Sin, page 10
“How do you know my car isn’t here?”
“Better question is whose building are you parking at?”
There’s noise coming from the kitchen area when I enter the house a few hours later. It’s past my usual time of return—the sun is up and the streets full of people on their way to church for Sunday mass.
Blaming Malcolm for this would be easy. For taking me to breakfast and spending an hour and a half doing nothing more than sitting beside me at some small café inside his building, but I won’t. Truthfully, I don’t remember the last time someone made me feel this way.
At peace. Comfortable.
I ate while he watched, a sinful smirk playing on his lips each time I bit into the heavenly strawberry pancakes the cook made. The one instance he spoke outside of crooning about my beauty or to tell me he hasn’t been with anyone in more than a year—his refusal to accept mediocrity—was to ask if my family said anything after we left.
Did they give you crap over me? Question you? He worries, and I find that sweet.
No one so much as looked at me when we got home. I was told to disappear.
That didn’t relax him. Instead, he grew pensive. Picking up his phone a few minutes after, he sent out a text before returning his attention to me. And even as we said goodbye beside my car, because of his refusal to let me walk in alone, there was something in his eyes that made me shiver.
Not because I fear him. Not at all.
It’s more of an I see him. Know that he’s capable of anything to be the victor in the end.
My ears are on high alert as I close the door with a muted thud. So low, I doubt they know I’m home. No one’s yelling, which is a good sign, but for some reason my defenses are on high alert.
I know them. Know how they function.
Last Saturday’s brunch with the Asher family is still on their minds. How he made them look weak, churning within their gut as hatred flows through their veins.
Toeing off my shoes, I pick the sandals up and walk toward the staircase. I don’t want them—Alton—to come and find me; avoiding him is for the best right now. What I did a few hours ago with Malcolm is dangerous for me—I’m playing with fire—and I don’t know if I can hide it. The unadulterated happiness he brings.
Because he does. He’s giving me a small semblance of hope.
Tells me that I am not alone anymore.
My bare foot hits the landing when a hand grabs my arm. “What the?”
“About time you showed up to make breakfast,” a woman I’ve never seen before says, her acrylic fingernails digging into my skin right where my father’s marks are fresh. “Hurry up. We’ve been waiting.”
“Get the hell off me.” Without care, I swing my arm out while trying to shake her off, and she teeters on what are ridiculously high heels.
“You bitch!” she shrieks, breaking skin as she holds on tighter.
I’m falling backwards and I grab onto the banister to keep myself up, smashing my elbow into the wood. “I’m not warning you again.” I can feel a few drops of blood weep down my arm where she’s tearing the dermis. “Let. Go.”
“You need to learn some respect.”
Cocking my other arm back, I move to strike when another arm appears, halting mine before it connects. “We don’t hit our guests, Lola,” Alton tsks, looking at me with disappointment. “Especially one that is family.”
“Family?” I’m ignoring the other comment; it’s hypocritical and a bait. He’s looking for a fight. “Your conquests are nothing to me.”
“Brittany is my fiancée, and you will respect her.”
“Goes both ways.”
“Don’t push me, kid. Know your place and shut your mouth.” Taking a step closer, he bends a bit at the waist, putting his face a hair’s breadth from mine. “Better yet, I need you to talk. You need to answer a few questions for me.”
“Tell that to your—” His hand wraps around my throat, silencing me. Alton’s grip is tight, nothing like the pleasurable one of Malcolm’s, and I’m panicking. My body thrashes against his, and I claw at his hand in desperation, something that amuses him by the grin on his face.
“Don’t get brave, little girl. This is my house, and I own you,” he spits out, pushing me backwards. There’s a step behind me and I tumble, the edge of the second and third landing digging into my back while the room grows quiet.
This is a first, and it shocks more than it hurts. I’m angry, my body visibly shaking as he towers over me with the smug rat he calls a fiancée smirking.
“I won’t tell you again.” Alton spits out, his hand coming down to cup my cheek, but before he can, I pull back. Stand up before he tries to touch me again, ignoring the shooting pain traveling up my backside. “We need to talk, London. Now.”
“Not interested. Good night.” Turning, I give him my back and place my foot on the next step.
“We aren’t done,” he thunders, while his girl laughs as if this is the funniest things she’s ever seen. Makes me wonder if she’s high herself.
“I am.” Another step. If I can take two more up without him following, it’ll give me the space I need to sprint up. However, his next words stop me in my tracks and a whooshing breath leaves me.
“How the fuck does Malcolm Asher know who you are?”
“I—”
“Answer me, Lola. Are you fucking me over with him?”
“Please, as if a man like that would ever look at her,” Brittany interjects, venom coating each word. There’s a hint of jealousy there that I just don’t understand.
For exactly thirty seconds I pray to come up with an answer that will save me. That he will believe.
It doesn’t come, but the sound of a knock on the door makes everyone pause.
14
I’VE GOT HER. ~Mariah
Javier looks over at me, and I nod. He grabs his phone, sending a text to the car in front of us with three of my men awaiting orders.
