Page 43 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was just PMSing. Maybe she was just too focused on her business. But my gut told me otherwise. I flicked the blunt away, watching it land on the pavement before grinding it out with my boot. Whatever it was, I was gettin’ to the bottom of that shit tonight. Even if I had to tie her stubborn ass up and fuck the answers out of her.

I gritted my teeth, my jaw tight as I yanked the driver’s side door open and slid into my new Bentley. I slammed it shut, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles cracked. “Hold shit down,” I told Ren through the open window. “Make sure everything moves smoothly.”

Ren gave me a look, his sharp gaze picking up on my mood like always. “You aight?”

I exhaled through my nose as I dapped him up. “I will be.” I didn’t even wait for his response. I threw the car in gear and peeled out of the lot, my mind racing faster than the engine roaring beneath me.

Something was wrong with Parker. I could feel it deep in my gut, that same instinct that always warned me before shit went left. Her ass had been avoiding me like she was scared to even be in the same room. That wasn’t my Parker. My Parker was mouthy, wild, and never afraid to test me. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just mood swings or business stress.

I tapped my fingers against the wheel, my jaw ticking as I thought over our last few interactions. Every time I tried to touch her, she brushed me off. Every time I asked what was up, she’d say “nothing” and change the subject. The more I thought about it, the more it pissed me off. If something was wrong, why the fuck wouldn’t she just say it?

By the time I pulled up to the penthouse, my pulse was hammering. I stepped out, slamming the car door behind me, taking the elevator up with my body thrumming with tension. The second I stepped inside, I knew something was off. The air was cold. Stale. There was no music playing or candles burning. No scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

I took another step inside, my chest tightening as my eyes darted around. It was too quiet. Way too fucking quiet. I stormed into the master bedroom, flicking on the light. My stomach turned at the sight in front of me.

Her closet doors were wide open. Empty hangers swayed slightly, a few designer bags still lined up neatly on the shelf, but her everyday shit? Gone. Her shoes? Gone. Her jewelry? Gone. My heart pounded in my chest, but my blood stayed ice-cold.

I inhaled deep, then hollered out, “FUCK!”

The sound bounced off the walls, but there was no one there to hear it. No Parker to come running in with some slick shit to say. I yanked my phone out, pulled up her location. Off. I switched to tracking her car. Still parked in the garage. My pulse pounded in my ears as I called her cell. That shit rang once then went straight to voicemail.

I clenched my jaw, pacing the length of the kitchen as my mind churned. I hit record on her voicemail. My voice was low, laced with warning. “You better call me back before I start tearin’ the whole fuckin’ city apart lookin’ for you.” A pause, then, “You already know what it is, Parker. Don’t make me come find you.” I hung up, gripping the phone so tight I nearly snapped it in half.

The silence in the penthouse pressed down on me. I needed to do something. I stalked into the living room, my eyes locking onto her laptop sitting open on the coffee table. Something about it made my gut twist. A USB was plugged in. And right next to it, lying perfectly in the center of the table, was her wedding ring. A cold chill skated down my spine.

I stepped closer, my breathing even, controlled. A small, yellow sticky note was slapped onto the laptop screen. Parker’s handwriting.

“It’s one thing to be a shooter, a killer, but it’s another thing to kill your own flesh and blood. Fuck you. I’m out.”

I stared at the words. The pressure in my chest turned from ice to fire, blazing through my veins. I crumpled the note in my fist, breathing hard through my nose. Then, slowly, I reached for the laptop and clicked play. The recording started with static at first and then I heard my father’s voice. Seth was talking in code. Talking to me.

My stomach clenched as I listened to the words I already knew were coming. The words I spoke back to him confirmed what needed to be done. The words that sealed my brother’s fate. I ran a hand down my face. She fucking knew.

I let out a chuckle, one with no humor, shaking my head as I reached for the USB. Then, I crushed it causing metal and plastic to crack under the force of my grip, the pieces scattering onto the floor.

My jaw ticked as I exhaled, slow and deep, staring down at the shattered evidence. Parker ran. But I’d find her. And when I did? She was never running again.

PARKER

“W h a t d i d T h eDream say on that song? Fuuuck that niggaaaa!”

Mecca’s voice rang through her apartment as she held up her wine glass like she was making a toast. Her bright yellow acrylics caught the dim light, and the gold rings on her fingers clinked against the glass as she sipped.

I let out a weak laugh, shaking my head. “You really ain’t shit.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Mecca said, settling back into the couch, her silk bonnet slightly askew. “Ain’t no way in hell you should be stressin’ over a man who had a whole-ass plot to kill his own brother. That’s some Game of Thrones shit, P. And you married to that?”

I sighed, pressing my fingertips into my temple. “I didn’t know, Mecca. I had no fucking clue. And now that I do… I feel like I’ve been sleeping next to a damn monster. He’s a menace for real.”

Mecca rolled her eyes dramatically. “Girl, we been knew Shooter wasn’t no choirboy, but his own brother? Nah. That’s some next-level demon-time shit. And you did the right thing leavin’.”

I stared down into my wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid, my stomach still knotted with everything I’d learned. Leaving had been the only option. Staying there, pretending I didn’t know the truth, pretending that I could still lie in the same bed as Shooter wasn’t possible.

“I just… I don’t get it,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Silas was family. Blood. I keep asking myself what he did to deserve that. What could possibly make his own father and brother decide he had to die?”

Mecca shook her head. “Baby, these rich, crime-world motherfuckas don’t think like us. They don’t got no real loyalty, no real love. It’s all about power, about makin’ sure they hold the crown.” She exhaled sharply. “And you? You was in the middle of it like a damn chess piece.”

That hit me harder than I expected. I knew Mecca had a way with words, a way of making me see things for what they were, but hearing her say it like that made my stomach twist even more. “Yeah…” I whispered, swallowing a lump in my throat. “A chess piece. That’s exactly what I feel like.”

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