Chapter 32 #2
Her voice dropped. Less fire. More real.
“So what are you saying?”
I sat back.
“I’m saying leave him.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Tonight.”
She stared at me.
“Leave him,” I repeated. “Stop letting that nigga be seen with you. Stop answering his calls. Stop thinking this is some cute revenge move because it’s not.”
Her eyes flashed. “And if I don’t?”
I looked dead at her.
“Then die with him.”
The words settled between us like a gun on a table.
Lyric’s face changed slowly.
Because she knew I wasn’t bluffing.
“This isn’t jealousy,” I said. “I don’t care who you fuck. I care who gets close enough to use you. And Marcus is using you.”
She swallowed hard but recovered fast.
“You really think I’m that easy to play?”
“No,” I said. “I think you’re hurt enough to lie to yourself.”
Her eyes got glossy for half a second before she blinked them away.
A few seconds later, I opened the door myself.
Conversation over.
That was another thing people always forgot about me.
I didn’t repeat myself when it mattered.
Lyric stared at the open door, then back at me.
For a second, I saw the girl from Compton again. Sixteen. Angry. Loyal. Looking for something to hold onto after the world took too much.
Then it was gone.
She stepped out of the Rolls without another word.
Didn’t slam the door.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t look back.
I sat there a minute longer, watching through the tinted glass as she crossed the valet circle alone. Marcus was still inside. She didn’t wait for him.
That told me enough.
I took one last pull from the blunt and leaned my head back.
Los Angeles was getting crowded with people who thought I was distracted.
People who thought France had me off balance.
People who thought Bianca’s lawsuit was pressure.
People who thought Lyric on another man’s arm was disrespect I’d swallow.
They were wrong.
I tapped the glass for the driver.
“Take me back to my penthouse,” I said.
The car left the gala and cut through downtown Los Angeles.
I sat in the back seat watching the city move past the tinted glass while the last of the blunt burned down between my fingers.
Women left.
Women got angry.
Women tried to prove things.
That wasn’t new.
But her standing beside Marcus in a room full of sharks was something different.
Which meant I needed to check temperatures.
The car pulled into the underground entrance of my crib twenty minutes later. Security cleared the garage before we even stopped moving. The elevator took me straight up without a single pause.
By the time I stepped into my place, I felt exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep.
I loosened my tie and poured a drink without turning on any lights.
The bourbon hit the glass slowly.
I took the first sip, standing at the window.
Los Angeles looked peaceful from this height.
It never was.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed the first number.
Naomi.
It rang twice.
Then went straight to voicemail.
I smiled faintly and hung up.
I knew she’d never betray me.
Naomi had too much pride for that.
And too much sense.
She was ignoring me because that was her way of surviving the breakup. Not because she was plotting revenge.
I respected that.
I moved on to the next number.
Amara.
The one everybody assumed would cause problems because she was the youngest.
The line rang once.
She picked up.
“What?”
I leaned against the counter with the glass in my hand.
“Well damn,” I said calmly. “That’s how we greet people now?”
“Why are you calling me, Ares?”
Her voice was tough.
Not emotional.
Sharp.
I liked that.
“Just checking to see how you spent my money.”
“Money I didn’t ask for.”
I took another sip and looked out across the city.
“So how’d you spend it?”
“I was going to take a trip with it, but I didn’t.”
That actually made me chuckle.
“Lying already?”
“I’m not lying,” she snapped. “I haven’t touched it.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anything from you in the first place. You knew that I was with you because of what was on the inside. I guess I was wrong, and my friends were right about you being a piece of shit man with money.”
There was no anger in that.
Just honesty.
Amara had never begged to stay in my life.
That was part of why she didn’t bother me.
“I’m over all of this,” she said finally. “So don’t call me again.”
“You didn’t block me.”
“I forgot, but I am now.”
She added, calmer this time, “Have a good life, Ares.”
The line clicked dead.
I lowered the phone slowly.
That was actually the best answer I could’ve gotten.
Amara wasn’t plotting.
She was moving on.
And women moving forward were never dangerous.
Women standing still were.
I finished the bourbon and poured another one before I made the call that mattered.
France.
The nurse answered on the second ring.
“Mr. Delacroix.”
“How is she?”
“Miss Laveau is awake.”
My body stilled slightly.
“She asked for you.”
The glass paused halfway to my mouth.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“She is weak but stable. Her appetite is returning slowly. The doctor is satisfied with her recovery. But she is asking for a vape.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see it.
“Don’t give her one.”
“She has been asking when you will return,” the nurse added.
I stared out over the city lights again.
“Tell her I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“I will.”
“And make sure she gets whatever she wants, just nothing illegal.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ended the call and set the phone down.
For a moment, I just stood there listening to the silence of the penthouse.
Lyric.
Bianca.
Marcus Vale.
Lawsuits.
Old enemies smelling opportunity.
And somewhere across the ocean, a woman who had nearly died in my house was asking where I was.
Life had a strange sense of timing.
My phone buzzed against the counter.
Not the main phone.
The burner.
I picked it up.
Three messages from Darius.
Heard people talking.
Vale was one of them.
Says Delacroix has to die by the end of the year.
I have the recording on my Meta glasses.
I frowned slightly.
I dialed the only number saved in that phone.
Zay answered immediately.
“Yeah.”
I finished the rest of my drink.
“Let’s plot some shit.”
There was a chuckle on the other end.
Zay had known me too long to ask questions.
“Say less,” he said.
The line went dead.
I set the glass down and reached for my jacket.
Because sometimes checking temperatures meant reminding people exactly who was in charge of the room.