Chapter 18
Familiar landmarks pass by in a blur as we near Morgan’s old duplex, her grip around my hand tightening by the minute. It’s moving day, and my girl’s a bundle of nerves, considering who’s waiting.
I’m counting down the days until Morgan never has to see her fucking ex again. The ignoramus turns her into a ball of anxiety and, worse, pulls her attention away from me. Which we all know I hate more than anything. Turns out, I’m the tiniest bit—possibly a lot—possessive.
But at least I’m self-aware.
Turning the rented box truck onto her old street, Morgan inhales sharply beside me.
“You know you don’t have to be here, right, baby?” I say, brushing my thumb over her hand. “John and Jina are coming. The three of us can handle it.”
She shakes her head, laughing nervously. “I’m not going to abandon the three of you to pack up my house. Besides, Michelle’s coming, too, and I don’t trust her not to maim or murder Reginald. The last thing I need is a true-crime documentary about my sister and her scalpel.” Her eyes land on my scabby knuckles. “Or, for you to get hauled off to jail for punching him again.”
“Hey, I promised to keep my hands to myself, and John promised to help me.” I may have actually asked him to help hide the body, but of course, he said no. Goody-fucking-two-shoes.
But who needs John when I have Michelle?
I can see said true-crime documentary title now: The Sister, The Scalpel, and The Sucker Who Helped Her.
Morgan covers half her face and groans. “I can’t believe I’m meeting your best friend under these stupid circumstances.”
“Baby, John couldn’t care less. After cooking fancy-ass food for a living, the man practically worships pizza and beer. He’s happy to help. Jina, too. Hell, I’ve seen that girl put away a large pizza and still reach for more.”
A sweet laugh flits through the truck’s cabin. It’s the best fucking sound on earth, aside from the little moans she makes right before she comes. Or the way she screams my name when she does. Or—
Okay, fine. It’s in the top five best fucking sounds on earth.
“God, I miss my twenty-something metabolism,” Morgan says, genuinely smiling. Good—a sign of her building confidence.
She better hold the fuck onto it because the duplex comes into view. And on the porch—Reginald and some giant, burly dude.
“Oh my God,” Morgan mutters. “He brought George.”
“Who’s George?” I ask, dropping her hand to back into the driveway. Smooth as butter.
“Reginald’s dad’s bodyguard. He’s really nice. He uh… intervened once, then told me to leave Reginald. I should’ve listened.”
My knuckles go white on the wheel. I instantly want to call Michelle and tell her to bring an extra scalpel.
But as if he sensed my murderous intent, a knock sounds on the window. There’s good ole fucking John, standing with Jina, waving like an idiot.
I nod his way, then turn back to Morgan, hand finding her bare thigh. It’s hot as hell today, and she’s wearing spandex shorts and a tight, little tank top. Let’s just say her outfit’s all the motivation I need to get this over with fast. And with an investor call tonight, the eight-hour clock is already ticking. Especially with needing to shower and shit.
Not shit shit. Stuff shit.
Forcing my eyes up her glorious body to her gorgeous face, I ask, “You ready?”
She nods. “As I’ll ever be.”
Within seconds, we’re out of the car, and I tuck her into my side. “This is John—”
“Your bestie,” Morgan beams, cutting me off. She holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Morgan—”
“My girlfriend,” I rush in. The sexy smirk Morgan throws my way might’ve made my dick hard…if John and Jina weren’t two fucking feet away.
“I know she’s your girlfriend, dickhead,” John says, shaking her hand. “Thanks for taking this guy off my hands. Maybe now he’ll be less insufferable.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan. “Way to make me look cool.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Morgan chuckles. “Specifically in the Michelin-star capacity.”
Jina groans. “We don’t say the big M-word around John. It goes straight to his head.” John glares at her, but she ignores it, turning to me. “And he’s my bestie. We talk every day.” She points between me and him. “You two talk once in a blue moon.”
“Jin, come on,” John mutters, shaking his head. Jesus. Jina’s more like me than I realize if she can get that head shake out of him too.
“What?” she snaps. “Am I not your best friend?”
I roll my eyes, but John keeps trying. “Of course you are. But I’m a man, Jina. There’s stuff I just can’t tell you. Every man needs a close, dude-on-dude friendship for that.”
Jina and I go silent, staring at him, while Morgan lets out a soft laugh. Despite his darker skin, I see him turn red. Priceless.
“That sounded weird,” John stammers. “But you know what I meant.”
Jina bites out, “We get your point.” Shit, even I flinch. But John holds his ground—the only man not remotely scared of my sister.
