Page 10 of Trading In A Broken Heart

The next camera feed pulled up the grocery store parking lot from last week. Solei climbed out her car wearing black leggings and one of those little cropped hoodies that showed a strip of skin every time she reached upward.

My grip tightened on the armrest.

She grabbed a shopping cart and disappeared inside the store. I already had men inside. Not to hurt her, but to protect her. People saw danger when it arrived loud. I saw it beforehand.

A man near the produce section stared at her far too long. Another followed behind her through the frozen section, pretending to shop.

Ghost glanced at the screen. “You want him handled?”

I lingered on the clip a bit too long, giving him the wrong impression. “No,” I responded.

I hated whenever strangers looked at her. She should’ve been for my eyes only. It made something crawl underneath my skin and my trigger finger itch.

By the time Solei walked back into the parking lot carrying grocery bags, rain had started falling. She struggled balancing everything while digging through her purse for her keys.

Irritation crossed her face as one of the bags ripped, and cans rolled underneath nearby cars. “Shit,” formed on her lips.

I watched her crouch to pick them up while rain soaked through her hoodie. Some nigga stopped to help her, and I gritted. The sudden urge to rid every man from her existence crossed my mind. Fucking with me, the cemetery was gon’ run out of space for bodies.

A Couple Days Later

I was late. Like, extremely late. Imani was gon’ kill me. I’d overslept this morning because, for whatever reason, my alarm decided that it wasn’t gon’ go off and wake me. Since I overslept, I was late getting everything done, including my hair. Today was Imani’s wedding. She was gon’ fucking kill me.

My phone rang on the nightstand as soon as I stepped out of my walk-in closet. Rushing over to it, I grabbed it and swiped the screen, already knowing who it was. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’m leaving out the door right now.”

I hopped on one foot as I slipped my shoe on.

“Just start without her,” I heard someone say in the background.

“No.” I could hear the irritation in Imani’s voice. “C’mon, Solei. I’m not starting without you.”

“On my way.” I disconnected the call and put my other shoe on, then grabbed my Birkin and raced toward the door. I hated staying in this apartment, but after I killed Zayden, I didn’t want to stay in that house. I ended up selling the house we shared and found this apartment downtown. It was nice and overlooked the Montgomery skyline.

When I opened the door, I halted in my steps when I noticed a box sitting in front of it. It was wrapped in a perfect pink bow. My head poked out the door, and I didn’t see anyone in the hallway from either direction. This was the third time this month that something showed up on my doorstep. I wrote it off when I found the gift and flowers back in Vegas, but now it was getting creepy.

The gifts were top-notch. They were all my taste, from the jewelry to the handbags and clothes. It was like whoever was leaving it was inside my head. I thought about talking to my family about what was going on, especially after I had them run the cameras back, and they were always cut whenever the gifts arrived. I was trying to handle this on my own, but I think I was gon’ have to go to my brothers. I didn’t mind having a lil secret admirer, but they were taking shit too far.

Taking the box, I shook it as if that was gon’ tell me what was inside. I slipped the bow loose and removed the top from the box. Inside were some custom Louis Vuitton heels. There were diamonds on the straps. Bloody bottoms. The exact shade of powder pink like my dress. What was even scarier was they were my direct size. The note inside the box read:

Wear these instead. –Your Husband

The box fell from my clutches. “What the fuck,” slipped from my lips.

I removed my phone from my purse and locked up behind me. As I trotted to the elevator, I made sure to pay extra attention to my surroundings. As I stepped on, I dialed Grim’s number. “Something’s happening. I’m not sure what it is, but I need your help,” I said as the doors shut on me.

* * *

Later that night

I stood there outside the building, waving my best friend off as she and this bitch-ass nigga ran hand in hand to the Maybach that was waiting for them. On my dime, of course.

“Sorry-ass nigga,” I mumbled underneath my breath.

“You said something?” I heard a familiar masculine voice come from behind me. When I turned around, I saw Ben standing there. This was a guy that I’d met through Marquis, Imani’s husband, back when they first started talking. Ben had some good dick, but that was about all he could offer. Nigga could never hold down a job, and I just couldn’t associate myself with that bum behavior.

“What you want?” I asked him, folding my arms over my chest.

“Is that a way to greet me?” Ben licked his full lips and took a step closer to me. This man was fine as hell. He stood about five-nine. His hair was cut low. Maybe if he had waves, it would amplify his sexiness. Chocolate, just the way I liked my men. It sucked that he wasn’t worth a damn.