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“What did Alton say about my invitation?” Twirl moves away from the window, and after a few minutes, all goes dark. Good night, baby.
“They’ll be there.”
“Good.” Nodding, I take the last pull on my cigarette and flick the butt toward the asphalt. “I want a file on London Foster on my desk by ten a.m. Everything on her.”
“Just her?”
“She’s the only one that matters.”
“Sir, your guests just arrived,” my security at the gate announces through the intercom, and my eyes flick to the center screen across from me. I see the car. A shiny and new Mercedes in white that looks nothing like the rusty scrap of metal Toyota my Twirl drives. Mistake number one. “Do I let them pass or…?”
“No search. Open.” I’m not going to scare London.
“As you wish.” The gate opens and they drive up until they reach the roundabout where another member of security waits for them. You can see the looks of envy on the two males, while London looks uncomfortable. The worry is plain to see as it flashes across her delicate features.
I can’t have that. After today, I want this to be where she finds safety.
Closing her folder, I put the information in the top drawer to my left and lock it. I’ve read enough to understand the mystery behind their actions.
What her miserable family fails to realize is that in my world, people talk. They are always willing to sell you out for a profit, something two of Alton’s street pushers were all too eager to do.
My sweet little Twirl is nothing more than a pawn to the two Foster men, and it all stems from a lie. Something her mother took to her grave when she suddenly died four years ago, leaving a sixteen-year-old girl to fend for herself after a robbery gone wrong.
Or so the police report says.
One, to get out of a growing debt, he’s been shopping around her innocence. Tempting the sick fucks he surrounds himself with into desiring the cherry between her thighs for a hefty price.
The other, he wants to dominate—intimidate her into becoming his whore. Alton wants an heir, but not from his fiancée, the submissive idiot that dotes on him because of his make-believe status. That gold-digger isn’t good enough. He wants London. Wants to fuck her while parading the other around town.
Alton believes that London is his. His way into a hefty sum of money that she’ll receive on her twenty-first birthday. A child will bind them together and is leverage in case she rebels.
Neither of these plans will come to fruition. I will never allow it to happen.
Two certificates have been signed, and I am the executioner.
“Malcolm?” Mariah slips inside wearing a huge shit-eating grin. I’m sure Javier has something to do with it. That she knows. “Magda’s attending to them in the parlor, and Javier is standing like a pit bull guarding your package.”
“Don’t be obnoxious.”
“Don’t ruin my fun.”
“You’re lucky that I love you, little cousin. So very lucky.” Pushing my chair back, I make my way around the desk and reach her at the door. “Make friends.” There’s no need for me to elaborate. She understands.
“Got it.” Mariah nods with a smirk. “By the way, she looks sweet.”
“She’s untouchable.”
“Thought as much,” she muses, eyeing my black jeans, plain T-shirt, and boots. “Why aren’t you wearing your typical overpriced suit? I approve of this, by the way.”
“I want her to feel comfortable here.” It’s the truth. The last thing I want is for her to feel intimidated by me.
“Who knew you could be so sweet?” Slipping her arm through mine, she tugs me down the hall and toward the voice of London’s father, who is asking for a whiskey neat as I enter. No one notices me, but I see the dynamic. The men are in suits and sitting with a leg crossed at the knee, arms stretched over the back of the couch—a mimicking pose—while Twirl looks like she wants to disappear within the cushions of her chair.
She looks beautiful; there is no denying this as I stand and watch. However, the expression of distress and the way she tugs at the hem of her knee-length, bright pink bandage dress, tugs at my chest. You can see that she doesn’t want to be here, and while it’s my fault, I’ll also be the one to right every wrong for her.
She’s no longer alone.
My eyes skim down her sweet face and pouty lips to the decadence of her collarbones when I notice a discoloration mars her soft skin. Lower, I find a few more down her arms, and the growl that builds in my chest is unstoppable. It’s loud and full of fury, shaking me where I stand as I catalogue every bruise.