Hell no. John Davis is either brave or stupid. Because he groans, “Come on, Jin,” reaching for her...and fails again.
She sidesteps him, looping her arm through Morgan’s. “Nope. Morgan’s my new best friend.”
“That’s a no, Jina. Morgan’s bestie is Elaine,” I chime in. Morgan smiles brightly up at me, once again surprised I notice details about her life—and like she doesn’t already know Elaine DM’d me on Instagram. Only a best friend threatens a man with the creepy, hurt her, and you die spiel.
“Goddammit,” Jina mutters. “I’m going to be one of those women who go on Tinder to find friends, aren’t I?”
“What about Kelsey?” Morgan asks cheerfully, but her smile dims.
Jina throws a bemused laugh into the air. “No way. We’re close and whatnot, but I trust that bitch as far as I can throw her.”
“Glad I’m not the only one.”
“Trust me, baby, you’re definitely not the only one,” I say, the thought of the girl sending a surge of annoyance through my veins. Fucking Kelsey.
Jina glances at the porch and tightens her grip on Morgan. “Speaking of, shall we go deal with her dicky-pricky brother? He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”
Morgan nods, and the women take off. But I stay close, John at my side. Unless surrounded by people we both trust, my girl will never again share the same air space with Reginald without me nearby.
“Also speaking of Kelsey,” John says, low enough only I can hear, “did you tell Morgan yet?”
Fuck. No, I forgot.
I meant to, but after Morgan moved in, it slipped my mind. Can you blame me? For the past few days, every morning, sometimes noon, and night, I’ve had the woman of my dreams wrapped around me—in more ways than one. Why would I think about Kelsey fucking Bradshaw?
John pushes, “You didn’t, did you?”
I hate when he pries, the same way he hates when I do. I, at least, respect that boundary. And it’s none of his goddamn business.
“No,” I shoot back, letting some warning into my tone. “But I will tomorrow. Give it a rest.”
Of course, John doesn’t fucking care. “I hope so, man. Jina said Kelsey went crazy after seeing you and Morgan together.”
My fingers twitch against my thighs. “Yeah, I get it, John.”
“She downed a bottle of wine and talked shit about you two for hours. And now Morgan used to date her stepbrother? It’s all so—”
Fuck this . I grab John by the arm and bring us to a halt. “It’s all so what, John? Heavy? Unnerving? Fucking weird?”
He looks from my hand to my face, eyes narrowing. “I was going to say volatile. It’s a ticking time bomb, Hyung. Ignore it too long, and it’ll explode.”
My hand drops. “How about this? You start practicing what you fucking preach when it comes to my sister, and I’ll tell Morgan about Kelsey.”
Pissed and stalking off to the sound of John calling me a dick, I lock eyes with Reginald on the porch seconds later. A full-blown territorial stare-down. But I’m a badass pit bull, and he’s a crusty, yappy rat dog.
And then there’s Giant George, putting my badass pit bull to shame.
Morgan’s the only one unfazed by his huge presence. “Hey, George,” she says sweetly, settling beside me. “How’ve you been? Are Shirley and the kids doing alright?”
Still locked on Reginald, I catch John sidling up beside me. He whispers, “Dude, I know you’re pissed, but relax. And don’t tell me to fuck off.”
He knows me too well.
“Like I said when you asked me to be here, I’m not going to prison for you. Morgan needs you with a cool head, Hyung. So calm. The fuck. Down. You can beat my ass later for pushing.” He pauses, adding with a smirk I can see without even looking, “Or, at least, you can try.”
Shit. He really does know me too well.
But his words do the trick. Enough to loosen my jaw, deflate my chest, and give me something to look forward to—kicking his ass on the sparring mat later. My girl, slipping her fingers into mine, does the rest.
“Yeah, we’re all doing great,” Giant George says with a smile. It’s weird on such a gruff and tough face. “Shirley’s pregnant again with baby number four. It’s finally a girl, and she’s over the moon about it.”
Morgan chimes, “How sweet. Give her my love and congratulations.”
“Oh, please,” Reginald mutters, finally speaking up. If I weren’t staring right at him, I might’ve forgotten he was even here. “I don’t have time for this shit. Here.”
The fucker hurls the keys at Morgan’s face. She flinches, releasing my hand to shield herself, but I’m faster than Reginald’s bitch-ass throw. I snatch them midair and curl my fingers tight around the metal, already imagining them embedded in his smug face.
Seeing Morgan cower…
Holy fuck, I hated that. It easily takes the number one spot of things I hate most. And the man-child a solid three strides away caused it—almost hurt her again. How many other times did he do the same thing? Purposefully hurt her, only to disguise it as something as harmless as tossing a set of keys?