I heard enough a few minutes ago to burn this entire house down with its occupants inside.
Fuck, do I want to end this shit. Kill every single one of them, but I need to handle things in a way that benefits Twirl. That takes back what has been stolen.
They are lucky that I now know what I do.
That my P.I. gave me new information corroborating what Earl said before I left for the club last night. Not fifteen minutes after reading, I found myself rushing to meet her while spitting out orders for my men to be here this morning. We were just a few minutes away, and two streets down waiting for Mariah, when things escalated.
Whoever put their hands on her will lose the use of said hand.
Even though the biggest infraction of all is mine by leaving her alone for the twenty minutes between her arrival and my cousin knocking on their door. Everyone was with me awaiting orders. No one watching her home.
Eyeing the folder on my dash, I take a deep breath and center myself while the girls leave the area.
What those papers prove is the only thing stopping me.
My wrath has no mercy when it comes to her, and those first few documents sent me into a blind rage. A fury I still feel pumping through me but had to rein in while with my girl.
Because she’s just that. Mine.
The second I saw that innocent face and sinful body; I gave in to the desire she brought forth. This need to protect and devour. Break and hold together.
I will make her crave the darkness I control. Accept her own demons.
This house and the belongings inside, what’s left of her mother and father’s estate, belongs to London. Everything, and it’s all she has left of them. She’s the sole heir as per the will and testament, something that these two have lied about. Misused. Stolen.
And while memories carry people through grim times, the value of a physical reminder is priceless. I won’t take that from my girl.
“Baby, who was that?” Alton’s fiancée’s voice carries through the small listening device Javier left behind on his visit. It’s by the front door where this whore decided to stake her bullshit claim of hierarchy over my Twirl.
That’s going to cost her. Them.
“What the fuck was his cousin doing here?” Marcus asks, a slight slur to his speech.
Without saying a word, I flick the headlights on and off. Within fifteen seconds five car doors open and each one disperses to a different area of the house.
One at the front.
One on each side.
And the one that walks with me as I enter the house through the unlocked back door. He’ll wait for me there until I exit or give my second signal.
Their home is a nice two story with brickwork facia. It’s over 3500 square-foot design has five bedrooms and three bathrooms with the smallest of all being London’s. The back of the house is where the spacious kitchen resides, and it’s filthy.
Empty beer cans litter every available countertop space and the overflowing garbage bin. The eat-in nook area has a few stacks of cash, an open bottle of prescription pills, and a blade beside it. There’re plates in the sink, pots with something charred, and cigarette butts all over the floor.
It’s disgusting, and if they expect for Twirl to clean this up, they have another thing coming.
Grabbing a barstool from behind the island, I place another listening bug underneath and then take a seat with my Glock on my lap. Right in the middle of the room, I wait while listening to them talk in the distance. Mumbling about her leaving and the state this house is in.
That they are hungry, and don’t like my family close to her.
Marcus is the first one to enter and at the sight of me, he freezes. He doesn’t fully step in, more like stops at the entrance and looks at me. Just stares.
Holding a finger up to my lips, I tell him to keep quiet.
The other two take their time to follow. They’re kissing, stopping a few steps behind the father and their focus is on each other. On wandering hands and swapping spit.
They sicken me.
“What can I do to calm you down, baby?” Brittany croons, her hand moving down his chest. “Prove that this isn’t a big deal. Malcolm Asher would never—”
“Can answer for himself,” I interject, and their two heads snap my way. Marcus isn’t moving, and his son and whore aren’t very hospitable either. “Do come in.”
“H-how did you get in?” Marcus asks, his eyes shifting around the room, looking for either an out or a way to defend himself.
“We’ve had this discussion before, Foster. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“As you wish, Mr. Asher. Why are you here, then?” There’s an expensive-looking knife set a few feet from him and he shifts, moves closer. I see the intent and on my next inhale, I raise my gun and release two bullets.
One blows away the knife set.
The other goes in and out through the old man’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” he yells out, staggering back while holding his arm. The sleeve of his light blue, unkempt dress shirt is quickly becoming saturated. Rivulets have become one large spot as blood runs down to his fingertips and pools on the floor below.
His wide eyes are on mine while I just raise a brow. “Be grateful this one missed my target.”
“Oh my God!” the woman screeches, her tone grating on my eardrums and I am tempted to shoot her.
“Silence her.” Alton doesn’t move and I fire another shot, this one right by his head. This time they both flinch; an inch or two to the left and his earlobe would’ve been taken clean off. Or worse. Either would work for me. “That is my last warning.”
“Brittany, go upstairs and lock—”
“Wrong. She doesn’t leave.” Bringing my other hand to my face, I scratch my jaw. I’m tired and in need of a shave, but that will all have to wait. There’s a small field trip we will all be taking this morning before I can enjoy the rest of my day.
