Page 213 of The Wright Man

"No," I said. "Not today. But he's hurt her in ways you can't see." I tapped a knuckle against my temple. "That's what breaks me."

Riq leaned forward, tension rolling off him like smoke. "So what's the move? We pulling up with diplomacy or with war paint?"

"I'll let y'all know when we get there." My voice was calm. Too calm.

Both of them nodded without hesitation. Sticks reached into the console and pulled out a pair of work gloves. "Say less."

That's what I loved about them. No twenty questions. No second-guessing. Just readiness. Loyalty.

As we turned onto Angelica's street, my hands curled into fists in my lap. Not from lack of control—but because I had it now.

And I planned to use every bit of it.

Sticks slowed to a crawl as we turned onto the block. I didn't need to point out which one was her place.

You could see the mess from the end of the damn street.

Clothes. Shoes. Half-torn boxes. A tipped-over nightstand with the drawer hanging out like a dislocated shoulder. Some of it had been picked through—strangers' fingerprints all over the pieces of her life that were too sacred for that kind of violation.

"Fuckin' wow," Sticks muttered, jaw tightening.

Riq let out a low whistle from the backseat. "This the kind of disrespect we on?"

I didn't answer. Just motioned to the curb as Sticks pulled up behind a rusted-out Corolla across the street.

All three of us climbed out. Heat wrapped around us like a second skin—thick, sticky, unforgiving. But the tightness in my chest had nothing to do with the weather.

Sticks walked up to the pile, nudged a tangle of hangers with his boot. "That's her stuff?"

I nodded once. "Most of it. Rest's inside."

He dragged a hand down his face, shook his head. "I swear to God..."

He didn't finish. Didn't have to. His little sister was eighteen and mouthy as hell, just like Angelica. And I knew—knew—he was picturing this scene with her in it.

Riq, meanwhile, was already pacing, arms crossed over his chest. "You sure you don't want us to handle him first? We got bail money. My car's in my mama's name."

I exhaled through my nose. "Nah. Not yet. I need y'all to start loading this up while I grab the stuff from inside."

They both looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"You going in there alone?" Sticks asked, eyes narrowing.

I met his gaze without flinching. "He's not a threat. And if shit goes left, I won't need backup. Trust me."

Riq squinted. "That's exactly what you say before shit goes sideways."

"Let me say it again," I said, calm as ever. "He's not a threat."

And I meant that. Gavin was a coward. A small man with just enough arrogance to think he could bark louder than a Marine and get away with it. I wasn't here to bark.

I was here to send a message.

Without another word, I stepped off the curb and crossed the street, each step quieter than it felt.

Her neighborhood was too quiet. Neighbors peeking through blinds but not opening their doors. Suburbia always had the prettiest shells over the ugliest rot. I wasn't here for them. I was here for her.

The porch steps creaked under my boots as I climbed them. Paint chipped at the corners. One of Angelica's old potted plants was wilted and brown, like everything else he'd let die.