Giant George’s eyes lock onto me like a damn missile, watching and waiting for me to move. But I don’t give a shit. As long as I have enough time to land a key-filled punch to Reginald’s swollen bird nose—the one I so graciously gave him—Georgie can beat me into a pulp for all I care.
But the second I take a step, John’s on me, locking me in a headlock, bending me forward. All I see is concrete and our goddamn feet.
“What the fuck, man? Let go,” I grit out, struggling against his grip. My polite request only makes him squeeze harder.
“Hey, Jina? Morgan? Mind grabbing the keys out of this crazy person’s hand?” John asks, like this is a normal, everyday thing.
Jina scoffs from behind me. “Really, Oppa, you’re such an idiot. Morgan, I know he just saved you from Mr. Dicky-Pricky’s keys, but are you sure you want to date him? Like, one hundred percent sure?”
My body stills, gaze whipping to Morgan’s as anxiety and adrenaline race through me. Because, bent over, ass in the air, with John’s arm around my neck, I definitely look like a fucking idiot. One she might decide, here and now, she doesn’t want anymore.
But a smile cracks on Morgan’s face before another one of her sweet laughs caresses the air. “One hundred and fifty percent sure. I moved in with him, didn’t I? I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t all in.”
“Wait, you moved in with this asshole?” Reginald sneers. “Bad call, man. You’ll regret that decision the second you see her on the rag.”
Both women cringe, but it’s Jina who snaps, “Ew, what decade are you even from—the 1920s?”
Morgan, despite the embarrassment creeping up her neck, pops her attitude hip. That’s my girl.
Tossing Reginald a scathing look, she says, “Reginald can’t say period or menstruation. It makes him queasy.”
Lifting my head as much as I can in John’s death grip, I look Reginald straight in the eye and laugh, saying one little word. “Weak.”
As expected, it hits the mark, seething as he moves for me. Seething even more when stopped by George’s massive fist, balled in the back of his shirt.
A second later, Reginald raises his hands, muttering, “I’m cool, George. I’m cool. You can let go.”
George narrows his eyes, hesitating like Reginald could actually do damage—what a fucking joke. But eventually, he unfurls his fist, releasing the twat.
“Sure, boss,” he says. “But you should probably refer to women’s cycles as something respectful. Menstruation is completely natural. The wife uses time of the month or lady days.”
“I don’t pay you for your opinions, George,” Reginald snaps, adjusting his polo shirt.
The massive man shrugs. “You don’t pay me at all. Your father does. And if it weren’t for him asking me to watch your back today, I would’ve let these two gentlemen have their way with you.” He winks at Morgan, and she offers him a grateful smile. I’ll let the impudence slide—he did call me a gentleman.
Reginald glares so hard at the man, even I feel the heat. “Rag, fucking lady days —call it whatever the hell you want.”
“I’m partial to shark week,” Jina offers from the peanut gallery.
Morgan snorts. “Yeah, me too.”
“Whatever.” Reginald lets out a quick, pointed sigh, and I half expect a tantrum. Fuck, he’s turning back to me. “The point is, whenever it happens to her, she turns into an unstable ball of rage. I doubt you’ll last a day.”
“Nah, man,” I grunt, pushing against John to stand a little straighter, needing some height for this one. Luckily, he gives a little. “I’ll last a fucking lifetime.” Turning as much as I can toward Morgan, I add, “I’m intrigued, baby—I want to see you as a little ball of rage.”
Morgan rolls her eyes. “It’s your rage I’m worried about right now. Can you behave yourself?”
“I always behave myself,” I say with all the swagger I can muster, considering my…undignified situation.
Morgan tries to hide her smile—just how I like it—before looking at John. “I think you can free him now.” Then to George. “He won’t do anything.” Then back to me. “Will you, baby?”
Because he can, John tenses his arm one last time right as I try to say, “No.” Only the N sound makes it out. The O part sticks behind his bicep currently crushing my windpipe. Jesus, maybe I should take up cooking.
“Good,” she says, fishing the keys out of my hand.
And with that, John relaxes his arm. I may keep my word, but I sure as hell give Reginald another death stare and flip him the bird. Then John.
“What?” John huffs. “Not going to prison, remember?”
Jina sing-songs, “Okay,” breaking the awkward silence and slicing right through the volatility. Fuck John and his ability to be right all the time.
Jina continues charmingly, “Reginald, hi, hello. Do you remember me? I was Kelsey’s roommate in college.”
