Page 92 of Ride or Die
He turns his focus to Williams. “You could have waited until I was better! I would have finished the jobs! You didn’t have to bring her into it!” he shouts.
“Timing is everything in this world, Hawthorne. Not my fault you fucked up. Otherwise, the jobs would have been in your hands, not hers,” Williams says simply.
“Shit’s about to get wild.” Franky cackles and rubs his hands together. This guy is so messed up. Colt looks over at him like he’s a twisted fuck, and Williams turns his focus on me.
“What did he ask you? What did you tell him?” he asks, his eyes taking in my injuries. My voice is hoarse from the damage that fuck did to me, holding me against the wall.
“I had nothing to tell him, so I didn’t say shit. He wanted to know how we're targeting his cars, where his drugs went. Tried to recruit us. When I said no because you’d kill me if I did, he said we’re as good as dead when you’re done with me anyway. Is that true, Williams? Are you going to kill us regardless of if we pull off the jobs?”
He chuckles. “Only stupid fucking Torres would think I’d tell you my motives.” He shakes his head. “No, I have no intention of killing youifyou manage to pull off the remaining jobs, that is. I told Hawthorne’s father I’d look out for him, but I didn’t say to what extent.” He glances over at Colt, who looks surprised as shit that Williams brought up his dad.
“You did good by not giving him any information and calling me. But remember, if you take him up on his offer, you fuck with me, and you’ll get what’s coming to you,” he threatens, pointing at me.
He stands and heads towards the front door, turning back to stare us down. “You just keep your shit to yourself and your head down and pull off the jobs when I tell you to. Otherwise, leave the shit with Torres to me. What he did here tonight is a direct threat to me, and I don’t take that shit lightly. You message me the minute he tries to make contact again. You understand?” We both nod.
Without another word, Franky and Williams make their way out the front door and into the night.
Colton stands up from his chair and comes over to me, wrapping me in his arms.
“I’m so sorry baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect you,” he says quietly while he holds me. "I promise I'm dealing with this shit when I'm better. They won't get away with this." I lean into him and let out a sigh.
“We’re almost free, Colt. We just gotta keep going and pray that we don't get fucked.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
THREAT
LAYLA
After Colt’s arm cast was removed, he finally returned to classes on campus. Like old times, we went to our lecture and worked on our papers together. But since Colt is still healing, he falls asleep early while I continue studying at the desk in front of the window for a couple of hours.
Something catches my eye in the front yard, and I freeze. Squinting, I spot a figure lurking in the shadows. We have been told people want us dead, so I turn off the light and stand up, leaning closer to the window to see what they are doing. A second later, the figure steps into the streetlight, and I see who it is.
Simone.
I grab my knife and head downstairs. I’ve had enough of this fucking bitch. So much for being a sister. She’s a persistent little needy fuck who’s throwing a tantrum because she didn’t get her way. And now it's time I put her in her place.
Tiptoeing downstairs, I listen as she tries to break into the garage. With a silent push, I slip out the back door of the house, planning to catch her off guard.
Quietly moving along the side of the house, I hear the garage door open. When I round the corner, I poke my head in to see her moving the car lift, a headlamp strapped around her head. She positions the lift on one side, pumping the car up bit by bit.
What in the fuck is she doing? Is she going to tamper with his car? The car I’m currently driving because my boyfriend is incapacitated?
She is such a psychotic bitch.
I'm getting really fucking sick and tired of these assholes coming into Colt’s house with their attempts to try and fuck with us as we mind our own business.
Simone gets the car half lifted and positions the creeper. It’s then I see her grab a tool from the workbench. Is she going to cut the brake line?
As she bends over, getting ready to sit on the creeper, I sneak up behind her. Before she has time to react, I swiftly grab her arm and yank her up, twisting both arms behind her. She yelps out in pain as I pull them just enough to aggravate the nerve clusters in her shoulders, elbows, and wrists, rendering her useless.
“What in the fuck are you doing, Simone?” I ask with hate on my tongue. I shove her forward against the workbench, pinning her there. She starts to laugh as I grab a zip tie from the bench and tie her wrists together.
“Layla?” She laughs so hard it sounds maniacal. I turn her to face me and place my knife up to her throat, scowling at her stupid fucking face.
There is something cathartic about holding others at knifepoint after what Bruce did to me. Maybe Constantine was right. Maybe there’s been a badass within me this whole time that I was holding hostage in an attempt to break free of this place. Because these days, it’s starting to seem more and more like this is who I really am.
