Mark’s eyes narrowed on the form with disgust.“What the hell is this?”
“Background check,” the clerk said, calm and measured.“Standard federal requirement.Instant, in most cases.If something flags, the FBI has up to three days to respond.If they don’t, we’re authorized to complete the sale.”
Instant panic flared in Mark’s chest, but he forced a smirk.
“Unless there’s something to worry about,” the clerk added carefully, eyes watching too closely.
Mark clenched his jaw.The DUIs.The public intoxication charges.The restraining order filed years ago by his old assistant—God, what was her name?Didn’t matter.The bitch had lied.
Would those show up?
He didn’t want to risk it.
Just for a second, he fantasized about grabbing the gun and bolting.But he didn’t have bullets yet.What good was a cold hunk of metal if he couldn’t make it scream?
“I don’t want the government sniffing through my life,” he sneered, backing away from the counter.“Forget it.”
The clerk watched him turn and stride out the door.As Mark reached his car, he didn’t see the man move to the front window, pull out his phone, and silently jot down the license plate.
By the time Mark’s engine turned over, the FBI had already received a tip.
Back in his suburban home—too clean, too sterile, too full of his wife’s expensive taste—Mark stormed into his office and slammed the door.He didn’t respond when she shrieked from the kitchen.What would she do if someone broke in?Nag the burglar into submission?
Worthless.
He sat down at his computer and started typing furiously, digging into Pennsylvania’s gun laws.He ignored the sound of his wife leaving—garage door, ignition, silence.Probably off to blow more of his money on shoes she didn’t deserve.
But now he had a new plan.
Private sales.
No background checks.No government oversight.Just cash.He’d find some backwoods redneck with a few unregistered pieces he was willing to part with for the right price.
It was time to take back what was his.Jemmahad stolen everything.His company.His dignity.His legacy.
And Mark?Mark was going to make sure her last mistake was thinking she could win.
Chapter 35
Jasper frowned at the two men waiting outside his apartment building, blocking the stairwell leading to his front door.Both wore black suits and mirrored sunglasses, the kind of look that screamedauthority—or trouble.
“What do you want?”he demanded, squaring his shoulders.His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t back down.He needed to get inside, grab a sandwich, and get to the library for his shift.His homework was already done—Jasper finished everything during study hall like usual.Jemma didn’t know that he’d picked up extra hours this week, but he figured if he could at least pay for Jayla’s formula or part of the electricity bill, she might finally stop looking so tired all the time.
The weight of their mother’s death still hung over everything.Even with the medical debt finally gone, daycare costs were brutal.Jayla was worth every cent, but Jemma had done it all alone for over a year.It was time Jasper stepped up.
“I said, what do you want?”he asked again, a little louder this time.His heart pounded in his chest.Were these guys gang members?They were big enough.Broad, muscled, with the kind of silent intensity that screameddanger.But the tailored suits...they didn’t match the usual thugs that hung around at the street corners.
The older of the two men stepped forward.“We’re with Prince Saif’s security detail.We’ve been instructed to escort you to his residence.”
Jasper blinked.“Princewho?”
“Prince Saif Al-Sintra of Lativa,” the man replied without hesitation.“He’s the father of Princess Jayla Al-Sintra.”
Jasper’s jaw nearly hit the sidewalk.Jayla?The tiny, squealing bundle who loved bubble baths and gumming plastic toys?HisJayla was a princess?
He glanced around, expecting someone with a camera to leap out and shout,You’ve been pranked!
“Yeah, okay.”He rolled his eyes.“Try that one on someone who didn’t just get out of algebra.I need to grab something and get going.”
