Once I make it out of the warehouse, I walk across the parking lot and slip back into the SUV with Alfredo. “I need to go back to South End.”
“You really think that’s a good idea with him watching your every move?” Alfredo asks, motioning to where I left Clyde’s goon behind.
“I don’t care. He’ll be busy cleaning that up for a while and I need to follow up with what I did last night.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t argue as he puts the vehicle in drive.
I know he can see it— my control slipping— but this doesn’t make me lose sight of what needs to happen in the long run. I’m still going to bring Clyde down and take over all that is his. This is simply a detour. A new path I can’t see to get off of. Somehow, Lily has infiltrated my mind and won’t leave, and I’m not sure I want her to.
When we pull up to South End, I waste no time getting out of the car. I cross the street quickly, watching all the passersby and vehicles just to see if, by some chance, Amy’s face pops up, but it doesn’t. At this point, it doesn’t even matter to me, honestly. It’s just an excuse to see Lily anyway.
At first, I did care. I’ve always wanted to please Clyde and let him know he could count on me, but that changed. I’m not sure when, but it did, and I’m not upset about it. I feel I could run this city better than him. The shit with Amy and CJ were just icing on top of the cake. If Clyde did shit the way he should and stayed out of bed with Raymond, people would fear him more.
He thinks the only way to run things is by loyalty, but that’s another thing he has wrong. The only way to keep people in line is with fear.
When I make it to the door, I don’t bother knocking. I can hear kids on the other side playing or watching TV, so I know she won’t be far. Stepping inside, I cross the foyer and start down the hall before hanging a right under the stairs and into the living room.
Lily’s back is to me as I lean against the door jamb. She’s passing out snacks and juice boxes to all of the kids sitting on the floor playing with wooden toys and the ones on the furniture with their eyes glued to the television.
When she finally turns around and locks eyes with me, her face goes pale. Quickly, she hurries towards me before pushing past me and heading to the kitchen. Slowly, I follow.
She leans over the sink with both hands braced on the counter. “How could you?” She whisper shouts.
“I take it you got my message?”
Turning around, she pulls the polaroid I left on her nightstand out of her pocket before crumpling it up and throwing it at me. “My son has no part in this!”
Stepping forward, I grab the picture from the ground then press my chest against hers. “This,” I start, holding it to eye level with her. “Is to show you just how serious I am.”
Her lip curls, and her brows furrow. “He’s a child.”
“And I don’t give a shit.”
Her small hand shoots up and swings towards my face. I catch her wrist and dig my nails into her flesh. Her chest heaves— every quick inhale making her tits push against my pectorals— but she stays silent.
I stare into her blue orbs, trying to decipher whatever it is she’s thinking. Her nostrils flare, and the vein in her neck throbs.
Anger.
That’s what it is, but under all of that, I see the desire. The slight pink tone that paints her cheeks. The way her lips part and her tongue juts out to lick them when I move my eyes to them. I can feel my heartbeat quicken and the mere thought of running my lips over hers, and my palms get sweaty.
I lower my head, so I’m even with her stare, and she doesn’t move. Her breaths stop, and her body goes rigid. I’m not sure if she wants me as badly as I want her, but I don’t waste time by asking. Leaning down further in one quick swoop, I plant my lips to hers. Immediately, heat settles in my belly, and every muscle in my body relaxes.
She tries to pull away, but I snake my other arm behind her and lock it around the small of her back. With her free hand, she pushes on my chest. I stumble slightly but never let my lips leave hers.
“You want this as much as me. I know it, so stop fighting and give in.” I breathe through our sealed lips.
Her head shakes vigorously, so I drop my hold on her and push my hands into her hair.
“I hate you.” She whines, limp and helpless in my arms.
“No, you don’t.”
As if all it took was that one simple statement, she finally gives in. Her small arms wrap around me as her legs spread, and one skates up the outside of my thigh. Moving my hands down, I reach behind and grip her ass before lifting her and placing her on the counter.
“Do you want to fuck me because you hate me or because you want to know what it’s like to be claimed?” I ask, moving my lips to the pulsing vein in her neck.
A small moan escapes her, but that’s the only reply I get before the phone in my pocket is ringing.
