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No matter who the other person is.
Same as me with him.
I stand, not wanting to talk about Pops again. His fucked-up ways and him hiding shit from us? I’m over it. I don’t plan to do any more jobs for him, and I don’t plan to see him again any time soon. I know that eventually he will get pissed off and possibly react in a way that I least expect; that’s the thing with Pops, you never know which way he will go. He keeps all secrets and his intentions close to him, but then again, he taught us to do the same. But right now, he is the least of my problems. I have someone locked away in my basement who had absolutely no right to step foot on my property.
The boys don’t say anything when I leave.
And Kenzo will be none the wiser because the sleazebag husband is at my house, so he can’t track me to where he thinks I may have him. He wouldn’t think for a second I would bring him home because he knows how much I love my space and how particular I am with certain things.
Kalilah has even come to realize how I am. I’m not exactly sure what her plans were today, and a part of me doesn’t care because I’m glad she’s not at the house when I return. I spot Nancy straight away, cooking away in the kitchen, with soft, slow music flowing through the house. I sit at the counter as she finishes plating.
“I need you to go out tonight, Nancy. For the whole night.”
She starts to speak but then sees something in my eyes and instead says, “I can do that.” Nancy points to the food on the counter and then back to me. “Please eat. You need to keep your strength up for that goddamn awful human who hurt our girl.” I don’t ask her how she knows he’s here and who he is. Nancy has been loyal for many years and has become, over those years, very observant.
She walks past me and pats my shoulder before she leaves.
“Goodnight, Nancy.”
She tells me the same as she heads to the door.
I would usually lock the house, but I don’t want to risk Kalilah not being able to get in. I’m not one hundred percent sure she has keys, as Nancy is usually here whenever she comes home.
Walking into the garage, I head straight to the door that leads down to the basement. It’s dark. I turned all the lights off before I left. When I flick them on, his face comes into view, and he blinks rapidly against the lights. The asshole struggles against the restraints, but obviously, that doesn’t get him anywhere. I want to tell him how useless it is, but I don’t bother. I could tie a man up in three seconds, and if he were really good, it would still take him an hour to get loose. Trust me, my brothers and I have tried all the tricks.
“You stink.” I can tell he’s urinated all over himself. At my words, he looks down between his legs, where his blood is mixing with his urine.
What a despicable motherfucker.
How she ever fell in love with him is beyond my capability of understanding.
The asshole is in his mid-forties. He basically married Kalilah as soon as she was of legal age and then trapped her. She didn’t stand a chance. I did some deeper research and found that both her parents are still alive, and they often post memories of her on their Facebook accounts. Attached to these posts are messages saying they hope that one day she will come home.
I wonder what he did to get her to stop seeing her parents. I investigated their backgrounds too. They seem to be happy. She did too. It’s amazing what manipulation can do to someone when you know how to use it like a weapon.
I pull the gag off his mouth and take a seat opposite him.
“You want her,” he snarls. “She’s married, so you can’t have her.” It’s quite funny, considering the situation he’s currently in, tied to a chair and stabbed in the leg. Yet he still thinks he has some sort of control.
I stand up, then lean down, so I’m in his face, a devilish smirk touching my lips.
“She tastes phenomenal, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes widen as he registers that she is now mine. Before he can say another word, I lift my boot and stomp on his foot. I can hear the bones break, followed by the scream, before I shove the gag back into his mouth and sit back down. Tears spring to his eyes, and I mess around on my phone while I wait for him to man up and stop being a little fucking bitch.
Opening my new favorite game, I sit and play to ease my anger. When I’m finally winning, I look up to see him spit the gag out onto the floor, his face red with anger.
“You don’t know who I am,” he growls.
“But I do, Mr. Carmel. I know precisely who you are. What motorcycle gang you hang with. How you fucked all different types of women and claimed the most precious one for yourself. But she got away from you, didn’t she?” I state. “You see, it’s me who you don’t know. Did you think you could just track her down and not check whose house you were coming to?”
“So what, you have money. I have more than that.”
What an absolute dick.
I grab his phone from the table next to me and hold it up to his face to unlock it. Finding the correct name in his contact list, I call the president of his gang, and he picks up straight away.
“You’ve been gone way too long,” a low, angry voice raises on the line.
“You must be talking about Mr. Carmel here,” I reply, making sure the phone is on speaker.
