Page 45 of Ginger

The smile fell from his face, replaced by something harder, more calculating. "The redhead? She's just a piece of ass. One I paid a pretty penny for."

My hand shot out before I could even think about it, gripping his throat and slamming him back against his car. Rayburn's hands flew up to claw at my grip.

"She's under my protection," I growled, my face inches from his. "Under the club’s protection. And you think you can threaten what's mine?"

I loosened my grip enough for him to speak, but kept my hand around his throat—a reminder of how quickly I could squeeze the life from him if I chose.

"I didn't know she was yours," he gasped, his eyes darting around the alley, looking for an escape or backup that wouldn't come.

"Now we're going to have a conversation, and you're going to listen very carefully."

Rayburn rubbed his throat, straightening his jacket with a trembling hand. The rain had slicked his hair to his forehead, making him look younger, more vulnerable. If his hired thugs were nearby, they hadn’t noticed what was going on. Not yet. "I'm listening."

"If you don't back off and leave Ginger alone, your entire operation will be dismantled within 48 hours." I delivered the words slowly, making sure each one landed with the weight of the promise behind it.

He stiffened, eyes narrowing as he assessed the threat. "You don't know what you're talking about. I don't have an 'operation.'"

"The drugs coming in and being distributed through the gas station. The girls you're moving through your 'modeling agency.' The money you're laundering through that café you visit every morning at precisely ten o'clock." I smiled coldly. "Should I continue?"

The color drained from his face, visible even in the dim, pinkish light from the neon sign. His eyes flickered to the puddles at our feet, to the fire escape above us, anywhere but at me.

"How did you—"

"I know everything about you, Rayburn. I know you carry a Beretta Nano in an ankle holster on your right leg. I know you meet with a man in a tailored suit at that shitty café every morning. I know you've been trying to expand your territory, thinking no one would notice or care."

I took a step closer, my voice dropping even lower. "But I noticed. And I care very fucking much when someone comes into my territory and threatens what's mine."

Rayburn swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the reddened skin where I'd gripped his throat. "Look, there's been a misunderstanding. I didn't know the girl was connected to you. I paid her uncle to have her."

"Well, now you know. As for her uncle, you can’t get a refund. Fucker is dead. If you so much as look at Ginger or any other person under my protection again, they won't find enough of you to identify."

The rain intensified, drumming against the metal dumpsters. Rayburn flinched at the sound, his nerves clearly frayed.

"I didn't mean any disrespect," he said, attempting to salvage what little dignity he had left. "I'm a businessman. I understand territories, respect. It was my understandting the Dark Wrath didn’t dabble in my… areas of interest."

"Are you sure?" I cocked my head, studying him like a wolf studies a wounded deer. "Because sending men to scare a woman half your size doesn't strike me as the action of a man who understands respect."

He shifted his weight, and I noticed his right hand drifting toward his ankle. I moved before he could, my boot coming down hard on his instep while my hand clamped around his wrist. He gasped in pain.

"That would be the biggest mistake of your very short life," I whispered, bending his wrist back just enough to make him understand how easily I could break it.

"I wasn't—" he started, but the lie died on his lips when he saw my expression.

I reached down and retrieved the Beretta from his ankle holster, checking the chamber before tucking it into my waistband. "Consider this a security deposit. You'll get it back when I'm convinced you've learned your lesson."

The fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes. Not just the momentary fear of physical pain, but the deeper fear of a man who realizes he's miscalculated badly and may not live to correct his mistake.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the rain.

"I want you to leave Ginger alone. I want you to stay out of my territory unless you're here as a paying customer, keeping your hands to yourself and your mouth shut. I want you to understand that the only reason you're still breathing is because I'm choosing to let you."

I stepped back, giving him space that felt more threatening than comforting. "Can you do that, Rayburn? Can you be a good boy and play by the rules?"

He nodded, water dripping from his chin. "Yes. I understand. It won't happen again."

"It better not." I gestured toward his car. "Now get the fuck out of my sight. And remember—I'm watching you. Always."

Rayburn didn't need to be told twice. He fumbled with his keys, hands shaking as he slid back into the car. The engine roared to life, echoing off the brick walls of the alley. He backed up, turned onto the street, and sped away, the red taillights disappearing down the road.

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