Page 42 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Does Shooter know the full extent of it?

Was he in on it?

Ishook my head, trying to reject the idea, but the files—the proof—were still sitting in front of me like an open wound. Shooter was ruthless. Controlling. Demanding. But was he capable of killing his own blood? Would he?

I thought back to the way he spoke about Silas sometimes—frustration lacing his tone, shaking his head like his brother was just another problem to handle. But murder? I wanted to believe he wouldn’t cross that line. That there were some things even a man like Shooter wouldn’t do. But then I remembered how coldly he handled business. How quick he was to pull the trigger without a second thought. And maybe that’s what scared me the most.

If Shooter really was a part of this, if he really had a hand in killing his own brother… then who the fuck was I really married to? And what the hell was I supposed to do now?

Shooter

T h e w a r e h o u s e w a sbuzzing with tension as men moved in coordinated chaos, unloading crates from the trucks and stacking them in their designated places. The sharp scent of metal and oil filled the air, mixing with the faint musk of sweat and cigarette smoke. I stood near the entrance, eyes scanning the floor, watching every damn movement like a hawk.

Ren was posted up beside me, arms crossed, his usual smirk absent as he observed the process. “Shit’s moving slow today,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah,” I said flatly, my gaze locked on the crew. “They better pick that shit up.”

It was rare that I actually had to be down here managing a shipment, but after the bullshit that went down a few months ago—the ambush, the bodies, the missing product—I wasn’t leaving anything to chance, especially now when I was locked in with Vincenzo.

I walked deeper into the warehouse, hands in my pockets, my presence alone making some of the guys move faster. That’s how it was with me. They feared me more than they respected me, and that’s exactly how I liked it. Then I heard it.

“Man, somebody need to get Shooter some pussy or somethin’. Maybe he wouldn’t be up in here actin’ like a fuckin’ warden.” Laughter followed. Not much, but enough.

I stopped mid-step. The floor beneath me felt like it had gone dead silent. I slowly turned my head, my eyes locking onto the motherfucker who had something to say about me. Ellis. Mid-twenties, been working under me for about a year now. I let his ass live after he fucked up an order a while back. Maybe he thought that meant he could speak freely.

The crew caught on to the shift in the air real quick. The laughter died. The only sound was the low hum of the ventilation and the distant noise of crates being moved. Ellis had his head turned to one of the guys next to him, smirking like he really said some funny shit.

I stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “Yo, E.” My voice cut through the warehouse, sharp and unforgiving.

His smirk faltered. He turned his head toward me, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, boss?”

I closed the distance between us in three strides. Before he could even blink, my hands shot out as I snapped his neck. His body instantly slumped, and everybody’s eyes grew wide.

“Anybody else got a fuckin’ death wish?” My voice was calm, quiet, but the realness in it was unmistakable. Heads shook. Fear flashed. That’s what I thought. “Get the fuck back to work.” My voice echoed through the warehouse, snapping everyone out of their frozen states. They scrambled, moving with urgency.

I stepped back, flexing my fingers before sliding my hands into my pockets like nothing had happened.

Ren was already heading toward the back exit, shaking his head with a smirk. “Had a feelin’ you was gon' do that.” I followed him out into the cold air, inhaling deeply before pulling a blunt from my pocket. He lit it up first, took a slow drag, then passed it to me. “You good?”

I took a pull, letting the smoke curl in my lungs before exhaling through my nose. “Straight.”

Ren wasn’t buying that shit. “You ain’t been yourself. What’s up?”

I passed the blunt back, my jaw tight. I wasn’t about to sit here and talk about my feelings like some soft-ass nigga. But Ren had been my right hand for too long. He knew when shit was off. “…Parker.” The name left my lips low, almost begrudgingly.

Ren raised a brow. “What about her?”

I rolled my shoulders. “She’s been actin’ different.”

“How different?”

“Quiet. Moody. Been keepin’ her distance, and not in a way that’s just her usual attitude. We ain’t even fought in like a week.”

Ren snorted. “And you like fightin’ with her, huh?”

I shot him a look. He didn’t get it. That’s what we did. Parker’s smart-ass mouth and our little power struggles were a thing. A rhythm. I’d fuck the attitude out of her, she’d swear up and down she hated me, then she’d fall asleep on my chest like I wasn’t the worst nigga alive that she knew about.

But for the past week, she hadn’t been arguing. Hadn’t been teasing me. And we sure as hell hadn’t fucked. She buried herself in her T-shirt line like she was trying to distract herself from something. I took another hit of the blunt, my eyes narrowing as my mind turned over the possibilities.

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