“Speak,” Crown repeated.
“Um, uh…yes, Mr. Knight, this is Clint with Allied Defense Technologies. I apologize for the repeated calls, but you instructed me to notify you if anything ever happened.” The supervisor replied nervously.
“A silent alarm was triggered at Ms. Nivéa’s residence approximately twenty minutes ago.”
Crown’s heartbeat nearly flatlined. “And?”
“According to the activity log, she answered the welfare verification call. She provided the correct verbal passcode and stated everything was fine and that the panic activation was accidental.”
Something about that didn’t sit right with Crown. “You verified that? Were police dispatched to confirm?”
“No,” Clint whispered from his office.
“I wasn’t present at the time. I just arrived and noticed the entry while reviewing the logs. My operator followed standard protocol. The panic button is configured as a standard police panic with verification required. If the resident answers, provides the correct passcode, and there are no audible signs of distress, we do not notify authorities. The exterior cameras were also reviewed. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary around the residence. The call was documented and closed.”
“What about the cameras inside? I asked for those to be installed as well.”
“According to the notes, Ms. Nivéa expressed privacy concerns to the technician and declined the installation. As the homeowner, her wishes were respected.”
Crown closed his eyes for a brief second, pulled back from Tommy’s neck, and then swung with full force. The axe slicedclean through flesh and bone. His head flew into the air before landing on the concrete. For Crown, it was almost therapeutic.
“Mr. Knight? Sir? Can you hear me?”
“You think I pay you just to call me, bitch ass nigga? You think I pay you to just call her? You let everyone in that muthafucka know that if anything happens at that address, they send someone out. Every time. No matter what.”
Realizing he had fucked up tremendously, Clint cleared his throat, his voice shaky. “Yes, sir. I understand. I am so sorry. I just… I can’t make it too obvious, you know? There are procedures I have to—”
Crown ended the call, cutting him off. He was done talking. Turning, he went to find Smoky.
“I got somethin’ that just popped up. I gotta go. Call the crew and get this shit cleaned up.” He said, nodding back toward Tommy as he stripped off his blood-soaked shirt and gloves. “Handle this, too.”
Smoky’s brows clashed as he took the items, preparing to burn them. “Aight, but you good though? What happened? Where you headed, bro?”
“Nivéa’s spot. Her silent alarm was triggered. I think somethin’ happened.”
“What? Shit, hold on then, nigga. I’mma handle this and then ride out with you. Ain’t no tellin’ what you might pull up on.”
Crown didn’t listen or wait. He was already moving. He pushed through the door, pulling on a clean shirt as he dialed Nivéa’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. He called again. And again. Nothing.
“Fuck, baby.” He growled, shoving the phone back into his pocket as his mind raced, flipping through every possible scenario that could’ve gone wrong.
Crown had learned Nivéa quickly. She kept to herself, minded her business, and maintained a small world. Nyla, work, and hanging with her girl occasionally was it for her. So, he couldn’t fathom any reason someone would want to harm her. His chest tightened as darker thoughts crept in. What if somebody broke in? What if one of his enemies had found out about her and was trying to harm her?
Then another thought hit him, one he hated but had to consider. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it really was an accident, just like she told the operator. Perhaps she had blocked his number, which wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe she didn’t want him contacting her at all. As much as that thought stung, he’d take it over the alternative any day.
With his heart heavy, Crown put away his main phone and pulled out his burner, dialing her number again. But he got the same result.
Nah, something’s wrong,he thought. She didn’t know that number to block it.
He shot her a text, telling her to call him ASAP. For a split second, he considered mentioning that he was on the way, but he checked himself. If something was truly wrong, the last thing he wanted to do was tip off whoever was causing the problem that he was coming.
Tucking his gun into his waistband, Crown mounted the matte black Panigale V4, slid on his helmet, and revved the engine. Then he pulled off, grateful he had chosen his Ducati instead of the Harley for the trip to the warehouse. He burned rubber out of the lot, the front wheel lifting clean off the ground as the engine howled. He rode the wheelie out for a brief stretch before bringing the bike down and leaning hard into the corner, disappearing in a blur.
When he got on the highway, the burst of speed caught the attention of a state trooper parked along the feeder. The trooperpulled out immediately, lights flashing as he cut across lanes. But Crown didn’t give a fuck, and he wasn’t stopping. Every second counted. One wasted minute could mean Nivéa was unprotected and vulnerable.
This wasn’t his first chase. Been there, done that. Crown glanced in the mirror once, calculated, and kept moving. The Ducati roared as he cut between two SUVs, then he leaned low and shot past a cluster of cars. The trooper tried to close the distance, but never got a chance to gain a little ground. The motorcycle was built for speed, and Crown had years of experience. He slipped behind a delivery truck, ducked across two lanes, and took an exit at the last second.
The trooper hit his brakes, boxed in by traffic. By the time he cleared the lane, the bike had disappeared for good. With no plate, no clear description or direction, he didn’t even bother calling it in. The trooper fussed and killed his lights. There was nothing more he could do.
