Shooter
Brunch was a power play. A gathering of people who ran this city in different ways—some in suits, some in the shadows.
I sipped my Remy, barely listening to the conversation at the table. My hand rested on Parker’s thigh beneath the table, an anchor, a warning. She was playing the role, smiling when necessary, nodding at the right moments, but I could feel the tension in her body, the way she wanted to shrink away from me.
Good.
She needed to understand that this was her world now. My world. And in my world, I set the tone. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced down at the name. I exhaled sharply and stood, sliding my chair back. Parker looked up, a flicker of confusion crossing her face as I leaned down, my lips barely brushing the shell of her ear. “Don’t move.”
She tensed, but I was already walking away.
I weaved through the tables, past waiters carrying silver trays, until I reached a private alcove near the back. Leaning against the wall, waiting, was a man I had no patience for today—Carlo DeLuca.
He straightened as I approached, smoothing out his tailored suit, a snake dressed in designer. “ Mosley,”
he greeted, smirking. “Figured you’d be too busy playing house to handle real business.”
I stared at him blankly, pulling a blunt from my pocket and lighting it. “Fuck you want, Carlo?”
He grinned like we were friends. “Just making sure things are still running smoothly now that Silas’s gone. He and I had a good thing going with the security firm. I don’t know if you got the mind for this the way he did.”
I let the smoke roll from my lips, my expression unmoving. “Business is runnin' just fine,”
I said coolly. “But you already know that.”
Carlo tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Do I?”
He took a step closer. “See, I’m not convinced. You’ve been real busy elsewhere instead of locking down shit that actually matters.”
I let him talk. Let him dig his own grave. “But that’s fine,” he continued. “Because maybe you’re not built for all this. Maybe you should focus on being a husband, let the real men take care of things.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Then Carlo chuckled, shaking his head. “And speaking of being a husband… Parker Whitmore? Jesus. That’s a lot of woman for a man like you. You sure you know what to do with all that?”
I took another slow drag of my blunt as Carlo’s smirk widened. “I mean, if you ever need someone to take her off your hands—”
My gun was out before he could finish the sentence, the muzzle pressing right beneath his chin. The smirk vanished, and the color drained from his face. The restaurant was still loud, full of laughter and clinking glasses, but in this little corner, the world had gone silent.
“Say that shit again,”
I murmured.
Carlo swallowed hard, eyes darting to the side, as if looking for an exit. There wasn’t one. “You’re crazy,”
he whispered.
I pressed harder. “Say… it… again.”
His breath hitched. “, come on—”
“You don’t speak on my wife.”
My voice was even, unbothered, but the weight of it settled deep in the air between us. “You don’t look at my wife. You don’t fuckin' think about my wife. Understand?”
Carlo nodded, hands slightly raised. “Yeah. Yeah, man, I got it.”
I let the moment stretch, let him feel the weight of my words. Then, slow as hell, I lowered my gun, tucking it back into the holster beneath my jacket.
Carlo exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. “My bad, man,”
he muttered. “I was just—”
“Goin' back to the fuckin’ table,”
I finished for him.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t make another joke. He just turned and walked away. I exhaled, rolling my shoulders back, pushing away the irritation thrumming in my veins. I turned—and that’s when I saw her.
Parker was standing just a few feet away, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. She looked shaken, breath shallow, and when I took a step forward, she took one back.
I tilted my head. “What are you doin'?”
She swallowed hard, then spun on her heel, disappearing toward the bathrooms. I smirked and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to come out. She flinched, stopping short. I took my time letting my eyes drag over her, taking in the heave of her chest, the way her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the edge of the door.
“You were just... gonna blow his head off?”
she breathed.
I stepped closer, caging her in against the wall. “You think I’d let a muthafucka disrespect me like that?”
My voice was low, lethal. “Or you?”
She blinked rapidly, like she wasn’t sure if she should be afraid or insulted. I leaned in, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume. “You’re my wife, Parker,” I murmured. “That means no nigga speaks on you. Looks at you. Tries you. Unless they wanna die.”
