Page 79 of Rayzor: Tell Me It’s Mine II

I sent the messages to my phone, got up and kissed Eris.

“I love you, baby. I might not be back tonight. I gotta bring our son home.”

I checked in on kissed Erin’s head, then went for the front door. City and Suki were in the living room; I didn’t have to say shit as he followed out behind me.

“Y’all know your jobs, right?” I told security.

“Yes, sir. Nobody is to come in or out. And to call you at the first sign of distress.”

I pulled the head of security to the side.

“And if Rhea comes by, keep an eye on her. Watch her every move, when she pisses, eats, who she calls, how many times her phone rings. Every move should be documented.”

I nodded, then we headed for my truck.

“Where we going?” he asked once inside.

“A possible connection.”

“To whom?”

That got his attention.

“Rhea.”

I started the truck and crept toward the gate, waiting for it to open. The sun was particularly bright this afternoon. Hopefully, that’s a good sign. My phone sat in the cupholder, ready for some more tips. The music was down low as I needed to concentrate.

“Nah, for real?”

“They say it’s her brother.”

“That tip wasn’t random. Rhea being connected to it don’t seem far-fetched it.”

He stroked his chin hairs. “I mean, she was the only one around who knows what happened.”

“I didn’t wanna say shit to E. I needed to get her calm, but I’ve had eyes on Rhea since we left yesterday. The tip came in last night.”

“Is she at home?”

“Been in all day.”

“I know the girls have their issues and shit, but damn, you think she’d do that to E?”

“I don’t put shit past nobody.”

“I’m already knowing.”

I gripped the wheel, thinking about Rhea being behind this shit. I knew when a mothafucka hate they’ll do some unthinkable shit, but she wanted to hurt E. And she fucked up by touching Levi. I wondered what she wanted to gain by doing this dumb shit?

For the next thirty minutes, we rode in silence.

We pulled up to a townhouse complex over in Marietta. It was a slum-type of complex; abandoned cars, trash everywhere, rotten wood on the panels, and the grass unkempt. It’s an older subdivision tucked discreetly off a main road. You would’ve passed it if you weren’t sure what to look for.

An older ’14 black Malibu with Georgia license plates set in the driveway of the dirty white townhouse.

“This it?” City asked.

The windows were dark. Blackout curtains.