I cut him off. “Don’t worry about the nigga in her house. Worry about me. If he’s there when I pull up, it’s already too late for him.”
Silence stretched. Malice had been with me five years, seen me handle threats, eliminate problems, but he’d never seen me like this, letting a woman get under my skin.
“Grim…”
“Did I stutter?” My voice dropped into that dangerous register that made smart people shut the fuck up.
“Nah. I’ll keep eyes on her.”
I hung up, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Some random man was in her house right now, maybe hearing all about her night, maybe comforting her, maybe learning things that belonged to me alone. Or maybe they were doing other things entirely, and that thought made darkness overshadow any light I held. She had her fuckin nerve.
I dressed without thinking about it: black tee, black sweats, clean sneakers. I rubbed a little oil through my beard and brushed my waves down. Although I didn’t know what the fuck she was thinking I still needed to look good when she saw me.
The Lamborghini Urus purred to life in the private garage beneath my building, but I didn’t pull out right away. The city above me was already in motion, sirens stretching down 5th,delivery drivers arguing in broken English with the front desk. Normal city noise. But my thoughts were louder.
I let the engine hum and told my thoughts to line up, one by one. I didn’t like variables. I didn’t like the idea of a man I didn’t know learning or even knowing her routines. I didn’t like the image of her barefoot in her kitchen, hair pulled back, pouring coffee for somebody who wasn’t me—and then telling him shit I couldn’t put back in her mouth.
The drive to Baxter Avenue took twelve minutes through morning traffic. I called Malice back when I was two blocks away.
“Status?”
“Still there. I can see shadows moving around in the house. Looks like they’re just talking, maybe having breakfast.”
Breakfast. Like they’d spent the night together. Was this normal for them?
“Boss,” Malice said carefully, “can I ask what we’re doing here? Because if you’re worried about her talking, we could handle this a lot of different ways that don’t involve you personally getting involved.”
I pulled to the curb and sat with my hand on the wheel for one slow breath, looking at the front of her home. I didn’t hear shit he said as I walked up to her front door. I was furious, and being tired didn’t help the rage I felt. There was also confusion underneath all that because I wasn’t sure this was about her telling what she saw or about the nigga not being me.
I didn’t knock. I didn’t announce my arrival. I kicked the damn thing in. I was satisfied when the door gave way, slamming against the wall so hard that the frame rattled. The sound was a statement, and I let it stand. I trekked into the small home and found her in the kitchen.
Coco spun around with a shriek. Her ponytail was pulled high and slick, creating a sharp line that made her face lookclean and focused. She wore a purple camisole and matching shorts that sent my mind somewhere else entirely as I took her in. She stood there with bare legs the color of rich cocoa, crimson polish on her toes, steam curling from her coffee like incense. She was the only peaceful thing in a room crackling with tension. Her eyes went wide for a second on reflex, then narrowed into heat—the kind of heat a man like me respected, even though I intended to walk right through it.
“Lesley,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut, “what the hell are you doing here?”
The man on the other side of the island turned, with his hands up in surrender.
“Who are you?” I asked him, calm because calm was the blade that cut the deepest.
Malice had described him accurately. Tall, lean, in a polo and a quarter zip on a Saturday morning. He was possibly harmless, but I needed to be sure.
He swallowed. “I’m?—”
She turned her head to him sharply, with her nose turned up. I smiled, he was a pussy, and that proved it.
“Let him answer, and then you can talk,” Coco said to her visitor, stepping between us like she hadn’t been spared last night. “This is my damn house, and I’ll be the only one asking questions.”
I looked at her mouth because I was a man. Looked at her eyes because I wasn’t dumb. Then my eyes shifted back to him. She was so spicy… that shit turned me on in the worst way.
“Bruh, don’t let her get you knocked the fuck out. State your name and your business. And do it quickly, I had a long night.”
“Rashad,” he said. Voice wobbling. “I’m just a friend. She hit me late last night, and I didn’t like how she sounded. I brought coffee and breakfast to check on her. That’s it.”
“Friend, huh?” I asked.
“Friend,” he said again. “I shoot content for her sometimes. Help with installs when she’s short-handed.”
Coco set her mug down. I knew I was pushing it, and I didn’t care. I felt like she had crossed a line, having a nigga in her face so soon after meeting me.
