My mind was already settled on what protection required. I felt no guilt. He’d proven too many times that her peace meant nothing to him. That was what woke the dog in me, the one that slept on the porch until somebody tested the gate. And I’d never been the type to let anyone threaten my girls.
I slid my Sig from the glove box, tucked it at my waist with practiced care, and stepped out—calm, deliberate, and ready.
At the door, I tapped the beat to “Project Bitch,” just like he’d instructed, shaking my head while Juve’s verse looped inmy mind like a bad decision with rhythm. The door cracked open, but I couldn’t see anyone. My hand drifted toward my waistband.
And then that familiar Nola drawl cut through the dark as if I’d time traveled.
“Step on in, man. We don’t have all day, ya heard me? And stop reaching for that. It’s just me, baby.”
Chase was still wild, still operating like responsibility never moved in. I’d assumed a family would center him. Once again, I’d assumed wrong.
I stepped inside and clocked the warehouse: almost empty, lit by a thin, uneasy half-dark. A single wooden chair sat dead center like an altar, chains hanging from the beams with a quiet clink that made the air feel guilty. Toward the back, a crude wooden cage waited, bars studded with nails as if someone built pain into the blueprint. My stomach tightened at the thought of anyone getting too close to it.
Beside it sat a rolling tray laid out with cold intention: surgical tools mixed with weapons—a scalpel, tweezers, a straight razor, a key, a torch, a saw, a heavy blade, a syringe, and a bottle of liquid I wanted nowhere near my body. Along the wall, large plastic tubs were stacked in neat rows—too orderly, too prepared—like somebody expected a mess.
I stood there, caught between awe and disgust, intrigued by the precision and sickened by the purpose, wondering what kind of plan required this much equipment to feel powerful.
“Clean, ain’t it?” he asked, smirking like he’d just finished a masterpiece. Chase was certified in a way you couldn’t diagnose with one sentence.
“I’m setting the board up for the one who’s been disturbing my Dani girl’s peace,” he added, proud and purposeful. “Call it practice. I got your big beast-looking problem in the back, quiet and contained.”
I frowned. “Bro, . . . you moved without me?”
He waved it off, tapping my chest like a warning and a joke at once. “Plausible deniability. You good, lil’ bro. He’s still breathing, so consider it mercy. Come on.”
We headed toward the rear, and then I heard it—someone tapping the door in the beat to Lil’ Wayne’s “Oh No.” My head snapped to Chase, and that familiar trouble-smile spread across his face.
“Of course, he figured it out,” Chase muttered, already jogging to the door.
He swung it open, and Jacory stepped in, dreads pulled back, a piece tucked at his waist, and his face set like thunder.
“I told you to stop moving sloppy,” Jacory said, voice sharp. “If I found you, you left breadcrumbs for somebody else. Be glad I know you that well. It’s handled now, though. You know I’m the brain, and you the brawn. Stop trying to cut me out.”
I shook my head, caught between respect and impatience. “Y’all can have your little domestic moment later. Let’s get to the task. I appreciate you showing up for me and my girl, but I’m trying to finish this and get back to her.”
Jacory cut his eyes at Chase. “When did the balls on this lil’ swim nigga drop?”
Chase fired back. “Old Jim Ellis ass nigga, bro.”
We laughed because, even in heavy moments, they stayed ridiculous. Then Chase locked the door, and the three of us headed toward the room where Henderson waited.
I watched Chase zip himself into a hazmat suit like this was a hobby, and I just shook my head. Jacory and I kept it simple with gloves only. The clothes would be burned afterward anyway.
Henderson hung slack from a ceiling chain, corduroys soaked in urine, humiliation loud in the smell. I stepped close and brought my palm across his face, sharp enough to wake him, controlled enough to remind him who had the power now.
“Wake up, Pumbaa,” I said, voice low and cold.
His eyes fluttered open, nostrils flaring, fear rising fast when he recognized me. I let the silence stretch because sometimes, quiet was the loudest warning.
Chase immediately laughed. “Yoooooo, that’s exactly who his ass looks like, bro!” Then he lifted his hands in the air like he was directing a choir and sang out, “When I was a young waaaarthooog!”
Jacory snickered behind me.
“You couldn’t help yourself,” I said, calm on purpose, ignoring Chase’s theatrics. “You saw a woman you wanted and decided her no was negotiable.”
I leaned in. “You cornered her in her classroom. You disrespected her in public with my family present. And then you crossed the line that turns obsession into danger. You put hands on her, and you kept circling her like she was prey.”
My jaw tightened. “Let me say it plain. She does not belong to your hunger, your ego, or your imagination. She is protected. And you are finished.”
