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Even though the biggest infraction of all is mine by leaving her alone for the twenty minutes between her arrival and my cousin knocking on their door. Everyone was with me awaiting orders. No one watching her home.
Eyeing the folder on my dash, I take a deep breath and center myself while the girls leave the area.
What those papers prove is the only thing stopping me.
My wrath has no mercy when it comes to her, and those first few documents sent me into a blind rage. A fury I still feel pumping through me but had to rein in while with my girl.
Because she’s just that. Mine.
The second I saw that innocent face and sinful body; I gave in to the desire she brought forth. This need to protect and devour. Break and hold together.
I will make her crave the darkness I control. Accept her own demons.
This house and the belongings inside, what’s left of her mother and father’s estate, belongs to London. Everything, and it’s all she has left of them. She’s the sole heir as per the will and testament, something that these two have lied about. Misused. Stolen.
And while memories carry people through grim times, the value of a physical reminder is priceless. I won’t take that from my girl.
“Baby, who was that?” Alton’s fiancée’s voice carries through the small listening device Javier left behind on his visit. It’s by the front door where this whore decided to stake her bullshit claim of hierarchy over my Twirl.
That’s going to cost her. Them.
“What the fuck was his cousin doing here?” Marcus asks, a slight slur to his speech.
Without saying a word, I flick the headlights on and off. Within fifteen seconds five car doors open and each one disperses to a different area of the house.
One at the front.
One on each side.
And the one that walks with me as I enter the house through the unlocked back door. He’ll wait for me there until I exit or give my second signal.
Their home is a nice two story with brickwork facia. It’s over 3500 square-foot design has five bedrooms and three bathrooms with the smallest of all being London’s. The back of the house is where the spacious kitchen resides, and it’s filthy.
Empty beer cans litter every available countertop space and the overflowing garbage bin. The eat-in nook area has a few stacks of cash, an open bottle of prescription pills, and a blade beside it. There’re plates in the sink, pots with something charred, and cigarette butts all over the floor.
It’s disgusting, and if they expect for Twirl to clean this up, they have another thing coming.
Grabbing a barstool from behind the island, I place another listening bug underneath and then take a seat with my Glock on my lap. Right in the middle of the room, I wait while listening to them talk in the distance. Mumbling about her leaving and the state this house is in.
That they are hungry, and don’t like my family close to her.
Marcus is the first one to enter and at the sight of me, he freezes. He doesn’t fully step in, more like stops at the entrance and looks at me. Just stares.
Holding a finger up to my lips, I tell him to keep quiet.
The other two take their time to follow. They’re kissing, stopping a few steps behind the father and their focus is on each other. On wandering hands and swapping spit.
They sicken me.
“What can I do to calm you down, baby?” Brittany croons, her hand moving down his chest. “Prove that this isn’t a big deal. Malcolm Asher would never—”
“Can answer for himself,” I interject, and their two heads snap my way. Marcus isn’t moving, and his son and whore aren’t very hospitable either. “Do come in.”
“H-how did you get in?” Marcus asks, his eyes shifting around the room, looking for either an out or a way to defend himself.
“We’ve had this discussion before, Foster. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“As you wish, Mr. Asher. Why are you here, then?” There’s an expensive-looking knife set a few feet from him and he shifts, moves closer. I see the intent and on my next inhale, I raise my gun and release two bullets.
