Her eyes flashed. “And if I don’t?”
I looked dead at her.
“Then die with him.”
The words settled between us like a gun on a table.
Lyric’s face changed slowly.
Because she knew I wasn’t bluffing.
“This isn’t jealousy,” I said. “I don’t care who you fuck. I care who gets close enough to use you. And Marcus is using you.”
She swallowed hard but recovered fast.
“You really think I’m that easy to play?”
“No,” I said. “I think you’re hurt enough to lie to yourself.”
Her eyes got glossy for half a second before she blinked them away.
A few seconds later, I opened the door myself.
Conversation over.
That was another thing people always forgot about me.
I didn’t repeat myself when it mattered.
Lyric stared at the open door, then back at me.
For a second, I saw the girl from Compton again. Sixteen. Angry. Loyal. Looking for something to hold onto after the world took too much.
Then it was gone.
She stepped out of the Rolls without another word.
Didn’t slam the door.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t look back.
I sat there a minute longer, watching through the tinted glass as she crossed the valet circle alone. Marcus was still inside. She didn’t wait for him.
That told me enough.
I took one last pull from the blunt and leaned my head back.
Los Angeles was getting crowded with people who thought I was distracted.
People who thought France had me off balance.
People who thought Bianca’s lawsuit was pressure.
People who thought Lyric on another man’s arm was disrespect I’d swallow.
They were wrong.
