“Parker,” I groaned.
“Whatever, that bitch was weird. Why would she try and hug me? Like girl, I don’t know you.”
She made a face before sinking onto the chaise and pulling a throw blanket over her lap. “Anyway, all I’m saying is—Nai didn’t give any details, but I saw how she looked at you. She’s still feeling you. Just talk to her, apologize. A little simping never hurts either.”
I sighed, leaning back on the couch. “I’m supposed to grovel? After I basically begged her to stay? Yeah, no. I’m not doing that shit again.”
Jasmine yawned. “Well figure it out. You gotta do something. At the very least, I’m sure she could use someone in her corner with everything going on with her family.”
Cash clapped his hands together. “Yeah, figure it out. But not here. My wife is tired.”
He made a slow circle in the air with his finger. Translation:get your ass out.
6 /NAIROBI CRAWFORD
I was goingto kill that bitch.
I didn’t know how or when, but when Parker took her last breath, my face would be the last thing she saw. And I was going to enjoy doing it.
She kept trying to butter me up, and the whole time she was fucking around with Fontaine. I never told her we were dealing with each other, but I didn’t have to. Handlers at the Agency were very good at their jobs. Parker knew the particulars of my life, even the shit I left out. I was good at killing, and she was good at collecting information.
She owed me no loyalty. But this was intentional—she wanted me to know she’d had Fontaine, just to prove she could take anything of mine whenever she felt like it.
I was glad I trusted my gut and kept her at arm’s length. Had she actually been a friend, I would’ve been hurt.
I was just pissed at her audacity.
I thought about calling Olivia, the other contractor Parker handled, but what could I say?
“Hey, Parker is fucking around with a guy I used to mess with? Wanna help me kill her?”
I let out a dry chuckle. I was back at my condo after helping Kenya plan the arrangements for my father’s memorial service. That whole ordeal was draining and took longer than it should’ve because she kept breaking down every ten minutes. I don’t think she cared that he was dead, but that she finally realized how alone she was. Her whole life revolved around him, and now he was gone.
My phone vibrated on the coffee table. I glanced at it, debating whether to answer, since it was an unknown number.
“Who’s this?” I answered.
“Why you ain’t call me when your pops died?” The deep rumble of Fontaine’s voice came from the other end.
I bit my lip. I hated the way my heart skipped a beat from hearing his voice—the same way it did when I saw him yesterday at Evita’s while I was out with Jasmine.
“How’d you get this number?”
Fontaine chuckled. “You already know the answer to that, Kitten.”
“Stop,” I gritted.
“My bad,” he said, but there was no real apology in his voice.
I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temple. “Why are you calling me?”
“You know why I called.”
I moved over to the windows and stared down at the parking lot. From the seventh floor, I spotted his Wagoneer parked out front with its hazard lights on.
“You think coming up here’s a good idea?” I asked, noticing the smoke drifting from the moonroof.
“No,” he answered honestly. I heard him pull on the blunt through the phone. “But you need me. And beforeyou say you don’t, I know you better than you care to admit. You need someone. I know shit with your pops was strained, but that doesn’t mean you’re not sad about it in your own way.”
