“You’re already en route?”
“Ten minutes out,” he says.
“See you soon, brother.”
My focus returns to the monitor. Back to her.
Laurette stands in front of the dresser, a strip of lace still dangling from her fingers. She studies it for a beat longer, then slips it on with the kind of casual confidence most women fake and few ever master.
Black lace. Low on the hips. Barely there. Meant to be seen and enjoyed by a man.
Meant to be taken off slowly.
She moves with fluid ease, one hand dragging her damp hair out of the way as she fastens the matching bra.
Not performing—but not unaware, either.
She might not know I’m watching right now… but she knows I could be.
And that, I think, is exactly the point.
She’ll be expecting me soon, but my girl will have to wait a little longer tonight.
I pull out my phone.
Running late. Be a good girl and don’t even think about slipping a finger between your legs. That pussy belongs to me.
I hit send. Let her sit with that while she waits.
When the knock comes, it’s right on the mark. Two quick raps. Only a man trained to count seconds knocks that way.
I open the door.
It’s been a while, too long, but some things don’t change with time.
Terrence steps inside—same build, same presence. All quiet threat and coiled restraint. The kind of man who doesn’t posture.
His eyes meet mine, and in that half-second of silence everything old between us locks back into place—the years, the blood, the things we never spoke aloud.
No handshake. No small talk. We’re not those kinds of men.
He scans the room on instinct—always assessing, always ready.
His gaze settles on me with that look he only gets when the shit has already hit the fan.
And whatever it is, it’s bad.
“Wealthy family out of Boston.” He shrugs out of his jacket and drops into the chair across from mine. “They reached out to me directly. Said they couldn’t go through official channels. Law enforcement is off the table.”
I lean back, arms crossed, letting him talk.
“It’s their daughter. She married for love… or thought she did. Believed it came with money, prestige, and doors that opened on their own. But what it came with was blood. The man she married isn’t just connected. Heisthe connection. Head of a cartel.”
He leans in, eyes cold.
“Now there’s a kid, a son he parades around as proof of his legacy. Like his bloodline makes him untouchable. He talks about that boy as if he’s not a child, but an heir. Grooming him already. Turning him into the next monster in line.”
Cartel men don’t see wives and children. They see bloodlines, power, and patrimony. He’s not raising a son. He’s building a throne. And he’ll burn anyone who stands in the way.