“I have nothing to do with this,” she whimpers a second before Alton smacks his hand across her mouth, silencing her. He leaves it there for good measure while pulling her by the waist closer to his body. Tears run down her cheeks, leaving tracks of her mascara and liner in their wake, and I don’t feel sorry for her. Not one bit.
Brittany looks pathetic and weak, just like Alton wants her to be. A whore for his pleasure, while London evades his every move. She’s aware but doesn’t have a lick of remorse. She’s here for the money.
The lifestyle.
“Oh, but you do.” With that, I stand and head to the door. Opening it, I stop at the threshold and look back over my shoulder at the three idiots. “You have thirty minutes to clean this shit up. All of it. If you are late a single minute, I will let one of my men collect a finger for each consecutive sixty-second period. Understood?”
“Malcolm, what—” At my glare, Alton swallows hard and nods, his eyes shifting between his injured father and me. “I apologize, Mr. Asher, but I have to ask…what’s going on? Why are you here?”
“The clock is ticking. Hurry up, and you’ll receive answers.”
Twenty-nine minutes later, we’re on our way across town toward the Washington Park area. The guests inside my car are semi-silent as I drive with Javier as my passenger; the Fosters are looking out the window while the woman cries, muffling her low whimpers with a hand over her mouth.
Not a word since Carmelo, my guy watching the back door, gave me the all good. The room was clean, and they were ready to leave.
Now, though, as I take the scenic route toward the self-storage units they use for business purposes, I find myself tensing. Full of this adrenaline—a demand from my body for retribution. There’s this thirst for blood that I can only fight for so long as my muscles strain against my rigid composure.
The more I think about everything they’ve done, the angrier I become. The more my pulse rises, I feel a red haze fall over my senses. Every cell in my body thrums, and I flex my hands on the steering wheel as I park in the empty lot.
No one’s here except for the owner, a man who for a few bucks sold me the three units full of merchandise: coke and electronics.
“Get out,” I say and step out myself. The early morning sun feels good on my face, but you can already feel a small chill in the air. Autumn is slowly creeping in, and with it, the change in seasons can be drastic. From one spectrum to the other.
Without looking back, I walk toward the unlocked front door and open it. There’s no one inside as per my request, and the office door is wide open so I can shut down their security feed myself. Not that I completely trust them, but I accept the gesture with as much good faith as I can muster.
Javier walks in behind me and takes charge of their system, turning the power off and also using a signal scrambler for added protection. What happens here will stay between those in attendance.
Leaving him at the front, I make my way toward the storage units with my men and the Fosters in tow. Theirs are in the row second to the back and on the left; the sole occupants of that space. Secluded and with minimal foot traffic.
However, more importantly, what greets me makes me smile.
Each one is open, and the merchandise inside being accounted for by other members of my staff. The heads of my auditing department have things in crates with the quantity, product name, and the street value already on a neatly written note.
“You can’t do this,” Alton thunders, his hands clenching at his sides while his girl and father just look. Mouths open and eyes wide, they watch as their investment—the buy-in being part of my girl’s monthly stipend—is being confiscated, and the three million they were counting on making disappears. Her brother’s face turns red and his chest heaves with anger. “My business has nothing to do with yours, Asher. I don’t owe you anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“What the fuck—” Every man on my payroll pulls out a gun and points it at their heads, silencing his rant before it begins. He pales and shrinks bank, bumping into an annoyed Carmelo who shoves him off.
“Can I shoot him, boss?”
“Careful, Alton,” I hiss, ignoring his request for now and take a step closer, and then another. I don’t stop until I’m right in his face, hand snapping out to wrap around his neck. Similar to how he held London. “You’re treading on thin ice as is.”
“This is all a misunderstanding.” His bullshit words fall on deaf ears. Alton thrashes and I tighten my hold, pressing on his trachea. Enjoy how with each breath his body fights to get free but can’t.
“Be grateful that I’m starting off slow. That retribution will come in steps.” The longer I hold him, the weaker he becomes, and when his knees buckle, I push him back toward Carmelo. “Help him find his footing.”
“Please stop,” Brittany whimpers, face splotchy and nose running. “Can we all just stop and talk about this. I’m sure that—”
“Why?” Marcus cuts her off then, finding his voice, His tone is low, but it carries a hint of rage. His eyes stray toward his son. You can see that he’s full of worry, but the man is smart enough not to move. He doesn’t even try to comfort the fiancée who looks close to passing out.
“Why, he asks?” Looking toward this hall’s entrance, I nod at Javier and not ten seconds pass when the entire place goes pitch black. The woman screams, and a few muted thuds follow.
The sound of bodies hitting the floor.
In my head, I count to sixty and then clap once. The sound is loud, reverberates around the large space and bounces off the metal doors. A click is heard, the kind of noise that comes from the flipping of an electrical breaker, and then section by section comes back on.
A smile crosses my lips at the sight that greets me. Three people are on the floor, kneeling a few feet apart. Two males and one female; each one has a guard.
She’s crying.
Alton is fighting to regain his composure.
