“Is that so? Good to know.” He turns to Demarcus, who’s still barricaded by Cross soldiers. “What about you, D? Is your loyalty to me, or are you still sucking Marcus’s cold, dead-ass dick along with your brother?”
“Both, Prince,” Demarcus says, a heavy resignation and, if I’m not mistaken, sadness weighing his voice as he stares at his brother. “My allegiance was with Marcus and now it’s with you.”
Carter’s chest heaves up and down, his breathing audible in the room, but he doesn’t glance at his brother. His cheek must still be hot from that slap.
“Good answer.”
Turning, Asad strides across the room to a small sideboard that I hadn’t noticed. A linen-covered tray sits on top of it, but when Asad whips the covering off, pastries don’t cover the silver surface.
Knives. A machete. Scalpels. Ball peen hammers. Pliers.
A varied and beautiful array of torture tools.
Murmurs sweep through the room from where the Cross soldiers stand, and excitement quivers within them. I can practically taste the anticipation and lust for blood that saturates the air like droplets.
“Gotdamn, Prince. Please, man. That’s my brother,” Demarcus pleads. “He said he don’t know about a drive-by. Off the strength of your father—”
“Marcus ain’t got shit to do with this, D. Your brother helpedsome muthafuckas to try and come for my head. There’s no fucking exile in this bitch. You been in this life long enough to know there’s only one punishment for that kind of betrayal. Letting your boy go? Nah, I ain’t even built like that.”
He turns around, rolls the sideboard in front of him until it’s next to Carter.
Demarcus looses a low, pained groan, but I have to give Carter his flowers—he keeps silent, doesn’t even flinch when Asad picks up a big stainless steel pair of shears. His eyes though…
They damn near glisten with fear.
I lean forward, my breath catching in my throat, my skin tingling.
I’ve never seen Asad at work, and I’m thirsty to witness it. Witness him unleash the demon that lurks behind four-thousand-dollar suits, a fortune in watches, and civilized manners. The powerful yet sexual play of muscles under his shirt, the almost graceful glide of his big body, the loose and familiar clasp of long, elegant fingers around the weapon… They’re all hints at that monster, and I’m eager for his appearance like a child on the watch for St. Nick.
Or Krampus.
“Now, because I don’t want your brother out here thinking I’m an unreasonable muthafucka, he should know why you about to go to hell a few inches shorter.” Asad pulls a cell phone out of his pocket and passes it to Eli. “Give that to D, Eli. The password is 365432,” he tells Demarcus.
Several seconds later, Demarcus frowns down at the cell.
“This is Tre’s phone.”
“Trust me, he don’t need it anymore.” Asad circles Carter, stands behind him. “Go to messages and find the thread between him and Carter.” Taps the blunt edge of the blade against Carter’s shoulder.
I, like everyone else who’s a captive audience to this theater, wait in complete silence as Demarcus navigates to the app andtexts. His frown deepens until his eyebrows practically meet. Finally, he lifts his head and stares at Asad.
“What the fuck is this?” he barks.
Looping his arms around Carter’s shoulders, Asad clasps the machete in front of him, the blade braced up against his throat.
“Read it, Demarcus.”
Demarcus hesitates, but with Asad’s flat, frigid gaze settled on him, he lowers his head over the phone again.
“Tre texted ‘Unc’ at 10:28 a.m. yesterday morning, ‘We’re leaving now.’ Unc at 10:29, ‘Bet. Take the 10 Freeway. They’ll follow you from there.’ Tre replies back. ‘Bet.’” Demarcus briefly closes his eyes, but a second later, keeps reading. “Unc texts again ten minutes later. ‘Keep head on swivel. Two Ninjas. Hellcat. Challenger.’ Then an hour later, another text from Unc. ‘You good? Hit me up. Let me know what P sayin.’”
“What was that about he don’t know shit?” Asad asks Demarcus, the first hints of anger seeping into his voice. “I don’t know what I’m more pissed at. That he was in on setting my ass up or that he did it through text messages on an unsecured phone.”
“Prince…” Demarcus whispers.
“Don’t beg him for shit,” Carter snaps. “He gon’ do what he gon’ do anyway. Fuck him.”
“Fuck me?” Asad chuckles and a delicious shiver dances down the middle of my torso, between my breasts, past my navel, and two steps over my clit. I shift in my seat. “Y’know what I say? Fuck those fingers. Grimy muthafuckas who text like bitches don’t need ’em.”