The asshole cocks his head, the bird-nose suiting him more than ever. “Oh, yeah,” he says slowly, a corner of his mouth tilting up in a creepy-ass grin.
Oh no...
“Jina, right?”
Wait for it...
“You were hot back then, but now?”
Hold...
“Damn.”
Hold...
“You single?”
Before the last syllable leaves Reginald’s mouth, John lunges. I twist and catch him mid-surge, locking him in a headlock that outmatches his own.
“Not going to prison,” I so eagerly say.
“Fuck off,” he grunts, clawing at my arm around his throat. “And yes, I can say that.”
“You two best friends are incredible,” Jina drones, rolling her eyes as Morgan laughs again. God, I love her. Finding humor amidst the chaos, like a beacon of light in my storm.
Reginald sneers, lips curling. “Wow, Morgan. You’ve really come down in the world. Ditched me for dickheaded imbeciles?”
This time, Morgan holds her smile, eyes locked on mine. “Yeah. I did, and I love it.”
“REGINALD DOUCHE-FACE SINCLAIR THE THIRD!”
The chaos stills at the sound of that pain-promising voice, all six of our heads turning at once. A tall, angry blonde woman marches toward us with a scalpel in hand.
Ladies and gentlemen, Michelle Asterman.
A.K.A. The Fucking Cavalry.
Although, I’m genuinely insulted. Reginald didn’t bat a goddamn eye at me or John—not when we arrived, not even when we lunged at him, fists ready.
But the second he lays eyes on Michelle, he shouts, “Oh fuck,” and cowers behind Giant Georgie. To be fair, she does have a weapon, more or less.
Sunlight glints off the silver blade of the scalpel as Michelle raises her arm, pointing it right at Reginald—well, at George—and grits, “I distinctly remember telling you to stay the fuck away from my sister. Or else, I’d castrate you and shove your tiny, shriveled testicles down your throat. Good thing I’m in the mood for a surgical procedure.”
“Now, Miss Asterman,” George says calmly, taking a ready, defensive stance, “Your sister already has the keys. So put down the weapon, and I’ll make sure Reginald leaves without saying another word.” He glances over his shoulder. “Right, boss?”
“Fuck. Yeah, sure. Whatever gets me away from this crazy bitch.”
Michelle fakes a jab, and Reggie boy cowers further behind George’s back.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, George,” Morgan groans, moving beside her sister and holding out her hand, palm up. “Michelle, give me the scalpel. I begged you not to bring it. And you took an oath to do no harm, remember?”
Michelle scoffs, hesitantly handing over the surgical instrument, staring at Reginald like he’s a newly discovered disease. “Yeah, well, you should’ve known I’d still bring it, especially with this creep being here. Worthless pieces of shit like him don’t deserve the oath.”
“Yeah, well,” Morgan mocks, “it still applies to them. She knows this, George, I promise.” She nudges Michelle.
“Ugh, fine. Yes, George, I know this. Just get Douche-Face Supreme out of here before I purposefully forget.”
Note to self: use Douche-Face Supreme in future reference to Reginald Sinclair III.
“Michelle’s right, Georgie,” I chime back in, my headlock on John tightening when he struggles—like he did to me. “It’s time you get little Reggie out of here. Us dickheaded imbeciles have work to do, and we only have eight hours to do it.”
Giant George nods his giant head. “Consider us gone. Let’s go, boss.” Keeping his body between Michelle and Reginald, George escorts him off the porch to a black Cadillac SUV. When they both slide into the car, shut the doors, and drive away, we all breathe a sigh of relief.
My eyes find Morgan’s and get lost in them, immediately at ease when they still see that smile of hers. I could look at her face all day. For all I know, hours might’ve passed already.
But she breaks my trance. “Um, Jiho?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“John’s turning blue.”
I glance down. Sure enough, he’s blue.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, releasing my arm. The poor dude drops to the ground, gasping for air.
“You asshole,” he wheezes between coughs, eyes shooting daggers sharper than Michelle’s scalpel.
Helping him up, Jina scolds, “Seriously, Oppa, what the hell?”
“Yeah, Hyung,” John croaks in a voice so hoarse, I feel a little bad, “I didn’t fucking choke you out, so what the fuck was that for?”
He doesn’t need the real reason, so I shrug. “I didn’t want to wait to kick your ass on the sparring mat. Look on the bright side—at least we’re even now.”
John opens his mouth, but only a pitiful squeak comes out.
Okay, maybe I feel terrible. And judging by that look in his eye, I know we’re not even close to even. At least, not anymore.
But something tells me that by the end of the night, we will be.
Bring it on, Johnny-John.