Page 26 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

When we pulled up two blocks from the motel, Ren killed the lights. We sat in the dark for a minute, watching. Plotting. Three beat-up rides parked out front. Two dudes on lookout, smoking blunts, and posted sloppily. Amateur ass niggas.

I rolled my window down just enough to let the night air cut through the tension. “You take the two outside. I’m sweeping the rest,” I said, my voice flat.

Ren nodded with no hesitation. “Say less.”

We moved like shadows, slipping through the darkness. Ren peeled off toward the front of the motel while I circled to the back, sliding a Glock into each hand.

The back door wasn’t even locked. I kicked it open without hesitation, the wood splintering loud as fuck. The room inside erupted in chaos—niggas scrambling for guns, yelling, furniture toppling. Too slow.

Two quick headshots dropped the first two trying to reach for weapons. Another tried to lunge at me with a rusty blade. I put two in his chest, the force knocking him clean off his feet.

The screams started next door but I didn’t give a fuck. I stalked through the rooms like a reaper, every step deliberate, controlled. Kicked open another door. Found another one trying to climb out of the window. I grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and slammed him into the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

“Please! Please, man, it—it wasn’t even personal!” he stuttered, blood dripping from his forehead.

I pressed the barrel to his mouth, forcing his head back. “You steal from me, you make shit personal.” His eyes widened right before I pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed across the peeling wallpaper like a fucked-up painting. I didn’t even blink. Gunfire cracked from outside. Two shots. Then silence. Ren was always efficient as a muthafucka.

I made my way back to the center room where a big bodyguard-looking nigga was trying to rally. He aimed at me, and I dropped low, rolled, and came up firing. Chest shots. He staggered back, falling over the shitty coffee table, dragging it down with him.

I stood there, breathing steadily, surveying the wreckage. There were bodies everywhere. Blood soaking into the motel’s nasty-ass carpet. The air thick with gunpowder and death.

Footsteps crunched behind me and Ren wiped blood off his knuckles with a towel like he just finished washing his hands instead of ending lives. “All clear,” he said.

I nodded, scanning one last time. None of them deserved mercy. None of them got it.

Sirens blared in the distance as we quickly snatched up guns, drugs, and money and then doused the place with gasoline we brought for the occasion. I lit the match and watched the flames roar to life. The fire crackled louder, the black smoke curling high into the sky. Leaving nothing behind but blood, ash. Ren knew how to handle the Tahoe. My mind was at ease.

T h e d r i v e b a c kto the penthouse felt long as hell. I parked the car and sat there for a minute, letting the quiet of the garage settle around me. I pulled out a blunt, lit it, and took a deep drag. The smoke filled my lungs, giving me a temporary sense of calm. I had to get my head right before I walked back inside.

I finished the blunt, took one last drag, and flicked the ashes into the ashtray. I was ready. Time to deal with whatever was waiting for me inside. I stepped off the elevator, dapped up my security, and walked into the penthouse. The place was quiet, too quiet, like it was waiting for something to explode. I didn’t have to look far to see Parker standing there, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed. The second she saw me, she crossed the room like she was on a mission.

Her hand hit me hard across the face, the sting sharp and immediate. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even blink. But damn, the way she looked at me after—like she had something to prove—made the fire in me burn hotter.

“You’re not playing by the rules, Sebastian,” she snapped, her voice a mix of anger and frustration. “Tell me who the bitch is!”

I didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her, letting her words sink in. Then I reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward me. Before she could say another word, I grasped her throat, my grip tight but controlled. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever put your fuckin’ hands on me.”

She gasped, but her eyes only burned with more anger. I held her there for a moment, watching her pulse jump under my fingers. I could feel the heat between us, the tension thick in the air.

I released her from my grip, tossing her backward onto the couch. She didn’t fall, though—she landed with grace, but the fire in her eyes never faded. I walked past her, heading toward the bedroom. My footsteps were heavy, but I couldn’t help the smirk creeping onto my face. I knew she was pissed, but I also knew she was lying to herself about why she cared.

“I still wanna know!” she yelled after me, her voice sharp.

I didn’t turn around, just kept walking. “Why the fuck does it matter to you?” I asked, my voice casual as I stepped into the bedroom.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t it matter?” she shot back, her words dripping with frustration.

I knew why. I already knew. But I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of saying it. Instead, I kept walking, moving past her as I peeled off my clothes to take a shower.

She was still yelling, but I could tell it wasn’t just anger. There was something else in her tone, something deeper. I could feel her eyes on me as I moved through the room, the way her gaze followed me. When I looked at her again, I caught the way she was watching me—like she couldn’t decide whether to hate me or want me.

She was wearing that damn silk two-piece set, and even though she was mad as hell, she still looked fine as fuck. Her curves were on full display, and the way she was fuming just made her even more irresistible.

I shook my head, letting out a low chuckle as I moved toward the bathroom. “You should get that anger in check,” I said, my voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “You too pretty to be frownin' all the fuckin' time.”

Parker didn’t say anything after that, but I could feel the heat in the room as I walked into the bathroom. I didn’t look back at her. I knew she was still standing there, fuming.

After I got out of the shower, I tossed on a pair of basketball shorts and stepped into some Fendi slides. Then, I went to see her mad ass. The guest bedroom door was cracked, and I pushed it open. I stood in the doorway, watching her for a second. The way she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed under the thick, fluffy blanket, her bonnet perched on top of her head, was almost too much to ignore. She was eating ice cream, spooning it slowly into her mouth, her face tight with frustration, lips pursed, brows furrowed. She didn’t even notice me standing there.

---