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“Get out of my house right now, you fucker!” Teresa, otherwise known as Mama T, yells, pointing a finger at me. “Do you think you can just waltz into my house? Who do you think you are?”
I lean back into the couch, wiggling my butt until I’m comfortable.
“A very desperate man, Teresa Baker,” I say, looking over the house casually. She has a very cozy home, and everything has its place.
Cream walls with matching couches, maroon flower pictures spaced out perfectly, matching wooden furniture, the brown surfaces gleaming as if she dusted them not two seconds ago, and a white birdcage hanging in the corner, a little Tweety chirping away.
Does she have a Sylvester, too?
She scoffs, “What the hell does that have to do with me?”
“You know some men who I need to have a chat with. Does Ryker sound familiar? Slade, Daire or Kace, even?”
Her face visibly pales, and her thin red lips part as she scrambles for a response.
Too slow, Mama T.
“Call them. Bring them here. That’s all I want.”
She huffs out an amused laugh. “You know they’re going to kill you, right?”
“Now why would they do that? We’re having a lovely time.”
She shoots me a look, sits down in her chair, and grabs the phone off the receiver. She’s probably one out of fifteen people in the world who still have a landline.
Her green eyes spear me like sharpened knives as she slaps the phone to her ear. I smile wide at her in return, though I fear it came out a tad feral.
“Get over here, now. Bring your brothers,” she says after someone picks up, glancing over at me with irritation.
“No, I’m not hurt,” she assures quickly. “There’s a man here to see you four.”
He must agree because she hangs up the phone without another word. Still shooting me the evil eye, she sets the phone down a tad aggressively, and an uncomfortable silence descends.
Nothing about Mama T is typical, nor is she shy as she meets my stare head-on. Despite being in her fifties, she’s got character—tattoos on her neck, a Monroe piercing, a nose ring, and dark red lipstick.
“My girl was kidnapped,” I tell her, hoping to appease some of her anger.
Honestly, I have no interest in harming an old lady. I hate that I’m making her uncomfortable, but it’s a necessary means to get what I need. I’d rather she feels relaxed in my presence—as much as she’s capable of when a six-foot-six man with scars all over his body walks into your home.
She stares at me blankly, waiting for me to continue. “She was taken by some very bad and powerful people. Could be anywhere in the world at this point. Your boys happen to have a refined skill in what I need to possibly track her down.”
She leans her elbows on her spread knees, and it feels like she’s looking past my flesh and into my soul. I stay still. People seeing me for who I am has never bothered me.
“You’re a powerful, bad man.”
I shrug. “And also, someone with very little time to waste. I’ve got a firm hold on my manhood, and I can admit when I need help.”
She raises her thin brows and gives me a look that suggests at least you have that going for you.
I'd like to think I'm pretty, too, but I'll let it slide.
“What makes you think my boys will help you? Is my life your bargaining chip?”
“Of course not,” I chirp, much like the bird chattering in the cage. “Only a weaker man would hurt an innocent woman to get what they want.”
She cocks a brow, unimpressed. I can’t help but smile at that.
“Like you said, I’m a powerful, bad man. I have connections and capabilities of my own. Whatever they need, I can do, once my girl is safe and sound.”
