She said she hated both of us, said all kinds of things. Then Junior started wailing upstairs, and I got out of there before I said more mean shit.
I was so worked up from our fight that I got into it with the loudmouth bitch that’s supposedly watching Riss. Yeah, it’s a nice gesture that the Chasers gave her a protection detail, but I don’t know.
I wish I’d had a better comeback for her when she said, “Marissa is club.” I wish I could have told her the Wolves take care of their own. We do, I mean.
This is a particularly complicated situation is all, I think as we drive to the meetup.
“I feel like I’m in a movie,” Twitch says as we park in the last row of the agreed-upon formation.
“Why?” I ask grumpily.
“We’re meeting a drug lord in the desert. There he is, arriving with his motorcade of armoured vehicles.”
We watch three black SUVs with tinted windows park in front of us. Only three men get out. I wonder if there’s more inside the cars, pointing assault rifles at us.
The three men look more like finance bros than cartel people. They’re wearing expensive-looking suits, and their faces are clean-shaven and relaxed.
“Sylvester, hello,” the one in the middle tells Prez as they shake hands.
So the Preacher knows Prez’s government name, big whoop.
“Hello,” Sly replies in a tone I’ve never heard before.
Almost submissive.
“How can I help you?” Carlos asks with a friendly smile.
I see the brothers in front of us exchange confused glances. They don’t know what a manipulator he is.
“It’s my sister, Rebel. She said some things… about your relationship, and some money she took, and we heard that you tried to kidnap her…” Sly trails off, looking flustered, then clears his throat before continuing, “We’d like to pay back the money my sister took, and we ask you to please put this behind us, for the sake of our professional relationship.”
The Preacher narrows his eyes at him. “I’m sure darling Rebel has spun her usual tales, and I will not attempt to convince you otherwise. I’m not some sentimental fool who’s going to put a personal grudge before business... Even if I was, my bosses wouldn’t look too kindly on it,” he adds with a blood-curdling smile. “Give me my money back, and we’ll call it even.”
Prez nods at Truck, who hands the suitcase to the man standing closest to the Preacher.
“And is the lovely Miss Marissa Johnson feeling better?” The druglord asks Prez, but looks straight at me.
I cross my arms over my chest, feigning indifference.
“She’s alright?” Prez says uncertainly.
“Please send her my regards,” the Preacher says nonchalantly before putting his sunglasses on. “Remarkable woman. Goodbye, Wolves. I’m looking forward to doing more business with you.”
What the fuck was that? I think as I drive over to my house to see DJ.
Rebel never told me her ex looked like a fucking GQ model.
Fucking asshole, mentioning Marissa like he knew a secret about my son’s mother that I didn’t.
I don’t know what Rebel saw in that guy.
Aside from power and his millions, a hateful part of me whispers, and I shake my head as I walk up to my house.
That doesn’t matter. She’s with me now. We’re meant to be. Who cares about the past?
“Hey,” I tell Marissa when she opens the door.
Her long hair is gone. That doesn't bother me; it's just surprising. As are the dark circles under her eyes. What the fuck is she doing with all this time off work if she isn’t resting?
