He rolled his eyes and grunted.
Minutes later, we exited the elevator on the fourth floor, and I pointed in the direction that led to the room number we searched for. I didn’t bother knocking before barging inside.
“The hell?” a man’s voice shrieked as I entered.
I felt Preston move in behind me and shut the door. I immediately counted the number of men inside of the room. There were two, including Nate, who sat at the far end. The second dude was big as shit, probably Nate’s security, but by his reaction, I could tell he was slow and not much to handle for Preston.
There was a third guy behind the glass in the studio’s booth. He looked no taller than five-six, and he was scrawny as he rapped about some bullshit. He wasn’t much to take on. The only issue was whether they had weapons or not, which I bet at least one of them did.
I advanced on Nate, getting in his face before he could think of pulling a weapon.
“Calm down,” Preston said behind me. “We’re just here to talk.” He spoke to the burly motherfucker, who also stood up.
“Talk about what?” Nate demanded, his face pinched in a scowl.
“Lena,” I said.
Recognition dawned on his face. “Oh.” He chuckled like something was the fuck funny. “You’re the son of a bitch who’s fucking her now, huh?”
The sentence was just out of his mouth before I connected a right hook with his jaw.
“Argh,” he bellowed, bending over from the hit.
“Shut up,” I said through clenched teeth. “I only hit you with like thirty percent of my full force.”
I converged on him right as he covered his mouth that’d begun bleeding. I pinned him against the wall with my hand to his throat, squeezing it tightly.
“Get. Off. Me,” he wheezed out while gasping for air.
“No, see, we need to get something straight first.”
“Calm down, tiny,” Preston said behind me. I heard some sort of scuffle, but I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder to see what was happening. If anyone could handle it, it was Preston.
“What the hell is going on out there?” the scrawny rapper in the booth asked.
He kept his ass right where he was, though, so I knew he wouldn’t be a problem.
“Tell him everything’s square out here,” I told Nate.
His eyes bulged, looking almost as if they were going to pop out of his head. My only problem with that was if he got blood on my damn suit jacket. I planned on wearing it to our next meeting.
“Tell him,” I demanded, pushing his head into the wall behind him.
He leaned over and pressed the intercom button for the studio. “E-Everything’s cool,” he strained, although I’d loosened my grip slightly.
“A-ight.”
“That was some interview you did a few weeks ago,” I said, my tone dripping with ire and hatred for this dumbass.
“Sh-She sent you?”
I shook him by the neck. “Don’t ask me any questions. Especially not about her. All you need to do is listen and nod. Is that clear?” I waited for a beat.
When he didn’t respond, I tightened my grip on his neck and shook him again. “Is that clear?”
He nodded fervently.
“Excellent. From here on out, you don’t do any more interviews about her. If someone mentions her name, you pretend like you don’t know who the fuck she is. Got it?”
