Boe cursed under his breath, reached into his pocket, and pulled it out, wondering who was calling her so early. His first thought was that annoying ass Caresha, but unfortunately for him, it wasn’t her. His eyes narrowed as he read the screen.
Allied Defense Technologies
“Yo,” he said, panic creeping into his voice. “Why the fuck is a security company calling you?”
Nivéa froze, her stomach dropping as she silently cursed herself. In all the chaos, she had overlooked the technician’s warning that they would call before sending anyone out. She had been so focused on escaping that she hadn’t thought beyond pressing the button.
Nivéa didn’t respond, but Boe wasn’t stupid. His eyes narrowed as he shot up from the couch, scanning the walls in the kitchen. It didn’t take long for his gaze to land on the small touchscreen panel mounted near the cabinet where she had just been.
“Fuck,” he cursed.
In seconds, he was back in the living room, on her ass. The gun came up fast, pressing against her temple. Nivéa’s breath caught, shock freezing her in place. Their past certainly hadn’t been pretty, but she never imagined Boe would go this far. Tears burned behind her eyes as panic flooded her chest. He was doing this right in front of their baby, just as she squatted down to lift Nyla from the swing.
“What the fuck did I tell you? You think this a game?!”
“Boe, stop. Please. Take my bank card and just go. I’ll give you the PIN. Please.” Nivéa pleaded, her voice trembling.
He ignored her, shoving the phone in her face. “Answer it. Act normal. Tell them you hit that shit by mistake and that you fine. Or this won’t end well for you.” His voice dropped dangerously low when she hesitated.
“Nivéa bro, I’m telling you… If them niggas come, I’ll make going back to jail count, luv.”
Chapter Two
It was seven forty-five in the morning, and Crown wasn’t anywhere near a suit or his office. He had more pressing matters to handle. Matters like Tommy Pierce, the man responsible for towing Mo’s car to the clubhouse for the Ravens.
The warehouse was cold, damp, and eerily quieter than usual. There were no sounds of crates sliding across the floor filled with cocaine or weapons. Only the slow, steady drip of blood hitting concrete broke the silence. Blood ran from Tommy’s nose and mouth, sliding up his forehead as he hung, soaking into his hair before dripping off his scalp.
He had been delivered to Crown at four a.m., and by 4:02, Crown’s fist had collided with the man’s pale face. And after that, Tommy had been hoisted upside down from a steel beam, ankles bound tightly, and wrists zip-tied behind his back. What followed were hours of relentless torture. Now, what remained of him was barely recognizable. Fingers were gone. His tongue was missing. And his face was swollen beyond recognition.
Crown stood a few feet away, gloved hands folded in front of him, his posture calm and relaxed, as if he were watching time run out on a clock.
He hadn’t rushed shit.
He had taken his time, ensuring Tommy regretted the day he took money from Nico. At first, Tommy lied, then he begged and cried. And when that stopped working, he tried bargaining. Anything to save himself. But only one thing mattered to Crown. Who had pulled the trigger on Lil Mo? And once he got the answer, he didn’t give a fuck what else Tommy had to offer.
Crown inched closer, tilting his head, studying Tommy’s chest barely rising. “You tired?” He asked.
Tommy opened his mouth, but all that came out were broken, guttural sounds, the kind a wounded animal makes when it knows it is dying. Tears streamed down his face as his body trembled.
Crown nodded slowly, as if he understood. “Yeah, me too, muthafucka.”
He turned toward the worktable near the wall. The tools were laid out neatly; each one placed with intent. He reached for the axe, his fingers curling around the handle, already deciding how he would finish the nigga off. But then his burner vibrated, interrupting the moment.
Once.
Again.
And then a third time, when he didn’t answer the second.
Crown paused, irritation flickering across his chocolate face as he sucked his teeth. He pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
Unknown Caller.
He answered with one hand, twirling the axe in the other.
“Speak.”
The caller was barely audible over the sounds coming from Tommy, who eyed the heavy metal head in horror. Crown didn’t bother telling him to be quiet. He just brought the axe to theside of his neck, sending a silent warning. Tommy obeyed, going quiet as he lost control of his bladder.