She exhaled sharply, turning her head away. I let the moment sit, let her feel me there, pressing in on every inch of her. Then, just as fast, I stepped back, offering her my hand. She hesitated. I smirked. “Be a good little wife.”
Parker clenched her jaw, eyes burning into mine, but after a long second, she placed her hand in mine. Good girl.
I led Parker back to the table, pulling her chair out for her before reclaiming my seat. Brunch resumed as if nothing had happened. Conversations continued. Toasts were made. And Carlo? He was back in his seat, looking real fucking uncomfortable. I picked up my glass of Remy, held it up slightly, and locked eyes with him as I took a slow sip. He got the message. Parker sat stiffly beside me, still rattled, but she played her part. And me? I just smiled.
Brunch finally ended. The plates were cleared, and the waitstaff moved swiftly to erase any evidence of the gathering. Most of the guests had long since filtered out, but we remained—me, Parker, my father, and the woman on his arm.
She was young for his ass, early thirties at best, with warm brown skin and curves for days. She clung to my father’s arm like she had a purpose, batting her lashes and smiling at all the right moments. But my father? He wasn’t thinking about her. His sharp, assessing gaze was locked on Parker.
“Silas always did have good taste,”
Seth remarked, lifting his glass to his lips, voice laced with something unreadable.
I felt Parker stiffen beside me. I didn’t like that shit. She wasn’t my brother’s. Had never been his. She was mine. Parker, to her credit, kept her composure. She crossed her legs, her silk dress shifting over smooth, toned thighs, and lifted her own champagne flute like she wasn’t fazed. But I knew better.
My father smirked, setting his glass down. “So, tell me, Parker, what exactly do you think you can bring to this family?”
Parker tilted her head slightly, a slow smile curling her lips. “I wasn’t aware I had to submit a résumé,”
she quipped.
A muscle ticked in my father’s jaw.
I exhaled sharply, my fingers curling against my knee. “Watch it,”
I warned under my breath.
But Parker? She didn’t listen. She turned toward my father, eyes glittering with defiance. “I bring class, intelligence, and a last name worth something,”
she said smoothly. “And from what I can see, this family could use a touch of that.”
Silence. Thick. Tense. The woman on my father’s arm cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. My father leaned back in his chair, lips pressing into a tight line. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble, girl.”
Parker smiled sweetly. “So I’ve been told.”
My jaw clenched. I caught the warning in my father’s eyes before he turned his attention back to me. “You need to get a handle on that. Soon.”
I leaned back, feigning ease I didn’t feel. “I got it.”
He arched a brow. “Do you?”
I exhaled through my nose, annoyed. “Yeah. I do.”
He studied me, unimpressed. “See that you do, boy.”
Then he stood, adjusting the cuff of his blazer.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He gave me one last look before walking off, his little girlfriend trailing behind him. I waited until he was out of sight before turning to Parker. She wasn’t there. I spotted her a few feet away, stomping toward the back exit, her heels clicking. Fucking hell. She was trying to test me. I stood, shoving my chair back, and rushed after her.
She was already standing beside my car, arms folded across her chest, looking straight ahead when I walked up. Unlocking the doors, we both slid inside and slammed the doors shut.
Silence.
I let it stretch, let it simmer, my hands gripping the wheel as I stared at her. Slowly, Parker turned her head to look at me, eyes bright with challenge. I studied her, my jaw tight. “Why do you keep fuckin' playin' with me?”
She smiled. Not a real one. A dangerous one. “Because I won’t make this easy for you.”
She tilted her chin, her voice soft but firm. “You should just choose another wife and let me go.”
I exhaled a laugh. A low, humorless sound. Parker tensed. I didn’t say a word. Didn’t react. I just smiled back. Not a happy smile. A promise. Her breath hitched. I started the car, gripping the wheel, and pulled off, my mind already working, already plotting. She wanted to play games? Fine. I knew exactly how to make her submit.