“I care about the project. I care about my people eating. All this other shit is just noise.”
“And me?” she asked, with one brow lifted.
I let my eyes slowly run over her again. “Sweetheart, I care about seeing what you look like without that fur on. We will start there.”
She shook her head, grinning, cheeks a little pink. “You are a menace.”
“I’ve been called worse, lil’ mama.”
She looked back at the road, still smiling. For all the polish and attitude, she seemed to be down to earth too. She was actually fun. Not just a pretty face chasing a last name.
I had signed up for a performance, but I was starting to think I might enjoy the whole show.
12
TARIQ “REEK” HORTON
The closer we got to the address Sienna gave me, the more my instincts started tapping me on the shoulder. We had entered a residential neighborhood.
That wasn’t what I was expecting.
I slowed the car as we turned down a quiet block lined with well-kept houses and too much space between them. I glanced at Sienna out of the corner of my eye. She was chilling with her legs crossed while texting.
I’d assumed I could trust her. This was business. Her father knew exactly who the fuck we were. But clearly, I’d misjudged something. So, I slowed down, reached under my seat, and came up with my gun. I lifted it and pressed it to the side of her head as the car crept forward.
“What the fuck is this?” I barked.
To my surprise, Sienna laughed. She turned her head just enough to look at me. “What is wrong with you?”
I bit down on my bottom lip as I gripped the gun tighter. “Talk, bitch.”
She rolled her eyes like I was being dramatic. “Put the gun down.”
The way she calmly and dismissively said it sent lust straight to my dick. It shouldn’t have. I was supposed to be locked in and on my p’s and q’s.
I scowled, pressing the barrel deeper into her temple. “Talk before I blow your fucking head off.”
Sienna sighed like I was inconveniencing her. “We’re going to my father’s house. He’s having a business dinner. My father wants his colleagues to see that the Cartiers can be trusted, remember?” She glanced at the gun again, unimpressed. “This is optics. Not a setup.”
I watched her closely, realizing that she wasn’t even sweating or stressed.
Then she reached up and pushed the gun away from her head like it was an annoyance. “Stop being a thug and put that shit away.”
That did it.
I pulled the gun back, slid it under the seat, and kept driving.
She adjusted in her seat like nothing had happened.
I exhaled slowly, eyes back on the road, and shook my head once. “You wild.”
Sienna smirked. “And you’re dramatic.”
I didn’t respond, but inside, I was clocking everything.
She hadn’t flinched or begged for her life. She’d laughed in my face with a gun to her head. That kind of composure made her even sexier. And it made her even sexier.
When we pulled up, the house was big, with fresh landscaping and lights behind tall windows.
