Page 258 of The Wright Man

When he spoke again, his tone was stripped of all that usual smart-ass edge.

"Whatever she needs."

I knew he'd say that. Didn't make it hit any less.

I didn't say thank you. He wouldn't have wanted it. I just stepped to the edge of the porch, resting my forearm on the rail, eyes scanning the soft glow of the streetlights out front. My voice dropped low, the kind of low that let the truth settle deep. "I need her ex out of her fucking life. Permanently."

Another pause. "Buried?"

"Legally." I shrugged. "For now."

He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "You always did have a flair for subtlety."

"He's trying to take half her business," I said, still watching the street. "The business she built with her bare fucking hands while that weak-ass nigga sat back and threw shade from the passenger seat."

He didn't respond to that. Didn't have to.

"He came at her sideways today. Again. And I'm telling you now—next time, I might not be calm about it."

"I didn't realize you were calm now."

"This isn't me not being calm. This is me being patient."

He snorted. "Noted."

I could hear him moving around, probably pacing. That nigga never sat still when his brain was working.

"I want her free," I said, quieter this time. "Clean. No strings. No ties. The way she should've been from the beginning. I want this shit over."

And I meant it. Because the only way I'd breathe right was if I knew she was safe. Untouchable.

"Alright," he said, and I could hear him standing, grabbing keys or papers, shifting into work mode. "I'll be there tomorrow."

"She doesn't know I called you."

"Oh, I bet." He chuckled. "She gonna be shocked?"

"She'll get over it," I said. "Long as you do your job."

"You know I always do." He paused. "Maleek?"

"Yeah."

"I like her. Always have. So don't fuck this up."

My jaw flexed. "I won't."

"Good. Because if you do, she can hire me to ruin your life next."

We hung up, and I sat back in the chair, the wood creaking beneath me, my phone still in my hand. The stars were just visible above the porch awning, the night quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and crickets.

Angelica was inside—wrapped up in my shirt, legs tangled in our sheets, mouth parted like she didn't just scream my name three different ways two hours ago. That was my woman. My angel.

And Gavin?

That motherfucker was already done.

He just didn't know it yet.