And everyone.
And by everyone, I mean Ember.
He might be her godfather, but she only had one daddy. That mu’fucka’s sucking the devil’s balls, and mine are about to beslapping against his daughter’s pussy. Now Sam can either get out the way or get run the fuck over. His choice before I make it for him.
I stride across the room, letting my gaze sweep over Ember on the way out. In one swift glance, I take in the swell of her breasts over the vest, the slight pooch of her belly as she sits, perched on the couch’s edge, and those thick thighs shoving against the material of her suit pants. When I lift my scrutiny to her face, I nearly stop, push her to the cushions, rip those pants down, and go deep-sea diving between her legs.
That face, man.
It’s eerily composed, beautiful. But those eyes are flat, unemotional. The eyes of a killer. One thing I’ve never doubted about Ember Cross. The bitch is crazy. Not “sneak in your house while you’re sleeping and drink your milk” crazy. Nah. She’s “feed you dinner and continue eating as you die from the cyanide she added as seasoning” crazy.
That’s how I know the pussy is good.
Pregnant and crazy pussy are always good.
I lick my lips, smothering a growl, as if I can taste her juices now. I bet that shit’s so thick and creamy I wouldn’t need any beard balm. That wet would keep it glistening and growing.
Clenching my jaw, I force my feet to head for the door and not make a detour for that couch. I’m high on the victory of winning her father’s company, and she would be spoils of this war.
I exit and shut the door behind me and draw up short at the sight of two men wearing dark suits standing right outside the study doors.
Just as I’m about to demand to know who they are and how the hell they got inside this house, the shorter, bulkier one nods at me.
“We’re with Mr. Chavez,” he informs me, tapping the lapel pin I didn’t notice on my first perusal. The small oval displays the logo belonging to Sam’s firm.
“Fine.” I return his nod, then stride down the hall toward therear of the house. Marcus soundproofed the study long before me, Michelle, and Kareem came along. That’s not gon’ keep me from learning why Sam needs a private conversation with Ember. I’ve come too far, done too much, lost too much to allow her and her godfather to plot against me just when everything’s falling into place.
House of Cross is mine. Ember is mine. And I plan on keeping all of them.
I don’t stop to figure out where my mother and brother have gone—probably in the living room toasting their windfall. Turning in the opposite direction, I head for the library, enter, and lock the door behind me with a skeleton key I had made years ago. There isn’t a room in this mausoleum that I can’t enter—whether I’m invited or not.
The library is a slightly smaller replica of Marcus’s sanctuary. Same masculine furniture, heavy drapery, expensive art. Instead of bay windows, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line two of the three walls. I don’t pay attention to none of this shit as I quickly move across the hardwood floor for the wide, ebony desk near the French doors and round it. Sinking into the black leather chair, I pull open the middle drawer and waste no time locating and pressing a hidden button on the wooden lip. A panel on the desktop noiselessly slides back, and a computer monitor slowly rises from the depths of the piece of furniture.
I press the power button on the thin side of the monitor, and after several seconds, about sixteen small squares fill the screen. One for each room in this house, except for the bathrooms, and for the immediate outside areas surrounding the property. Without hesitation, I tap the square that reflects the study, and in the next instant, the view takes up the entire screen. Sam emerges from behind the desk as Ember rises from the sofa. They meet each other in the middle of the room, and she walks into his outstretched arms.
Tapping the bottom-right corner, I turn the volume up and lean back in the chair, watching and listening to the sceneunfolding in the room I just abandoned. Maybe I should feel shame about eavesdropping. But I don’t.
I’ll do anything to protect myself and what’s mine.
And I’ll kill anyone who even thinks about trying to take it away from me.
CHAPTER THREEEmber
I stare at Asad’s wide shoulders as he leaves the study. Even when the door closes behind him, I can’t remove my gaze from it.
Can’t stop myself from imagining freeing him of the gun he hides under his suit jacket and gifting him with a third eye right in the middle of his forehead.
Or driving a knife deep into his neck and severing his spinal cord, Predator-style. That’s my favorite vision, even though I don’t know how to handle either weapon. It’s just the dagger is more… personal.
God, I want to get up close and personal with my stepbrother.
Especially when it ends with blood coating both of us.
“Ember.”
I snatch my attention from the study door, shelve my mental musings of homicide, and look at my godfather. The softening of his sharp, handsome features nearly unleashes the tight harness I have on my emotions. I love Sam; he’s the only person in whose presence I would dare to close my eyes or turn my back. But right now, with my father’s words—his edicts—still ringing in my ears, I don’t want softness. I don’t want his pity. Because either might trigger something other than my rage.
And I need my rage.