

I pull him off the wall and slam him back into it, making him grunt.

“Why the fuck did you send Bruce after Layla?” I shout angrily.

“Who?” I pull him back and slam him into the wall again, this time denting the drywall.

“Layla fucking White!” I bellow, and the sick fuck chuckles, so I smash him into the wall again, making him groan.

"Oh. That girl? Yeah, she fucked with someone that works for me. She needed to be taught a lesson for her bullshit.” I press harder against him, and he yelps in pain.

“She’s my girl, Franky! You paid Bruce to put his dirty fucking hands on my girl!” I roar. Franky’s goons come in ready to kick the shit out of me, but he waves them off. He knows we will settle this between us.

“How the fuck would you feel if I assaulted one of your girls, huh?” I shout in his face. “You’d have me fucking killed, Franky! You’re lucky I have some respect for you, or I’d fucking kill you right now! Now tell me, who asked you to do this?” I scream. He puts his one free hand up in defense.

“Honestly, a misunderstanding, Hawthorne. I had no clue she was your girl. It won’t happen again. But I won’t give up who asked me to do it. That’s not how I do business, you know that. Just keep yourselves in your own fucking lane,” he spits out.

I press my elbow harder into his face. “C’mon man, I’m sorry!”

“If anyone comes near Layla again, I’ll fucking kill you, Franky. You know what I’m capable of. You know how it works here,” I growl, releasing him off the wall.

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and rubs his bloody face, then returns to his normal cheery self.

“Oh, Hawthorne, I’ve always liked ya, man. Of course I know what you're capable of. That night in Milwaukee was fucking nuts!" He laughs, but his smile drops when he sees the look on my face at the mention of Milwaukee, the night we were to never speak of again.

"I’ll make sure no one fucks with your girl going forward, at least by my hands. I'll also let you know if I hear anyone else is trying to fuck with her, okay? We good? She good?”

I continue to scowl at him. “Bruce is lying in the park with his face dented in, but she’s traumatized, man. No, we’re not good! He had a knife to her throat. That fuck was about to rape her! Tell me, Franky, who asked you to do this?”

My eyes narrow as I move towards him again, and he puts his hands up in surrender. I love how intimidated he is by me.

“Hey, I paid him to rough her up, not rape her. I respect pussy way too much to pull that. You know what I do to the guys that try that shit with my girls,” he defends himself, subconsciously leaning away from me.

“But, I’m sorry, bro, I can’t tell you who asked me to. What else can I do, man? You name it.”

I look to the ground and chuckle to myself that this fuck won't tell me anything. When I look up, he’s got a stupid smug smirk on his face, probably thinking he can buy me off.

Quicker than he sees coming, my arm pulls back, and I punch him right in the face.

The blow sends him to the floor, and he falls onto his ass, groaning with his hand pressed to his face.

“We’re still not good. You know how this works, Franky. Stay the fuck away from us. Mark my words, if I find out you knew who she is to me when you sent that fuck after her, I'll fucking kill you. Let whoever asked you to do this know I'm looking for them," I growl out and turn away.

“It’s alright! I had that coming. See ya soon, bud!” he calls out after me.

What a crazy fuck. I hit him, so he thinks we’re even. He paid someone to get to my girl, and that will never be forgotten. If I find out who did this, I’ll have them fucking killed. I have my suspicions, but I can’t do anything until I know for sure.

I exit through the garage party only to see Simone sitting in there, looking high as fuck. I shake my head with disbelief. I can’t believe she is hanging out with this crowd now.

When I arrive home, I open the bedroom door to find Layla sitting up in bed.

I feel guilty that I left her here, but I needed to establish some boundaries with Franky.

Layla got caught up in my shit, her main worry when we first started dating.

I let her down, and she almost paid the price for it.

I’ve gotten soft since being with her, and I need to remind people who the fuck I am, a man in a fucking position of power in this place.

Just because I have a girlfriend doesn’t mean I won’t destroy their fucking lives if I have to.

“Hey, babe. I’m sorry, I had to take care of things,” I say softly, starting to undress.

“I know, I saw your note. Thank you for saving me tonight,” she says, eyes glued to the TV.

I finish changing and hop into bed beside her.

“Of course, baby. Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m not lying when I say I need to learn self-defense, Colt. That was way too close, and you can’t always be there to protect me.” She leans into me, and I pull her in tight.

“I know. I think teaching you how to physically handle someone and use a switchblade are your best options. Guns are too risky. They can easily end up in the wrong hands or go off accidentally. But a knife to the thigh will take a guy down and keep him from going after you,” I say gently, resting my head on hers.

She bites her lip, deep in thought, then looks up at me. “Okay, we will do that. I trust your judgment. I was so stupid to go through the park. I have to remember I’m not invisible anymore. I need to make smarter decisions and be more aware of my surroundings.”

“Yeah, not really a good idea for you to be walking alone at night, period. Don’t lie and take trains either.

I’m so fucking lucky I was looking for you when I pulled into the ‘burb, and my lights flashed onto the park. I should have been there for you instead of doing that shit for Williams. I’m sorry I keep letting you down, Layla,” I say with shame.

Layla tightens her hold on me, silently reassuring me as if I’m the one who needs comfort. I don’t deserve her.

“I’m sorry my life decisions have put you at risk. I’m sorry I brought you into this shit. I should have left you alone until we were closer to finishing school. Maybe I should send you somewhere, like get you a studio apartment in the city closer to school, away from all of this.”

She sits up quickly, turning to look at me with worry on her face.

“No! You can’t just ship me away!” she yells, and I sigh in frustration.

“Layla, look what happened tonight! Because of me!” I say angrily, practically yelling because I’m still riled up from everything.

“I can make people think you got scared and ran. And I’ll just secretly visit you in the city.

” I try to make it sound like it would work, but really, it would break my heart to not have her here with me.

“No fucking way! You’re not doing that to me! They will probably find out we’re still seeing each other, and I’ll be all alone in the city, even more vulnerable and at risk instead of here, safe with you!” she bites back, crossing her arms.

“I just can’t risk you getting hurt. This is so fucked.” I rub my hands up and down my face.

“Colt, I knew what I was getting myself into. Remember me taking the jabs at you for all of this right here? Not wanting to be involved? I wanted you, and I took you, and I have you. All my decisions. Was I blinded by love, unaware of the actual risks? Yes, but now it’s time for me to toughen the fuck up.

I love you and want a life with you, and right now, this is our world, and I need to be the bad bitch on your arm.

People have to stop fucking with us. I’m not being the predictable little good girl who runs away.

Not fucking now.” She is breathless by the time she finishes, and I’m nearly smiling because she is so much stronger than even I give her credit for.

Filled with pride for my woman, I take her chin and pull her to me, capturing her lips with mine. She is fucking incredible, smart and badass, and she’s all mine.

“I am so lucky to have you, babe,” I whisper against her lips. “Tomorrow we begin training.” She smiles, and we snuggle in close to watch some TV. This girl right here is all I’ve ever needed in my life.

Now I just have to make sure I keep her safe.