“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you seem to have a habit of running off. So, we’ll see how long this little situation lasts.” She finally spun her head in her direction.
“I have kids. I can’t just run off when things aren’t going my way anymore. I won’t do that to them. They deserve to have their father and… I care about him too,” she defended herself.
“You care about him so much that you kept him from those kids for almost four years. On the surface it might seem like he forgives you, but trust me, it’s going to be something you question for the rest of your life. Is he with you for you or for them?” she taunted, making Giselle uncomfortable as she shifted in her seat and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
Simpering to herself, Prischa knew she’d struck a nerve, which had been her intention all along. She envied how he doted on her and became a different person in her presence. It was all the things she’d wished for them over the years. Seeing him give it to someone else left her with feelings of inadequacy that she hated! Viggo validated her in a way that no man ever had. She didn’t realize how much he paid attention to her until they got together.
“You’re going to be dead set on not liking me no matter what I do.” Giselle shook her head.
“So why even try?” Prischa quipped, still amused that she had somehow gotten under the ice princess’s skin.
“Because your son has a room at his house. He means something to him. I don’t want to deprive that little boy of that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure Pierre doesn’t interfere with your perfect little life you over there building,” Prischa drawled.
“That’s not what I said or what I meant,” Giselle argued.
“Hmm… that’s what I heard.” Prischa didn’t utter another word the entire drive.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into her driveway, and Giselle didn’t bother speaking to her again either as she unloaded Pierre. She had the decency to wait until they were safely in the house before backing out the driveway and heading toward Heavy’s home. The entire drive, she replayed the conversation.Did everyone else think the same thing about her? Did Heavy?Plagued with those disturbing thoughts, she cruised on autopilot the rest of the way home.
EIGHTEEN
A LONG SHORT WAY
“The fuck we going, cuz?” Viggo peered through the darkness.
They were on a single deserted road, with nothing but the beams from his headlights guiding them. Heavy hadn’t said much. Most of the drive, his arm was propped against the door while he occasionally ran his fingers through his beard.
“Just keeping driving. Stop at the first building you see.” When his phone lit up in his lap, Heavy glanced down to see he had a message from Giselle.
Princess: Made it home.
Heavy: Set the alarm. I’ll see you soon.
Princess: Be careful.
He kept flashing back to what he said to her. Outside of his family, and even that was rare, he’d never told anybody he loved them before. It wasn’t something he’d planned; it just rolled off his lips. Not once did it cross his mind to take it back. If he was keeping it a buck, the minute he laid eyes on her, standing outside in the rain all those years ago, she’d stolen a piece of his heart right from his chest. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew he never got that shit back. It was hard moving through life whensomeone else literally held a piece of you somewhere. Every day he looked at Heir and Harlee, he knew that night with Giselle was meant to be. Nobody could tell him different.
Viggo approached an old, darkened building with one dim light on the bottom floor. Everything else was boarded up, but there were three big, black Suburbans parked in the shadows behind it.
“The fuck is this place?” He parked and skimmed the area, squinting through the darkness.
“Drop point,” Heavy said, pushing his car door out as the double doors swung open to the building.
It used to be an old factory that created parts for cars. Over a decade ago, it was shut down and had been abandoned ever since. The larger-than-life man who emerged, cloaked in a classic black Brooks Brothers suit and matching loafers paused with his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
“You must be Heavy.”
“Vo Westin?” Heavy checked, taking in his salt and pepper hair and full beard.
Vo was as old as Horace. The two of them did business back in the day, and Vo was a huge influence for Gregory Knox. Viggo also got out and rounded the front to meet up with the two men. He’d driven about forty-five minutes outside the city limits to arrive at this desolate location. Nothing but trees surrounded them and the howl of the wind along with a few creatures that went bump in the night. Heavy exchanged handshakes with the old man, surprised by his grip at his age.
Behind him were two Green Giant looking ass niggas in suits with their arms crossed, on full alert scanning the darkness.
“Horace talks about you all the time when we chat. He’s very proud of the man you’ve become, and what you’ve turned his legacy into.”
